RTE Radio documentary The Ballad of Patrick Folen tells a story that on October 19th 2006 workmen discovered human bones in Horton Woods, near West Kingsdown in Kent, England – Police believe those remains to be those of Irishman Patrick Folen.
I loved that image of his mother telling him to wash his feet and no matter that he was sleeping rough in the woods, he made sure he washed them each day. Also compelling to consider is the number of people who go and went missing and are not heard from. The reactions of the people who responded to the letters, the two women, who determine “No, no, that’s not Patsy” and the banter in the background. “That man’s a Connemara man” “That man’s a farmer”.
Many’s the time back in the day I’d run into old fellas around Euston Station who fell by the wayside. They often had time for you such people and would tell you of their lives. The only prose poem I ever wrote was of one such encounter.
Tonight between 12 midnight and 5.59 there will be patches of fog… (sorry I can’t be more specific so fog lovers can set the alarm & head off for a tramp about)
Last night we had a most Pineapple storm. It reminded me of the time I attempted to wash my sister’s hair in hospital, having no control over the handheld shower yoke over the sink, I didn’t pay attention and near drowned the poor creature. In the light of the lamp posts the rain was being blown circular like the roll of a wave. It was also being blasted from a Southerly direction into percussive splattering on the window and roof. Hours and hours it went on. Lightning too. Thunder maybe.
Taxi! makin a stand
“The city will set up 12 late-night taxi stands around Calgary’s core on the weekend to help solve one of the most nagging cab shortage periods.”
On January 14th, 2011, I too shall be setting up a late-night Taxi! stand, albeit in Vancouver, in an embodied exploration and ongoing dialogue with Helen Potrebenko’s 1975 novel Taxi! Another collaborative moment with the wunderbar Lori Weidenhammer coming soon ….
Today we had a revisit from the particular light I mentioned previous, except this time it had a new added particular about it.
Firstly I witnessed it above/on an expanse of road, rather than a street corner. The particular light was sneaking over and across a bunch of sunken grey cloud. The added particular was this masking of grey that reminded me of the smog when Burns Bog caught fire.
I ended up viewing the light high up in a building half an hour later east rather than west. It had acquired a Turkish pink hue.
That’s actually two new particulars. I am live in the act of misremembering, which segues nicely to a radio piece I heard not long after clocking the light(s).
It was a discussion about the dehumanizing aspect of certain technologies, specifically recording technologies that indicate every interaction with every single person we meet must be documented by these technologies. (They were originally designed for military purposes) The woman interviewed described how this robs us of forgetting, misremembering or embellishing memories so they take on whole new extras. She pointed out that the act of failing etc to remember is important to us. What a relief to hear this, since I have been concerned at recent inability to remember certain things and my increasing preponderance to misidentifying people. (is that failure to identify and encroaching visual blindness?)
Malarky
Malarky, my episodic novel, has been shortlisted for the Metcalf-Rooke Award for fiction. I’m in the company of six other women writers. Press Release is here
