Jaunt
Driving over the rolling hills to the M4
Realising how lovely the row of bare trees is
Surprised by a white ballon on the roof of the Mosaic Rooms
Saw a missing person billboard, hope he's ok
Tried to focus on the houseboat roofs long enough to see them shift in the water
Unlocked the door of my parents' house and ate a snack
Off to the Tube to try my new route to the Tate Modern
Conflict, Time, Photography, confused by the inner room with the 'do not enter' sign
Shocked by the 3+ million killed in the Congo War, hadn't realised the scale
Still regarded the irregular ceramic bowl on the poster as that, not a helmet with a piece of skull fused to it, couldn't take in that information
I appreciated the stillness and calm of the Polish artist's tiny triptych concerning the Holocaust
Enjoyed the long mysterious strip of film turning from black into white, via jolts of blue and red
Remembered that I need to read Slaughter House 5, a few pages would be manageable
Surprisingly unfriendly atmosphere in the cafe, no table sharing, took my sore back to the dour balcony, made sure not to drop my coffee over the edge onto people way below
Launched into Marlene Dumas and was happy immediately
She paints with such certainty of colour and line, now I sound like an idiot!!
It was so clear when that deserted her, with Amy Winehouse, Princess Diana and the Crucifixion
Others really like those works, but I felt they weren't from her soul at all
Her colours were so sure, the brush strokes so placed and her sense of what she was experimenting with so strong
I need to know what else she is working on and want to be in her studio watching her
This video, 3 mins, inspired me to get up and go to London for her
See her passion and seriousness, how she uses her body, how she thinks, how she lives
I suggest not looking at the videos below, just go to London, then have a look at the other videos, with your own reactions and knowledge from being right there with her work
Interview in Dutch at her studio in Amsterdam, 10 mins
Russell Tovey on the show, 3 mins
Tachbrook Street
My father was a bit stubbly when I kissed him
My mother kissed me from her nap! reached up her arms, so we did that somehow
What else? sitting on my parents' bed
I brought tea up to my mother
We discussed some important things
We went downstairs and ate bread with butter and my father's plum and ginger jam
My mother showed me how she gets up from a chair without using her arms
My mother put on her coat and walked round to my car to say goodbye, without a stick
M4
A car gave us all a wary feeling, it was swerving every so often, we all dropped back behind it
I had a talk with myself about the importance of learning vocab
I decided I need to learn to read more and faster and not waste my time
Showing posts with label my parents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my parents. Show all posts
Sunday, 15 February 2015
Sunday, 21 December 2014
London - Anselm Keifer - Albion
Leaving before dawn for London
I was a satisfying feeling to be up and off so early. Breakfast at home, plus greeting my mother in French. She jumped and squeaked, fearing I was a well-dressed French relative who'd just turned up out of the blue, knocking on their bedroom door. I never realised saying 'bonjour' could be so alarming.
Then I had an argument with my father about love and relationships before finishing breakfast, that's a first. We didn't argue after that.
While my parents had a normal Saturday morning I buzzed off to see an exhibition I'd read about in a blog. Striking and bold. There were 2 references to Celan poems, so I'll look at those one day. The best part was looking closely at the surfaces of the paintings, the golden layers were so rough and perfect at the same time.
One room just contained a heap of massive book things plus sunflower heads. Being so big and spread out we could walk under it and look right at it. I don't think in words, just enjoy it all uncritically, like feeling the wind or rain.
There was a tea in the afternoon, I helped with laundry and felt I hadn't done much to benefit the household. It is confusing to come, then go away again. I try to read between the lines, but get nowhere, just get used to the buttons on their washing machine and dryer.
I even managed to lose my mother. She said she was going to get some cash as we walked out of the cafe, she walked off, so I thought, towards the cash point by the market and I did something back at the house then tried to catch up with her. No luck at all, so walked all the way back wondering how she'd gone so far so fast. There is a machine at the corner of the street...
In a way I cause more trouble than help coming to visit. Maybe that is always the way, simply a way of passing the time together and doing more mixed up living. I get to see the workings of the household, not just the elegant surface.
Jo Bell/Will Burns/George Chopping
The drive back went straight to Oxford. It was a surprise to be so suddenly back in my familiar parking place and walking down Observatory Street to get to the Albion Bookstore. Very good to meet some familiar faces again. I suggested I'd do a short review of Life on Easy Street by George Roberts. So my reading is focused on that now.
2 new to me poets read out their work and we all had time to talk in the interval. Hearing Jo Bell is good. I know her stance and delivery so well now. If I read a poem of hers on the page/screen I can hear her consonants and accent.
I wonder whether at a certain point I don't listen to the words' meanings at all, just watch and listen to the voices. I watch sheep and cattle, observe, no more. I don't want to interpret any more, just see each person's ways. Since I don't have to reply or discuss, I can switch off and bathe in their music. So I was starting to learn Will Burns and George Chopping.
Once I am used to that I am able to sense a difference when another emotion kicks in. Watching David Morley change profoundly as he shifted from non-Romany to Romany poems. I could see him become more himself. I wondered why he bothered doing anything apart from the work on his Romany side. The rest seemed so at odds with his deep self. This was on stage at the Swindon Poetry Festival this October.
I was a satisfying feeling to be up and off so early. Breakfast at home, plus greeting my mother in French. She jumped and squeaked, fearing I was a well-dressed French relative who'd just turned up out of the blue, knocking on their bedroom door. I never realised saying 'bonjour' could be so alarming.
Then I had an argument with my father about love and relationships before finishing breakfast, that's a first. We didn't argue after that.
While my parents had a normal Saturday morning I buzzed off to see an exhibition I'd read about in a blog. Striking and bold. There were 2 references to Celan poems, so I'll look at those one day. The best part was looking closely at the surfaces of the paintings, the golden layers were so rough and perfect at the same time.
One room just contained a heap of massive book things plus sunflower heads. Being so big and spread out we could walk under it and look right at it. I don't think in words, just enjoy it all uncritically, like feeling the wind or rain.
There was a tea in the afternoon, I helped with laundry and felt I hadn't done much to benefit the household. It is confusing to come, then go away again. I try to read between the lines, but get nowhere, just get used to the buttons on their washing machine and dryer.
I even managed to lose my mother. She said she was going to get some cash as we walked out of the cafe, she walked off, so I thought, towards the cash point by the market and I did something back at the house then tried to catch up with her. No luck at all, so walked all the way back wondering how she'd gone so far so fast. There is a machine at the corner of the street...
In a way I cause more trouble than help coming to visit. Maybe that is always the way, simply a way of passing the time together and doing more mixed up living. I get to see the workings of the household, not just the elegant surface.
Jo Bell/Will Burns/George Chopping
The drive back went straight to Oxford. It was a surprise to be so suddenly back in my familiar parking place and walking down Observatory Street to get to the Albion Bookstore. Very good to meet some familiar faces again. I suggested I'd do a short review of Life on Easy Street by George Roberts. So my reading is focused on that now.
2 new to me poets read out their work and we all had time to talk in the interval. Hearing Jo Bell is good. I know her stance and delivery so well now. If I read a poem of hers on the page/screen I can hear her consonants and accent.
I wonder whether at a certain point I don't listen to the words' meanings at all, just watch and listen to the voices. I watch sheep and cattle, observe, no more. I don't want to interpret any more, just see each person's ways. Since I don't have to reply or discuss, I can switch off and bathe in their music. So I was starting to learn Will Burns and George Chopping.
Once I am used to that I am able to sense a difference when another emotion kicks in. Watching David Morley change profoundly as he shifted from non-Romany to Romany poems. I could see him become more himself. I wondered why he bothered doing anything apart from the work on his Romany side. The rest seemed so at odds with his deep self. This was on stage at the Swindon Poetry Festival this October.
Monday, 17 November 2014
Woodstock Poetry Festival - This weekend in London
Woodstock Poetry Festival
Feel the entire room go still, holding their breath to a stunning love poem.
Enjoy the mystery of not knowing what each reading will contain.
Don't read out a poem which needs sharpening, people need my best.
Do read out a tight poem, even if it is almost too risky, for that murmur.
Clap extra loudly for the first time reader, welcome her in.
Look and listen to the reader being filmed, take in her voice.
...
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My mother has just got out of the car to go back home, but we waved at her to come across to the Serbian cafe. I could see her do a bit of thinking, then turn the zimmer frame to make her way over here. We all took photos of each other and talked too loudly. My brother took this one and my father is just to my brother's right, next to my mother. I had lost my cards and wallet, so was down to a £1.15 small espresso. I tipped every bit of sugar into it since it was included in the price. Wolfed down the biscuit too.
The necklace was one I'd found on the tarmac in the rain. No one took it from the top of my car, where I put it to be found by the owner, so I decided to keep it. Wearing it in public near where I had found it was not a very clever thing to do though. I imagined someone walking past and thinking it was just like the one they'd lost... All I would have had to do was hand it over and say sorry.
...
This weekend in London
Carry the breakfast tray my father has made for my mother, put it on the bed.
Wait for the next request, don't rush the morning, let her sleep.
Stand outside the shower room, waiting for my mother to finish.
Make an improvised tube of toothpaste for her from a corner of a plastic bag.
Sit on the bed with her sharing a hot chocolate and a danish from the cafe.
Never mind about past dramas, just live in each half hour.
Feel the entire room go still, holding their breath to a stunning love poem.
Enjoy the mystery of not knowing what each reading will contain.
Do read out a tight poem, even if it is almost too risky, for that murmur.
Clap extra loudly for the first time reader, welcome her in.
Look and listen to the reader being filmed, take in her voice.
...
My mother has just got out of the car to go back home, but we waved at her to come across to the Serbian cafe. I could see her do a bit of thinking, then turn the zimmer frame to make her way over here. We all took photos of each other and talked too loudly. My brother took this one and my father is just to my brother's right, next to my mother. I had lost my cards and wallet, so was down to a £1.15 small espresso. I tipped every bit of sugar into it since it was included in the price. Wolfed down the biscuit too.
The necklace was one I'd found on the tarmac in the rain. No one took it from the top of my car, where I put it to be found by the owner, so I decided to keep it. Wearing it in public near where I had found it was not a very clever thing to do though. I imagined someone walking past and thinking it was just like the one they'd lost... All I would have had to do was hand it over and say sorry.
...
This weekend in London
Carry the breakfast tray my father has made for my mother, put it on the bed.
Wait for the next request, don't rush the morning, let her sleep.
Stand outside the shower room, waiting for my mother to finish.
Make an improvised tube of toothpaste for her from a corner of a plastic bag.
Sit on the bed with her sharing a hot chocolate and a danish from the cafe.
Never mind about past dramas, just live in each half hour.
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Sitting in my father's study - Putting a collection of poetry together
Up to the right there is a clock he has had for years. I can almost read the formal Arabic now: al bank yamani al isha' wa al taqmiir...The Yemen Bank for Reconstruction and Development. Hmm, I am not certain enough. I will have to put the English through Google translate, then look more closely at the calligraphy with the extra decorative dots and such.
The family tree goes from 1227 to 1965 when my younger brother was born. We are both little handwritten footnotes squeezed in at the bottom. We used to look at our names when this chart was on the wall of the landing at Ovington Square and we were free to just wander about in the house.
There's a sheep's skull up between some books near the ceiling. We found it on holiday in Scotland in the 70's. It used to be on the drawing room mantle piece for years. Now it has been here for years.
If I crane my neck to the left there is an old jam jar of what can only be potassium permanganate. Bright blue crystals. I am no longer surprised by anything in here.
This desk is a sea of papers, glasses, old calculator, cup with coins in it, nice fountain pens and...surprise: more Arabic on some sort of luggage labels hanging from the angle-poise lamp.
al afdaliya - something about pleasing?
'anatiya khasa - ? ?
darja awf - class ?
as-s'awdiya - the Saudi created thing, untranslatable.
ad-darajat alawla - first class
This is very hard. I can't read plane labels yet.
---
Jeffrey Levine on the thinking and reflecting work needed over a long period of time. Measured and clear, read this first.
Katrina Vandenberg on the passionate reasons for a collection, from the innuendo of the space between stanzas to the necessity of revealing your obsessions. This is a fantastic read.
There is no reason why I shouldn't play around with what I have written in 2014 and see what I can make of it all, for my own pleasure.
The family tree goes from 1227 to 1965 when my younger brother was born. We are both little handwritten footnotes squeezed in at the bottom. We used to look at our names when this chart was on the wall of the landing at Ovington Square and we were free to just wander about in the house.
There's a sheep's skull up between some books near the ceiling. We found it on holiday in Scotland in the 70's. It used to be on the drawing room mantle piece for years. Now it has been here for years.
If I crane my neck to the left there is an old jam jar of what can only be potassium permanganate. Bright blue crystals. I am no longer surprised by anything in here.
This desk is a sea of papers, glasses, old calculator, cup with coins in it, nice fountain pens and...surprise: more Arabic on some sort of luggage labels hanging from the angle-poise lamp.
al afdaliya - something about pleasing?
'anatiya khasa - ? ?
darja awf - class ?
as-s'awdiya - the Saudi created thing, untranslatable.
ad-darajat alawla - first class
This is very hard. I can't read plane labels yet.
---
Jeffrey Levine on the thinking and reflecting work needed over a long period of time. Measured and clear, read this first.
Katrina Vandenberg on the passionate reasons for a collection, from the innuendo of the space between stanzas to the necessity of revealing your obsessions. This is a fantastic read.
There is no reason why I shouldn't play around with what I have written in 2014 and see what I can make of it all, for my own pleasure.
Tossing nearly everything overboard
Having abandoned nearly all the regular activities I used to have, I just focus on the key things:
Facebook
Blog
Email
Hall Writers' Forum, plus feedback I have promised to give
52 group on Facebook
plus a translation I have promised to do
and .... my Arabic classes with the home work
It is actually easier, because everything else goes into the bin or onto the big heap for another time.
A few years ago I told a friend that there was a great freedom in being at rock bottom. That was related to school, home education and autism/aspergers - or rather the uncomfortable clash between mainstream culture and what we actually needed.
This time it is a response to relatives in hospital, on top of the changes due to H going to school.
.....
If I look around this dining room, I can see 4 Madonnas.
I can also see the picture of my father which I must have taken 25 years ago because he looks about my age now. Also a recent one of my mother in a big hat, plus my favourite sculpture in the house, makes it sound as if I grew up in an art gallery, a Medici looking woman with a calm, steady demeanour. She used to be on the landing at Ovington Square, my grandparents' house.
I have booked my father's big screen for later, so I can relax by reading other people's poetry and making some comments.
Blog
Hall Writers' Forum, plus feedback I have promised to give
52 group on Facebook
plus a translation I have promised to do
and .... my Arabic classes with the home work
It is actually easier, because everything else goes into the bin or onto the big heap for another time.
A few years ago I told a friend that there was a great freedom in being at rock bottom. That was related to school, home education and autism/aspergers - or rather the uncomfortable clash between mainstream culture and what we actually needed.
This time it is a response to relatives in hospital, on top of the changes due to H going to school.
.....
If I look around this dining room, I can see 4 Madonnas.
I can also see the picture of my father which I must have taken 25 years ago because he looks about my age now. Also a recent one of my mother in a big hat, plus my favourite sculpture in the house, makes it sound as if I grew up in an art gallery, a Medici looking woman with a calm, steady demeanour. She used to be on the landing at Ovington Square, my grandparents' house.
I have booked my father's big screen for later, so I can relax by reading other people's poetry and making some comments.
Saturday, 13 September 2014
Catching my parents - Photographic breakthrough
This time I caught them driving from Arras to Calais to get on the train under the Channel. They had just had lunch. We swapped news until they needed to pay attention to a peage I think.
Big day: H took a photo of me and I think I have worked out how to send it to this laptop and upload it to this blog.
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That is fantastic, now I can include photos again after a few years of darkness.
Big day: H took a photo of me and I think I have worked out how to send it to this laptop and upload it to this blog.
That is fantastic, now I can include photos again after a few years of darkness.
Thursday, 24 July 2014
Lights in the dark - Festival launch - Massive storm
Lights in the dark
At night on the South Bank I saw a new-to-me footbridge over the Thames. It was all lit up so I walked and walked to get across it. Everywhere I looked I could see lights shining out in the very dark nights we get once summer gets underway here. It was balmy and sultry with a nice bit of breeze too. Perfect. There is something special about being mid-river, looking out to the city. The water always seems dangerous and fast flowing right down below, a silent counter-balance to the liveliness and chatter.
My feet couldn't take the hard pavements, so I got a taxi after the Houses of Parliament and was able to hear about the new circular tower which has been built seemingly above the buildings at the end of my street. In fact it is on the other side of the river. It had a golden layer near the top, but the taxi driver didn't know whether it was a restaurant. So there's a place to visit next time I am home.
Festival Launch
The Festival launch was a surprise. Normally I go with a friend to things like this, so it was a shock to be at a loose end, though I had a chat with someone before going in. The best bits were discovering new but famous poets and hearing already known-to-me poets. Even better than that was saying hi to the Prof who gave one of the lectures on the Iowa poetry class I am enjoying. As he spoke on stage I was thinking, yes that really is you! Just like in the video.
I excelled myself at the book stall by picking up a book and saying I shouldn't, but I'm going to have a little look at this first to decide whether I was going to buy it, then I glanced to my right and there was the author. I apologised for being so crass and she laughed and signed the book before I had even paid for it. She is a hugely political force in Romania. Amazing poems and delivery. I hadn't thought I would appreciate God references, but I guess the religion I am battling against and bathed in is not as much of an option as I had imagined.
First time
Earlier I'd said that I hoped I might bump into people I knew and might stay out for as long as I could get away with! Then I'd asked my father if there was a time I really needed to be back by so he could lock up. I have never had such a conversation with him before. He laughed and said midnight. My mother, characteristically, took this seriously and said no that was fine, just come back whenever and she'd come downstairs to open the door for me. In the old days she'd throw the keys down from their bedroom window onto the pavement! Then ply me with coffee to hear what I'd been up to... No time was too late for her.
Massive Storm
I didn't miss it completely, but only one flash woke me. There was no buffeting of the house by the wind. That is what keeps me awake out here in the country. The gusts are terrifying and all too dangerous as we have a 200? year old tree near us which may one day fall and crush two of the bedrooms to the West side of the house.
At night on the South Bank I saw a new-to-me footbridge over the Thames. It was all lit up so I walked and walked to get across it. Everywhere I looked I could see lights shining out in the very dark nights we get once summer gets underway here. It was balmy and sultry with a nice bit of breeze too. Perfect. There is something special about being mid-river, looking out to the city. The water always seems dangerous and fast flowing right down below, a silent counter-balance to the liveliness and chatter.
My feet couldn't take the hard pavements, so I got a taxi after the Houses of Parliament and was able to hear about the new circular tower which has been built seemingly above the buildings at the end of my street. In fact it is on the other side of the river. It had a golden layer near the top, but the taxi driver didn't know whether it was a restaurant. So there's a place to visit next time I am home.
Festival Launch
The Festival launch was a surprise. Normally I go with a friend to things like this, so it was a shock to be at a loose end, though I had a chat with someone before going in. The best bits were discovering new but famous poets and hearing already known-to-me poets. Even better than that was saying hi to the Prof who gave one of the lectures on the Iowa poetry class I am enjoying. As he spoke on stage I was thinking, yes that really is you! Just like in the video.
I excelled myself at the book stall by picking up a book and saying I shouldn't, but I'm going to have a little look at this first to decide whether I was going to buy it, then I glanced to my right and there was the author. I apologised for being so crass and she laughed and signed the book before I had even paid for it. She is a hugely political force in Romania. Amazing poems and delivery. I hadn't thought I would appreciate God references, but I guess the religion I am battling against and bathed in is not as much of an option as I had imagined.
First time
Earlier I'd said that I hoped I might bump into people I knew and might stay out for as long as I could get away with! Then I'd asked my father if there was a time I really needed to be back by so he could lock up. I have never had such a conversation with him before. He laughed and said midnight. My mother, characteristically, took this seriously and said no that was fine, just come back whenever and she'd come downstairs to open the door for me. In the old days she'd throw the keys down from their bedroom window onto the pavement! Then ply me with coffee to hear what I'd been up to... No time was too late for her.
Massive Storm
I didn't miss it completely, but only one flash woke me. There was no buffeting of the house by the wind. That is what keeps me awake out here in the country. The gusts are terrifying and all too dangerous as we have a 200? year old tree near us which may one day fall and crush two of the bedrooms to the West side of the house.
Wednesday, 9 July 2014
Car wash - Andrew Motion - This Room of Waiting - Milestone
Car wash
We piled into the back of T's car to help him with the process of going through the car wash for the first time. We had such a good time. Took photos, video, made a lot of noise, wondered if his aerial survived. All good.
Andrew Motion
A group of us went to sit in the front row and listen to a reading and explanation of his life. I can't put into words how seeing a person stand or sit there and speak alters the silent words on a page. Before I encountered poets reading out their own work and speaking a bit before and afterwards I had no idea about this reality which comes across so strongly.
I had been used to the facade people presented in my school, university and work life, not to mention family life until recently. It seemed to me that reality was a carefully hidden concept, to be teased out via special insights and articles in books I could never find. Now I see that reality is right there, shouting, waving its arms around. Just stop wishing things were different or should be some other way, and open your eyes.
Edinburgh/This Room of Waiting
My parents have been busy with the Queen's Garden Party at Holyrood and Gareeb Iskander, who took part in an Exiled Writers Ink reading recently in Oxford, has been busy with a book launch there too.
It is This Room of Waiting and has several reviews already. It is a bilingual edition so would be suitable for anyone studying on their own or who has a small study group to work on the Arabic together.
You can see that I am trying my best to create a study group. In my village or Didcot would be best. It hasn't come together yet, but I am always optimistic. I already have too many books to read over the summer, so I might delay getting the book until it is time to get a Christmas present for myself.
Another huge milestone
I had bought steak for supper. Since my head is not quite right I asked T if he'd be able to make some for me. He did! So he kindly brought me steak and chips, even with lettuce and a knife and fork. It was so delicious, manna from heaven. I have thanked him a couple of times, but it's not enough to explain how cared for I am.
We piled into the back of T's car to help him with the process of going through the car wash for the first time. We had such a good time. Took photos, video, made a lot of noise, wondered if his aerial survived. All good.
Andrew Motion
A group of us went to sit in the front row and listen to a reading and explanation of his life. I can't put into words how seeing a person stand or sit there and speak alters the silent words on a page. Before I encountered poets reading out their own work and speaking a bit before and afterwards I had no idea about this reality which comes across so strongly.
I had been used to the facade people presented in my school, university and work life, not to mention family life until recently. It seemed to me that reality was a carefully hidden concept, to be teased out via special insights and articles in books I could never find. Now I see that reality is right there, shouting, waving its arms around. Just stop wishing things were different or should be some other way, and open your eyes.
Edinburgh/This Room of Waiting
My parents have been busy with the Queen's Garden Party at Holyrood and Gareeb Iskander, who took part in an Exiled Writers Ink reading recently in Oxford, has been busy with a book launch there too.
It is This Room of Waiting and has several reviews already. It is a bilingual edition so would be suitable for anyone studying on their own or who has a small study group to work on the Arabic together.
You can see that I am trying my best to create a study group. In my village or Didcot would be best. It hasn't come together yet, but I am always optimistic. I already have too many books to read over the summer, so I might delay getting the book until it is time to get a Christmas present for myself.
Another huge milestone
I had bought steak for supper. Since my head is not quite right I asked T if he'd be able to make some for me. He did! So he kindly brought me steak and chips, even with lettuce and a knife and fork. It was so delicious, manna from heaven. I have thanked him a couple of times, but it's not enough to explain how cared for I am.
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