Icarus skywriting # 34

Tanglewreck

I have been reading a remarkable set of poems with the titles, 'Naucrate takes her time; Ariadne and the Ocean; Minotaur and Pasiphae dies, and I confess there is a certain enchantment in the way they 'adopt' the stories. I have been thinking about 'adoption' for some time because I am giving a public talk (Theatre Royal, Winchester, 10th October 2012 at 6.30) entitled 'Adopt,Adapt and Act' which is about the artistic life of stories. Marina Warner said, ‘Artists don’t make up myths; they take them over and recast them…’ and I accept this. We adopt a story and recast it via our own artistic impression of what the story represents. And this artistic impression can be any art form, dance, song, music, poetry, painting, sculpture and so on. But in looking back at the poems listed above, I am also taken by an idea I read it in a novel written for children, called Tanglewreck, by Jeanette Winterson because it captures the essence of storytelling: '…all time is always present, but buried layer by layer under what people call Now. Today lies on top of yesterday, and yesterday lies on top of the day before, and so on down the layers of history, until the layers are so thick that the voices underneath are muffled to whispers… [we] listen to those whispers…' which are traces of existing and surviving and ongoing stories we adopt and which come to be named as myths because they continue to resonate. Or as Brecht said, Nothing comes from nothing; the new comes from the old, but that is why it is new. This isn't a new song but another honest, heart on the sleeve, Steve Earle moment which actually says a lot about men.

Och

Rest in peace, Andy, I adore this song:

Icarus skywriting # 33

Rain drenched Brighton, cold dark mornings with an overpowering air of gloom and a dreich air. Weather shouldn't really change how we are or feel but it does have a way of getting into our pores. Its only September, but its dark, dark in my house, in my garden and in my study - I have 3 lamps on! But I will rise above it, for today is my weekend, a 48 hour stint in Winchester leaves me exhausted and so today I will re-string a couple of guitars and a mandolin and work on the lyrics I have cooking. I like the way this man writes - he has no coyness, he just says what he likes. Maybe I should be less uptight about putting words onto paper - after all, its just a performance. Watch this space.

Icarus skywriting # 32

Unquiet Hours

Oh - its officially the end of summer which is to say its the first week of teaching and as we all know that means its only 12 weeks to Christmas, hoots! Its the time of unquiet hours, interrupted by enthusiastic youngsters whose dreams of lives to come still haunt their dreams. Not me, I dreamt of Venus Williams the other night. Most odd, and she was only 5'3 tall - I expected her to be taller - must be the TV that does that. But in the spirit of the unquiet, I thought I would introduce the fantastic Lau with a  very spirited number because my students have probably never heard of them and staying that one step ahead is always a good thing for all academics. And, indeed, writing a 36 word sentence that makes sense too (see previous) is a coup they have yet to master, I suspect. Am I a wordy-rapping-hoodlum? You bet your life I is!

Icarus skywriting # 31

A Mandolin Standby

Starting the day strumming is a good thing to do and I recommend its qualities. In fact a cup of good coffee (Lavazza) an apple and a good strum are great ways to start the day. And anything to hand will do, for me it can be a mandolin or a guitar but it gets the brain to think about coordination and waking up at the same time. In fact, even after a couple of hours at the computer with the need to straighten your back and fingers it becomes a tonic. I have this wonderful little William Blake book by my bed at the moment and I like to read a poem or two every night before I go to sleep. And this one reminds me how good the next day could be:

I love to rise in a summer morn,

When the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the sky-lark sings with me.

O! what sweet company

Well that's how it is for me - mandolin and all, on which I have written my most recent song, which is a good thing to do too. All which is about getting rid of the 'black dog'. I love this song about Sister Rosetta:

Skywriting # 30

Autumn

And another autumnal day reminds us of the turning seasons, we change, we move, we grow older, the roses drop, the figs invite all kinds of tourists, starlings and thrushes, saying , 'eat me, eat me...'. But with autumn, the winter lives of others beckon and we know those winters will arrive and show themselves - we may feel immortal but we are not. I don't feel immortal, I feel fragile and thoughtful about others older than I. I guess because that's what we do as humans, the boy becomes the father of the father and mother, in time. 

Skywriting # 29

Picture by C. G. Grey

Autumn approaches with crinkled leaves in all their shades of orange and gold, bright red and russet hues. Yesterday was an end of summer bike ride along the seafront, from the kitsch, candy floss smelling Brighton Pier to the ghost of the west pier, where I have set some of the story I am writing now. It was a glorious run on the new bike, the beach was heaving with end of summer revellers, Harley Davidson ralliers, Hare Krishnars, tuneful buskers, lithe dancers, chanting demonstrators outside the T.U.C., rally, a brass band playing in the bandstand and the smell of coconut oiled bodies checking out the last of the summer rays. A cross-section of Brighton life rolled out like a hall carpet along the shoreline, and as I turned to come up the back of  Hove I heard a young woman with a busker's cap at her feet, reading from a poetry chap book, all I could remember was the line, 'swirling starlings dived...' but I might have made that up - poetic licence, but you know what kind of day it was... 'I thought I was someone else, someone good...'

Icarus skywriting # 28

Hiding again

Edinburgh is a city I adore and even though I didn't see much of it, it was good to revisit it this week. Nostalgia haunts the nooks and crannies of invention when you get a chance to re-appraise that which you had left behind. In my case it has been over 30 years since I lived there, where does the time go? But instances of deja vu, paramnesia and unconscious fantasy are bound together in clouding the visions and thoughts between what is real and what is not. Did I see the ghost of my younger self, sneaking a peek from out of the shadows at what I had become? And was my ghost disappointed? Am I less handsome, less talented, less interesting? He hasn't told me yet but in time I hope to find out. In the meantime I am looking for a sunset, a sandy beach and a margarita on chilled ice with a slice of lime so I can dance along to this - cheers.

Icarus skywriting # 27

 

Contemplation permits reflection and the nurture of ideas and today I have been contemplating magic realism and in particular, this:

'...the supernatural is not a simple or obvious matter, but it is an ordinary matter, an everyday occurrence - admitted, accepted, and integrated into the rationality and materiality of literary realism. Magic is no longer quixotic madness, but normative and normalizing.' Lois Parkinson Zamora and Wendy B. Faris, (1995) 'Introduction', Magical Realism: Theory, History, Community, Duke University Press.

Because it has me thinking about what I am writing and the idea that magic is normative and normalizing at the same time, which is something I am trying to capture. The fact that the magic just is. And yet, in thinking about it, its nothing short of those internal thoughts we all have, the inner secrets, our magic inner selves where fantasies and secret matters are re-enacted and real. It takes some explaining but I am working it through, though to what end only time will tell. This boy knows about it:

Icarus skywriting # 26

I can hear you wondering from here. But this is a picture of my new bike and its very yummy indeed. It can go very fast and very slow and can even sing. Well maybe not sing but I can when I cycle it. A bike is a good thing to get and have and use and it made clearing out the shed so I could store it in there all the more worthwhile. Of course the seat wont be as high as this picture, my feet have to touch the ground at some time - never mind the pedals. I'm thinking it might not be cool to get a basket for the front but hey, who wants to be cool when you have shopping to cope with. I can see myself in a Breton shirt, a baguette, a bottle of wine and some very smelly cheese, peddling slow and swaying to this on my iPod - yay!