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Jul. 23rd, 2016
Extra Jazzy Selection
Jul. 23rd, 2016 03:41 pmCosmic and modal jazz grooves now - deep and radical grooves - black is the groove - ya dig!
Don Cherry - Utopia and Visions
( More grooves here )
Don Cherry - Utopia and Visions
( More grooves here )
Another hot sunny day in which i visited Faversham and sold some paperbacks for a fiver.
I took a different route up to Kemsley to get to the rail station but it turned out longer than expected due to me missing a short cut that i had committed to memory and then forgot about. It is quicker going via Milton Regis. At least it was a good walk this morning.
I walked through Milton Regis , a village like area north of Sittingbourne on Thursday. I took a couple of pics of the high street there
Reminds me a bit of Faversham actually.
I took a different route up to Kemsley to get to the rail station but it turned out longer than expected due to me missing a short cut that i had committed to memory and then forgot about. It is quicker going via Milton Regis. At least it was a good walk this morning.
I walked through Milton Regis , a village like area north of Sittingbourne on Thursday. I took a couple of pics of the high street there
Reminds me a bit of Faversham actually.
Poems Of The Week
Jul. 23rd, 2016 05:25 pmA couple of poems from British poets this time. I still need to read these two books -
Reference Back
by Philip Larkin
That was a pretty one, I heard you call
From the unsatisfactory hall
To the unsatisfactory room where I
Played record after record, idly,
Wasting my time at home, that you
Looked so much forward to.
Oliver’s Riverside Blues, it was. And now
I shall, I suppose, always remember how
The flock of notes those antique negroes blew
Out of Chicago air into
A huge remembering pre-electric horn
The year after I was born
Three decades later made this sudden bridge
From your unsatisfactory age
to my unsatisfactory prime.
Truly, though our element is time,
We are not suited to the long perspectives
Open at each instant of our lives.
They link us to our losses: worse,
They show us what we have as it once was,
Blindingly undiminished, just as though
By acting differently we could have kept it so.
— Philip Larkin
The Poet Hin
by Stevie Smith
The foolish poet wonders
Why so much honour
Is given to other poets
But to him
No honour is given.
I am much condescended to, said the poet Hin,
By my inferiors. And, said the poet Hin,
On my tombstone I will have inscribed:
“He was much condescended to by his inferiors.”
Then, said the poet Hin,
I shall be properly remembered.
Hin — wiping his tears away, I cried —
Your words tell me
You know the correct use of shall and will.
That, Hin, is something we may think about,
May, may, may, man.
Well yes, true, said Hin, stopping crying then,
Well yes, but true only in part,
Well, your wiping my tears away
Was a part.
But ah me, ah me,
So much vanity, said he, is in my heart.
Yet not light always is the pain
That roots in levity. Or without fruit wholly
As from this levity’s
Flowering pang of melancholy
May grow what is weighty,
May come beauty.
True too, Hin, true too. Well, as now: You have gone on
Differently from what you begun.
Yet both truths have validity,
the one meanly begot, the other nobly,
And as each alone glosses over
What the other says, so only together
Have they a full thought to uncover.
— Stevie Smith
Reference Back
by Philip Larkin
That was a pretty one, I heard you call
From the unsatisfactory hall
To the unsatisfactory room where I
Played record after record, idly,
Wasting my time at home, that you
Looked so much forward to.
Oliver’s Riverside Blues, it was. And now
I shall, I suppose, always remember how
The flock of notes those antique negroes blew
Out of Chicago air into
A huge remembering pre-electric horn
The year after I was born
Three decades later made this sudden bridge
From your unsatisfactory age
to my unsatisfactory prime.
Truly, though our element is time,
We are not suited to the long perspectives
Open at each instant of our lives.
They link us to our losses: worse,
They show us what we have as it once was,
Blindingly undiminished, just as though
By acting differently we could have kept it so.
— Philip Larkin
The Poet Hin
by Stevie Smith
The foolish poet wonders
Why so much honour
Is given to other poets
But to him
No honour is given.
I am much condescended to, said the poet Hin,
By my inferiors. And, said the poet Hin,
On my tombstone I will have inscribed:
“He was much condescended to by his inferiors.”
Then, said the poet Hin,
I shall be properly remembered.
Hin — wiping his tears away, I cried —
Your words tell me
You know the correct use of shall and will.
That, Hin, is something we may think about,
May, may, may, man.
Well yes, true, said Hin, stopping crying then,
Well yes, but true only in part,
Well, your wiping my tears away
Was a part.
But ah me, ah me,
So much vanity, said he, is in my heart.
Yet not light always is the pain
That roots in levity. Or without fruit wholly
As from this levity’s
Flowering pang of melancholy
May grow what is weighty,
May come beauty.
True too, Hin, true too. Well, as now: You have gone on
Differently from what you begun.
Yet both truths have validity,
the one meanly begot, the other nobly,
And as each alone glosses over
What the other says, so only together
Have they a full thought to uncover.
— Stevie Smith
Book 58 - Rob Magnuson Smith "Scorper"
Jul. 23rd, 2016 05:48 pmRob Magnuson Smith "Scorper" (Granta)
The draw of this read is a doubt that Smith plays into your mind, reminiscent of Philip Larkin's "Jill". The staying appeal of "Scorper" however is its beautifully crafted language, making this a novel worthy of study. Smith indulges in a second person narrative so organic, that what to some would come across as gimmicky, passes you by without you even noticing; that is until "you" becomes "he" and you realise that you have been unwittingly augmented into the pages. "Scorper" is a book that will play with your mind long after you put it down, while outside of its pages you start to look at your own actions with a far more watchful eye.
It's dalliance from second person narrative third person narrative may feel like a contrivance but persevere; the last bit made me laugh out loud. And you won't get the kick unless you persevere.
Fontophiles and incestuous engravers will lap this up.
The draw of this read is a doubt that Smith plays into your mind, reminiscent of Philip Larkin's "Jill". The staying appeal of "Scorper" however is its beautifully crafted language, making this a novel worthy of study. Smith indulges in a second person narrative so organic, that what to some would come across as gimmicky, passes you by without you even noticing; that is until "you" becomes "he" and you realise that you have been unwittingly augmented into the pages. "Scorper" is a book that will play with your mind long after you put it down, while outside of its pages you start to look at your own actions with a far more watchful eye.
It's dalliance from second person narrative third person narrative may feel like a contrivance but persevere; the last bit made me laugh out loud. And you won't get the kick unless you persevere.
Fontophiles and incestuous engravers will lap this up.
Good Night
Jul. 23rd, 2016 11:12 pmIt is another quiet night here in the common room - just me mostly - but with no A/C it is humid,and thus i will retire to my room to watch Charmed or Jackie Brown again on DVD. Although i could murder a pint ,lol!
(Donations to the usual PayPal address).
(Donations to the usual PayPal address).
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