under another sun

The red gate Sluggish day. Spent the day with Lorraine, with both of us feeling a bit wussy, and did not stray far from home. However spent a happy hour or so looking at my books of Paul Klee paintings. Every time I look at these pictures I see a new one as if for the first time. Today it was Gate in the Garden . The commentary by Douglas Hall says "the motif of the entrance... hangs in space like a portent, while its red colour conveys a warning to the heedless who might stray through it." There is something compelling and sexualised about the gate, like a frame from some horror film. What will emerge? What will happen if you step into it? What could emerge, for example, is the frightening black beast known as the Panther of Preston Park which I am keen to learn more about. In the evening watched Lark Rise to Candleford, which Lorraine absolutely loves. Julia Sawalha has a splendid face. In fact there are many good faces in this production. Below Gate in the Garden painte...

A private triumph, and a trip to Glyndebourne Had an interesting day today. In the morning reworking a poem about Paul Klee which I am herding like an independently-minded cat into the collection. A eureka moment, and it finally fell into place after fiddling with it off and on for several years. A private moment of triumph that would mean absolutely nothing to anyone else, but YAY! anyway. In the afternoon off to Glyndebourne for an very interesting interview with Gus Christie who is the executive chairman of Glyndebourne, and grandson of its founders. I really liked him. Turns out he was passionate about the environment as well as opera, and had studied zoology, and made wildlife films before returning to the family business. We talked a lot about the new wind turbine that is going to be erected nearby to power the opera. It has created a lot of controversy, but he seemed to me to be very sincere about trying to do the right thing. Even the cab driver who took me back to Lewes statio...

The meaning of this happy hour Reading Paul Klee's diaries again today. I was reading about a trip he made to Tunisia, which was something of a turning point in his artistic career. His diary entry for 16th April 1914 suddenly bursts out into this declaration: I now abandon work. It penetrates so deeply and so gently into me, I feel it and it gives me confidence in myself without effort. Colour possesses me. I don't have to pursue it. It will possess me always, I know it. That is the meaning of this happy hour: Colour and I are one. I am a painter. As for me, I haven't abandoned the feeling of working. In fact the business of refashioning so many poems, and writing new ones is some ways the most difficult work I have ever done. I used to be able to draw quite well when I was at school, and every now and again I still have a go. Each time I pick up a pencil again I'm amazed at how rusty I've got. I'm beginning think you can get rusty at writing poems too, but I ...

Making visible, Siamese fighters, and rhubarb Off today up to the smoke to my old agency, for what proved to be a short and sweet briefing. As usual felt a little odd to walk through the graveyard toward the office. But nice to chat to the Gnome and a few other chums. Enjoyed the train ride, as it travelled by lots of flooded fields after heavy rain. Reading Paul Klee's diaries at the moment, and it is inspiring me. One of the things he said I really like, which is in his Credo , and not in the diaries is that "Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible." I'd like to think the best of my poems does this too. Have been working on a poem about Siamese fighting fish over the last couple of days. Yet again it makes me wonder how I wrote anything without the Internet. Having kept these fish in the past, I was trying to confirm that they flared their gill covers when threatened. But all you have to do is biff onto You Tube and there you have several films ...