small world

"... i've been caged for so long now
come on lord set me free ...

... hear the wilderness refrain
spring creeping through the park
and you can blame me for the rain ...

... but now i see, it's not
it's never been, it's not
a small world ..."

by jake flowers

this one's for all the lovers

On Valentine's Day, this is for the lovers:

Dylan Thomas tells us why he writes poetry:



"... In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art ..."

'In My Craft or Sullen Art' by Dylan Thomas

If only I could learn to extend the love and generosity of spirit I freely give to other people and apply that same standard to my own self, then surely life would be that little bit easier and more breathable. Our motivation must not be to seek possessive or consumptive love. Rather, in seeking to generously, freely, creatively and thought-fully give, and learning to gain pleasure in this, without expecting or demanding anything in return, then, and only then, if this meets with the fostering of a deepening connection between two people associated with some form of reciprocation, then that would be completely overwhelming. It would be just as if it were always summer. So, the task at hand is 'to be there' to try and help make the lover well again:

"...When the lad for longing sighs,
Mute and dull of cheer and pale,
If at death's own door he lies,
Maiden, you can heal his ail.

Lovers' ills are all to buy:
The wan look, the hollow tone,
The hung head, the sunken eye,
You can have them for your own.

Buy them, buy them: eve and morn
Lovers' ills are all to sell.
Then you can lie down forlorn;
But the lover will be well.

Poem VI from 'A Shropshire Lad'
by A. E. Housman

Happy Valentine's Day everybody!

leaved petals

Here is a set of four photos for Valentine's Day (click to see larger versions):


rose petals
Originally uploaded by Simon Latham.

One of my little quirks is collecting things, like a cheeky little magpie! ;op] Whilst on an autumnal adventure with Ruth last October I collected two late rose petals which had fallen to the ground and placed them in my moleskine.

leaved petals
Originally uploaded by Simon Latham.

pure pink petals, whose curls cast delicate shadows across the crisp white blank page

by heart
Originally uploaded by Simon Latham.

I kept the petals in my moleskine for safe keeping, hidden between two white leaves, but not forgotten. One of the petals I gave away - the bottom one here was collected on another occasion - at Hampton Loade Station on the Severn Valley Railway. And now, on Valentine's Day, rose petals are still nestled in my moleskine.

old and new leifs
Originally uploaded by Simon Latham.

In-between our leaves, we keep thoughts and feelings, where memories grow. And we create and leave space in those pure blank pages where tomorrow's experiences will be planted and nurtured. So, in days to come, we can say and affirm, to our-selves and each other: "yes; it was true; it did happen; even though memories lightly fade to sepia tones; I won't forget that ... I thought; I felt; I loved, and was loved" Happy Valentine's Day every-one. Yours in Friendship, Peace & Light, with much love from Simon ;o)] x

will nature make a man of me yet?

Morrissey is back, and he's back doing a super-funky-doctor-monkey version of his 1983 hit with 'The Smiths': 'This Charming Man' [I just love it when the tempo breaks - amazing! ;o)]

this is a song for those who:
couldn't
shouldn't
and
mustn't

"... Punctured bicycle
On a hillside, desolate
Will nature make a man of me yet?
When in this charming car:
This charming man.
Why pamper life's complexity
When the leather runs smooth
On the passenger seat?
I would go out tonight
But I haven't got a stitch to wear
This man said:
"It's gruesome, that someone so handsome should care"

A jumped up pantry boy
Who never knew his place
He said: "return the ring"
(He knows so much about these things)
(He knows so much about these things)

I would go out tonight
But I haven't got a stitch to wear
This man said:
"It's gruesome, that someone so handsome should care"
Na, na-na, na-na, na-na, this charming man ...
Na, na-na, na-na, na-na, this charming man ...

A jumped up pantry boy
Who never knew his place
He said: "return the ring"
(He knows so much about these things)
(He knows so much about these things) ..."

Check out Morrissey's recent live concert on Radio2 here: I listened along, and tried my best to avoid a complete twitter-glut, but managed to restrain myself, (just)! Lyrical highlights include:

"...more breakfast-in-bed
and I'll bring the paper in later..."
(from 'Best Friend On The Payroll')



"...The world is full of crashing bores
and I must be one
because no-one ever turns to me to say:
"take me in your arms
and love me" ..."
(from 'The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores')



"...Reader meet author
with a hope of hearing sense
but you may be feeling let down
by the words of defence
He says:
"no-one ever sees me when I cry" ...
... oh, have you ever escaped
from a shipwrecked life? ..."
(from 'Reader Meet Author')



and despite
arms around waists,
arms around shoulders,
and
homespun philosophies ...
Morrissey says:
'I'm OK By Myself'

Go Moz! ;o)]

someday baby / baby some day

I love discovering the stories and (r)evolutions of songs. I think this stems from my interest in traditional folk music, which is characterised by a proliferation of various variations of the same song: for instance I'm captivated by versions of the traditional songs 'Lord Bateman' and 'John Barleycorn'. But, in particular, it is the 'archaeologies' of Bob Dylan, and his artistic process, which I find fascinating. I suppose, for me, the ultimate expression of this is discovering and 'working through' the similarities and differences between 'Standing In The Doorway' from his album 'Time Out Of Mind' and 'Dreaming Of You' - a previously unreleased track which can be found in his latest album 'Bootleg 8: Tell Tale Signs'. But, there is another song that I'm thinking about right now: 'Someday Baby'. It features on his latest studio album 'Modern Times', and is perhaps the 'lightest' (in a good way!) track on there, atleast musically:

'Someday Baby' from 'Modern Times'

But, on 'Tell Tale Signs', we hear an alternate version of 'Someday Baby', which is much deeper and emotionally moving. Whilst listening to songs my mind seeks out musical and lyrical change and crescendo. And it finds it here, but ever so subtly, that it's almost impercepable . This is because Bob reveals the secret of the song immediately in the first verse - cards on the table, heart open, shaky vulnerability exposed - and is maintained throughout. There is a plateau, a stasis of heightened emotional intensity. And this intimacy - from the padding of symbols and gentle rolling bass - to trying to decipher Bob's actual words (it took me ages to work out he was singing: "...Little by little/ bit by bit/ everyday/ I'm becoming more/ of a hypocrite...") is sustained for a long, but short 6 minutes.

'Someday Baby' from 'Bootleg 8: Tell Tale Signs'



"...when I heard you was cold
I bought you a coat and hat
I think you must've forgotten 'bout that
someday baby
you ain't gonna worry
for me
anymore..."

The Fox In The Snow

an amazing animation by chop pop:


"... Fox in the snow, where do you go
To find something you could eat?
'Cos the word out on the street is you are starving
Don't let yourself go hungry now
Don't let yourself grow cold
Fox in the snow

Girl in the snow, where do you go
To find someone who will do?
To tell someone all the truth before it kills you
They listen to your crazy laugh
Before you hang a right
And disappear from sight
What do they know anyway?
You'll read it in a book
What do they know anyway?
You'll read it in a book tonight

Boy on a bike, what are you like
As you cycle round the town?
You're going up, you're going down
You're going nowhere
It's not as if they're paying you
It's not as if it's fun
At least not anymore
When your legs are black and blue
It's time to take a break
When your legs are black and blue
It's time to take a holiday

Kid in the snow, way to go
It only happens once a year
It only happens once a lifetime
Make the most of it
Second just to being born
Second to dying too
What else would you do?

Fox in the snow ..."

"The Fox In The Snow"
by Belle & Sebastian

poetic lego

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Originally uploaded by Bill Ward's Brickpile.

"... Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep ..."

'Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening'
by Robert Frost

[but is it a metaphor for death though? ;o)]

I love these Lego Poetry Vignettes by Bill Ward, in particular his amazing set of dioramas/cameos of poems by A. E Housman:


To an Athlete Dying Young
Originally uploaded by Bill Ward's Brickpile.

Poem XIX from 'A Shropshire Lad'

"... The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before the echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's ..."



Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now
Originally uploaded by Bill Ward's Brickpile.

Poem II from 'A Shropshire Lad'

"... Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my three score years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow ..."



Good Creatures, Do You Love Your Lives
Originally uploaded by Bill Ward's Brickpile.

Poem XXVI from 'More Poems'

"... Good creatures, do you love your lives
And have you ears for sense?
Here is a knife like other knives,
That cost me eighteen pence.

I need but stick it in my heart
And down will come the sky,
And earth's foundations will depart
And all you folk will die ..."

and


Yonder See the Morning Blink
Originally uploaded by Bill Ward's Brickpile.

Poem XI from 'Last Poems'

"... Yonder see the morning blink:
The sun is up, and up must I,
To wash and dress and eat and drink
And look at things and talk and think
And work, and God knows why.

Oh often have I washed and dressed
And what's to show for all my pain?
Let me lie abed and rest:
Ten thousand times I've done my best
And all's to do again ..."