• 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: years

tragic and archival

01 Tuesday Aug 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

'scape, 2013, 4*, driving, history, months, moving, practice, progress, sitting, time, tragedy, travelling, years

                      so

                      after months,
                      even years

                      of sitting
                      and feeling

                      I have achieved
                      some coagulation

                      set and
                      solid-enough

                      to make along
                      a country road

                      I can still
                      get caught

                      by the ‘tut’
                      to a wrong turn

                      tragic and archival
                      which takes

                      the best part
                      of fifty miles

                      and a change
                      of scene to

                      stand down
                      and move on

 

 

 

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

history wormhole: wakeoutofadream
sitting wormhole: I keep / waiting to be discovered and get lost in anticipation
time wormhole: time
travelling wormhole: written relief to / creeping anaesthesia / through palimpsest / and crankled page
years wormhole: 1968

 

Advertisement

Rate this:

1968

15 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ 1 Comment

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

 

 

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

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

 

Rate this:

1967

16 Monday May 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

'scape, 1960s, 1967, 2011, abandonment, beauty, buildings, cornice, lemon, olive, purple, rooftops, silhouette, sky, vermillion, years

 

 

 

                                                              1967

                                                              deepest vermillion
                                              streaked with lemon purple
                                between the dull olive silhouette of rooftops
                wires and cornices

 

 

 

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

1967 wormhole: organ / sunlight in all our eyes – poewieview #11
abandonment wormhole: 1968
beauty wormhole: need
buildings wormhole: Le Pont Royal, 1909
lemon & sky wormhole: being in love – poewieview #26
olive wormhole: thick thick fog
purple wormhole: up on the hill
rooftops wormhole: tag cloud poem IX – haiku is awkward / the more that is left in / like uncombed hair
silhouette wormhole: Jon
years wormhole: 1965

 

Rate this:

1965

24 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

1965, 2014, bridge, cars, crane, morning, music, passing, radio, silence, sound, sunlight, traffic, truck, voices, years

 

 

 

                           1965

                           the traffic
                     the cars and the blocks of trucks with their air-breaks and axels pass
                           and recede

                           silent
                     over the bridge on the way past the docks and cranes save for
                           the line

                           on the radio
                     which ends ‘instead …’ and doesn’t resolve until ‘… of me’ to
                           change down gear

 


Are You There (With Another Girl): Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David

 

 

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

bridge wormhole: Compartment C, Car 193, 1938
cars wormhole: always
crane & traffic wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
morning wormhole: 1964
music & voices wormhole: well,
passing & sunlight & years wormhole: 1968
radio wormhole: any answers
silence wormhole: and that’s where I are
sound wormhole: impressionism

 

Rate this:

1968

20 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1968, 2009, abandonment, being, child, childhood, curtains, divorce, doubt, facade, father, feeling, holiday, identity, illusion, lilac, living, passing, sky, sleep, stretch, sunlight, time, timelessness, town, truth, vermillion, yawn, years

 

 

 

                                                                 1968

                      child living at rate: three months per hour
                      sat under lilac viscous sky and watched
                      the vermilion slicks form and pass; the

                      Way Things Are through which I had come
                      was no longer living with us; what I had
                      felt – under my fingernails – might not be

                      true (like the facades of towns erected
                      for a holiday) now had reference, I felt
                      no feeling, all Absolutes were off, all

                      interaction doubtful.   The child slept for
                      a week, is now stretching and yawning, a
                      new day ahead shining through curtains

 

 

 

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

1968 wormhole: quite … / … yet – poewieview #12
abandonment wormhole: 1963
being & passing & living wormhole: impressionism
child wormhole: and that’s where I are
childhood & sky wormhole: 1963
curtains wormhole: Quiver of / Tiffany – poewieview #20
divorce wormhole: sit
father wormhole: Jon
holiday wormhole: nothing to write
identity wormhole: no one – poewieview #24
lilac wormhole: I’ve only just realised / after so many decades / that the smell of neglected land is lilac buddleia
sleep wormhole: com- / mute
time wormhole: what I am about to say is true / what I just said was a lie
vermillion wormhole: 1967
years wormhole: 1964

 

Rate this:

1963

17 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1963, 2014, childhood, emergence, grey, growth, knowledge, name, notice, park, passing, reaching, sky, trees, winter, years

 

 

 

                                                                                 1963

                                     hand in hand
                      with noticing the tree
                           in winter
                           against the sky
                           for the first time
                      and knowing it was called tree for the
                           first time
                           came the shifting greys
                           into which
                      it reached which I didn’t notice yet
                           but would
                           inevitably
                           have to

 

 

 

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

childhood wormhole: up on the hill
emergence & sky wormhole: like ink – poewieview #23
grey wormhole: Jon
knowledge wormhole: up here
park wormhole: Saturday – poewieview #3
passing wormhole: bavardage
trees wormhole: Doctor Strange I – the trashcan tilted the better to see now the street
winter wormhole: com- / mute
years wormhole: 1964

 

Rate this:

1964

10 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

1960s, 1964, 2014, angel, archetypes, beauty, Burt Bacharach, Diane di Prima, Dionne Warwick, dream, emptiness, feeling, hair, humanity, identity, imagination, life, light, lightning, lime, Manhattan, morning, myth, reality, San Francisco, shadow, streets, table, tectonic plates, the Summer of Love, time, walking, years

 

 

 

                           1964

                           she stood up from the
                           lime-green tablecloth we bought and walked
                           down through the streets
                           between morning shadows …

 

you’ll never get to heaven (if you break my heart): Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David; soon after I posted this I sat down and had lunch (sultanas and banana in porridge) and read the following passage which was so apropos that I just had to add it to this work; it is by Diane di Prima, “Recollections of My Life as a Woman”, the beginning of chapter 19 – I haven’t asked permission (don’t know how to), but I just wanted to share it, it’s brilliant:

Certain times, certain epochs, live on in the imagination as more than what they ‘actually’ were, and there is always a price to pay for them.   They are, if you look close, times when the boundary between mythology and everyday life is blurred.   The archetypes break out of prison, as it were, and by some collective consent we or many of us, simply choose a myth and live it, heedless of the restrictions of the so-called ‘real world’.   Or we are somehow chosen by the myth we were born to live.   Sometimes with deadly rapidity.

This meeting of world and myth is where we all thought we were going.   Where we thought we wanted to be; it was so beautiful.   Vivid, bright, and deadly, like some tropical flowers.   Not human.   Not cut to our measure.

But we – we couldn’t see that.   Thought we were gods …

‘The 60s’ are often referred to as such a time, though what is usually meant by the term is merely ‘The Summer of Love’ and its aftermath: 1967 and 68.   Tip of the iceburg, if you ask me.

For me most of the 1960s, and on to about 1976, was a time bathed in the mythic.   It was a time when the archetypes stalked the streets of Manhattan, numinous and often deadly.   When angels, incubi, and other dreams of what could be settled in your hair and refused to be brushed aside.   When we see the creatures that lived in the fog worlds of San Francisco as casually as you see your corner grocery.

                                                      .

We had struggled so long and so furiously to find, reach into, the world of our feelings, our secret knowledges, and intuitions, and it was as if Something had caught us up, caught the hand we had slipped through the gap, and that Something was now pulling us in.   Pulling us under.   For as certainly as we knew that behind the facades our parents had lived there was the world of human feeling, behind that world was yet another that sought to claim us.   What I have called the World of Archetypes.   Inexorable bundles of soul purpose, often wearing human or humanoid form, sometimes walking among us.   Without conscience and without regret.   And so beautiful!

As I can tell you now, behind the Archetypes are vast impersonal patterns or textures of energies we might call Orisha.   Or Yidam.

And behind that, perhaps the Void dances, not black, cold, or empty as we have believed, but dancing with light, sheet lightnings spread as a series of surfaces over nothing.   And moving faster than the eye can register.   Even the eye of the mind.

Our downfall was – it was so beautiful.   For us, who had replaced religion, family, society, ethics with Beauty, who saw ourselves as in the service of Beauty, no warnings were understood, no traps anticipated.   To go down in the servive of That – that was the ultimate grace.

But archetypes have their own drama: a vast uncharted cycle of Comedia dell’Arte, which they play out through us, without our informed concent.   And with, ultimate, no concern for human purpose.

And it is not without reason that we have been handed by the science of our time the image, the fact or metaphor, of tectonic plates.   Earth continents floating on a core of molten magma.   As we ourselves float, melting a little, changing shape.   Bumping against each other, lifted by, dependent on, in total chemical exchange with, the molten soul stuff I have here called Archetypes.   That seeks to brek through to the surface wherever the plates are thin.

The plates were very thin in 1964.

 

 

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

1964 wormhole: sixty four sixty five – poewieview #1
beauty wormhole: [s]
[Burt] Bacharach wormhole: 1963
Dionne Warwick wormhole: nothing to write
dream wormhole: dream career // groggy
emptiness & walking wormhole: and that’s where I are
hair wormhole: Shonagh – poewieview #17
identity wormhole: rhymed
Manhattan wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
life wormhole: mauve
light wormhole: don’t look / at her eyes – poewieview #18
lightning wormhole: first Spring storm
lime wormhole: thick thick fog
morning wormhole: hinged – From Hell ch. V
reality wormhole: top table
shadow wormhole: up on the hill
streets wormhole: tabla
table wormhole: Soir Bleu, 1914
time wormhole: a theremin note – poewieview #21
years wormhole: the sounds of 1969 // [would have] seemed that way – poewieview #13

 

Rate this:

the sounds of 1969 // [would have] seemed that way – poewieview #13

25 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

1969, 2016, accountability, appearance, ascent, becoming, being, Bowie, chords, clouds, coalescence, counting, crescendo, dawn, doing, doors, earth, echo, fall, gods, history, horizon, kitchen, looking, loss, lost, love, neighbourhood, people, possibility, rocket, silence, society, sound, stillness, streets, stumbling, suburbia, travelling, trees, up, variation, warp, weft, wish, years

                                   … oh,

                      here it comes again, between
                      the warp and weft of chording;
                      all the engines of thrust, all
                      the snare of history, all propulsion

                      `round various turnings, trails
                      left vaporising; counting … up
                      to crescendo, looking up to tread,
                      to lacunae; to ascend is to lose,

                      to step through that door: fall/
                      ascent mean nothing off-sphere;
                      tumult of horizon sitting in my
                      kitchen, stumbling on my planet,

                      there’s nothing I can do: there
                      are – so – many – more – chords,
                      variants on a minor, travelling to
                      where we are all along, feeling

                      very still … lost where we all are;
                      the sounds of 1969 looked very
                      different today – loved-up, peopled-
                      up, gods upped be-coming – up;

                                          ~O~~~

                      down the slippey ascension of wish,
                      up to the echoing boroughs of cloud-
                      bank, where the damp damp dawn
                      falls silent to urban horizon, higher

                      for to widen the neighbourhood
                      streets and higher to deepen the road-
                      side trees; none of it didn’t, but it
                      [would have] seemed that way

 

filtered through grill of angst: Space Oddity, 1969, Cygnet Committee, 1969, Memory of a Free Festival, 1969

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

 

 

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

being & Bowie & doing wormhole: quite … / … yet – poewieview #12
clouds wormhole: dog bark
dawn wormhole: now, the verticals go down as well as they go up
doors wormhole: Seven A.M, 1948
echo & looking & people wormhole: 1966 … actually sic // of it allllll-bsssssssh – poewieview #8
history wormhole: London Park in Greenwich town – poewieview #5
horizon wormhole: com- / mute
kitchen wormhole: 1963
love wormhole: Grizedale College
silence wormhole: the open window
society wormhole: bookmark
sound & years wormhole: 1963
stillness wormhole: the windmill
streets wormhole: fine droplets / across the glass
travelling & trees wormhole: Saturday – poewieview #3

 

Rate this:

1963

22 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

1963, 2014, abandonment, bedroom, betrayal, childhood, Eglinton Hill, loss, sound, step, toes, years

 

 

 

                1963

                                  steppin’
                            ‘n’ lope-n’
                            ‘n’ swingin’
                            ‘n’ toe-n’
                            ‘n’ makin’
                            m’ way fr’m
                                one room to n’other
                                   with only a creak to pretend

 

 

 

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

abandonment wormhole: sit
bedroom wormhole: the open window
childhood & Eglinton Hill wormhole: ‘the hour before dinner – / the empire of dusk’ – poewieview #6
sound wormhole: dog bark
years wormhole: 1966 … actually sic // of it allllll-bsssssssh – poewieview #8

 

Rate this:

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

09 Tuesday Feb 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

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

 

Rate this:

← Older posts

… 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
  • others
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • William Carlos Williams
  • wormholes

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...'
  • 'the practice ...'
  • 'I can write ...'
  • like butterflies on / buddleia
  • meanwhile
  • 'hello old friend ...'
  • under the blue and blue sky

category sky

announcements awards embroidery poems poeviews reflectionary teaching

tag skyline

'scape 2* 3* 4* 5* 6* 7* 8* 20th century 1967 1979 1980 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 acceptance afternoon air Allen Ginsberg anxiety architecture arm in arm attention awareness Batman beach beauty bedroom being birds birdsong black blue Bodhisattvacharyavatara books Bowie branches breakdown breathing breeze brown Buddha buildings career Carol cars change child childhood children city clouds coffee shop colour combe end comics communication compassion compromise crane creativity curtains dancing dark death distraction divorce doing doors dream Dr Strange earth echo Edward Hopper Eglinton Hill emergence emptiness evening eyes faces family father feet field floorboards garden Genesta Road girl giving glass gold grass green grey growth haiku hair hands Have hedge hill hills history holiday hope horizon house houses identity kitchen leaf leaves lemon letting go life lifetimes light lime listening living London looking lost love management managerialism mauve meaning mind mist moon morning mother mouth movement Mum muse music night notice open openness orange others park passing pavement people performance management pink Plumstead poetry pointlessness politics portrait posture power practice professionalism purple purpose quiet rain reaching reading realisation reality red requires chewing river roads roof rooftops samsara sea searching seeing settling shadow shops silence silhouette silver sitting sky skyline sleep smell smile snow society sound space speech step stone streetlight streets sun sunlight superhero table talking talking to myself teaching teaching craft Thames thinking thought time train travelling trees true nature university voices walking walls water waves white William Carlos Williams wind windows wood Woolwich words work world writing years yellow zazen

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,847 other subscribers

... just browsing

  • 49,934 what th'-s

I wander around after this lot a lot …

m’peeps who notice I exist

these things I liked …

A WordPress.com Website.

SoundEagle 🦅ೋღஜஇ

Where The Eagles Fly . . . . Art Science Poetry Music & Ideas

Classic Rock Review

The home of forgotten music...finding old reviews before they're lost....

A Reading Writer

I write because I read. I read because I write.

Buddhism in Daily Life

Buddhist meditation applied to our everyday lives...

Laughter Over Tears

Where books, movies, anger, confusion and musing live together in sin.

Sunra Rainz

Poetry. Art. Photography. Musings.

A girl seeking joy and serenity

Silver Birch Press

Poetry & Prose...from Prompts

whimsy~mimsy

a few words spewing from my soul...

naïve haircuts

The daily addict

The daily life of an addict in recovery

The Sixpence at Her Feet

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • mlewisredford
    • Join 1,847 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • mlewisredford
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar