I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream - My father was the one who'd recite this one! We'd have tinned peaches with our vanilla ice cream, or my father would make chocolate sauce. A different version every time, just like mine now.
J - my brother. They both go out together to cafes, new ones each time, which is easy because London is built of cafes.
Kisses - she kissed/kisses me on the top of my head if I am sitting on a chair in the dining room and she is walking past. Very nice. That's my normal. I catch my sons with kisses too if I can.
Liver - and kidney are her dishes for when my father is well out of range. Delicious, I'd eat it with her.
Money - she likes people who have it, and likes to see it spent on beautiful items. Hmm, you can't spend it and still have it, I'm a banker's daughter.
Nou-nou - my mother's own mother was the 3rd child in Paris. At some point a wet nurse came to the family, leaving her own little one behind in Normandy. She was called Nou-Nou, a baby name for her. I have just looked it up, it's the formal French word for nanny, well, I never knew that.
...
Hozier - Take me to the church - listen to the softness in the singer's voice
Monday, 27 April 2015
Sunday, 26 April 2015
Carmen Bugan - Burying the Typewriter - The Interpreter's House
Burying the Typewriter
I read this in 24 hours, mainly in front of an open fire. I know Carmen a liitle from a writing forum, but I know her a lot better now. I am even more in awe of her too. Both genres of writing explain or flesh out the other. It's a lot more interesting and real to read what someone I know a bit is writing. Different perspectives on the same person and their back story.
The activities of the securitate, the Secret Police, were sometimes not secret at all. That seems to me to be part of their horror, the sheer lack of shame at what they were doing.
My father used to tell us stories of what dictators did, so somehow the vision of the policemen sitting in their very house didn't surprise me. I was aware of Saddam Hussein taking a member of his cabinet to the next room during a meeting and shooting him there and then.
My mother used to mention things with a special tone of voice, so I paid extra attention to them. The Fall of Saigon and the practice of FGM/female circumcision for example.
The calm and desperate women in Trafalgar Square used to show photos of bloody body parts from Iraq. If someone is moved to stand in the cold and the rain to tell total strangers about wrongs, they are to be believed. Back then it never crossed my mind to give them a smile and a hug. I did look at the photos though.
Neither of my parents talked about activism or protest. The main thing was not living under a dictatorship and to be earning enough money.
9 min video of Carmen Bugan speaking about writing the book.
The Interpreter's House
The pieces are arranged in alphabetical order of the writers' surnames, which neatly matches the bio data at the back.
Clare Best, Nick Burbridge, David Gale, Alex Harper, Rosie Jackson, Thomas Kearnes, Martin Kratz, Maggie Mackay, Roy Marshall, Amy McCauley, Jennifer A. McGowan (hi), Angela Readman (hi), Hilary Robinson, Myriam San Marco, Di Slaney, M. Stasiak, Paul Stephenson, David Troupes, Annette Volfing (hi), Lindsay Waller-Wilkinson, Julia Webb, Pauline Yarwood.
Now I am looking through the book at pieces by the other writers and they are so interesting too:
'..run careful fingers
over her small smooth skull.'
Bryan Tapia
'I sank.'
Hilary Robinson
I read this in 24 hours, mainly in front of an open fire. I know Carmen a liitle from a writing forum, but I know her a lot better now. I am even more in awe of her too. Both genres of writing explain or flesh out the other. It's a lot more interesting and real to read what someone I know a bit is writing. Different perspectives on the same person and their back story.
The activities of the securitate, the Secret Police, were sometimes not secret at all. That seems to me to be part of their horror, the sheer lack of shame at what they were doing.
My father used to tell us stories of what dictators did, so somehow the vision of the policemen sitting in their very house didn't surprise me. I was aware of Saddam Hussein taking a member of his cabinet to the next room during a meeting and shooting him there and then.
My mother used to mention things with a special tone of voice, so I paid extra attention to them. The Fall of Saigon and the practice of FGM/female circumcision for example.
The calm and desperate women in Trafalgar Square used to show photos of bloody body parts from Iraq. If someone is moved to stand in the cold and the rain to tell total strangers about wrongs, they are to be believed. Back then it never crossed my mind to give them a smile and a hug. I did look at the photos though.
Neither of my parents talked about activism or protest. The main thing was not living under a dictatorship and to be earning enough money.
9 min video of Carmen Bugan speaking about writing the book.
The Interpreter's House
The pieces are arranged in alphabetical order of the writers' surnames, which neatly matches the bio data at the back.
Clare Best, Nick Burbridge, David Gale, Alex Harper, Rosie Jackson, Thomas Kearnes, Martin Kratz, Maggie Mackay, Roy Marshall, Amy McCauley, Jennifer A. McGowan (hi), Angela Readman (hi), Hilary Robinson, Myriam San Marco, Di Slaney, M. Stasiak, Paul Stephenson, David Troupes, Annette Volfing (hi), Lindsay Waller-Wilkinson, Julia Webb, Pauline Yarwood.
Now I am looking through the book at pieces by the other writers and they are so interesting too:
'..run careful fingers
over her small smooth skull.'
Bryan Tapia
'I sank.'
Hilary Robinson
Saturday, 25 April 2015
'Afloat in a glass-bottom boat, I see into the sea--'
'Afloat in a glass-bottom boat, I see into the sea--'
So simple, shockingly light and almost normal, almost just any old sentence, but it isn't. From "The Unfollowing" a poem by Lyn Hejinian on this blog of blogs, written by Karen Carlson.
...
'In a small town, everything is elsewhere'
Ok, now I will add from the top. This one is from "Code" by Marvin Bell, see also Dead Man Poems, About the Dead Man and Government. I think there are too many links already.
...
'all acts of reading start from a rectangle'
I will start my list of phrases with that one from Sarah Rose Murphy's blog.
'How do you understand your womanhood?' also from Sarah Rose Murphy
So simple, shockingly light and almost normal, almost just any old sentence, but it isn't. From "The Unfollowing" a poem by Lyn Hejinian on this blog of blogs, written by Karen Carlson.
...
'In a small town, everything is elsewhere'
Ok, now I will add from the top. This one is from "Code" by Marvin Bell, see also Dead Man Poems, About the Dead Man and Government. I think there are too many links already.
...
'all acts of reading start from a rectangle'
I will start my list of phrases with that one from Sarah Rose Murphy's blog.
'How do you understand your womanhood?' also from Sarah Rose Murphy
Friday, 24 April 2015
Disaster tourist in Oxford - Taste of Cherries by Abbas Kiarastami - Sitting on a kerb
Disaster tourist
I stood and looked up at the black burnt timbers of the one damaged section of the Randolph's roof. I wonder how long it will be before the structure is cool enough for a scaffolding roof to be put over it. When it rains the water will add to the water already poured in by the fire engines. I wouldn't like to be managing that building. Imagine the smell and the damp and the damage inside. My own house is quite complicated enough.
Taste of Cherries
Each time I watched further into the film, restarting from the beginning.
I found the pressurising attitude of the central character worrying. Was this representative of his internal problem? The soldier and even the birds rushed away from him. I don't know where to start with making comments. It's similar to engaging with a poem, the more I am in the zone of floating about with thoughts and memories, the more I could discuss any topic under the sun and relate it to or find it in the film. It would depend on the person I am talking with too and what they say.
I could give myself some sort of severe constraint in order to make myself write comments replying to my own self, based on and circling around the film. One small page of my note book, 3 words per line, fill each page, stick to one topic per page, keep going up til the tiny notebook is complete, then leave it, never to return. That sounds intransigent enough to produce results!
It's mulberries in the film anyway, so why put cherries in the title in English?
Kerb
I called my mother, she was in the car.
I told her 'I am your one and only daughter' when she wasn't quite sure who was calling her. Then she said I had sounded different, she hadn't recognised me, so I explained that I'd just finished work, so maybe that was it.
Then I sat down on a kerb, by a bike park. One or two people looked at me as if I were in trouble, but I wasn't, just chatting and listening carefully, blocking out the whole city.
My mother was looking on the bright side a little too much, so I said 'Things aren't 100%, are they?' which she agreed with. I could hear it in her voice.
I stood and looked up at the black burnt timbers of the one damaged section of the Randolph's roof. I wonder how long it will be before the structure is cool enough for a scaffolding roof to be put over it. When it rains the water will add to the water already poured in by the fire engines. I wouldn't like to be managing that building. Imagine the smell and the damp and the damage inside. My own house is quite complicated enough.
Taste of Cherries
Each time I watched further into the film, restarting from the beginning.
I found the pressurising attitude of the central character worrying. Was this representative of his internal problem? The soldier and even the birds rushed away from him. I don't know where to start with making comments. It's similar to engaging with a poem, the more I am in the zone of floating about with thoughts and memories, the more I could discuss any topic under the sun and relate it to or find it in the film. It would depend on the person I am talking with too and what they say.
I could give myself some sort of severe constraint in order to make myself write comments replying to my own self, based on and circling around the film. One small page of my note book, 3 words per line, fill each page, stick to one topic per page, keep going up til the tiny notebook is complete, then leave it, never to return. That sounds intransigent enough to produce results!
It's mulberries in the film anyway, so why put cherries in the title in English?
Kerb
I called my mother, she was in the car.
I told her 'I am your one and only daughter' when she wasn't quite sure who was calling her. Then she said I had sounded different, she hadn't recognised me, so I explained that I'd just finished work, so maybe that was it.
Then I sat down on a kerb, by a bike park. One or two people looked at me as if I were in trouble, but I wasn't, just chatting and listening carefully, blocking out the whole city.
My mother was looking on the bright side a little too much, so I said 'Things aren't 100%, are they?' which she agreed with. I could hear it in her voice.
Thursday, 23 April 2015
Mothers use their bodies
I had a little think as I was standing in the kitchen. Last autumn was very stressful.
I used my body to sleep on my mother in law's sofa the night she came home from hospital, just in case. Then I used it to sleep on our own sofa, a few rooms further away from her, but still near her door, just in case.
Only 2 weeks later I used my body again, to sleep in my mother's double guest bed, which I would have shared with her, only she then decided to be in with my father, but I was there on the floor above them, just in case.
This Easter holidays, it's a bit of a theme.., both T and H were unwell, along with me, so I lurked on the sofa, feeling dizzy when lying down, but better when I was sitting up. In good moments I used my body as a mother to investigate rooms which might have needed help (bleach...), put the laundry on, then went back to not ruling the household with my eyes shut and feeling odd.
When I can, I sit in the kitchen using this laptop, which means I can be asked to move money from account to account, or listen to words. Even the cat wants me, so sometimes I have time to sit and let her fall asleep, sprawling her furry arms and legs in different ways each time.
Not being there is profoundly wrong, yet sometimes has to be done. Is there a being there which doesn't include the body? No, there's no getting round that fact.
I used my body to sleep on my mother in law's sofa the night she came home from hospital, just in case. Then I used it to sleep on our own sofa, a few rooms further away from her, but still near her door, just in case.
Only 2 weeks later I used my body again, to sleep in my mother's double guest bed, which I would have shared with her, only she then decided to be in with my father, but I was there on the floor above them, just in case.
This Easter holidays, it's a bit of a theme.., both T and H were unwell, along with me, so I lurked on the sofa, feeling dizzy when lying down, but better when I was sitting up. In good moments I used my body as a mother to investigate rooms which might have needed help (bleach...), put the laundry on, then went back to not ruling the household with my eyes shut and feeling odd.
When I can, I sit in the kitchen using this laptop, which means I can be asked to move money from account to account, or listen to words. Even the cat wants me, so sometimes I have time to sit and let her fall asleep, sprawling her furry arms and legs in different ways each time.
Not being there is profoundly wrong, yet sometimes has to be done. Is there a being there which doesn't include the body? No, there's no getting round that fact.
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
what exactly is a prose poem in contemporary arabic literature
For my own reference: links thrown up by my search above:
https://www.soas.ac.uk/courseunits/155900901.html - good bibliography, I have read some already.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prose_poetry - list of French and German writers I should have read but haven't! I'm not a slacker, just someone who liked sitting on my rug on the grass in the sunshine, chatting.
There are plenty more, but this is quite enough. Another entry gave some paragraphs from a book I have only 2 feet away from where I am sitting right now.
...
http://www.poetrypreviews.com/poets/prosepoem.html - some English writers of the pp, plus links.
http://magmapoetry.com/archive/magma-42/articles/poetry-in-practice-are-prose-poems-poems/ - anything from Magma is excellent.
...
There were 2 sentences which explained exactly what I wanted to know. When I find them I will quote them.
Short sentences in separate lines.
https://www.soas.ac.uk/courseunits/155900901.html - good bibliography, I have read some already.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prose_poetry - list of French and German writers I should have read but haven't! I'm not a slacker, just someone who liked sitting on my rug on the grass in the sunshine, chatting.
There are plenty more, but this is quite enough. Another entry gave some paragraphs from a book I have only 2 feet away from where I am sitting right now.
...
http://www.poetrypreviews.com/poets/prosepoem.html - some English writers of the pp, plus links.
http://magmapoetry.com/archive/magma-42/articles/poetry-in-practice-are-prose-poems-poems/ - anything from Magma is excellent.
...
There were 2 sentences which explained exactly what I wanted to know. When I find them I will quote them.
Short sentences in separate lines.
Monday, 20 April 2015
I used to..
..go around with the entirety of modern Arabic in my handbag! Now I am just going to have my own tiny dictionary plus the book I write in every day.
As I drove to school today I picked phrases I wanted to write: The field is yellow, the birds are black...but then found myself wanting to be able to write: My friend's husband is dead, my French grandmother is dead..a whole litany of this. Where does it all come from?
Now I need my formal dictionaries in order to find the words I actually want for my small one. They are upstairs, the other things are in the car and I am in the kitchen. I need long arms to reach out to get them all!
As I drove to school today I picked phrases I wanted to write: The field is yellow, the birds are black...but then found myself wanting to be able to write: My friend's husband is dead, my French grandmother is dead..a whole litany of this. Where does it all come from?
Now I need my formal dictionaries in order to find the words I actually want for my small one. They are upstairs, the other things are in the car and I am in the kitchen. I need long arms to reach out to get them all!
Saturday, 18 April 2015
A, B, C, D - alphabet of my mother
Apple - My mother used to cut up an apple into 8 pieces and then peel it. She'd do this once my father had left the table after dinner. My brother and I would stay at the table to chat about how I was born or other important things. When I was pregnant with Thomas and feeling that I needed to stay sitting on the bean bag instead of standing up to make lunch for them, she brought me a saucer with apple cut into these same shapes :)
Books - She would read standing up, or walking up and down the stairs. She could even translate from French to English for us, to explain why she was enjoying a particular section of a Claudine book she'd just picked up. Sometimes she'd have the newspaper and would read out one phrase because it make her laugh. My father used to say that she just counted the pages, because she read so fast. I think she read out of order too, jumping around in a book.
Chicken - She'd make very tasty roast chicken, with no fuss or explaining what recipe she'd followed. She just cooked it. Then she'd simmer the bones to make soup, again with no fuss, she'd just do it.
Dancing - I don't think she was ever a dancer, but she did mention a film in the late 50's which involved twisting in the aisles. She has never been interested in Scottish Dancing, so I went along with my father and learnt it with him.
Enjoying - cafes, making toast, throwing the keys out of their bedroom windows when I rang the bell at 3 in the morning after a party, buying me apricot Danish and cappuccino at more cafes, laughing as I push her in hospital in a wonky wheelchair, agreeing to bunk off church and talk together before meeting up with my father after the service for the drinks afterwards.
Basically everything is an opportunity for imperfect happiness.
Finding - or rather, not finding things.
One of my talents is to suggest looking under her side of the bed for whateveritis!
Great swear words - her mantra when stressed when we were teenage was 'boredom and nausea' which I now realise is a translation of Sartre's book La Nausee.
Hats - those big floppy hats for weddings used to cause big trouble if my brother and I somehow squashed them while they were on the shelf behind us in the back of the car. Oh dear!
Books - She would read standing up, or walking up and down the stairs. She could even translate from French to English for us, to explain why she was enjoying a particular section of a Claudine book she'd just picked up. Sometimes she'd have the newspaper and would read out one phrase because it make her laugh. My father used to say that she just counted the pages, because she read so fast. I think she read out of order too, jumping around in a book.
Chicken - She'd make very tasty roast chicken, with no fuss or explaining what recipe she'd followed. She just cooked it. Then she'd simmer the bones to make soup, again with no fuss, she'd just do it.
Dancing - I don't think she was ever a dancer, but she did mention a film in the late 50's which involved twisting in the aisles. She has never been interested in Scottish Dancing, so I went along with my father and learnt it with him.
Enjoying - cafes, making toast, throwing the keys out of their bedroom windows when I rang the bell at 3 in the morning after a party, buying me apricot Danish and cappuccino at more cafes, laughing as I push her in hospital in a wonky wheelchair, agreeing to bunk off church and talk together before meeting up with my father after the service for the drinks afterwards.
Basically everything is an opportunity for imperfect happiness.
Finding - or rather, not finding things.
One of my talents is to suggest looking under her side of the bed for whateveritis!
Great swear words - her mantra when stressed when we were teenage was 'boredom and nausea' which I now realise is a translation of Sartre's book La Nausee.
Hats - those big floppy hats for weddings used to cause big trouble if my brother and I somehow squashed them while they were on the shelf behind us in the back of the car. Oh dear!
Friday, 17 April 2015
Walking from Summertown to Broad Street in the sun
I am getting to the point of not quite believing that all I have to do to hear my mother's voice is phone her. It is becoming less normal and more miraculous. She really does answer and really does speak in real time to me as I walk down a noisy road.
She even calls me back because my phone is the one with a small amount of credit on it. I don't even feel embarrassed to ask her to do that. Anything is ok now I feel.
So I update her on my plans, it feels different to detail where I am with neutral words, just sharing facts. It's temporary, it's a stepping stone, I'll see how it goes, I have to give details for the referencing process, the paperwork hasn't been signed yet.
Try not to criticise anyone, try not to swear. Though yesterday I had a right-old rant with 2 people I know well! After that I went back to careful-speak mode again.
...
There is so much to learn, silver markings, china manufacturers, getting a sense for what is worth what. I need my own loup with a little LED light in it. Various cleaning fluids to make the glass and china look beautiful.
Soon I'll go back to the Ashmolean simply to examine how items are displayed. I want to look at their mix of colours and shapes in each space. All these little worlds, independent of each other. Different varieties of beauty and contrast.
I fiddle around with the displays, putting eye-catching items by the street window, wanting them to be bought straight away!
She even calls me back because my phone is the one with a small amount of credit on it. I don't even feel embarrassed to ask her to do that. Anything is ok now I feel.
So I update her on my plans, it feels different to detail where I am with neutral words, just sharing facts. It's temporary, it's a stepping stone, I'll see how it goes, I have to give details for the referencing process, the paperwork hasn't been signed yet.
Try not to criticise anyone, try not to swear. Though yesterday I had a right-old rant with 2 people I know well! After that I went back to careful-speak mode again.
...
There is so much to learn, silver markings, china manufacturers, getting a sense for what is worth what. I need my own loup with a little LED light in it. Various cleaning fluids to make the glass and china look beautiful.
Soon I'll go back to the Ashmolean simply to examine how items are displayed. I want to look at their mix of colours and shapes in each space. All these little worlds, independent of each other. Different varieties of beauty and contrast.
I fiddle around with the displays, putting eye-catching items by the street window, wanting them to be bought straight away!
Thursday, 16 April 2015
Finding silver linings
This weekend's room has a misty looking window blind:
There was a steam room too, smile. Big drops of hot water fell from the ceiling every few minutes in different places. After a bit I realised I'd better cover my eyes so I wouldn't get splashed from directly overhead.
My friend A-M came to visit and we chatted on a large sofa while a bride went up the stairs with her groom. Candles dotted along the corridors, on all the tables. Little bridesmaid asking her father if she could go for a swim, not now, why? Tiny girl walking hand in hand with her father down another long corridor.
...
Dhafer Youssef: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN0IlHz6aIU At 45:50 minutes there is a particularly lovely section.
There was a steam room too, smile. Big drops of hot water fell from the ceiling every few minutes in different places. After a bit I realised I'd better cover my eyes so I wouldn't get splashed from directly overhead.
My friend A-M came to visit and we chatted on a large sofa while a bride went up the stairs with her groom. Candles dotted along the corridors, on all the tables. Little bridesmaid asking her father if she could go for a swim, not now, why? Tiny girl walking hand in hand with her father down another long corridor.
...
Dhafer Youssef: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN0IlHz6aIU At 45:50 minutes there is a particularly lovely section.
Public Spaces - Brian Nesbit - Workshop - Catweazle
Long lines:
Public Spaces
I am fascinated by the horse hoof shoes, they even have no heels.
Such small black belts, supports for horse hair tails.
My eyes open wide, this is from the 70's, a horse show in the country.
Yes, the 70's had a dream-like surreal quality to it, running parallel to the strikes.
How do the men feel as they put on the policemen's uniform?
Standing together with the others, acting together.
Respecting the real-life police horse trainer shouting clear orders.
Brian Nisbet
Now to my department, but for poetry this time.
I meet Brian Nesbit and hold the hand he offers me, turn my ear to hear him better.
His close friend reads out his poems to a crowded room.
Babies and children are taken in and out.
A little boy pushes his shoe against my knee, the sweetest familiar feeling.
I try to explain how one day the parents might adore every fraction of other peoples' younger children, it's an impossible task.
One line is what I needed to hear, about being in the presence, which poem was it?
I wonder how I can rearrange my life, be with more people, more regularly.
I hold Brian's hand again, we say goodbye, I chat with his wife's relatives on the terrace.
Workshop
We share one poem each, mine gets the shocked murmur.
I realise I need to switch the stanzas around a few days later.
I ask a friend out to coffee, she asks me to go to Catweazle instead.
Catweazle
We finally sit on the carpet at the front for the second half.
Energetic guitar players and a mesmerising balloon stage artist.
We are rapt when he stands in silence, dealing with mishaps with a simple stage presence.
My feet get sore, there is a lot of pavement for a small city.
Public Spaces
I am fascinated by the horse hoof shoes, they even have no heels.
Such small black belts, supports for horse hair tails.
My eyes open wide, this is from the 70's, a horse show in the country.
Yes, the 70's had a dream-like surreal quality to it, running parallel to the strikes.
How do the men feel as they put on the policemen's uniform?
Standing together with the others, acting together.
Respecting the real-life police horse trainer shouting clear orders.
Brian Nisbet
Now to my department, but for poetry this time.
I meet Brian Nesbit and hold the hand he offers me, turn my ear to hear him better.
His close friend reads out his poems to a crowded room.
Babies and children are taken in and out.
A little boy pushes his shoe against my knee, the sweetest familiar feeling.
I try to explain how one day the parents might adore every fraction of other peoples' younger children, it's an impossible task.
One line is what I needed to hear, about being in the presence, which poem was it?
I wonder how I can rearrange my life, be with more people, more regularly.
I hold Brian's hand again, we say goodbye, I chat with his wife's relatives on the terrace.
Workshop
We share one poem each, mine gets the shocked murmur.
I realise I need to switch the stanzas around a few days later.
I ask a friend out to coffee, she asks me to go to Catweazle instead.
Catweazle
We finally sit on the carpet at the front for the second half.
Energetic guitar players and a mesmerising balloon stage artist.
We are rapt when he stands in silence, dealing with mishaps with a simple stage presence.
My feet get sore, there is a lot of pavement for a small city.
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
On top of the roof
I have been up all the ladders and scaffolding today. Right up to the chimney pots. It's wonderful up there. The roofers are fixing so many problems and it looks so neat.
Three of us climbed up and discussed the most recent issues, peering under the edges of the roof tiles, putting my hand in the dry, dusty gaps between the wall and the roof. Holding different gutter fittings. Kneeling on planks. Holding the scaffolding.
From there we could see over the green gardens and fields. There are some bees at the top of one chimney all of a sudden, so I'll light a fire to smoke them out. It is our main fireplace, so they shouldn't be there.
Each set of ladders feels different. I hold on like a monkey and like the climbing up and down. I prefer being up there, it's like being on the sea bed being down on the ground again now.
Three of us climbed up and discussed the most recent issues, peering under the edges of the roof tiles, putting my hand in the dry, dusty gaps between the wall and the roof. Holding different gutter fittings. Kneeling on planks. Holding the scaffolding.
From there we could see over the green gardens and fields. There are some bees at the top of one chimney all of a sudden, so I'll light a fire to smoke them out. It is our main fireplace, so they shouldn't be there.
Each set of ladders feels different. I hold on like a monkey and like the climbing up and down. I prefer being up there, it's like being on the sea bed being down on the ground again now.
Sunday, 12 April 2015
Valentine to the Turbine Hall - Surprise in Tate Britain - Writing
I think this may have been the first thing I ever saw at the Tate Modern. I'd made it to London while the children were small and somehow got there on my own. It was hushed and humming at the same time. People were in a trance, lying down or standing there. There was some sort of mist in the air. It was huge, vast, eternal. (I had deleted this section, but now I want it back in again.)
I could just look up and up.I had heard how big it all was, and knew it was what I needed. I still need it now. I am always on my own, taking my own time, not explaining myself to anyone. I could visit a railway station for exactly the same reason, or just wait for a train.
In fact that's the story of my school and working life, waiting and waiting for trains, on my own, just looking at the rails, the ceilings and the wires looping along the walls in the blackness. Or standing in the train reading and finding myself thinking parallel thoughts at the same time.
Surprise in Tate Britain
I took much longer enjoying this. I thought that looking at it intently would bring other people over to look too. No chance. So, what's wrong with people in London? I imagined my mother in law's hamster exploring the little world in there :) I wanted to touch the solids/stones/rocks/unearthly extrusions, but pulled back, just let my eyes linger on them. The sand and the combination of orderliness and confusion made me happy too.
Writing hints
I have been all wrong since the autumn. Why is that? Anyhow, I am having to explore my own silences and experience new sensations. Each writing year is different from the one before. IOWA and 52 last year. My Didcot poetry group of 3 is this year's event, plus the ongoing discussions on the Hall Writers' Forum. Slant is new, feels too public after the intense intimacy, privacy and trust in 52. I also have Poetry at the Ashmolean, that's new and I'm simply observing so far. Reading collections in an intent way and writing about them is new. It takes much more effort than I'd expected.
“I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten — happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another. ”
― Brenda Ueland
“I remember standing on a street corner with the black painter Beauford Delaney down in the Village, waiting for the light to change, and he pointed down and said, ‘Look.’ I looked and all I saw was water. And he said, ‘Look again,’ which I did, and I saw oil on the water and the city reflected in the puddle. It was a great revelation to me. I can’t explain it. He taught me how to see, and how to trust what I saw. Painters have often taught writers how to see. And once you’ve had that experience, you see differently.”
“We have come to think that duty should come first. I disagree. Duty should be a by-product. Writing, the creative effort, the use of the imagination, should come first – at least, for some part of every day of your life. It is a wonderful blessing if you use it. You will become happier, more enlightened, alive, impassioned, light-hearted and generous to everybody else. Even your health will improve. Colds will disappear and all the other ailments of discouragement and boredom.”
― Brenda Ueland (again).
Look at these titles
I had a bit of a read, but 10 mins was enough. Since I had 5 mins left of my allocated time I just looked at some titles. What an array:
the tragedy of the leaves
junk
the loner
in a neighborhood of murder
when Hugo Wolf went mad
trashcan lives
Sunday lunch at the Holy Mission
safe
the big one
the genius
Charles Bukowski, by the way.
...
http://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/video/tateshots-antony-gormley-breaking-bread
the tragedy of the leaves
junk
the loner
in a neighborhood of murder
when Hugo Wolf went mad
trashcan lives
Sunday lunch at the Holy Mission
safe
the big one
the genius
Charles Bukowski, by the way.
...
http://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/video/tateshots-antony-gormley-breaking-bread
Saturday, 11 April 2015
Fresh turbulence
I am used to it now.
The summer classes have been cancelled, so I am on my own with Arabic again. I have chosen a previous text book I had only just started a year ago and will continue through it page by page. I also have a new simple grammar book. Having a system helps me so much.
As long as I keep on learning for the 6 months until the Autumn term starts again I will be happy.
In the car I heard 'nuhib' and instantly knew that it meant 'we love', how great! I was so pleased with myself. No effort..I don't respond well to effort and pressure...just driving along listening to songs. Children just learn as the days roll along, so do I.
...
http://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/video/tracey-emins-my-bed-tateshots I used to add music at the end of posts. Now I fancy adding Tate Shots videos.
The summer classes have been cancelled, so I am on my own with Arabic again. I have chosen a previous text book I had only just started a year ago and will continue through it page by page. I also have a new simple grammar book. Having a system helps me so much.
As long as I keep on learning for the 6 months until the Autumn term starts again I will be happy.
In the car I heard 'nuhib' and instantly knew that it meant 'we love', how great! I was so pleased with myself. No effort..I don't respond well to effort and pressure...just driving along listening to songs. Children just learn as the days roll along, so do I.
...
http://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/video/tracey-emins-my-bed-tateshots I used to add music at the end of posts. Now I fancy adding Tate Shots videos.
Friday, 10 April 2015
Mosaic Rooms - Hrair Sarkissian
2 films at the same time.
I could only see one at a time as they were facing each other across a large room. I switched from one to the other assessing their relationship to each other.
The sound track from one was the only noise in the room.
The progress of smashing and demolition in one film was out of synch with the collapsing building in the other film.
Just because someone has made such a film doesn't mean I have to spend any time there. It is a free choice. That's what I prefer above all.
Upstairs there were large photographs which seemed extra still. All photos are still, but these were more so than usual. The dark green trees gave me that impression.
The book shop is enticing. Since there was no charge and I was staying for free at my parents' house I had some £ to spend. Call it an investment in the cultural life of several nations.
Tate Shots short film of Hrair Sarkissian speaking about a different exhibition.
I could only see one at a time as they were facing each other across a large room. I switched from one to the other assessing their relationship to each other.
The sound track from one was the only noise in the room.
The progress of smashing and demolition in one film was out of synch with the collapsing building in the other film.
Just because someone has made such a film doesn't mean I have to spend any time there. It is a free choice. That's what I prefer above all.
Upstairs there were large photographs which seemed extra still. All photos are still, but these were more so than usual. The dark green trees gave me that impression.
The book shop is enticing. Since there was no charge and I was staying for free at my parents' house I had some £ to spend. Call it an investment in the cultural life of several nations.
Tate Shots short film of Hrair Sarkissian speaking about a different exhibition.
Thursday, 9 April 2015
Easter lunch - Mother's Milk Books Writing Prize Anthology 2013
Easter
My brother and I both fooled around with our phones. Now I can't double click to get hold of them. My mother had an idea to seat us facing each other, 2 versus 2, instead of having my father at one end of the table. The dynamics were more friendly, cosy even, this way. We had flowers at each end of the table.
Photos...
To prevent interrupting we waved a paper knife around, the talking stick. We didn't actually use it, but we were better than usual at taking turns to talk.
I made some mini films before lunch. Apparently there is a whole world of them out there on Vine. I thought I had thought of it myself. One of my mother's hands chopping potatoes, another of my brother's hands.
Films...
While we had champagne upstairs I took photos of the mantle piece and bookshelves. It's an easy way to take all those items back home with me. One is of my brother aged 2, looking thoughtful on a park bench, and another of me aged 3, little feet sticking out and happily looking at a big French children's picture book.
Photos...
Mother's Milk Anthology - 'Parenting' - edited by Teika Bellamy
While H was having his 2nd driving lesson I stumbled on the Mother's Milk collection. I read most of it, flicking around the booklet, sitting on the floor. My poetry books are so hard to separate out into sections, so I read one instead. I am sure I recognise some poets' names from 52 in there.
My brother and I both fooled around with our phones. Now I can't double click to get hold of them. My mother had an idea to seat us facing each other, 2 versus 2, instead of having my father at one end of the table. The dynamics were more friendly, cosy even, this way. We had flowers at each end of the table.
Photos...
To prevent interrupting we waved a paper knife around, the talking stick. We didn't actually use it, but we were better than usual at taking turns to talk.
I made some mini films before lunch. Apparently there is a whole world of them out there on Vine. I thought I had thought of it myself. One of my mother's hands chopping potatoes, another of my brother's hands.
Films...
Photos...
Mother's Milk Anthology - 'Parenting' - edited by Teika Bellamy
While H was having his 2nd driving lesson I stumbled on the Mother's Milk collection. I read most of it, flicking around the booklet, sitting on the floor. My poetry books are so hard to separate out into sections, so I read one instead. I am sure I recognise some poets' names from 52 in there.
Wednesday, 8 April 2015
Straightforward word counting
شارَكَتْ معظم دول العالم المتحضر الأسبوع الماضي في اليوم العالمي للتوعية بمرض التوحد، الذي حدد في الثاني من شهر أبريل كل عام.
I can read about a third of the sentence. Progress. It is the start of a post on this blog: Abdullah Alami. I think I know 13/22 words and I recognise, but can't remember, 3/22. So 6/22 are totally new.
I'm tired now and will leave looking them up for another time.
I can read about a third of the sentence. Progress. It is the start of a post on this blog: Abdullah Alami. I think I know 13/22 words and I recognise, but can't remember, 3/22. So 6/22 are totally new.
I'm tired now and will leave looking them up for another time.
Focused Reading - Atef Abu Saif/Comma Press - Claudia Downs
Focused Reading
The top priority book stack has been arranged neatly on a shelf.
A short list is still on my desk. Each entry is followed by a blank space for 'unplanned reading', because I need to be realistic about my love of reading around.
Atef Abu Saif
Yes, I love hearing people speak about what moves them and what motivates them, their hopes. This video is from his book launch in Manchester in 2014.
Comma Press has a whole page of links to its authors, I wish you happy browsing. Actually, it is too extensive. I need to go away and do something useful with my poetry files...
New Blog
http://claudiadowns.tumblr.com/
Look for 'tiny lasagne' on http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?p=8385
The top priority book stack has been arranged neatly on a shelf.
A short list is still on my desk. Each entry is followed by a blank space for 'unplanned reading', because I need to be realistic about my love of reading around.
Atef Abu Saif
Yes, I love hearing people speak about what moves them and what motivates them, their hopes. This video is from his book launch in Manchester in 2014.
Comma Press has a whole page of links to its authors, I wish you happy browsing. Actually, it is too extensive. I need to go away and do something useful with my poetry files...
New Blog
http://claudiadowns.tumblr.com/
Look for 'tiny lasagne' on http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?p=8385
Tuesday, 7 April 2015
Yoshka and Dreen by Jude Montague
I went past Occupy Goldsmiths and foolishly missed my chance to suppoet...support an Occupy. Someone in a bar told me where Hart's Lane Studios was. My phone had died, so I just had to keep asking.
The door had a narrow glass panel in it which didn't seem to reflect properly, it turned out to be an open mini-door to be climbed through to get into the space.
Keeping my coat on, eating doritos and dip! Wandering about peering into the series of wooden drawers hanging from the wall. Trying out the small Slinkie attached to a guitar and amplifier.
Happy to see the real versions of the photos I have been enjoying on Facebook since Jude started her exhibition a couple of weeks ago. The little toy cars, the blue and white china tea pot. The two mismatched beds. The hollow chair.
The twigs, the walls, mmm, the lights.
Then Jude and co-artists performed. Links/videos:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QKRRb5NnvzU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3fBwl_FGX0
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBK6iL5M6hY
The poem will be published with photos from the installation. I read it a few months ago, a massive privilege.
The door had a narrow glass panel in it which didn't seem to reflect properly, it turned out to be an open mini-door to be climbed through to get into the space.
Keeping my coat on, eating doritos and dip! Wandering about peering into the series of wooden drawers hanging from the wall. Trying out the small Slinkie attached to a guitar and amplifier.
Happy to see the real versions of the photos I have been enjoying on Facebook since Jude started her exhibition a couple of weeks ago. The little toy cars, the blue and white china tea pot. The two mismatched beds. The hollow chair.
The twigs, the walls, mmm, the lights.
Then Jude and co-artists performed. Links/videos:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QKRRb5NnvzU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3fBwl_FGX0
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBK6iL5M6hY
The poem will be published with photos from the installation. I read it a few months ago, a massive privilege.
Monday, 6 April 2015
Black Light Engine Room Press - Close-Up - 6 Breaths
A Press
https://theblacklightengineroom.wordpress.com/
Close-Up
Film: Close-Up by Abbas Kiarostami. Slow paced, peaceful, confusing. I pondered the need for people to tell their story. Lionel Blue described this aspect of his work as a rabbi approving or permitting divorces. I also pondered the role of a judge, much of my life as a mother is being a judge. Being a half-informed person in authority, learning from what I do see.
6 Breaths
If I want to, I can sit quietly and breathe 6 breaths as the easiest possible meditation. 6 being the date today. So a side effect will be knowing what day of the month it is.
https://theblacklightengineroom.wordpress.com/
Close-Up
Film: Close-Up by Abbas Kiarostami. Slow paced, peaceful, confusing. I pondered the need for people to tell their story. Lionel Blue described this aspect of his work as a rabbi approving or permitting divorces. I also pondered the role of a judge, much of my life as a mother is being a judge. Being a half-informed person in authority, learning from what I do see.
6 Breaths
If I want to, I can sit quietly and breathe 6 breaths as the easiest possible meditation. 6 being the date today. So a side effect will be knowing what day of the month it is.
Friday, 3 April 2015
Spring cleaning - Photos
Spring cleaning
Here's a way of feeling more organised: make neat piles of my un-read books.
8 categories of Arabic: analysis/dense works, history, literature in translation, recent uprisings, readers, reference, an I/P section, and Banipal magazines.
My text book and dictionaries are in constant use anyway, so are all over the place, the car, on the stairs, in my arms, on the sofa..
I haven't got round to the English language poetry yet. That includes books by people I have met so is more personal, more free. I know the language, what a bonus.
In fact the rest of the books in this room come from pre-2012 and need to be moved out altogether. That would free up 2 sets of book shelves to be used actively, rather than holding remnants of concerns from another time. Scary thought.
Photos
Relatives came to see my mother in law, so I asked my son to take some photos of us all in different combinations before they got into their car to leave. We even had one of all the 'girls' and one of all the 'boys', nice memories for her to have.
Here's a way of feeling more organised: make neat piles of my un-read books.
8 categories of Arabic: analysis/dense works, history, literature in translation, recent uprisings, readers, reference, an I/P section, and Banipal magazines.
My text book and dictionaries are in constant use anyway, so are all over the place, the car, on the stairs, in my arms, on the sofa..
I haven't got round to the English language poetry yet. That includes books by people I have met so is more personal, more free. I know the language, what a bonus.
In fact the rest of the books in this room come from pre-2012 and need to be moved out altogether. That would free up 2 sets of book shelves to be used actively, rather than holding remnants of concerns from another time. Scary thought.
Photos
Relatives came to see my mother in law, so I asked my son to take some photos of us all in different combinations before they got into their car to leave. We even had one of all the 'girls' and one of all the 'boys', nice memories for her to have.
Thursday, 2 April 2015
Sitting in bed with Charles Bukowski
This is the life....a conversation on Facebook about my totally unforeseen troubles with Cid Corman has led to me putting him back on the shelf with a light heart.
I'm writing all over these pages, marking stresses and repetitions. Putting anything I think of in the big spaces his poetry has handily offered me. The lines are short and the pages are wide.
the sounds of his doing
the sun is sun enough
it is a giant disrobing of
care, stumbling away from
doing.
the streets
flat on their Spring backs
and smiling.
- grass
I like the conversational tone, the bitchiness, the brutal and simple lines. So tight.
I mean the man he killed
clubbed him first
from behind
with an anchor chain
(something about a woman)
- something about a woman
Why do I enjoy the harshness of Western life being put into words? Because it is true? There must be some tender poems and writing on my shelf. Do another post about that. It goes under the radar here because it is so counter-cultural to be kind or tender. I will try. I must have written some myself.
I'm writing all over these pages, marking stresses and repetitions. Putting anything I think of in the big spaces his poetry has handily offered me. The lines are short and the pages are wide.
the sounds of his doing
the sun is sun enough
it is a giant disrobing of
care, stumbling away from
doing.
the streets
flat on their Spring backs
and smiling.
- grass
I like the conversational tone, the bitchiness, the brutal and simple lines. So tight.
I mean the man he killed
clubbed him first
from behind
with an anchor chain
(something about a woman)
- something about a woman
Why do I enjoy the harshness of Western life being put into words? Because it is true? There must be some tender poems and writing on my shelf. Do another post about that. It goes under the radar here because it is so counter-cultural to be kind or tender. I will try. I must have written some myself.
Road Trip!! - Barnacle
Road Trip!!
My son T's shout when we all decided to jump in the car with him to take my mother in law, their grand-mother, to do useful things at Tesco. I think she was surprised to have such a crowd wanting to come along for the ride.
We went in the wrong direction, chatted to a neighbour their age at the village shop, saw that there are hand-car washes in the Tesco's car park and took care of her box of eggs on the middle part of the back seat.
Barnacle
Last night I saw my son H happily reading a dictionary in the kitchen. This morning he greeted me with the word 'barnacle', which made me giggle. So we worked our way through some other words on that page and had a fun time.
I told him that my Arabic dictionary had never made me laugh at all, so he said that eventually it would. I am not so sure, humour doesn't seem to live in between those pages. It's all very deep and meaningful. None of the parallel meanings have been remotely funny, and it doesn't take much to set me off.
My son T's shout when we all decided to jump in the car with him to take my mother in law, their grand-mother, to do useful things at Tesco. I think she was surprised to have such a crowd wanting to come along for the ride.
We went in the wrong direction, chatted to a neighbour their age at the village shop, saw that there are hand-car washes in the Tesco's car park and took care of her box of eggs on the middle part of the back seat.
Barnacle
Last night I saw my son H happily reading a dictionary in the kitchen. This morning he greeted me with the word 'barnacle', which made me giggle. So we worked our way through some other words on that page and had a fun time.
I told him that my Arabic dictionary had never made me laugh at all, so he said that eventually it would. I am not so sure, humour doesn't seem to live in between those pages. It's all very deep and meaningful. None of the parallel meanings have been remotely funny, and it doesn't take much to set me off.
Wednesday, 1 April 2015
Endless questions 12. - 15.
12. In my dictionary there are 2 plurals, are they the dual, then the 3+ plural? It doesn't say.
eg: سنة, سنون, سنوات
13. Also, there are several versions of a noun, with no explanation as to why there is both a masculine and a feminine version, plus appropriate plurals.
eg: to follow when I next bump into one.
14. My children's book, from publishers Nelson Thomas, has all sorts of extra accents, presumably the more formal and correct version of fusha. However, why is there an unexpected, to me, kasra at the end of قالت when it relates to the adult woman, the mother in the story, but not when it relates to the little girl, her actual name is given? Is it because a noun is different from a name?
15. Why is the bear in the accusative, eg dubban, after ureed? I was taught to say ureed qahwa, without the 'an' at the end. Why??? Is adding the 'an' a bit too correct and over the top?
eg: سنة, سنون, سنوات
13. Also, there are several versions of a noun, with no explanation as to why there is both a masculine and a feminine version, plus appropriate plurals.
eg: to follow when I next bump into one.
14. My children's book, from publishers Nelson Thomas, has all sorts of extra accents, presumably the more formal and correct version of fusha. However, why is there an unexpected, to me, kasra at the end of قالت when it relates to the adult woman, the mother in the story, but not when it relates to the little girl, her actual name is given? Is it because a noun is different from a name?
15. Why is the bear in the accusative, eg dubban, after ureed? I was taught to say ureed qahwa, without the 'an' at the end. Why??? Is adding the 'an' a bit too correct and over the top?
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