Icarus dreaming # 6

bifurcation

Bifurcation is one of those wonderful words we come across from time to time. A word which leaves a wistful trail of nostalgia, if I had taken that fork in the road not this, if I had been more determined in decisions, if I had, if, if, if..., and then we have the bifurcatory solipsism of personal reflection and questioning. Not this is the route I took but did I take the route I really wanted (and indeed do we ever know what that route is?). Freud suggest that as we get older we don't seek the new but mourn the past, we become more interested in autobiography than seeking new desires. And in that autobiographical mode, we spend time deliberating our own solipsistic route, highlighting the highs and the notches on the CV, carved with a penknife, with great care and attention to detail, until it becomes a memoir of justification. And yet the shibboleth of post-Freudian autobiography is his, 'Tell me who you desire and I will tell you your history...' because we want to ring fence what we know instead of seeking the new, which is a safe replacement for ongoing challenges, while we become more conscious of what is lost along the way. There is so much that will always be impossible to know, but we do know that we were once ourselves; the question is, does the narrative of our projected future of nostalgia reflect what we once were? Or is it simply the manipulation of a projection on the screen, for the benefit of a better story we can tell others? I have come to like Linda Gregg's poetry and it is this poem that got me thinking about this post:

Adult 

I’ve come back to the country where I was happy

changed. Passion puts no terrible strain on me now.

I wonder what will take the place of desire.

I could be the ghost of my own life returning

to the places I lived best. Walking here and there,

nodding when I see something I cared for deeply.

Now I’m in my house listening to the owls calling

and wondering if slowly I will take on flesh again.

Then again there is always time for Marie Elena:

Icarus dreaming # 5

Snowman

Snow in the garden turns every winter desert into a magical place. Only last week this scene was the showing of ravages, too much rain over too long a period and now its all magical. And indeed it inspires much as I sit in the kitchen looking out of the back door, watching the pale, half moon glistening off the shards of ice that are beginning to form with the night freeze - shards of ice, that old song, frost at midnight and abstruser musings, the like of which Coleridge 

could pen as Romantic. And soon I will play the guitar at the same back door, while icicles drop like stalegtites from snow-tiled roofs, ice white, blue tinged frozen tears. I love the snow and the ice and the cold and the footprints that lead nowhere but to an empty chair:

Icarus dreaming # 4

Blue

Who would have thought it - 5 hours in a car there and back because the University was shut because of snow. Its enough to make a man turn blue. But there you have it - snow, one of the great unpredictables that makes life so fantastically brilliant, oh yay. And this week I was reminded of this by someone currently enduring the hottest heatwave of her years. Jeez, you would think there would be some meeting in the middle, but here is an extract from Silent Snow, Secret Snow by Conrad Aiken:

Picture from the kitchen door

'...the mist of snow, as he had foreseen, was still on it - a ghost of snow falling in the bright sunlight, softly and steadily floating and turning and pausing, soundlessly meeting the snow that covered, as with a transparent mirage, the bare bright cobbles. He loved it-he stood still and loved it. Its beauty was paralysing beyond all words, all experience, all dream.'

And isn't the internet just great because you can read it in the Virginia Quarterly Review, Autumn, 1932, right here:  http://www.vqronline.org/articles/1932/autumn/aiken-silent-snow/ And so now I have the weekend indoors (mostly) looking to do some things like writing/finishing songs, contemplating ideas, looking for new jobs (ooh how I could do with one of them). But for now, for now, for now, for now, all you aliens out there, come pick me up:

Icarus dreaming # 3

Babes in arms

Normality returns, if ever such a thing existed at all but cope we must. Life is a merry-go-round full of bright lights and exciting times so we must grasp it and each other - otherwise we get lost in the maelstrom and sucked down by forces that have no regard for anything but chaos. Then again, what is life without a little chaos to remind us we are still alive - huh? I miss my baby.

I never crossed the river Jordan

I never swam the Red Sea

I don't know if there's a heaven

but I know what its like to be free...

As long as there's no love there's no tears:

Icarus dreaming # 2

New year's day, 2013, saw me on a bike ride down on the seafront where I took this picture. It looked like a summer's day, an oasis amid the gloom we have endured these past months - though I am thankful we don't have Canberra's 40 degree fire alert. One stray spark could see an entire city go poof, in a puff of smoke. But yesterday I got the best of emails from an old friend in Ilkley, Yorkshire. She put two of my songs on her album a few years back but has just sent me this, "I just found a tape and some lyrics of your songs that I would like to sing... we have been a bit dry of new songs, I seem to have a hit a long term block on that so finding your tapes and words etc., was like a breathe of fresh air musically. And if you have any other material we would love to hear it... Would be good to have a catch up. Speak soon, Mairead." What a nice start to the year. So I am inspired to finish lots of things I started. And indeed I have already begun with a theme which seems to be working - one long standing song already coming together - ain't it just the case. I like the new album by Lori McKenna, called Lorraine:

Icarus dreaming # 1

There will be a show tonight

Beginning the year as a Sgt Pepper clone isn't such a bad thing I guess, at least it was a creative start. And that is the New Year Resolution. Every single day shall have a creative element to it, a real one, not just an incentive way of parking the car but something tangible, a songline, a strapline, a word or two, peppered here or there. And the year begins with me thinking about 'the narrative future of nostalgia' where the lines, 'I love the silhouette you see, as you picture me standing by the river/ last night I dreamed you dreamed of me...' came to me around a little tune I had been doodling with. I won't be sharing all of my doodlings here, of course but hey, happy new year. Now here is the scary thin, I started this blog at 55, next year I will be 60 though I have only been 58 for 18 days - go figure! Happy new year! This is one of my fave pop singers - and I will be watching this whole show some time today because it also has the wonderful Neil Finn and Janis Ian sharing songs: