# 38 - in Crete

Going, going... gone - with a sigh, without the chance to see goodbye... shadows huh, fickle as a summer song, like Rose of Cimarron!

# 37 - in Crete

The 14C Venetian Harbour in Χανιά (Chania) is a delight and indeed the whole area is too. I am not going to say much about this - just posting the pictures so I can say, even back in that early  period its easy to forget what an educated and civilised species we were. The Renaissance was already building its bridge out of the middle ages. And coming out of a FB poetry challenge seems small beer, but there we go. As I sit at the table by the pool, the strains of a jazz band  playing in one of the restaurants is leaking into the air, a guitar player from a bad John McLaughlin school is exhibiting serious over-indulgence - its 23.54 here and that's it from me for the night. I leave you with the pictures.

Day 5 of the poetry challenge

The view from the beachside restaurant isn't so bad and the food is amazing - fish straight out of the sea and onto the plate (via the grill - sorry vegetarians). But fresh vegetables,  cheese, fruit and wine that comes from a barrel into a small carafe (which is just big enough) are in abundance too. In the Metamorphosis, Ovid wrote:

Weary of exile, hating Crete, his prison, 

Old Daedalus grew homesick for his country...

I can't say I have reached anything like that stage yet. I mean dusting the smattering of ants off the outside table this morning to type this isn't so much of a chore. Nor is this little character, who hopped by and asked about Buddy Holly - this is a picture of the table (as I type) by the way, all onlookers welcome. But goodness there are loads of these little guys and do they make a racket. Though it does seem a bit churlish to complain. But back to Daedalus, King Minos halted escape by controlling sea and land, and what Daedalus recognised then as the, 'Unconfined skies...' are now the common way in and out. And flying has become acceptable and indeed normal in my lifetime. And so all I can say on this final day of the poetry challenge is I am working on the epea pteroenta - the winged words that are getting caught in thought's tangled kite strings. As Ovid wrote about Daedalus (though I claim no artist connection),

...as the artist made his miracles

The artless boy was often in his way. 
But mixing my metaphor for a moment, while Odysseus has tied himself to his ship (pictured), the Icarus is not to be confused with the Siren coming out of the sky. Last night, while the sun had long gone but the temperature was still up in the thirties, I was strumming, just doodling really around a couple of lines, like 'tangled kite strings,' came from that and 'A kite's twisted tail,' which I stole from Jen Webb in Canberra (how far we travel) came into thought too then it all became a blur invaded by sleep. So this is as far as I got with the song.
I can feel another heartbeat
close up to mine
and time 
is open to suggestion
open to surprise
every minute of every day

caught in the strings
of a kite with a twisted tail...
And that's all, it could be a while in the unravelling but that's ok too, it once took me over forty years to start and finish a song called Dance With Me. Today we visit, Χανιά, or Chania as it is translated for us, with its Venitian harbour. I have enjoyed the 5 Day poetry challenge, thank you Tami Haaland. And finally for today, the social unravellings in Australia (which I have been following) suggested the next piece of music, I do like Archie Roach, this is the Lighthouse (song for two mothers) - a bit low down for a sunny morning but that's ok: 

Day 4 of the poetry challenge

Naked writer snaps still life called,
'workstation  under the grapevine with
coffee', before pulling trunks on for a
dip in the pool.

Earlier this year I was working up another song and I had the idea of the Icarus boy flying, always flying, never falling as the myth carried on through the centuries, through various stages of popular culture. And I was thinking about who he would encounter in that magical way. The Wright brothers and Neil Armstrong were an obvious thought, and the Beatles flying to America (and back to the USSR, as the old song goes) are another example. These were just musings and jottings in a notebook - and knowing what to do with them is another dilemma. But doodling on the guitar also allows for new thoughts and an accidental lyric can become a full song. That is how this one came about. I had a line and a series of chords, and after some research into the character portrayed, she fits the bill quite well. The first line I had was, 'I wonder if Amelia Earhart ever sang the blues,' it was just a doodle of a line because it sang ok over the music, but it began to materialise and then it worked out, well, into the kind of song I hadn't written in a long long time. For now I could call it Icarus over America:

I don't know if Amelia Earhart ever sang the blues,

when she flew across the ocean

breaking aviation rules,

flying across the world in the company of clouds,

crossing America

and waving to the crowds - saying...

'Everybody has an ocean to cross,'

take to the sky and learn to fly,

and don't tell a woman she can't do what she likes,

what she wants to do, she can do all night

Anticipation and patience coincides

with a worthwhile adventure

two miles in the sky,

and Amelia Earhart would look down on the world

blowing kisses to babies

and the men on the ground - saying...

'Everybody has an ocean to cross,'

take to the sky and learn to fly,

and don't tell a woman she can't do what she likes,

what she wants to do, she can do all night

Can you see her, do you know her, do you feel inspired

to get closer, fly higher, share the stars in her sky,

to fly through the night

'Everybody has an ocean to cross,'

take to the sky and learn to fly,

and don't tell a woman she can't do what she likes,

what she wants to do, she can do all night (ad lib, finish)

There are a number of appropriate songs I could attach to this post, but I like this one, especially since the lady is a fantastic lyricist (different to me that's for sure) but also her own wings have been clipped a bit, of late, Amelia, it was only a false alarm:

Day 3 of the poetry challenge

And so, as I said yesterday I stumbled across a really nice minor blues tune, starting in F#m and I developed it through the day and picked it up again this morning. And I guess that is part o the creative process, here I am in the idyll of Vamos in Crete, drinking coffee at the table under the grapevine outside the front door of this cottage, about to go for a swim and I was reflecting on being in New Orleans earlier in the year, and the blues that seemed to be seeping out of every bar on Bourbon Street. So having thought about Naucrete - and I don’t know if anyone recognised the picture of the bridge I posted a couple of days ago was the Crescent City Connection over the Mississippi - I had this the idea for a Daedalus blues song, well to my ears it seemed about right, so here is the lyric, below. If ever there was proof that a song lyric is not a poem then this could be an example (Glenn Fosbraey to note):

Daedalus on Bourbon Street

On the corner,

under the streetlight

between the river and the night,

curiosity will catch your eye,

pull you closer by his side

- he’ll be waiting...

And he’ll be looking

like an angel,

caught between a dream and a lie,

his disguise shouldn’t fool you,

as he pulls you

 - to where he’s waiting...

Dusty books 

on dusty shelves

are not where he will be,

he’s dealing a different high.

He doesn’t do joy

he doesn’t do poetry,

on the corner

under the street light,

between the river and the night,

- he’ll be waiting...

Like it says, New Orleans is a wonderful place but like all such places there are Daedalus characters best avoided. And I have been thinking, later this week when Dan joins me I might be able to film these songs and put them up, let’s see - I could hold a Brighton garden 'reading' for Alasdair Buchan who is about to go to New Orleans soon. But for now this is a lyric to answer the poetry challenge (finished about ten minutes ago) - actually it sounds really good on the guitar, and a half decent song, I have a couple of chord changes that really work well (nice and sleazy) - ah but the prosody of the song, the music and lyric combined, its not poetry but something other... While typing I find myself listening to this:

Day 2 of the poetry challenge

Breakfast under the vine, Vamos, Crete

A selfie at the breakfast table - breakfast itself will be Greek yoghurt, fresh grapes, peaches, sheep's cheese, water with a slice of lemon and coffee (oh yay) but before that I will strum the Ozark travel guitar. That should be poetry enough, yes? However, even on this idyl of a morning in an idyllic location and the astonishing chatter from the Γρύλος Έντομο, crickets, poetry is one of those great paradoxes, both an engagement with the world while escaping from it (I think Andrew Motion probably said that) so I will type what has come to mind these past couple of days. I am still on the Icarus/Minoan theme but before I do type on I should say that yesterday I stumbled over a blues tune in F#m and it has a Daedalus feel to it - the working title is Daedalus on Bourbon Street, so maybe that will come tomorrow. At the moment I am still thinking about Naucrete and this short (very) is in her persona:

   ...sometimes he flies alongside
my own lost story, a bird to keep me company,

swooping unseen out of the sun,
gold-backed wings flashing before vanishing again...

Greetings from a Cretan morning, I can hear the crickets, the chickens, a cockerel yawning and this appropriate song for a sunny morning has just slipped through the shuffled iTunes, eyes wide open, naked as we came:

Day 1 of the poetry challenge

Tami Haaland - Poet Laureate of Montana asked me to take part in the FB Poetry Challenge and that was after Jen Webb and a group of poets collected around IPSI, the International Poetry Studies Institute asked me to contribute to an exercise they were undertaking, which is to respond to an email thread to write Prose Poems. A random poem would appear in our inbox and we could respond, or not - there are currently 17 writers taking part and thus far I understand around 600 Prose Poems have been written and collected in less than four months, which is extraordinary. I felt odd to be asked since I am actually a lyric writer for songs and not a poet but it has been an eye opener for me. So I thought I would air some ideas here. And since I am on the Greek island of Crete I thought I might do my 5 days of the Poetry Challenge as an Icarus themed exercise and idea around things I am working on and through. One thing I have found is the Prose Poetry idea has allowed me to explore ideas in other places - and being able to convert them into lyrics at times - and some of the songs have been worth working on. This first one being a good case. So here is the prose poem (unedited because they are meant to be quick - and often in response to others posted on the email thread):

On a bridge that crossed a river as wide as the sea, she stood angel still, cold as a shadow in the moonlight, pulled by the undertow of strange rooms and unmade beds. Her words like small fish squirmed from her grasp, seaward, searching for ferries  - you said, 'the horizon,' and she clasped the last of the drifting notes close, songships lamenting lost sailors and cold linen sheets

And as I thought about the scene I had just created it occurred to me that it is a metaphor for women through the centuries; women who were always waiting for men to return  I don't mean that as a feminist sleight of hand but centuries of men going to war, going to sea and so on. I am a fifties child and the second world war rung through a community of widows in my own parish. And then there is the idea of Naucrete the mother of Icarus who seems to have been written out of the story of 'father and boy' altogether. So, as a song it became that idea - with a country-esque, Tijuana, Mexican/USA border feel to it as a tune developed. Of course this doesn't do credit to repeat lines, the bridge, chorus idea etc, in fact the whole prosody that is a song. But it is my Day 1 of the poetry challenge and on the Icarus theme I have called this:

Naucrete

She stood on the bridge
looking out 'cross a river
which was longer than time 
and wide as the sea
cold as a shadow
in the pull of the undertow
of strange rooms and cold linen on unmade beds
where she played a broken-heart-stringed mandolin

All losers are self-made men
she had known this all along
deceived by dreamers
panning fools gold
throwing pennies into the river
brought her no luck at all
just strange rooms and cold linen on unmade beds
where she played a broken-heart-stringed mandolin

In the smudge red light of early dawn
she would take her bag and move along
for another go on the merry-go-round
of strange rooms and cold linen on unmade beds
where she played a broken-heart-stringed mandolin.

I don't have the means to post a recording here or I would post that - another time, perhaps.

# 36

A couple of days ago, just as the sun was setting, Dan and I took a stroll along Brighton beach. I could have posted one of those gorgeous sunset sky pictures but this is what really caught my eye. Brighton beach is not the conventional idea of sun, sea and sand. Neither is it the conventional idea of straight, gay, trans, et al, its just an unconventional town. I have been to many unconventional places, even in conservative USA, but the truth is if you are unconventional there, New York, San Francisco and New Orleans will catch you and scoop you up. Of course that is a gross over-simplification, I mean I had good times in LA, Chicago, Charlotte, San Diego... oh that time in... and then I realise (and I have said this before) I really, really, really like cities. I love the idea of being in a small artistic town, Frome appeals, even Winchester appeals, Canberra (as opposed to Melbourne or Sydney or Brisbane) appeals. But London I had the greatest of time of my life in and it was the hardest place I ever left (and if I am honest I would go back to Dulwich tomorrow). I was in London yesterday and the buzz is still there, indeed I have been up there a number of times in the past few weeks and it still holds that attraction. Edinburgh is a city that beckons me back, of course, time, after time after time, and I like the idea of it, but leaving home means there is no going back, and going back isn't always the best thing about moving on. If I went back I would be a stranger, just another pebble on the beach, looking for a place to be - which of course, brings us all the way back to this picture. And now I will post some Nick Cave, just for me own Brighton reason.

# 35

Seeing this invitation, painted on a Brighton wall, this afternoon I wondered what I should write or draw. And what is the 'dream'? I mean is it an aspiration or the confusion of images that woke me this morning at five-thirty. And also, what would be the point because the truth is I have accomplished things I could't have dreamed of as a young man, even as a thirty year old man. To desire more almost seems greedy and what good would dreaming do, when so much joy comes unexpectedly.  Of course there is always another book to write, a song to sing, a film to make, it would be nice, but I have done okay. Although, of course, a dream extends more than to ourselves, we can hope for others and I do, this is why I am involved in a creative project that will promote a social justice idea I have been mulling over for a while - though more of that later because I have partners in the project and its is still in its infancy. So its a strange thing this having a dream. Most realistic ambitions are doable and achievable and I wonder, if I had written this graffiti would I have used the word 'dream' or would I have changed it for 'hopes'. Its given me something to mull over. One thing that does concern me is seeing liberal Europe lurching to the right - goodness, did the Greeks really deserve the kicking they have just received? And its a worldwide thing, the UK; USA; Australia... are all moving the same way, its hard to reconcile this with hopes and dreams and aspirations for social equality. I guess my message on this wall might be, 'I wish everyone had a life like mine, which is good.' I listened to this song the other day, because I can whenever I like, how good is that - not everyone can and not everyone will be a Joe Ely fan, but I am -  I wanna smear the moonlight in your skin / And put Orion in your crown 

# 34

Ernesto Neto, "Soul Breathing"
at the Station to Station show, Barbican

I often wonder where original artistic ideas come from, like this instalation - picture left - for example - which I took while in London last week. I have just spent three days in Bath surrounded by people doing creative things in creative ways with electronic, digital media and poetry and the levels of creativity are astonishing at times. I had one or two concerns, some of the projects were just ok and some I had issues with, such as the ethics of the piece. But its the splinter of ice in the heart idea - should artists show concern for ethics or is the artist's right to consider this is not his or her concern. I think there is probably a balance to be struck. What I do know is my life is enriched by art and artists and while I returned from Bath dog tired, five hours sleep last night was fine and I feel enthusiastic this morning. I hadn't expected my own paper to go well - I was in the graveyard slot at the end of a long three days - but in fact it did go well - and I will say no more here for now. But this morning I had a hankering for Mozart - how did he hear the melody and counter melody at the same time to write this down in a language that has no words on dots and lines. Happy Sunday, I am taking Abbi and her bf Lewis to Newhaven so they can sail over the France - even the thought brings joy and this summer I am determined to sail the same way.