Winter river

El Sègre, Lleida

Wassailer

Wassailer

Past the ice rink, along the high street,

the winter holidays brighten faces, arranging

card after card after card to dray out

greeting.

Rivers

pretty the atmosphere of returning hope in cup,

times running along in the companionship of shared thoughts

toward a real celebration brightening

night,

lifting

what the specific person can achieve

in moments texted out to shared distances,

shared histories of remembered exchange

along the growing path.

wildflowers

From a picture taken last summer, so--out of season just now but they'll be back! ;-)

Fields through grasses

Rosselló, Catalonia, 8 December 2019

Pear tree palimpsest

(an orchard onn the outskirts of Rosselló)

The West Country

The West Country

Fatigued before we made Roundstone, we biked back to Ballyconneely, where we stopped before we returned to Clifden. You swam and I sat in the rocks and watched or walked on the sand in search of shellfish. There was thyme somewhere near—or memory invents it. Your bare skin was a chilled Atlantic, red to the stones, white as the sky. Something went wrong with one of the bikes before the wind tried to hold us back from our Clifden refuge. But don’t you remember the wind in your hair,

your breath coming fast,

the sough of the surf,

the sound of the bicycle wheels—

Untitled

Untitled

That’s why a person

(you, I—run the pronouns here)

could use a razor blade

and

cut the outline of a second razor blade,

working carefully around the countours

on, I don’t know, kraft paper?

to precisely or precisely to

cut out a perfect outline of the model blade.

In the particular case here and now

minus several minutes

Miles is closing ‘Blue In Green’ on my

Kind of Blue CD

while the question of placement

arises.

For all that the imaginary or real

blade a person could use to cut

could be seen to cut the air now

before possibly, possibly being rested

on the table beside the support

(probably kraft paper).

Tempting to place the cut outline

centrally

as I believe Jaume Xifre does

in some of his pieces.

Place Alain Robbe-Grillet near the first cut space?

Also tempting. Alternatively

Jorge Luis Borges

(cut from photographs, drawings, even paintings)

(in either case) (in both cases).

Some penguins might then be represented.

An exacto knife (so called)

could be used instead of the razor blade. The kitchen

sink then, off, I think, to the right of the previous images,

as silence follows as it were

the CD and I (personally—see above on pronouns)

trace the outlines of

‘O joy, too high for my low style to show’,

pause, then leave it at that.

My left hand has come to rest

on my right pectoral. I look at the (silent) CD player.

Further pause, left to chin, right grasping pen.

No.

#Poémame

Poémame group of poets will be giving their second reading of the season on Thursday, 28 November 2019. The event is in Barcelona, at La Base Ateneu Cooperatiu, Carrer de les Hortes, 10. It starts at 8 p.m. So for anyone interested, here is some more information

#PoemameBcn.

Poets slated to read (in Catalan, English, Spanish, Greek):

 

Catalán: 

Noemí Morral

Inglés:

Siobhan Tebbs

Castellano:

Raúl Cristian Aguirre

Lengua invitada:Griego

Makis Moulos

And the event will conclude with an open mike session...

Pomegranate

Pomegranate

Thrust upward, the devising

flows this way: brown velvet covering

quince blossom, out of the greenery,

vermilion paint of pomegranate

flower: swept sunward.)

Abstract

For future reworking.....

London

London

Only a slight chill in the air that evening—

the Victoria Embankment in London,

our hands touching not quite unexpectedly,

some three hours after meeting.

The river held a life we’d never entered and probably never would.

The trees and the rustle of fallen leaves

inspired a kind of awe. In memory

that uncertain touch bonded

with the strong river currents.

Waiting

Waiting

In an hour or so a medical check up.

Then we’ll be driving over to Lleida,

stopping for lunch somewhere on the way this time,

kind of a novelty as we usually find it waiting for us.

But with the late start and all. And then

it’s not a difference I dislike—so many times

after all some of our best moments have come on quiet roads, just the two of us, on the way to destinations previously arranged or come on by chance. A chance arrangement, a road moment that leads to more, not aways pleasantly of course,

yet the first urge is to remember bread and cheese and wine

on the side of a small road,

fearful heat perhaps,

but also the strange fun of each other surprised at the ordinary discovery of strong coffee at a roadside inn just there.

work in progress.....

A color study for a larger project. In acrylic on canvas covered board, at present 27x19 cm.

bidding

bidding

offers may light

a particular series of words

a saying also takes wing

waits thought of as moves

holds in that sense a knot

a fraying end

a bid

Poémame

My reading with the Barcelona group Poémame finally took place last Thursday. So after having attended several sessions as a listener I finally stood at the lectern. I hope others interested in reading their work or otherwise participating in cultural activities will have a look at the Poémame website. The group is very open and welcoming, promoting readings in different languages. The website is in Spanish but of course that should present no problem for internet users. And correspondence can be sent in most major European languages. This link should be good to start with:

https://revista.poemame.com/2019/10/23/poemamebcn-festival-poetico-septiembre-2019/

Agave

Agave

Found one afternoon on Sitges beach,

you’ve grown on this balcony from a pup

through our thirty years of marriage.

Left there where we found you

would you have reached this size?

Perhaps the only useless question now.

But through droughts, through rainy years,

I’ve wondered about the differences made

by caressing those blue-green sawtoothed

leaves of yours, by giving you

the occasional word, especially while pruning.

Ouch! Come on, now, here’s water,

saved from this morning’s dish rinse.

So let’s go for it—stay well!

New York and Indianapolis

There were those early morning breakfasts in New York City during one of my trips in the ’10s. I stayed in the St Marks hotel in Greenwich Village and, for two nights, at the Washington Square Hotel. At the WSH I breakfasted on the premises. The St Marks place didn’t offer breakfast and I went out to eat, sometimes right around the corner, where I could sit outside and watch the early morning traffic grinding along. The whole trip was a working holiday for me, a chance to do research using a book that was out of print and hard to find. The research work made it hard to enjoy many of the other activities going on in the City, so free time moments became that much more valuable. I’d started a project at a literary conference in Paris, and once I saw my original plan wasn’t working I was determined to revise the paper I’d presented and get it published. This meant getting up early and going to the library for a morning session, then going back in the afternoon and reading till closing time. But at least I had time for some small part of the spectacle of the city grinding its way. By nightfall I was usually too tired to do much more than find a restaurant, walk around for an hour or so, and turn in. But since I don’t know the city that well, just walking around the Village and the Downtown area in search of varied fare was holiday-like. Then there was a time when I put together a supermarket meal. What stands out about that is that I found myself being given extra portions of deli food by the staff. The reason for this—what I suppose has to be the reason—is that I was wearing a sports jacket that had seen enough wear to either be left in New York or discarded when I got home. And secondly, since I wasn’t familiar with the grocery I was shopping in I spent a longer time than usual picking and choosing different items. In any case I think I detected a sigh of relief from the staff when they realized I wasn’t shoplifting. In the end I walked out of the place with more bread rolls than I could use and an extra helping of potato salad. I think it was potato salad. Maybe it’s enough to say the gesture was welcome since my studies weren’t being financed by scholarships. This was a kind of prelude, anyway, to a visit to my hometown, Indianapolis, where I spent four days enjoying the hospitality of friends before going back to New York, then to Barcelona to finish my project. It’s said we can’t go home again. Uundoubtedly true in some ways, but not in this case. And you always hope to be able to repay the hospitality.

A quiet Sunday, Lleida, midday

A quiet Sunday, Lleida, midday

I’d been walking around Torrefarrera earlier, looking at different garden structures—old fencing and walls—but without using the camera. This urban sculpture in its setting of vegetation was near the Lleida restaurant where we were dining with family and friends. I took the picture shortly before the meal, while waiting for some of the others. The whole neighbourhood was remarkably quiet. I felt drawn to the assemblage of the artwork within the plantation, more or less in keeping with that sensation in Torrefarrera when different things had my eye, and so took the picture.

king kong

king kong

marsh grass—absent from my

wildflower manual index

but now here is         shepherd’s needle

shepherd’s cress

and there’s more

here we luckily find it looking like rain

the wild king the wild yeah

Castlerock

Our first trip to this town, which is about 45 minutes by train from Derry. There were a few light drizzles on and off as we walked, but mostly it was dry and sunny and we just enjoyed taking pictures. More of these will be going up on Instagram, where I'm William Bain 5.

Starting out toward the Downhill Desmesne and Downhill House

Some 15 minutes later ....

Approaching Downhill Desmesne and Downhill House

A partial view of the house

Derry photos, 2019 (2)

A view of a patch of foxglove; and a moss-covered stump, cut off almost at ground level. I took two or three of the stump, for later use in drawing or painting. Concentrating on abstraction.

Derry photos, 2019

These are the first of a series. From top to bottom, the Foyle River from the Peace Bridge; Derry from the Bridge; a floral display in St Columb's Park

Friends and mentors

Friends and mentors

                                             JH, CH

We watched our correspondence, begun as occasional fat paper envelopes stuffed with your old lecture notes and my fledgling essays, turn into irony laden emails two or three times a month.

In the years following your deaths my thoughts have gone often to your farming and your project of setting out hardwood trees in redwood country. A kind of natural lecture. An advising.

As I grew strong enough to set an occasional challenge you must have seen some of your own conversation in mine. A-gambol like one of your goats.

In my visit in 2000 we worked through different understandings of proxy wars and mints—and an election four months away. Now, in the context of newer elections, I feel some version of ‘Bella Ciao’ still uniting us, each of our voices in a different key.

August 2019 vacation

Actually, we're just starting out on our August trip. We're off to Ireland on Monday and it seemed fitting to post something here from a previous trip--in this case two photos taken in the Botanical Gardens in Belfast. I was fascinated by the vegetation shown here and look forward to experiencing it again in the gardens. Meanwhile..... Well, sharing the inspiration potentials of the vegetation via pictures.

hands

hands

a seeming center of love

a place from which it expands

in new growth

San Francisco, California

San Francisco, California, August 2000. From the base of Coit Tower I looked down at a tall ship standing at the wharf beside a ferry boat—blue Pacific, Golden Gate. And on the other side, the Bay Bridge, the sunlight on the ocean, the asymmetric wake of something coming in—then the pines, the Trans-Am Pyramid.

That same day, in the afternoon, after lunch I sat in a Chinese café and drank tea and watched an earth mover working loudly on a big construction site. Tow-Away, No Stopping Anytime the red letters of a white sign on the chain link fence cautioned. AYKSYP (?) a graffiti artist had tagged up.

Thus some of my notes, anyway, reworked nearly 19 years after those moments of relaxed jotting. And that evening, in the museum, I stood for a long time looking at Magritte’s The Living Mirror,

with its suggested voices

and silences arranged

on a canvas square.

Gas giant

Gas giant

So that someone sold Saturn views

through a telescope tripoded outside

Barcelona’s Bar Zurich when you could.

No crowd. Looked legit.

And there is a certain comfort

some Saturday nights

in being able quite unhurriedly

to lean forward and touch

eyelash to eyepiece,

then see a clear sharp shape

in lensed light—

an apparent sphere

and in memory buzzing

shapes off the sides.

heroics

heroics

no i don’t want the job

two decades & all those close calls

you’re kidding

detained by the queenly nymph Kalypso

as Lattimore translates     sound cozy

think it over

here’s the half hollow sound

of a windblown cold drinks can

rolling along the street

how long’s it been

Pride month and Dalloway Day

Pride month and Dalloway Day

In Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs Dalloway the lead protagonist Clarissa Dalloway is described by a previous suitor, Peter Walsh, as “the perfect hostess.” It is, as I think most readers of the book would agree, an apt description, for throughout the fictional day in June Woolf created, Clarissa’s is the character whose openness to celebration drives the social element and expresses lamentation for the death of “that young man”—her vision of Septimus Smith, the person who symbolizes so many war dead. The fact that the novel, in typical lyrical fashion, takes place in summer appears to me as another of its important life positive features. Obviously the tragic aspect of death is called up—in relation both to war horrors and to the symbolic individual portrayed there as dying—but the social importance of creating peace takes precedence. Hence, one might add, the emphasis on the party that Clarissa aims for at the outset of the book and hosts at its conclusion. Polyphonic novels (almost all novels to some extent, but especially satiric ones) stress celebration by invoking what Mikhail Bakhtin refers to as “carnival”, the discourse of everyday life and especially the life of the popular festival as opposed to that of officialdom, especially dictatorial officialdom.

But Dalloway Day as a single day coincides with June, the beginning of summer and now the month when many of the world’s cities celebrate gay pride or just pride in loving as one chooses, that hard won right which Modernist art and the art of today work to present and preserve. 

So, happy Dalloway Day to all and happy pride years! May we continue to present and preserve in peace….!

Related to Dalloway Day

I wrote, on or about 12 May, that I wanted to encourage people to participate in this year’s Dalloway Day by writing, drawing, making music, in order to promote the achievements of Virginia Woolf and her Bloomsbury colleagues.  Since that time I’ve found, through the writer Gretchen Gerzina, that Swann Auction Galleries, a company specializing in rare and antiquarian books, has a number of publications by Woolf, many of these first editions. So it seems to me good to mention this for the purpose not only of adding book collecting to my short list of activities related to Dalloway Day but also to call attention to ways in which adaptations of one kind of poetry—in the ample sense of the word—can spur work in other kinds. Woolf’s comment that “painting and writing have much to tell each other” has been cited so often that I almost hesitate to repeat it here. However, oft quoted and perhaps obvious as it may be, it serves as an indication of the way different disciplines influence each other. In this regard, and in the context of examining acculturation in general, I think people will be interested in looking at the Swann website. Once there, you’ll find the options of searching different catalogs or searching the site itself. To date I’ve only searched on “Woolf” (without the quotes) and a few other twentieth-century artists. But the site is obviously very full and I think the results are pretty interesting in a variety of ways.

The Swann website: / https://catalogue.swanngalleries.com/asp/fullCatalogue.asp?salelot=2511+++++145+&refno=++758511&saletype=

/

Gretchen Gerzina posted the address of the Swann Galleries website on the Listserv of the International Virginia Woolf Society. Her own website is at / https://www.gretchengerzina.com/about-gretchen-gerzina.html

  /

Dalloway Day 2019

Dalloway Day 2019

It may seem a bit early to talk about this but the second ever Dalloway Day will be on Wednesday, 19 June 2019. This is an event that is already being discussed on the web, so I mention it here. After all, it takes some time for people to prepare their participation. The theme this year is queering, specifically—although ambiguously, in what I take to be a Woolfian way—queering Dalloway.

Last year I posted a short text on Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs Dalloway for the first Dalloway Day and I intend to write something this June as well. But just now I simply wanted to encourage people to participate, writing, drawing, making music, doing theatricals in order to promote the achievements of Woolf and her Bloomsbury colleagues. A good deal of information is available at Paula Maggio’s blog,  Blogging Woolf.* Hopefully this year’s celebration will be even bigger than the first!

* For example,  https://bloggingwoolf.wordpress.com/

Expansion

Expansion

Spring's
energy rises
into fresh renewals.

Each
seed explodes
slowly to speed.

Viladrau. April 2019

Viladrau

Slowing into a rural life style—to the extent we can, as visitors—we begin the first mountain walk of our stay. Not every sign post meets our approval, in the heat of a sunny spring day. Yon tree is not the tree depicted on this brochure, a problem sure to get my coat off, my sleeves imagined rolled. The sensation then returns—smallness in relation. Viladrau is renowned for its mineral springs. And its natural beauty. In the distance the mountain grows, and an ease to pause flows more easily in the visitors’ step. Run down weathered doors return the occasional walker to the beaten path. Eyes now keener toward the lichen and the drop.

Mediterranean scrubland—

and the branch tip

through rubble walls. 

Spring

On the subject of walls (and of course flowers)......

Study for seated nude

Visual poetry for World Poetry Day 2019... Study 1 (charcoal on paper)

smoky sky

smoky sky

a gull planes over the courtyard

circles upward to a lightpost perch

down again rousing two pigeons

green indigo red—expressionistically

could you remember a trilobite pal

sounding metallic sides of a delivery cart

(work in progress.....)

rubble walls

Some views of unmortared agro walls between Vilanova i la Geltrú and Sitges. (About an hour's train journey south of Barcelona.)