March 22, 2010
A poem today for parents of children having surgery and one dear friend, in particular. We are thinking of you. I think you’re partial to the odd blast of RLS. Courage! xx
| The Sick Child | ||
| by Robert Louis Stevenson | ||
CHILD. O Mother, lay your hand on my brow! O mother, mother, where am I now? Why is the room so gaunt and great? Why am I lying awake so late? MOTHER. Fear not at all: the night is still. Nothing is here that means you ill - Nothing but lamps the whole town through, And never a child awake but you. CHILD. Mother, mother, speak low in my ear, Some of the things are so great and near, Some are so small and far away, I have a fear that I cannot say, What have I done, and what do I fear, And why are you crying, mother dear? MOTHER. Out in the city, sounds begin Thank the kind God, the carts come in! An hour or two more, and God is so kind, The day shall be blue in the window-blind, Then shall my child go sweetly asleep, And dream of the birds and the hills of sheep. |
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March 22, 2010
Loach Tank
I have been scuba diving in the warm tank of early Ken Loach’s films the last 2 days. Poor Cow (1967) Looks and Smiles (1981?) and Family Life (1971).
In Poor Cow I was struck by the many references to council housing, the housing list, and getting a flat and how central housing was to everyone’s lives. How your life could only really start or settle if you obtained housing. In a parallel to Betty Lambert’s Vicky in her novel Crossings(1979) the character Joy (played by Carol White) sees her possibilities improving only if she meets a nice fella.
Vicky’s situation in Crossings is different in that she cannot cease or chooses to return to Mik and is unable to define any life of her own minus him, even going as far at the end of the novel to suggest she actively set him up to be part of her epic destruction. Maybe it’s that I happened to read and watch these two pieces in close proximity that the parallel struck me. Crossings was a novel that both enthralled me and at time did my head in. The last chapter felt like the final 3 miles of a 26 mile run. Lambert’s novel is like an overbouncing basketball landing in so many corners of the pitch … but it’s also deeply interesting and I’d love to know if those who felt so ardently against it when it was published would feel the same now rereading it and reconsidering it. I think it was a brave and difficult book for Betty Lambert to write. If it has a weakness it is that of the playwright coming to the novel with a chaotic “everything in”. That said I also enjoyed the chaos.
Back to Loach:
Looks and Smiles is all dole, unemployment and army recruitment. Set in the early 80’s the posters at the job centre included “Go to London”. My favourite line in it is when Mick (another!) when he visits his ex-girlfriend (who been at the curling tongs and has sublime Geordie accent) to attempt to win her favour back says “You never told me you had a budgie.” “What’s there to tell,” she replies. God is in the details I sighed.
I am winding my way through Family Life, trying to figure out who the psychiatrist is based on. It reminds me a tad of Allen King’s Warrendale (documentary). Just as Looks and Smiles was redolent of Wiseman’s Welfare.
March 18, 2010
Yesterday I happened to catch in its last hour online a Nightwaves interview with the playwright Tom Murphy on the restaging of a play The Sanctuary Lamp he wrote 30 years ago and caused uproar at the time.
These were notes I scribbled of things he said.
“The most loathed word I have from my youth is Respectability, I absolutely hate the word. Everything became more conservative.”
Murphy talked about having lived in an Irish ghetto in Birmingham He described a cult of violence “men walking with what was called the gimp, thumbs sticking out from either side. They didn’t belong to England, they didn’t belong to Ireland, they felt guilty about Ireland, felt they’d done something wrong, during their annual sojourns back to Ireland they discovered doubly so that they didn’t belong.
There was a great deal more, but one of the main discussions centred around what the reaction would be to the restaging of the play at the Arcola Theatre in a now predominantly muslim community Dalston. I have to track down more specifics.
His first comment on respectability was in relation to what happens to a community when people leave the way they did at that time. Always wondered why more was not imported back in to those places — the way the exchange happens between say languages. (Hiberno-English-Hiberno English and now sraid Gaeilge in reverse back to Gaeilge.)
The Guardian also ran an interview with Murphy very recently and so you get a great sense of him and some of his work from this article
Yonks and yonks ago I heard Murphy intone “What gets me mad gets me going” and I regularly appropriate his phrase when I am in the swing of vexation (vexating).
March 17, 2010
Write your own gospel
NPR feature on the variegations in the gospels!
Bart Ehrman, the author ofJesus, Interrupted,, says they are at odds with each other on important points regarding the life, death and divinity of Jesus.
March 15, 2010
Chance encounter
A deliberate encounter downtown yesterday with a friend led to a chance encounter or two in the stacks of VPL. I alighted on Gerry Gilbert’s slender May 1931 poetry bookeen. It is a weather-treasure. Each poem commences with a forecast, followed by a reportage, illustrated by a weather map. I reclined last night and read them aloud, incapacitated by my previous night’s adventure to a very crowded, noisy gathering that I had to flee from and trundle over the bridge, dizzy as a duck, with my nose sadly in a bag.
I also landed me hand upon Betty Lambert’s Crossings (sp?), published in 1979, what I have read which is the early chapter has fishing and Campbell River and a raised house, among a few too many invocations of the moon. It appears to have been a divisive book when it was published. I am v intrigued by Betty’s prose (a certain elasticity to it!) and shall plough on before I utter another word on it. Chancing upon it reminded me of George Ryga’s slim novel … Night Watch? (night bar?) oh God damn it Night Desk! which I read last year and must read again.
And Mr Fraser continues to tap dance me down the beyond. Does the garden path on this one ever end? Will I ever finish this piece? I have so delighted in it, it has sent me soaring off to the place where I appear to make no sense about it whatsoever. But still on. Past the cabbages and the sleeping strawberry plants, I see the garage roof in sight, so up on top of it til a swift drop … and escape. Po-t’etre.
March 14, 2010
Rhotic 27
Ding a gra,
An bhfaca tu go bhfuil Seachtaine na Gaeilge anseo:
Ta suim agamsa ar an Drochpháipéar agus Peann Luaidhe 5.04 p.m.
Clár faisnéise faoin saothar liteartha neamhghnáthach ‘An Haicléara Mánas’ a scríobhadh i gceantar an Chlocháin sa naoú haois déag. Scríobhadh an scéal i nGaeilge, ach is litriú an Bhéarla a bhí air. Páirteach sa chlár, tá Nancy Stenson, Pádhraic Ó Ciardha, Máire Féirtéir, Joe Steve Ó Neachtain agus Aisteoirí Chorr na Móna. Léiriú: Micheál Ó Gionnáin. Léireofar an clár seo le cúnamh airgeadais ón gciste craolacháin ‘Fuaim agus Fís’.
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An bhfuil aithne agat?
Conas T? Mise tuirseach agus pian i mo bolg.