• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
    • William Carlos Williams
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • wormholes

mlewisredford

~ may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so …

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: expectation

my uncomfortable life

29 Monday Apr 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, reflectionary

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2019, 6*, abandonment, activity, anger, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, breakdown, broken, career, closed, compromise, contentment, context, Dad, disappointment, expectation, experience, eyes, feeling sorry for myself, frustration, greed, hope, injustice, laziness, life, management, no voice, people, politicians, powerlessness, Principal, requirement, resentment, self-cherishing, self-confidence, self-doubt, self-esteem, slogans, society, spin, teaching, thought, Tony Blair, turmoil, waiting, words, work

                I did not know contentment
                at work, what was required,
                what I thought, I never wholly
                got my teaching … sorted

                turmoil, and even when not
                outwardly angry, I was
                closed off and unapproachable,
                carrying anger and resentment

                like a thorny bush tied
                to my back since Dad left
                and people were ‘phony’ and
                society was stupid and words

                were insincere and all activity
                was a compromise and my equals cheated
                and laziness was always greedy
                and hope was rude and the politicians

                were tricksters and Tony Bliar
                and managers slogan-shifted like there was no tomorrow
                and the Principals
                wouldn’t know what to do with good practice if it writhed around suggestively on their desk in front of them and made them delicious promises of future dangerous liaison                      

                and by default I am
                at least disappointed, usually frustrated
                and often impotent-angry with them
                when they invariably reference me

                (and they always reference me)
                or when I am actually wronged,
                and then I’ll blow, beyond all immediate context
                because I have already been smouldering,

                waiting for the wrong to happen,
                expecting the wrong to happen,
                experiencing the wrong happening
                even before it has manifested;

                and I am right, it is wrong
                and compromised and greedy and unprincipled
                what they have done, even
                when they haven’t

                given expression to it, in fact
                especially when they haven’t
                given full expression to it
                and are sloganising and spinning

                that what is happening
                is entirely something else;
                and the powerlessness of
                not being able to have a voice

                no appeal to a universal
                right and wrong … built me up
                with no recourse and, I get broken;
                look at my tired eyes – my uncomfortable life

 

Bodhisattvacharyavatara VI, 3: A mind which walks with, which harbours, which is in the grip of, which is poisoned with anger and hate can neither establish nor enjoy any state of calm or peace, any sense of well-being or equipoise, any contentment, any resolution, neither can it feel any joy or delight, any sense of kindliness or love, nor can it sleep or rest, when the shard of aversion and hate is stuck and buried deep in one’s heart; but … I have retired now, I, am coming through

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

abandonment wormhole: south horizon
breakdown wormhole: green and / luminant / to behold
career wormhole: it’s / not what you do or what you say / if it ain’t got that swing
compromise wormhole: raised brow
Dad wormhole: the reach turned to love
eyes wormhole: The Atlantic City Convention: 1. THE WAITRESS by William Carlos Williams
life & society wormhole: the old man;
management wormhole: how to teach
people wormhole: Puerto del Carmen
teaching wormhole: and … // … sound
thought wormhole: so, how long is, a piece of string?
waiting wormhole: all // are // none
words wormhole: SPRING AND ALL VI by William Carlos Williams
work wormhole: Vue de Pontoise, 1873

 

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there will be ovations

24 Sunday Mar 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, reflectionary

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Tags

2018, 7*, acting, audience, betrayal, blood, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, breathing, brother, children, circumstance, concentration, doors, emptiness, enemy, expectation, identity, life, light, machinations, music, naked, others, realisation, role, self-grasping, self-image, silence, sky, society, sound, stage, theatre, thinking, traffic

                ah, there’s the theatre and
                inside, the stage is set,
                the audience settled, the
                lights down, thank the fates,

                I almost didn’t make it –
                the traffic at this time of day! –
                the other is here, good,
                warming up, waving that

                stick all about, making whoosh
                noises, being all athletic and
                disciplined, I’d better get ready,
                torn robe on, oh, the blood

                smear it on, quick, and
                the hanging limb, OK,
                concentrate, breathe – be
                the character – I need

                to give the performance
                they are expecting – the
                circumstance, the machinations,
                the betrayal … no, not enough,

                what if it happened to my
                children
, what if it were my
                brother
with the stick, oh yes,
                it’s come to this, use the silence

                of the realisation, use the
                music – slamming doors
                in the sky! – no, this is more
                than my story, this is the

                history of my nation, quick,
                I’m ready now, I’m naked,
                I’m gutted and impaled, now
                for the finishing blow – how

                glorious this will be, I have
                so much invested in this,
                there will be ovations and
                encores, so worthwhile,

                I hope he has practised
                well – knows where the
                padding is; wait, is that
                a blade, tied to, the end

 

from Bodhisattvacharyavatara, Chapter VI – verse 43-44: [43] Here is a brandished weapon, and here is my body ready and presented, both of them the causes of my eventual suffering. My attacker has laid hold of his stick (tena śastraṃ), and I both wear and brandish my body. With what should I get angry? [44] It is I who have obtained and hold on to this boil, this pressured blister of a human body – sack of suffering – which cannot even bear to be touched and, moreover, it is I who am blind-sided through my own attachment to it, so that when the pain comes and the ‘boil’ bursts, with whom should I get angry?

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: tram
breathing & society wormhole: the reach turned to love
doors wormhole: pursued
emptiness & life & others wormhole: the mantra of Maitreya
identity wormhole: I
light wormhole: travelling / back
music wormhole: and … // … sound
realisation wormhole: passing
silence wormhole: birth in the world
sky wormhole: horizon
sound wormhole: …zzh-vvttP*–… … …
thinking wormhole: ‘ouch’

 

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concordance

19 Tuesday Sep 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

2014, 7*, age, armour, discovery, Donald Fagen, expectation, eyes, flow, Gran Canaria, Have, holiday, identity, image, life, looking, music, passing, Salinger, sea, sitting, sun, Sylvia Plath, waves, writing

                                                                                                how to be
                                                                                in a holiday resort
                                                                where the Have is strolled
                                                and swaggered and tattoo’d
                                catching glance like after-image
                when the eyes are closed?

                                                                ~O___,

                                why aren’t I writing?            Well
                                                                I am
                but I was expecting to see something else when I wrote
                                the flow of another holiday
                                                rather than the
                                                                concordance
                                                that I have still yet to discover
                                in my writing eyes wide
                                                closed

                                                                ,___O~

                                                                certainly
                                                the sun and skin keep me
                                                                lapping without gain
                                                                and replaying the chorus from the ‘Nightfly’                
                                                                                unsure if I ever got the verse

                                                                ___“O”—

                                                                but nevertheless
                                                I still worry that I don’t write
                                                                as Plath and Salinger would lifefully so

                                                                I even know the answer
                                but I cannot sit at the moment,
                                                                I thought I had armour by the sea but it has

                                                                so quickly rusted
                                                and I’m overweight and 54 thinking
                                                                of illness and waste

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

eyes & Salinger wormhole: slightly / uphill
flow wormhole: happen//ing
Have wormhole: pass and / fro
holiday wormhole: holiday
identity wormhole: h’rk ‘eh ‘heh ‘hair ‘yeah ‘eh?
life wormhole: I turn to wake up
looking wormhole: Tara mantras
music wormhole: in the Java ‘n’ Jazz
passing wormhole: ‘someone …’
sea & sun & Sylvia Plath & waves & writing wormhole: jump start
sitting wormhole: woman / has worked in the gym / got a build

 

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aghh – we’ve been infected / it’s spreading through the system / we’re losing our files … / it’s taken out the processor … / I, I can’t open with this program anymore … / it’s scanning me – / I’ve got to buy a Virus Protection Program / from it …

04 Wednesday May 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

2012, advert, assessment, belief, boredom, bureaucracy, education, education system, educational behaviourism, expectation, identity, learning, measure, process, processor, program, pupils, relevant, slogans, speech, system, targets, teaching, training, uniform, virus, water

 

 

 

                                              aghh – we’ve been infected
                                              it’s spreading through the system
                                              we’re losing our files …
                                              it’s taken out the processor …
                                              I, I can’t open with this program anymore …
                                              it’s scanning me –
                                              I’ve got to buy a Virus Protection Program
                                                              from it …

                we process education
                                and pupils get measured
                we condition education
                                and pupils find their selves
                                defined or confused
                we target education
                                and pupils lose their trajectory
                we measure education
                                and pupils believe it
                we make education relevant
                                and pupils get bored
                we sloganise education
                                and pupils wear uniforms
                we teach education
                                and pupils ‘don’t get it’
                we teach learning in education
                                and pupils just remember
                                at best or not
                we train ourselves in education
                                actually we don’t anymore
                we workshop education
                                and pupils fill out forms
                we expect in education
                                and pupils leak like water

                here and there a teacher teaches
                                and a pupil learns
                but that soon stops because everyone
                                is too busy
                we teach, pupils learn … something
                                but there is no
                                education

 

I published this a while ago and no one noticed it – it probably went in to most peoples’ spam box; as I go through my haemorrhage from school some of these pieces will re-surface, I’m afraid … wait ’til you see ghosts with opened wounds again – it’s coming, can’t you hear it rattle; ‘well no, that’s the whole point!’ …

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

education wormhole: Dear Sir/Madam,
identity wormhole: my / superpower
learning wormhole: the stance of Buscema // qualitatively
speech wormhole: impressionism
targets wormhole: just saying, is all – III
teaching wormhole: dream career // groggy
water wormhole: clouds

 

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really really

12 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2013, doubt, expectation, identity, influence, leading, letting go, not knowing, possibility, talking to myself, uncertainty

 

 

 

                           in order to be really really influential expect
                           not to know enough to lead in order to be

                           really really influential expect to dwell deep
                           within uncertainty and doubt in order to

                           be really really influential don’t close down
                           possibility by offering any way forward

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

identity wormhole: becoming
letting go wormhole: thick thick fog
talking to myself wormhole: a little bit of love / and muffle

 

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spit / spot

30 Saturday Jan 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2013, being, childhood, Dad, doing, expectation, father, film, forgiveness, identity, life, Mary Poppins, pointlessness, questioning, speech, work

 

 

 

                                went to see ‘Saving Mr Banks’ and
                                learnt that Mary Poppins didn’t

                                spit to save the children but
                                spot to heal the father

                                went to bed wondering
                                if I should forgive Dad for being

                                far less than the perfect that I have
                                also failed to be to make up for

                                the pointlessness left all behind and
                                around in all the rubble of questioned lives

                                but I still don’t want to go to work
                                tomorrow and I don’t think I ever will

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & doing & identity wormhole: no point
childhood wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
Dad & father wormhole: sit
film wormhole: New York Movie, 1939
life wormhole: bookmark
pointlessness wormhole: Saturday
speech wormhole: bamboo-green boiled sweet / with soft purple filling
work wormhole: Office at Night, 1940

 

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nothing // matters

21 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2011, acceptance, achievement, agenda, consistency, doing, emptiness, expectation, hearing, identity, meaning, nothing, purpose, significance, thinking, values, world

 

 

 

                                              nothing

                nothing (that I thought matters)
                matters (in a world which juggles agendas)

                nothing (that I thought important)
                is important (in a world which is value-bled)

                nothing (that I had created)
                is significant (in a world that clings to consistency)

                nothing (I say)
                is heard (in a world that only expects)

                nothing (I do)
                is achieved (in a world with no manner)

                I came out of nothing
                tried hard to achieve something

                heard only the noise of my own effort
                                – no echo –

                maybe I should accept that
                there    –    is    –    nothing

                and as the texts then say
                everything happens and everything matters

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

accpetance wormhole: that
doing wormhole: is that so!
emptiness wormhole: start where / you are II
identity wormhole: you can only smell the candles / when they have been snuffed out
meaning wormhole: my life / of others
thinking wormhole: up here
values wormhole: Totnes
world wormhole: the stance of Buscema // qualitatively

 

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relapse

06 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

2015, 6*, ambition, breakdown, childhood, circular poem, creativity, depression, dissolving, doing, doubt, expectation, eyes, heart, history, identity, letting go, life, naïveté, pride, realisation, self, self-love, thinking, time

 

direction of read: reading direction

 

 

                                                                               it is amazing
                                         I realise because                            how much
                       again and again before                                             the same old
                     unambiguous heart                                                           ambition can
             to find my naïve and                                                                      cover the
                 again and again                                                                              same old illness
              self and relapse                                                                                    and seem to be
    will have to build my                                                                                        the cure I suppose
  that it isn’t although I                                                                                           I should be grateful
   eventually heartened                                                                                            that I’m not cured
         broken, and then                                                                                             as I thought –
            and I am heart-                                                                                            gives me something
   virtuous was despite                                                                                             more for pride
    I thought everything                                                                                          to relinquish
       creative was despite                                                                                      and love to
          I thought everything                                                                                dissipate leaving
               was always despite                                                                          the cure ready-
                      I thought the cure                                                                 prescribed and
                              but for the doubt;                                                   dosed – a self-healed
                             slightly arched brows –                                 man without edges
                                                 without history and

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

breakdown wormhole: right to be
childhood wormhole: just words wiped across a line
circular poem wormhole: a known from without the unknown
creativity wormhole: sometimes
depression wormhole: anti-depressants
doing & identity wormhole: un … able
eyes wormhole: Dr Strange VI – to hold my face to the world
history wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
letting go wormhole: I need to keep my eyes open / in meditation
life & thinking wormhole: step
naïveté wormhole: scattered
realisation wormhole: gently straighten
time wormhole: the edge has come …

 

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sometimes

12 Friday Dec 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2011, 6*, being, breathing, creativity, expectation, family, grain, happiness, Have, ideas, instinct, living, love, managerialism, music, poetry, reading, relaxation, satisfaction, sitting, striving, teaching, travelling, writing

                                                                                       sometimes

                                                                   writing coagulates but mostly liquefies
                                                                              ideas cog but mostly mutter
                                                                 instinct reveals but mostly forgets
                                                        creation simplifies but mostly details
                                                      happiness relaxes but mostly doesn’t
                                                                love sees but mostly expects
                                             satisfaction grains but mostly emulsions
                                              sitting breathes but mostly strives
                                             teaching turns but mostly gets gridlocked
                                             music tunes but mostly beats
                                    reading travels but mostly zigzags
                                poetry outsides but mostly decorates
                                 family meets but mostly contacts
                             poems finish but mostly never know when to stop

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: yet another sprain / of ‘Jingle Bells’ straining / to propagate yet another / tired Christmas spirit – … / ‘sanner clawsis coming t’ taunn – yeah’ in a / coffee shop with condensation / running off the snowflake transfers / and the iphone at the next table / talking how 50 means 900 a month – not worth / the drive (left his scarf behind – / collateral) … about my age
breathing wormhole: tong // len
creativity & teaching wormhole: irretrievable / breakdown / of marriage
family wormhole: tag cloud poem VII – form new freedom:
Have & living wormhole: 20th century / schzoid man
love wormhole: a gift
managerialism wormhole: poessay IX – … just saying, is all II
music wormhole: ‘the blues shifted …’
poetry wormhole: sunny morning
reading wormhole: I need to keep my eyes open / in meditation
sitting & writing wormhole: ‘hello old friend …’
travelling wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich 121114

 

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poessay IX – … just saying, is all II

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2013, 5*, career, conformity, consistency, dialogue, education, expectation, managerialism, outcome-led education, poessay, practice, professionalism, rhetoric, speech, teaching, value-bled education, value-led education

                poessay IX – … just saying, is all II

                                              listening
                to a teacher delivering to his group: “… them’s the rules and regulations … it is vital that … looking smart …”
                                … something about school uniform
                                                              I guess

                                                              it is this corporate appearance – led rhetoric in education
                which I can no longer even pretend to back
                                because career-long I have not been able to engage any
                                              dialogue with it

                being ‘professional’ has ceased to be a practice
                                              it is now a conformity
                                                              it is now a consistency
                                                                                 no dialogue
                                                                                 just expectation
and we all know what happens to consistency when the lead shifts
                from value-led to outcomes-led
                                (yes … value-bled)

                                              I have not been able to work out a position
                                              behind the rhetoric because
                I have not been allowed the ‘give’ (of course the ‘take’ is ‘rivers deep mountains wide’)
                                              the ‘call’
                                and certainly the ‘response’
                                                              has been dodged and bluffed like a poker hand        

                the exercise and practice of teaching professionalism
                                has been ‘chumped’ up down and sideways
                                                              never to be listened to again and again and again            

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

career wormhole: first a mishap then clear vision
education wormhole: I could step / more open
managerialism wormhole: what I am about to say is true / what I just said was a lie
poessay wormhole: poessay VII: // true revolution
practice wormhole: should is good when / too used to cruise
professionalism wormhole: just saying, is all – III
speech wormhole: a cup of tea, gov
teaching wormhole: letters to Mum III – ongoing-term // eventually
value-led education wormhole: teaching: which is it going to be, procedure or nurture?

 

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… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes." ~ Annie Dillard

pages coagulating like yogurt

  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 10
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Introduction
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
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  • poemics
  • poeviews
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recent leaks …

  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
  • time
  • the simple prayer // the tattered poem // the bitter lament
  • taking birth
  • mirror
  • long / road
  • ‘in my car I pass…’

Uncanny Tops

  • me
  • Moebius strip
  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • 'in my car I pass...'
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  • 'I can write ...'
  • like butterflies on / buddleia
  • meanwhile
  • 'hello old friend ...'
  • under the blue and blue sky

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