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Showing posts from January, 2006

note for 2006

stop explaining forget
backstory and
act

how
much fuel
do you need

to play free
with the
moment

black and white - shadow

Watching some Hitchcock tonight - as one must from time-to-time. This one was Shadow of a Doubt, from 1942, said to be Hitchcock's favourite movie.

Interesting for many things, including the fact that a lot of it was shot on location, unusual for the time (the locale being a place called Santa Rosa, apparently real). Annette was, as she always is, entranced by it's true black and white nature. As she says, also truthfully, "they don't make pictures like this anymore". The lighting was always the important thing in these pictures, especially so-called 'noir'. I would bet that these days if you ever get the odd new black and white movie, it's probably desaturated colour rather than true B&W. As any photographer would know, the blacks must be black and the whites white. It's hard these days to get hold of good black and white still film (though Ilford came back again), so I suspect true black and white movie film may not even exist, or not in any …

a garden visitation

There’s a little bit of grandeur
in the garden under clouds

It springs from rain buds
and the contrast in flanks of washing

held in straggling lines of wear



Petals plump and pink
skin-like, as light envelopes and hallows dust

At edges of glass webs there’s form in waiting
as this sun casts its own light shadow

into an emergent zona rosa



Hurts the head I’ve travelled in
too hard, and faster than it’s built for

oh, le don de rêves that passes through
its own poem

an unlit cigarette also dreamt in the hand



Placed on a table that’s moved in the night
from wakefulness, Ashkenazy tells it

in symmetrical strokes, this thought, that thought even
without smoke, that pathfinder, its lyric turnabout

airy, forgetful, of fall it’s come from

geting back up

One of my resolutions this year is to spend less time sitting in front of the computer. It is partly a health (ie body mechanics) issue - I have an ongoing lower back problem - and partly because I really ought to be doing other things, like walking, for instance, or having a life.

So, less blogging but not no blogging. Interesting, my osteo calls my lower back region 'boggy'. I replied it wasn't just a bog but a veritable quagmire, ie 'quaggy', which I thought sounded better than 'boggy'. But I don't want boggy to be abetted by bloggy. I'm also walking around more at work and other places.

It's a holiday today, for some reason, so I may post something else later.

The production of doubt.

What lies before already exists.
The future does not exist.

The past is ahead and alongside.

Each stone on the road you tread
resists your claims to it.

A book is composed of many problems in the making.

I wonder, then, if or should I have a recognised style.

What is my sign?

how do we know these things?

We don't.
We walk.
We don't.

The skin, lichens.
Dust in the mouth.

the traverse

Each day fills full
heaves a word past blot
with much to tell
on each strange street
not without love
nothing will tell
on our groove
until we can be still.

Forget how to time
night’s wee tomb
or what is home
must be warm.

We can’t say one
but picture stone.



That talk about morn
each day’s small pain
too late to return
to mistimed noon.
Strange how we burn
skin to rosy bloom
the holes in the sun
turn age to crime.

If only we’d seen
the leaf’s green hem
without heat’s harm
in a car’s long dream.

No cloud obscures
the drape of flowers.

more on eden street

Image
Martin Edmond's comment below on the ordinariness of the Janet Frame Eden Street house encourages me to post a pic of the current exterior.




Still pretty ordinary (nothing wrong with that) and the garden was lovely the day we visited.







Photo: Jill Jones
Listening to Jimmy Smith. A best of CD thingie. 'Got my Mojo Working' was one of the first records I ever bought. Sure, The Beatles were the very first (hey, I was a kid) but it was pretty early on in my vinyl collecting career.

It's still downstairs somewhere.

'pottering without guilt'

(a line once attached to a Patrick Cook cartoon)

sixteen ferneries

sixteen
days without
television - and so ...

screen
has no
angles no size

no
mountains trees
and no smell

to speak of
apart from
something ...

sixteen days without -
instead poems
aloud

and air aloud
with water
ferneries

referrals gone phut

It's not a huge big deal but I am having trouble with the referral service TrueFresco. I had that nice little list of visitors on the site but it disappeared late last year and no amount of effort in getting it back seems to have an effect. It was free and now I think they want me to pay, but their site won't recognise me (because I'm already registered as me) so I couldn't even do that if I wanted (which I don't). La La.

I can't be bothered wrangling with them anymore so can anyone suggest a better service, ie. one that works? Is it just me? Prolly.

Many thanks in advance.

frame for poetry

Image
While touring around the South Island of New Zealand just before Christmas, we arrived at the coastal town of Oamaru and stayed the night.

New Zealand novelist and poet, Janet Frame, lived for many years in Oamaru as a child and teenager, and a Trust has now purchased one of the houses the Frame family lived in - at 56 Eden Street. It is open for public viewing, which is precisely what we, as ‘public’, did. The house is not being restored as such but rather, being ‘reframed’ (apparently Janet Frame’s words). So it has the look and feel of how it must have been during the 1930s and 40s. I was given the privilege of sitting at Frame’s old desk, looking out of the back window, and a typewriter (remember those?) on which I composed an on-the-spot response to the place and our visit. I won’t publish that here but it was a sobering experience using such a device again after all these many years. I rather liked it, the effort of it.

Here are a couple of shots, one of the bedroom the Frame girl…

I'm back

Well, it's 2006 and I am now back from journeying, safe and a little dusty from the mountain tracks.

I will rethink Ruby Street, as I've always done, just in the doing. When it's not worth doing is when I'll stop. I am still in the midst of a lot of thinking.

Thanks to responses from Martin Edmond and Matt Hetherington about my wee crossroads. I will restore the comments facility pretty soon and let what happens happens.