Posts

GRECH Chapter 1

Image
  Something happened. There, where it happened before. What was it, when, where? In media res . In the wind. There as it blows. The wind makes our head cold and confuses us. There is almost constant wind here, where we sit or stand or lie, and it is chiefly blowing from the direction of the south-west, that is the prevailing direction, though sometimes (as a change) easterly, and one has to endure it, or make provision against it, or go with it, as is appropriate at any particular instant; for sometimes it’s mild, it softens the cheeks, glorious to relate, and sometimes it’s horrid, but that’s how it goes. It goes and it happens. That is, it sings. It sings as it sounds. A high-pitched sound in our ears, or that may merely be the tinnitus. And we sit or stand or lie in our quarters, which are partially sheltered, it has to be said, which will do. We are in media res , which is Latin for in the middle of it all, or in the middle of nowhere. We are discovered here, or we are...
Post a Comment
Read more

Poundland

Image
  When I mentioned that Rapallo would be one of the destinations of Elaine's and my rail trip to Italy, more than one of my poet friends mentioned Ezra Pound. "Poundland!" remarked one. Rapallo, on the Ligurian coast, was of course the abode of the American poet from 1925 until 1945, when he was repatriated to the US and arraigned for treason because of his collaboration with the Italian Fascist government during the Second World War. He returned to Rapallo following his lengthy incarceration in a mental institution in Washington DC, and again lived there until his death in 1972. In the years before the war, Pound in Rapallo was the centre of a distinguished group of writers, composers and artists who came and went, including his wife the painter Dorothy Shakespear, WB Yeats, TS Eliot, Georges Antheil, Richard Aldington, Louis Zukofsky, Basil Bunting and many others. He started composing The Cantos there. He gave regular talks to visitors. The Italian poet Eugenio Montale...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Spirit in the Dust

Image
   Writing is a solitary occupation. You spend hours, days, weeks, months, years on your own, sitting on your arse, churning stuff out, editing and re-churning, re-editing and re-re-churning, in the hope that one day the results of your efforts will be shared with at least one and hopefully more readers.  Writing for theatre at least holds out the possibility of working with other people – having the joy and frustrations of sharing the creative process. I've never done that. However, one of the reasons I am involved in music as well as writing is having access to that shared experience as part of the primary creative activity. There is the possibility of that magical feeling that something is happening and you are playing a part in it but it doesn't come entirely from you. Collaborating with four others on the project that became THE SPIRIT IN THE DUST has been extraordinary. It started out with Elaine wanting to work again with the Japanese dancer Yumino Seki, whom we'd ...
Post a Comment
Read more

How Secret Orbit came to be written

Image
  [CONTAINS SPOILERS!] The novel that came to be called Secret Orbit had a long gestation which would be too tedious to detail. For years I’d had a perhaps not very original perhaps pretentious notion of writing my own Divine (secular) Comedy: Hell, Purgatory and Heaven. All three parts were to be set in different versions of London. Secret Orbit was once the title of another associated project, but eventually came to be allocated (initially as a working title) to the part of the trilogy that represented Hell. Of course, Hell is always the most fun to write. The title stuck, and the novel got written. Like the other half-written novels in the sequence, it is structured in 33 chapters, mirroring the cantos of Dante’s original (there are actually coded references to the mirrored canto in each chapter, though I’ve forgotten what some of them are). The framing device is a description of the stages of decomposition of the unnamed protagonist’s body as he lies in his London...
Post a Comment
Read more

Not The Jungle Book

Image
In preparation for the twice postponed (because of Covid) trip to India Elaine and I had long planned, I read Kipling's The Jungle Book (Vols 1 & 2). Never read Kipling before, I have to admit. My reading was prompted because the location of the Mowgli stories in the book is precisely where we were headed: the forests of Madhya Pradesh in central India. Actually Kipling had never been there; though born in India, he was shipped back to England by his parents at the age of six to go to school, then returned to Northern India in his early 20s. He relied heavily on folk tales repeated by his father. It has to be said that, for all its merits and demerits (it's quite uneven but has some wonderful writing in parts), it is not a particularly accurate guide to the flora and fauna of Madhya Pradesh. It is of course quite unlike the Disney film. If you've seen that, or dare I say read the book, which is quite out of fashion, you will recognise some names of species. Baloo the b...
Post a Comment
Read more

Bulverhythe Variations with Elaine Edwards

Image
Three texts of mine are included in Bulverhythe Variations , a beautiful 66pp photo-book newly out from photography publisher Silverhill Press, with 32 images by Elaine Edwards taken in the early morning on an abandoned coastline during the Covid period, both of us meditating on isolation and the breaking of symmetry. Have a look and buy it here . And there's also an album of Elaine's keyboard pieces which are part of the same project, together with my narrations of my text: available as a download and a CD on Bandcamp . These are two windows onto the project, a third being provided by our live performance of the music, narration and projection of images – which has happened twice, on 21 May 2022 at Electro Studio Space, St Leonards on Sea, and on 13 October 2022 at The Beacon, Hastings.
Post a Comment
Read more

SECRET ORBIT - the first chapter (of 33)

Image
   Day 1 You wake in what seems to be an abandoned factory. The pipework and ductwork is of an extraordinary beauty. There is no way out. This is the Holding Pen, whence no-one in reality, despite the stated protocols and procedures and mission statements established by the Management, ever escapes. But hang on a minute. You must have escaped, it’s vivid in your memory; except it isn’t, that’s an illusion, because of course there is no longer any discernible electro-chemical activity in that skull of yours, because, frankly, you have the condition known as brain death. That is to say, your brain stem is no longer in meaningful connection with your spinal cord. That trumps everything. So to say “you wake” or that “you remember you awoke” is fanciful. But there you are. The good news is that this is no abandoned factory after all; actually, it looks uncommonly like your own bed in your own bedroom in your own flat. Congratulations. You made it. What do you think of that? Sorry, ...
Post a Comment
Read more