The Hermit of the Twitten In a real routine now, although this hermetic, existence does not a great blog make. Working on the poetry manuscript from eight. First thing is best for thinking. But today by 11:30 I couldn't see the wood for the trees - and felt briefly quite bleak about it. In this mood however I was able to spot that one of the newer poems was never going to work. There was a technical reason for this: it is rubbish. Two factors for successful poetry editing: time and moodswings. I have been half thinking about getting a cat, but watching the Frasier has cured me of that. There is an episode in the last series where he is dateless, wrapped in a blanket and talking lengthily to a cat called Mr Bottomsly. I don't want to go there. Spent a few hours working on my Skeleton stuff , which is making me guffaw delightedly as I write. Heard from an old Warwick buddy, Tim, who has lived in Italy now for donkey's years. Quite good to see a photo of him all bearded and bu
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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
A dream of Champions Strange vivid dreams connected to 1966. I was being given some kind of commemorative medal to do with the World Cup Final that in the dream had belonged to Dave my grandfather (who I watched the final with as a six year old). I was very pleased to get them, then I felt a wave of sadness that he was dead and then woke up. I'm guessing that working on my poems so intensely over the last few days is dredging up all kinds of associations. The work I'm assembling stretches over 25 years. It's like a biography of fragments and symbols. Whatever happens with the collection, it is quite a fascinating, if self-indulgent, process. I am, however, making immense progress. Also finished the Brenda Maddox book Georgie's Ghosts about Yeats later years, which I really enjoyed. Yeats really was a chump in many ways, and believed all kinds of weird stuff, but if I had to take one poet's work to a desert island it would be his. A hour or so ambling around town, vi
A spot of tree hugging A quiet day, with a nice walk in a sunny Stanmer Park with Lorraine, who insisted that she needed to hug some trees. She didn't exactly hug them, but there was some prolonged appreciative squeezing of branches, and much running of hands over bark. She also pointed out the green bits inside snowdrops, which I'd never noticed. Stanmer Park is on the edge of Brighton, but I'd never yet been there. After wandering about chatting in the trees, and in Lorraine's case to the trees, we drove back to my place, and toddled off to the Sussex Yeoman where we had a lazy and tasty Sunday lunch, and were recognised from having been there on Friday, which was pretty good. Lorraine is an ideal company for a lazy Sunday. Below are these beavers, bears or badgers?
A parrot called Bottom Klaudia's 4th birthday party. Up the hill in the afternoon, with presents. Before the party Klaudia and I enjoyed playing with a squawking parrot puppet. Klaudia, when asked by the parrot what its name should be, said Bottom and laughed like a drain, but we eventually we settled on Lily. Then to a church hall for the part itself. Lots of children beetling about and a bowler hatted entertainer called Mr Pumpkin who had the kids spellbound for an entire hour, before they fell on the food. I enjoyed watching, apart from somehow being caught up in Mr Pumpkin's evil web and getting a foamy pie in the face. I moaned briefly at Anton as this pie was destined for one of the dads and not a stunt double like myself. Lorraine, Brian, Anton, Anna and myself went out in the evening for a few cheeky beers in a couple of excellent boozers, and then a pleasant Italian meal. Anton and Anna saying that that the nippers will be baptised in May so Brian and I will become G
Back in the swim After a few hours working on my poems, off to the swimming pool behind the library. I am still weak after having the flu, and so was fairly beat after 25 minutes, but it was great to swim again. Though it takes a while to get used to a new pool and its ways. This one has unisex changing areas (in cubicles) for example. Rather busier than the last one I used which was pleasingly quiet, as suits a more voluminous gentleman like myself. Then off to the Lanes to buy presents for Klaudia in the toyshop. Excellent now it is not Christmas, as a gentleman you can go into the toyshop and in your best Hugh Grant manner say that you have a four year old Godchild who likes purple and organising things and er... flick imaginary forelock can you help? I came out with two puppets (a Princess and a multicoloured hairy parrot), a jigsaw and another toy which sticks to the side of the bath and allows the child to add clothes to a flat cut out figures. Working all afternoon and evening,
Imagine A stormingly good morning's work on my manuscript, after a good night's sleep. I am delighted with the way things are progressing - the poems are now fitting together like pieces in a jigsaw. After this morning, I know what the picture is on the lid, and can see what needs to be done. It is working better than I had hoped. Off in the afternoon, feeling exceedingly pleased with myself, for a breath of air. A bright and beautiful day, and walked down to the sea as normal. The thousands of pieces of wood are still there, but this being Brighton people are beginning to do things with them, such as make huge words from them, or wigwam, or a wooden phallus. Wandered onto the pier and watched a gull snatching chips from a woman's hand and other pier life. Sophie was working in Brighton this afternoon. We had a drink in The Saint James pub, and then a cheeky early evening meal in a restaurant called Pomegranate, where they happened to be playing Greek music which put Sophie
Moths, beggars kneecaps and pies Thank God, managed to sleep for hours, despite being woken up by the sound of a lady being noisily pleasured in the twitten at 3:30 am and a neighbour shouting down "People live here!" Bizarre and dreamlike. Up early to finish off the first draft of my Church n' Charity stuff and after an intense couple of hours was finished. Escaped off into the outside world and headed to the Booth Museum. Lurked about looking at hundreds of stuffed birds, stuffed bears and dead moths and bits of flint. Made lots of notes and generally fed my imagination with a large tablespoon. For example I learned that flint contains lots of echinocorys, which are fossils of sea urchins. There are many other names and folk legends attached to them, one is that they are called thunderstones, and they are used to ward off lightning. They are also called shepherds knees, beggars kneecaps, and policemen's helmets. On the way home the idea of a Cornish pasty formed in
Moondays Monday and the moon near full. Spending a couple of days as God's own copywriter, writing some guidelines for a Christian church and charity. Despite this being quite an interesting project, I felt antsy all day. Unshackled myself from my desk and went down to the seafront, feeling vaguely irritable. The beach was still littered with timber, and intermittent signs "Warning - pollution on the beach". Watching television and writing about skeletons in the evening before, fatally, beginning to read my book about W.B. Yeats. This I did till 4:30am due to moonish insomnia, and coughing. However George's Ghosts is a terrific account of Yeats, and I am learning loads from it, especially the gossip about the numerous ladies in his life. Also about the writing of A Vision. I wrote my university thesis about this in the dark ages. Ah! Fond memories of sitting in the scriptorium scratching away with a swan's feather. Tuesday, and the moon full. Woke up this morning
Woodslick Kate and I off to Billies. Much putting the world to rights over big platefuls of breakfast hash and cups of tea. Kate's life is beginning to settle down a bit lately, and change for the better. Then for a walk along the seafront and the pier looking at the hundreds of pieces of timber from the wreckage of the Ice Prince that were washed ashore. Then we bumped into a friend of Kate's who told us his carpenter mate had been out at the crack of dawn to try to take some of the "woodslick" away, but the police had prevented it. Then to the Royal Pavilion . Third time for me, but I absolutely love the place. Looking with special interest at the dragons and the various chinoiserie monsters lurking about the place, and noticed moth patterns on the windows of the Music room, feeding many of my current preoccupations and so seeming extremely significant. Kate really liked the Pavilion. In the afternoon we then went for cups of tea with Reuben and Claire, Claire'
A night with the day trippers Tremendously enjoyable day, which I started rather sluggishly coughing and explaining to Lorraine just how wussy I felt. However there is a new cure in town: alcohol taken liberally with your mates. The mates in question were Kate, Matty, Craig and his new girlfriend Eva, who had come down from London. Lorraine and I met up with them in the Battle of Trafalgar and then as every last one of them had a camera, we took them down to the seafront where there was a good deal of semi-comical snappage. There was a brisk wind, and so we were soon compelled to find another pub, and we had several drinks in fine Brighton boozers such as The Cricketers, and The Caxton and one or two others. Sensibly we broke off for bags full of fish and chips which we ate with wooden forks in the dark by the sea. This is where Tash, the very nice Matty's very nice sister, and Dunc her boyfriend found us. In the Cricketers Nick, an old pal of Katie's who I'd met a few tim
Have I not seen the loveliest woman born... Still chipping away at the Bardic coalface. I am making really good progress with the poetry manuscript, although as a blog subject this I know lacks pizazz: got up, had breakfast, sat at my computer and wrote poems for hours. It's not up there with, say, battling the Japanese whaling expedition which requires the slaughter of 1000 cetaceans for, er, scientific reasons. Perhaps the Japanese have had a bellyful of their relaxation tapes. Anyway, back to the poetry... I just can't convey how cheery this all makes me feel. Off to the Jubilee Library in Brighton, which is still new and spiffy, although it could do with more books in it. I can't remember the last time I joined a library, and enjoyed being signed up by a friendly librarian, and discovering new fangled things like that checking books out is all automated, with touch screen computers and so on. Instantly rewarded by being able to borrow a new biography of WB Yeats calle
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
Happy Monday Got up fairly early and worked on my poetry manuscript all day. Just revelling in the opportunity to do this. I feel that I have won the lottery and can at last focus on what is important to me. In terms of draining long term frustrations, this is superb. It was a good day's work too, with me making lots of progress. I took a mid afternoon walk, down to the sea, and was rewarded with a spectacular show. The wind was up, and the sea was rough. The sky was putting on a Turner-like parade of light and colour, and a huge charcoal coloured rain filled cloud came over. There was a faint rainbow, and I walked onto the pier as the starlings came down in their thousands in the whipping wind to roost under the boards. All this made me feel strangely elated. Below some sea scenes. Click them to make them bigger.
I have measured out my life with table spoons Off, once I'd rather blearily got out of bed, to the kitchen supplies shop to score egg cups, measuring spoons, a loaf tin and other essentials. Essentials, that is, for my new craze of cooking. Now that I'm not spending my life on trains. One of my new resolutions is to broaden the range of things I cook, which means being able to measure things accurately, to follow new recipes. I now can be certain that I have spooned a tablespoon, or half teaspoon with scientific accuracy. All making me think of Eliot's line: I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. Sent an email to Heather Sebire today. She wrote an excellent book called The Archeology and Early History of the Channel Islands, which I bought last time I was in Guernsey. There is a bit in her book about Le Déhus one of the passage graves on the island. When it was first excavated by Lukis he found two bodies, kneeling inside, packed in with mud and limpet shells. I h
The FB and the Anglesea Back to the quack this morning to talk about The Ears. Apparently I just have to wait till they sort themselves out. They are not blocked by wax or anything nasty, they are just swollen inside. I am getting used to it a bit now, and it has its advantages, like muffling the night noises from the Twitten. Working all morning on various freelance bits, however my week's work was done by lunchtime. I was able to jump on a train and head up to the Smoke. I quite enjoy this ride now that I don't have to do it every day, and it was nice to be back in London for a few hours. I went to meet the French Bloke in the Anglesea Arms, a fine gastro pub in Hammersmith where the FB, Rick, Hike among others had been forking down his leaving lunch. I tucked into a glass of wine, and got talking to an ex-colleague called Tim who is keen on modern American poetry and went to Warwick University too, albeit 100 years later than me. We were soon joined by Max and little Tahlia
The afternoon is less than lyrical The morning was spent idyllically: working on my poetry and companionably swapping a bit of email with Matty and Kate. By the afternoon however I was feeling a bit slow in the head. Unfortunately this coincided with Al giving me a complex brief. I had to look at 42 pages of emails, with seven supporting documents to cross reference. After wanting to bang my sluggish head on the table for a couple of hours, I began to piece it all together. Some time later, as I was dealing with a paper jam on my printer, I reverted to a saved version of the file which had none of my work in. So at 5:30pm I managed to erase three and a half hours work in one second. I had to resist the temptation to thrash my laptop and surge bellowing with rage into the Twitten. After explaining that the work will be a tad late, I slumped dejectedly on my gold sofa, eating the very last of my chocolaty Christmas things and watching Frasier till things felt better. I will have to get u
A poet for a day In some ways this was a great day. Spent most of it working hard on my poems, and late in the afternoon, was asked to do more freelance days later in the week. I am very lucky at the moment, as work is walking in the door. But I am intoxicated by the luxury of being able to think about poetry all day. This is different from writing the stuff. I am still working on editing my collection so that the poems are more than the sum of their parts, and this is taking an enormous amount of thought and time - but of the most enjoyable chin-stroking, book consulting sort - which is resulting in me seeing my work very differently. Today I felt as free as a student again, and I can't believe my luck - and this time I won't blow it with horseplay. Ken called around just before lunch, for a coffee and a writerly chat, telling me more about his Mabley book (mentioned here on the 1st Jan) and other projects he is working on, and dropping around two nice Christmas presents. Ken
A little quiet time My stupid ears have become completely blocked, and I am temporarily quite deaf. I can only hear the radio and TV if they are turned fully up, antibiotics apparently having little effect. It is strange not even being sure how loud to pitch my own voice. Otherwise little going on today other than a cheeky day's freelance from home. Wrote nine letters. Then off to experience the odd quietness of the supermarket. One of the things I can suddenly hear is the thud that passes up through my body as my foot hits the pavement. And the sound of my breathing. Unsurprisingly, I spent a quiet night in.
An interlude in Shoreham Lorraine came by this morning and drove us off to Shoreham, which is just a bit further west along the coast, the other side of Hove. This is where her new school is, and she wanted to walk around the area to get a feel for it. Actually some really nice bits there, and close to the Adur river. It occurred to me that being a deputy head teacher is an important job. It was interesting to look at the little school, and walk about the nearby streets and think how much the job is rooted in a community, and a real place, and making a real difference to the lives of children and their parents. It struck me just how physical and practical this is - and far more meaningful than working as a copywriter. Had a large brunch at a cafe called Teddies. There were two teddies on the street outside the cafe and inside there were several dotted about. A very friendly place. From there to a farmer's market, where I bought a large leek and some Sussex butter. In the afternoo
Poets, astrologers and mindful sweeping Dragged my butt to the quack - who was in a cheery mood, told me there was a lot of it about, and gave me antibiotics to cure The Ears, which are painfully bunged up and howling with tinnitus. My brain is working a bit better however. I printed out my poems and shuffled them about, although I am finding it hard to see the wood for the trees. I also read some Yeats, and Ted Hughes - and quite enjoyed this. As someone who briefly, and not lucratively, cast people's astrological birth charts for a living, I am interested in how astrology has influenced poetry. W.B. Yeats was of course interested in all things occult. For example on honeymoon he forced his wife Georgie to conduct bouts of automatic writing: to go into trances and channel spirits and write down what they said. Bizarrely, the results were used as source material for a book of occult systems called A Vision . A Vision's systems are essentially quite astrological. There are house
You've got an ambient face Physical energy lower than a worm's limbo party this morning. And sweating seems to be back judging by my sheets for the last couple of mornings. Ugh. The humbug just keeps on coming. Yesterday I crept out to get more Lemsip Max ( res pect to the inventors of those bad boys) from Boots, which allowed me to cast my baleful reddened eyes at the sea, and on other people, and so on which was very refreshing. Was fortunately also able to reschedule some freelance work to next Monday, by which time, please God, I will be feeling better. However I have learned that the comedy duo The Mighty Boosh are absolutely wonderful. I have been watching the DVD that Christof, Sophie's son, lent me of their first TV series. Originality, lovely wordplay and unrestrained imagination - not to mention sheer likeability. Just excellent. One of the characters being told he had a "generic", and "ambient" face made me guffaw childishly too. They have be
Concerning the rights and duties of the Citizen Have just been looking at my pal Ken's new book, under his nome de plume of Simon de Vries. His new translation of Concerning the rights and duties of the Citizen by the abbé de Mably is hot off the press. Now a less well known a figure of the French Enlightenment than Rousseau and Voltaire - at the time Mably was just as famed. And Mably, in Ken's view, although less of a literary stylist had greater qualities of insight, tolerance and sober moderation. His ideas have fed the creation of modern democracies - but his contribution has been minimised or almost willfully misunderstood. I have been browsing through the book this morning, and even for the non-specialist, it seems rather interesting. Ken is very passionate about rescuing Mably's reputation from the scorns of time and, as far as I can tell, has done him a great service.
To thine own self be true Happy new year! This new year's morning I have just walked out into the corner store in what seems a very sleepy Brighton, subdued in the aftermath of fireworks and partying, not to mention the two men who ran back and forth in the twitten making Native American style whoopings in the night. However I party pooped, thanks to the flu (aka the humbug). But this was good as I got to talk to Mum and Toby and Lorraine and take happy new year texts from many others. On the 30th, which was Mum's birthday, I travelled back down to Brighton. I felt a bit sad that I had brought only extra laundry and sore lungs to Mum and Mas for Christmas. It felt good to glimpse the great outside and to exploit the opportunity to glare balefully at people with my fiery Sauron eyes. Lorraine came around shortly after I arrived, and cooked me a meal, and generally took care of me. As a hypochondraic, I find knowing that she used to be a ward sister a great comfort. This time las