The poet who understands cats has I think not yet been born. All I know for certain about cats is that they don't like the wind in the trees. And I don't even know that for an absolute certainty. But today it is windless. So why is Tommy the Cat spending the day here? No, I've no idea either. His nose is slightly scabbed as if he's been involved in a scuffle or perhaps caught himself up in a bramble. His ginger and white coat is a tad duller than I remember. But then that's only to be expected for like all of us he's getting a little older by the day...
Tommy the Cat
The first time Tommy came
it was to say goodbye
for someone in the bed upstairs
had breathed her final sigh.
4.30 in the morning 'twas
when Tommy slipped through the door
and trotted up the stair
to stand beside her door.
Since then he comes 'bout once a year
or maybe sometimes twice
he calls to check on how we are
and perhaps to look for mice.
He braves the crow that flies at him
and braves the winter snows
plodding round the neighbourhood
when lonely he patrols.
But now he's here and in my chair
and he won't go away
he's been here since the crack of dawn
and looks as if he'll stay
Till night at least or maybe longer
for who knows what's going on
behind those curtained eyes of green
and in the purring of his song.
______
gw2009
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
George and the Dog
The following bit of doggerel is for my blogging friend George Szirtes who once hinted at the possibility of a canine companion, but quickly came to his senses.
George and the Dog
The dog's name is Rollo
for he rolls on his back
and spins his long tail
and threatens
to split his sides laughing
at George
or anyone else who might cross his path
and this includes cats.
Rollo was born and bred in the East
but he is no Pekingese and no Chow
he's more Genovese in his style
and his looks and he always obeys
the strictest normatives
as George will come to expect
of a dog
which eats batteries
three at a time.
George removed Rollo gently from packaging
and fed him his alkaline bones. Some mechanism
noise can be heard said George. This is normal
replied Rollo's box.
George had pulled back the fur so orange and white
to expose the stomach of his new canine friend
and unscrewed the battery compartment. Then closed it again.
Screwed it tight.
He clicked on the switch labelled ON. He heeded the warnings
that came with his pet like do not make it fall down
and poor lighting condition may affect its function.
Rollo is an unsuitable pet for a child under 3 due to the danger
of swallowing small parts. And yes, he has a moving mouth.
But George is 60 and larger than life,-
Real beer, Reel book and real cat.
______
gw2009
George and the Dog
The dog's name is Rollo
for he rolls on his back
and spins his long tail
and threatens
to split his sides laughing
at George
or anyone else who might cross his path
and this includes cats.
Rollo was born and bred in the East
but he is no Pekingese and no Chow
he's more Genovese in his style
and his looks and he always obeys
the strictest normatives
as George will come to expect
of a dog
which eats batteries
three at a time.
George removed Rollo gently from packaging
and fed him his alkaline bones. Some mechanism
noise can be heard said George. This is normal
replied Rollo's box.
George had pulled back the fur so orange and white
to expose the stomach of his new canine friend
and unscrewed the battery compartment. Then closed it again.
Screwed it tight.
He clicked on the switch labelled ON. He heeded the warnings
that came with his pet like do not make it fall down
and poor lighting condition may affect its function.
Rollo is an unsuitable pet for a child under 3 due to the danger
of swallowing small parts. And yes, he has a moving mouth.
But George is 60 and larger than life,-
Real beer, Reel book and real cat.
______
gw2009
EGGS
The following poem harks back to the days before cholesterol and salmonella.
Eggs
I was a boy in Wales
when they gave me eggs
with Lions Rampant
on the shells.
Those eggs came down
on the freight at night
from somewhere to the north
of the Snowdon range. In England
it was.
White as doves unblemished
and almost as fresh as mountain air
they were -
Better buy a dozen dear!
Mum boiled them to eat
with Mother's Pride
bread and a mash
of Indian tea.
Now that was a meal
to start the day.
Tapped the tops with the teaspoons
or sliced them
with the knives
and ate them slowly with heaps of salt.
On Sundays they were fried and
served with bacon
and slices of bread
from the bacon greased.
And fresh they were too,
until the local farmer
spilled his beans: Eggs is eggs. But these eggs
is 3 days older
than was the case
when they was laid unstamped
and sold right here.
A Lion has pride.
A Lion can't lie.
I've always eaten eggs.
I'll eat them till I die.
_______
gw 2009
Eggs
I was a boy in Wales
when they gave me eggs
with Lions Rampant
on the shells.
Those eggs came down
on the freight at night
from somewhere to the north
of the Snowdon range. In England
it was.
White as doves unblemished
and almost as fresh as mountain air
they were -
Better buy a dozen dear!
Mum boiled them to eat
with Mother's Pride
bread and a mash
of Indian tea.
Now that was a meal
to start the day.
Tapped the tops with the teaspoons
or sliced them
with the knives
and ate them slowly with heaps of salt.
On Sundays they were fried and
served with bacon
and slices of bread
from the bacon greased.
And fresh they were too,
until the local farmer
spilled his beans: Eggs is eggs. But these eggs
is 3 days older
than was the case
when they was laid unstamped
and sold right here.
A Lion has pride.
A Lion can't lie.
I've always eaten eggs.
I'll eat them till I die.
_______
gw 2009
Monday, 5 October 2009
D H LAWRENCE SEES GREEN
The poem GREEN by D H Lawrence is posted here to mark the UK's National Poetry Day which is to be held on 8th October. One small poem for mankind.
GREEN
The dawn was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.
She opened her eyes, and green
They shone, clear like flowers undone
For the first time, now for the first time seen.
D H Lawrence (1885 - 1930)
GREEN
The dawn was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.
She opened her eyes, and green
They shone, clear like flowers undone
For the first time, now for the first time seen.
D H Lawrence (1885 - 1930)
Poetry Kit Newsletter
Like a Liverpool chip shop on a Friday night the latest Poetry Kit newsletter is brimming over with sizzling hot from the microwave titbits of information, and steaming with a jumbo selection of poetry related links. It's a bardic batter that's guaranteed to get even the blandest pie 'n gravy bard a-salivating.
As Britain approaches National Poetry Day (8th October) Poetry Kit publishes a fistfull of details of many Poetry Readings, Festivals, and much more. From Ilkley to Chester to Liverpool and yes even in Tunbridge Wells there's something bardic and brilliant going on at a suitable crowded and chaotic venue near you.
And not only something going on. There are also poetry competitions with street-cred for the budding Wordsworth to enter. The Big Issue Competition in the North is just one such contest worth supporting. For the run of the mill and the rip-off contests you'll have to queue elsewhere.
Consider yourself more of a reader than a versifier? A potential poetry book critic perhaps? Or maybe you're the undiscovered poet the world has been waiting for? Then why not e-mail Jim Bennett at Poetry Kit? He's waiting for you with sharpened hooks and mended nets.
Poetry Kit LINKS A-Z SIDEBAR >>>
As Britain approaches National Poetry Day (8th October) Poetry Kit publishes a fistfull of details of many Poetry Readings, Festivals, and much more. From Ilkley to Chester to Liverpool and yes even in Tunbridge Wells there's something bardic and brilliant going on at a suitable crowded and chaotic venue near you.
And not only something going on. There are also poetry competitions with street-cred for the budding Wordsworth to enter. The Big Issue Competition in the North is just one such contest worth supporting. For the run of the mill and the rip-off contests you'll have to queue elsewhere.
Consider yourself more of a reader than a versifier? A potential poetry book critic perhaps? Or maybe you're the undiscovered poet the world has been waiting for? Then why not e-mail Jim Bennett at Poetry Kit? He's waiting for you with sharpened hooks and mended nets.
Poetry Kit LINKS A-Z SIDEBAR >>>
Friday, 25 September 2009
VictoryAhh! Victoria Woodhull at the Kosmos, Vienna
At Vienna's Kosmos Theater in the Siebensterngasse (tramline 49: two stops out of town from MQ/Volkstheater) the long forgotten, strange but true story of the USA's first would-be-Presidentess Victoria Woodhull (1838-1927) is waiting to be discovered and enjoyed.
Writer, journalist, political observer and author of Victoria Woodhull (Ulrike Helmer Verlag, pub: 2002) Antje Schrupp has unearthed the forgotten story of Woodhull; from her upbringing in the American school of hard knocks to her death in England. And was on hand to sign copies of her 250 pp biographical book.
Who was Victoria Woodhull? Capitalist or socialist? Feminist or prostitute? Intellectual or free spirit? she asks. The all-American Power-Frau and visionary, the arch-enemy of Harriet Beecher-Stowe (author of Uncle Tom's Cabin) fits into no convenient drawer, she concludes. And so it is.
In one memorable scene America's richest man, Cornelius Vanderbilt, in his mobile bath tub bathing in fake $10,000 bills asks Victoria: "young lady I've got 5 minutes for you - what have you got for me?" when the gold price crashes as the band plays on ...
Tanja Witzmann has gathered together a trio of young and exciting acting talent in the shape of Suse Lichtenberger, Sissi Noe´ and Valentin Schreyer. One feels that the spritualist side of the multi-faceted Woodhull, "you might be the ghost of someone else" , might well have had her invisible hand in the selection process. The chemistry is at times electric.
Under Woodhull's illuminated motto "Free Love" the story, after the glasses of the Woodhull Elixir of Life have been distributed and sampled, begins with a therapy session. The audience must now close its eyes and for the first two or three minutes take part in a Victoria Woodhull breathing exercise and meditation session. It all cranks up the wonderful tongue-in-cheek sense of the bizarre.
A large screen provides documentary footage of the American Civil War and other key moments. President Obama and Hilary Clinton dance on and off the stage at one point. As the financial crisis deepens Woodhull entertains us with a display of her bubble blowing prowess, and so it goes on, from one madcap liberating moment to the next.
The story of Victoria Woodhull, a woman forever challenging the so-called American way of Life and her relationship with her strange sister Tennessee Claflin is presented in an entertaining and star-spangled show. It's a production well worth supporting. Invest in the cost of a theatre ticket, and give it a whirl!
VictoryAhh! at Kosmos, Siebensterngasse 42, 1070 Wien
01 523 12 26
karten@kosmostheater.at
www.kosmostheater.at
30/9/2009 to 3/10/2009
07/10/2009 to 10/10/2009
Writer, journalist, political observer and author of Victoria Woodhull (Ulrike Helmer Verlag, pub: 2002) Antje Schrupp has unearthed the forgotten story of Woodhull; from her upbringing in the American school of hard knocks to her death in England. And was on hand to sign copies of her 250 pp biographical book.
Who was Victoria Woodhull? Capitalist or socialist? Feminist or prostitute? Intellectual or free spirit? she asks. The all-American Power-Frau and visionary, the arch-enemy of Harriet Beecher-Stowe (author of Uncle Tom's Cabin) fits into no convenient drawer, she concludes. And so it is.
In one memorable scene America's richest man, Cornelius Vanderbilt, in his mobile bath tub bathing in fake $10,000 bills asks Victoria: "young lady I've got 5 minutes for you - what have you got for me?" when the gold price crashes as the band plays on ...
Tanja Witzmann has gathered together a trio of young and exciting acting talent in the shape of Suse Lichtenberger, Sissi Noe´ and Valentin Schreyer. One feels that the spritualist side of the multi-faceted Woodhull, "you might be the ghost of someone else" , might well have had her invisible hand in the selection process. The chemistry is at times electric.
Under Woodhull's illuminated motto "Free Love" the story, after the glasses of the Woodhull Elixir of Life have been distributed and sampled, begins with a therapy session. The audience must now close its eyes and for the first two or three minutes take part in a Victoria Woodhull breathing exercise and meditation session. It all cranks up the wonderful tongue-in-cheek sense of the bizarre.
A large screen provides documentary footage of the American Civil War and other key moments. President Obama and Hilary Clinton dance on and off the stage at one point. As the financial crisis deepens Woodhull entertains us with a display of her bubble blowing prowess, and so it goes on, from one madcap liberating moment to the next.
The story of Victoria Woodhull, a woman forever challenging the so-called American way of Life and her relationship with her strange sister Tennessee Claflin is presented in an entertaining and star-spangled show. It's a production well worth supporting. Invest in the cost of a theatre ticket, and give it a whirl!
VictoryAhh! at Kosmos, Siebensterngasse 42, 1070 Wien
01 523 12 26
karten@kosmostheater.at
www.kosmostheater.at
30/9/2009 to 3/10/2009
07/10/2009 to 10/10/2009
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Sunday Visit
Sunday Visit
Sunday and
I visit him
in the place filled with disinfectant smells
to which he will abandon himself
after he dredges the depths of his memory,
trenches
shells
the pain
the stretcher-party
the stink of gangrene
shellshock,
in a hospital ward full of promises ~
often not kept.
______
gw2009
Sunday and
I visit him
in the place filled with disinfectant smells
to which he will abandon himself
after he dredges the depths of his memory,
trenches
shells
the pain
the stretcher-party
the stink of gangrene
shellshock,
in a hospital ward full of promises ~
often not kept.
______
gw2009
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Britten's Death in Venice at Theater an der Wien
Yesterday evening Benjamin Britten's wonderful Death in Venice music, at times featuring four xylophones, piano and harp overlaying the dark tones with the steadily increasing and almost hypnotic quality required to do justice to Thomas Mann's story was performed superbly by the ORF Radio Symphony Orchestra of Vienna conducted by Donald Runnicles. Much more than a series of sepia postcards.
Myfanwy Piper's libretto, Kandis Cook's costumes, Adam Silverman's lighting, Thom Stuart's choreography, and most of all Kurt Streit, perfect in every nuance and detail even to the seemingly unending shocked and frozen to the spot stance, in the character role of Thomas Mann's troubled writer Gustav von Aschenbach, supported by Russell Braun playing no less than seven roles, produced almost three hours of unforgettable opera at Vienna's Theater an der Wien. If Kurt Streit were ever to give up opera one felt he could quickly turn his hand to being a leading actor. So convincing was he.
The story begins with Aschenbach walking through Munich. He is suffering from writer's block: My mind beats on and no words come! Looking for inspiration he contemplates an open grave. The way to the house of the Lord is via the black rectangle in the ground. Suddenly a strange and mysterious traveller from the Alps appears and persuades Ashenbach to head south, to Italy, like the many poets and writers who have been there before him. There he will surely find the inspiration he desperately seeks.
He arrives in Venice by ship. In a black coffin dark gondola he is taken to the Venice Lido across the indolent lapping waves. He finds himself in an hotel with a view of the beach. On this beach, from behind his newspaper, he will spy on the elegant boy, the little Polish god, the proud Tadzio (Raffaele Zarrella) and he will fall in love with him; for in this Venice the wind from the land, the Sirocco, plays with sunlight and shadow and all is odd, unreal and out of normal focus.
But, of course, every beauty and perfection has its dark and ugly side and in Venice it's the outbreak of cholera, the beggars under the bridges, the horrible, evil nauseous something in the air. Aschenbach is torn between staying and leaving. He orders his bags packed and taken to the train. But then he decides not to follow. The lure of the sunbronzed Tadzio holds him to Venice.
As the visitors discover the cholera epidemic they begin to leave the hotel, first in ones and twos and then in larger numbers. Aschenbach, for selfish motives, is unable to warn Tadzio and his family the nature of the peril in which they stand. They continue enjoying their beach holiday in blissful ignorance. The hotel management covers up the real reason for their other guests sudden departures...
When the lights went out and the curtain fell there were spontaneous standing ovations and bravos. And well deserved they were too, but none more so than those for the undoubted star, Kurt Streit. The role might have been tailor made for him. In fact it was written by Benjamin Britten for his life-partner Peter Pears. But nevertheless it fitted the talented Kurt Streit better than the crumpled white suit he wore at the tragic bitter end; almost to perfection!
From the text:
CHORUS:
Phaedrus learned what beauty is
From Socrates beneath the tree
Beauty is the only form
Of spirit that our eyes can see
So brings to the outcast soul
Reflections of Divinity.
. . .
ASCHENBACH:
. . .
Does beauty lead to wisdom, Phaedrus?
Yes, but through the senses.
Can poets take this way then
For senses lead to passion, Phaedrus.
Passion leads to knowledge
Knowledge to forgiveness
To compassion with the abyss.
Should we then reject it, Phaedrus,
The wisdom poets crave,
Seeking only form and pure detachment
Simplicity and discipline?
But this is beauty, Phaedrus,
Discovered through the senses
And senses lead to passion, Phaedrus,
And passion to the abyss.
. . .
Myfanwy Piper's libretto, Kandis Cook's costumes, Adam Silverman's lighting, Thom Stuart's choreography, and most of all Kurt Streit, perfect in every nuance and detail even to the seemingly unending shocked and frozen to the spot stance, in the character role of Thomas Mann's troubled writer Gustav von Aschenbach, supported by Russell Braun playing no less than seven roles, produced almost three hours of unforgettable opera at Vienna's Theater an der Wien. If Kurt Streit were ever to give up opera one felt he could quickly turn his hand to being a leading actor. So convincing was he.
The story begins with Aschenbach walking through Munich. He is suffering from writer's block: My mind beats on and no words come! Looking for inspiration he contemplates an open grave. The way to the house of the Lord is via the black rectangle in the ground. Suddenly a strange and mysterious traveller from the Alps appears and persuades Ashenbach to head south, to Italy, like the many poets and writers who have been there before him. There he will surely find the inspiration he desperately seeks.
He arrives in Venice by ship. In a black coffin dark gondola he is taken to the Venice Lido across the indolent lapping waves. He finds himself in an hotel with a view of the beach. On this beach, from behind his newspaper, he will spy on the elegant boy, the little Polish god, the proud Tadzio (Raffaele Zarrella) and he will fall in love with him; for in this Venice the wind from the land, the Sirocco, plays with sunlight and shadow and all is odd, unreal and out of normal focus.
But, of course, every beauty and perfection has its dark and ugly side and in Venice it's the outbreak of cholera, the beggars under the bridges, the horrible, evil nauseous something in the air. Aschenbach is torn between staying and leaving. He orders his bags packed and taken to the train. But then he decides not to follow. The lure of the sunbronzed Tadzio holds him to Venice.
As the visitors discover the cholera epidemic they begin to leave the hotel, first in ones and twos and then in larger numbers. Aschenbach, for selfish motives, is unable to warn Tadzio and his family the nature of the peril in which they stand. They continue enjoying their beach holiday in blissful ignorance. The hotel management covers up the real reason for their other guests sudden departures...
When the lights went out and the curtain fell there were spontaneous standing ovations and bravos. And well deserved they were too, but none more so than those for the undoubted star, Kurt Streit. The role might have been tailor made for him. In fact it was written by Benjamin Britten for his life-partner Peter Pears. But nevertheless it fitted the talented Kurt Streit better than the crumpled white suit he wore at the tragic bitter end; almost to perfection!
From the text:
CHORUS:
Phaedrus learned what beauty is
From Socrates beneath the tree
Beauty is the only form
Of spirit that our eyes can see
So brings to the outcast soul
Reflections of Divinity.
. . .
ASCHENBACH:
. . .
Does beauty lead to wisdom, Phaedrus?
Yes, but through the senses.
Can poets take this way then
For senses lead to passion, Phaedrus.
Passion leads to knowledge
Knowledge to forgiveness
To compassion with the abyss.
Should we then reject it, Phaedrus,
The wisdom poets crave,
Seeking only form and pure detachment
Simplicity and discipline?
But this is beauty, Phaedrus,
Discovered through the senses
And senses lead to passion, Phaedrus,
And passion to the abyss.
. . .
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