1968

Tags

1960s, 1968, 2014, 5*, air, avenue, blue, breeze, buildings, Burt Bacharach, bus, city, Dionne Warwick, direction, lemon, life, lime, mauve, mist, morning, openness, possibility, roads, sky, white, years

                      1968

                      the rear of the bus
           moved out of the scene – whitened blue

                      the wide open spring air
           reached between buildings – to grimy lime

                      and avenues rolled down
           in every direction – through flash lemon

                      bolts of mist and haze
           across each intersection – and ankle mauve

                      and slightly too little
           worn – for the morning shift of breezes

 

promises promises – more Dionne Warwick and Burt Bacharach sustaining another burst of breath-takingly open and naïve possibility from the later 60s

 

 

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1968 & Burt Bacharach & Dionne Warwick & mauve wormhole: 1968 – orange sand and mauve mist
air wormhole: faintly apricot air?
blue & life wormhole: to rescue something
breeze wormhole: the bench
buildings wormhole: Open – All – Ours
bus wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
city wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
lemon wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams
lime wormhole: magnificent salad
mist & sky wormhole: vastly
morning & white wormhole: pine // gladioli // [&] wisteria
openness wormhole: breathing out
roads wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – moment
years wormhole: 1967

 

monument to vainglory

Tags

2016, 8*, abandonment, autumn, branches, breakdown, brown, career, direction, element, freedom, getting ground, ground, horizontal, identity, institution, leaves, planet, rain, reaching, retirement, teaching, wind, work, yellow

                     where am I
                     cast free here

                     where the wind resolves
                     horizontal and

                     implacable between
                     the necessary institution

                     passageways;
                     I held on

                     long as I could
                     way after I’d turned

                     glorious yellow
                     wet, brown and pasted

                     to the bifurcating
                     branch, tensile to every gust;

                     because
                     I was tired of any

                     direction at all;
                     to the ground with me,

                     then,
                     stability and whimsical reach were

                     never my natural element,
                     open out to minute

                     breakdown
                     deep

                     into a revolving planet and
                     leave (ha!) myself

                     mulched to branch
                     monument to vainglory

 

retirement #1: a significant passage in life which doesn’t have a particular rite, religious or otherwise; I have retired since the beginning of this academic year – I had a flurry of written response when I holidayed in Granada, but since then, nothing; I have not been writing much, I have been cast adrift (the end of my career was what was left after my ability to keep going in to teach at school, eventually dissolved … fizzled) …

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abandonment wormhole: beepbeep
autumn wormhole: 1964
branches wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow
breakdown wormhole: dry rot
brown wormhole: magnificent salad
career & teaching wormhole: just saying, is all VI: // accountable / for my own outbreath / …
identity & work wormhole: matter
leaves wormhole: Prajnaparamita // Maitreya
rain wormhole: balance
retirement wormhole: Granada holiday …
wind wormhole: 1964
yellow wormhole: … swap round

 

still

Tags

'scape, 1960s, 2013, 5*, concrete, direction, Eastbourne, pylon, stillness, time

                                still

                the concrete corner post
                cast from 1960s pebble and chip
                with long-spent callipers
                through holes in its head and hip
                now bent out and stained white with cement dust

                                – ah –

                power lines and pylons
                leaning off in all directions

 

walking through wide-open reclaimed land for industrial development windsweeps time like long grasses

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Eastbourne wormhole: industrial estate
stillness wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow
time wormhole: beepbeep

 

beepbeep

Tags

1960s, 1967, 2016, 7*, abandonment, colour, commentary, courage, crying, Dad, depression, direction, divorce, driving, evening, eyes, feeling sorry for myself, freedom, groundlessness, Have, home, hope, identity, life, light, looking, now, others, passing, people, pointlessness, purpose, renunciation, revolution, sense of self, sex, sign, sound, texture, time, true nature, Victoria & Albert Museum, world

                                did Dad leaving
                                trigger my sense of revolution or
                my sense of depression
that there is no purpose
                                in the world
                that I would eventually have to find the courage
to face those new tremors,
                                but five years on,
                                                there, between the given textures
                already cheap and fraying

                                or did revolution trigger Dad to leave
                                                                and find some other way
                                                                                to find some truer nature?

                -O~~~

                                I didn’t want the headphones, now
                                I didn’t want the commentary
                                                all safely wrapped and bordered
                                                                so I kept my own eyes
                                                                open and saw 50 year old memorabilia
                                                                                strangely mute, now
                                                                                despite the peacock-print

                                                and little in between
                                                                save shuffling overcoats with
                                                                no sense of direction where to go
                                                                                save their right of individual                
                                                                                                                way

                                                                                                ~~~O-

                                I don’t think I want the revolution
                                anymore –
                                                away with your awkward sex! –
                I want to know the innate freedom
                                I trust I have already,
                                                save for my sense of right of way

                                                                I cried for fifty years later that evening
                                                it is hard to lose your way returning home
                                                                cut up and turning in circles
                                                                                hoping for the right lane
                                                                                                lights on and direction to go                
                                                                                                                everywhere
                                                                                                signed
                                                                and passing overhead
                                                                it is hard to arrive
                                                toe to toe
                                                                with a fifty year old overcoat
                                with no face
                                but a blinking eye
and me with no headphones

                                                                beepbeep

 

on 30th October 2016, I visited the Victoria & Albert Museum exhibition @You Say You Want a Revolution’ – Records and Rebels 1966-1970 (a birth day present, thank you, Carol); my Dad left our family on 2nd November 1967, my eighth birthday, and the divorce became final by 1969; I think it was Brigitte Bardot who said something about the ‘tremors’ which were felt in the late 60s, but few who had the ‘courage’ to face them, but I can’t seem to find the quote verbatim; we got a bit lost, at first, driving back from west London

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abandonment & Dad & people wormhole: chartless …
depression wormhole: the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being
divorce wormhole: 1967
evening & identity wormhole: sleep now
eyes & life & sound wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
groundlessness & pointlessness wormhole: [once a] dilemminal [always a dilemminal]
Have wormhole: Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions
light wormhole: adjustment
looking wormhole: Clea
others & passing wormhole: passersby
renunciation wormhole: escape from Flat Planet
time wormhole: the too big moon
world wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow

 

Clea

Tags

2016, 5*, brick, circle, claim, Clea, direction, Dormammu, Dr Strange, eyebrow, fingers, fire, gaze, head, identity, looking, morality, obligation, others, path, play, rhyme, self, space, spell, stars, thought

                                                              Clea

                     she is made of circles and stars
                     but gazes only from brick-lined

                     tunnels that hang in space – portals
                     of thought – then eyebrows frown

                     to look, and fingers splay in fanned
                     direction; she will dispel the tiresome

                     play of self and other – claim to
                     claim, rhyme to spell – and obliged

                     a morality to stand firm on its
                     own two feet, despite paths that

                     lead in ribbons and head of open fire

 

through the portals hung in space from Strange Tales #s 126 & 127, by Lee & Ditko

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Dr Strange wormhole: “The Lady from Nowhere”
identity wormhole: just one, open, nerve,
looking wormhole: let it all go
obligation wormhole: true nature
others wormhole: even / a second
path wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – … as the new town marches in
play wormhole: Jericho
space wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Simon Upon The Downs
thought wormhole: time

 

tiling

Tags

2016, border, co-ordinate, corner, direction, identity, life, meaning, narrative, placement, square, tiles, writing

 

 

 

                           tiling

                           don’t even go looking
                           for the narrative before

                           you see the borders
                           become corners before

                           the squares are oblique
                           and before the cardinal

                           markers show the inner
                           lines inferring co-ordinate

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

identity wormhole: my seat // now
life wormhole: Elektra
meaning & writing wormhole: substance

 

1966 … actually sic // of it allllll-bsssssssh – poewieview #8

Tags

1966, 2016, alien, alley, bed, Bowie, bread, buildings, career, chanting, corner, direction, echo, emptiness, everything, home, life, light, looking, love, passing, pavement, people, Potala Palace, sound, speech, streets, survival, toes, walking, walls, years

                           1966 … actually sic

                           `sbread not love, their’s
                           n’owt queer as career
                           so grin ‘n’ glare it on a
                           magic carpet trip or too

                           strange lights unknown
                           in the tops of tall buildings
                           soul-cold friends of street
                           corners where people

                           pass where people don’t
                           `spare the heartbeat, guv,
                           coin of tenure, metal
                           clink on cloth pavement

                           never like a bed, never
                           like the toes of hope
                           in gladiator sandals with
                           no direction home just

                           the echoes of alleys
                           a thousand feet tall
                           and the air of chanting
                           around the emptiness

                           of it allllll-bsssssssh

 

written amid Uncle Arthur, 1966; She’s Got Medals, 1966; Join the Gang, 1966; Did You Ever Have a Dream, 1966; We Are Hungry Men, 1966; Sell Me a Coat, 1966; Little Bombardier, 1966; Maid of Bond Street, 1966; Silly Boy Blue, 1966

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Bowie & echo & walls wormhole: ‘the hour before dinner – / the empire of dusk’ – poewieview #6
buildings wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
career & looking wormhole: the MagOO Effect Effect
emptiness wormhole: sit / and move
life wormhole: gentle
light & walking wormhole: bamboo-green boiled sweet / with soft purple filling
love wormhole: London Park in Greenwich town – poewieview #5
passing wormhole: train journey // like a branch
people wormhole: com- / mute
sound wormhole: suddenly fly off again
speech wormhole: spit / spot
streets wormhole: London Hearts – poewieview #4
years wormhole: Seven A.M, 1948

 

… the discipline of shamatha / the waft of vipashyana

Tags

'scape, 2013, Bournville, carillon, chimney, communication, constancy, direction, drops, glass, gutter, moss, rain, roof, seeing, shamatha-vipashyana, sky, sound, time, trees, wind, windows, Woodbrooke

 

staying at Woodbrooke again for a short break, I need to celebrate by posting one of my favourite poems, written here, again …

 

 

                the frame stays constant

                the trees tall and wave
                in constant negotiation
                with the drifting sky
                the Bournville Carillon
                strikes ten in all directions
                some faint some bong

                a telephone wire draped
                from a chimney to a ridge
                like a skipping rope and
                the constant run-off onto
                gutters despite the moss

                the frame has ghost-shifted
                double but remains constant
                the pane is not seen at all

                until I notice the drops run
                and then the frame snaps clear
                and c – o – n – s – t – a – n – t

                such useful things: windows …

                … the discipline of shamatha
                the waft of vipashyana

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

chimney wormhole: the breath of London
communication wormhole: currency: / assent for statement – / ‘smakin’alivvin’
glass & sky & sound & windows wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
rain wormhole: south horizon
roof wormhole: library: start where you are IV // all the distance I have travelled!
seeing wormhole: out!
shamatha-vipashyana wormhole: Do Nothing Usually / Take Everything Regularly / Consider It All Clearly / And Step Aside It Waltzingly
time wormhole: if left alone
trees wormhole: new garden
wind wormhole: Hotel Room, 1931