Writers Events, May

Went to see Roger Mc Gough and band Little Machine in the Wirral. Humorous and enjoyable. A lot of people attended. Little machine put music to WB Yeats/ Edward Thomas/  Thomas Carew/ TS Eliot and others. Roger Mc Gough read poems, some put to music some not. Liked the poem about John Peel after a busy day asking for a poached egg. The lady returning and saying “the chef says he can’t be bothered”. And  the poem “I hope I am a burden on my children/ after all, fairs fair/ they were a burden on me” Evening ended with Roger Mc Goughs hit single “Lilly the Pink.”

Went to poetry by the fire side in January (a long time ago). In Liverpool at Saint Brides church. A fundraiser for renovation work. Hosted by Eithne Browne. A lady  read sensual poems about bathing her husband. Then sang “let no man steal your Thyme” Humorous poems from Davy Edge on “porridge” then the sad  “I am Autumn” and  a poem on love lost in “I would”. Prose from John Oldershaw. Poems by Eleanor Rees who teaches at Hope University. The evening ended with Emma Deers singing “you’ll never walk alone.”

Went to Stockton Heath writers group, Warrington. Liz read out her latest collaborated prose on putting Sherlock Holmes in a modern setting.  D read out his short humorous flash fiction which he has just published through Lulu. And R read out, on his to be novel on a mythical world of competing dynasties. With his hero’s and heroines under peril.

 

 

Paul Serusier- Painter

Paul Serusier- 1864 to 1927. French painter. Prominent figure in avant garde- Nabis movement. In Hebrew Nabis means “prophets”. Also Synthetisism, Cloisonnism approaches. Post impressionist.

Early works often depict Brittany landscapes and people. eg :

Paul Serusier Tutt'Art@ (38)

Breton Women, Meeting in the Sacred Grove

The Talisman is perhaps his best known painting. With blocks of vivid unmodulated colours.

Painted the Talisman under Gaugin’s supervision. According to Maurice Denis- “this shadow?- rather blue- paint it with pure ultramarine.  These red leaves?- put in vermillion”

The Talisman

the vivid yellow trees bouquet

reflected in the bright cascading river

Some sort of building? in the right hand corner

the yellow, green and red like emotions

little representation, copying of objects

illuminating, reverberating, sensations

I stand on the river bank path, dive in to the water.

 

Serusier_-_the_talisman

The Talisman

 

 

 

Edouard Vuillard – Painter

Edouard Vuillard -11 November 1868 to 21 June 1940. French painter, decorative artist and printmaker. Prominent member of the Nabis. (1888 to 1900.) Group of varied artists who believed “art not a depiction of nature but a synthesis of metaphors and symbols created by the artist.”- credit quote wikepedia  Their aim to renew art.

Painted at various times. Decoration.  Public gardens. Figures in interiors. Portraits
(I couldn’t find much information on the painting The Suitor. Though it is one of his more acclaimed)

The room could be an interior
A private place.
Women in the flow of sewing
A “suitor” peers in.
The decorative merges the figurines
Her dress patterns repeated in the wall paper
Triangulation of forms
The colours and shapes could express
Experiences difficult to convey in words
In their subjective interior mundane work room
A theatre play perhaps, the quiet work, an actor at the door

 

221 Edouard Vuillard 02b the suitor

The Suitor – 1893

 

Puvis de Chavannes- Painter

Puvis de Chavannes, 14 december 1824 to 24 october 1898. French painter best known for his mural paintings. Prominent painter in the early third republic. Possibly a symbolist

One of his more reputed paintings. I’m an amateur at visual art. But like the notion that painters and similar are depicting ways of seeing. That can be applied to the none practicing painters.

silhouettes of subjects
neutral simplified portraits
against a landscape of ochres and verdant blue
within their acidy,
drawings of antiquity inconsequentially shipwrecked
on a beach
motif of woman with back to us
a triumphal triangle of three women
yet mortal and fragile against the eternal sea

puvis-de-chavannes-girls-granger

young girls by the seaside-1879

Maurice Denis- Painter

Maurice Denis, 25 November 1870 to 13 November 1943. French painter, decorative artist and writer. Associated with Les Nabis then the symbolists, then with a return to neo classicism. Important link with other painters like Vuillard and Puvis de Chavannes. Between impressionism and abstract art.

Towering archaic wood
Figurines in drapery lost in enchantment
Supplicating to gods and goddesses
Passengers in the dark age old forest
The sky such terrible beauty, hurts
Tracing a path in perdition
Through the playground of natures rapture
The incantations of beasts beyond-
The green and orange hills
Trepidly in two groups. A delicious idyll.

marice denis- landscape with green trees

Maurice Denis- Landscape with Green Trees

Explorer , North Canada

North Canada- Explorer

It seemed idyllic, dappled sun light through boughs. Beautiful alder, sycamore, lime. The shade of leaves canopy- scent-clear rivers. Slopes of fallen pines and beech kernels. However the scenario may not be exactly quite as you envisioned.

In the Red Lion with Craig;

Oh the malnutrition
The porous wrinkled skin
The stage by stage merge with living death
The timid frightened black bear I chased away
The rapidly growing abscess on your ankle
The numbness down your left side
The unexplained blurred vision
Your tattered jeans hanging soaked
The raw red rashes on your legs caused by wet trouser friction
The dissolution of language facilities
The inconsequent mousse you stroked
The alpine hare you chased for two hours, but couldn’t quite catch.

North Canada Echo 

An Irish man goes to a doctors. I have this terrible pain. Where? Well everywhere. Can you touch your nose. Yes. Does it hurt. Oh yes. Now your chest. Oh the pain doctor. Now your knee. The pains terrible. Well. Well? You’ve got a broken finger.

North Canada  Echo Two

It was poorly thought through. I accept that suburbia is debauched and disingenuous. But there are better less radical ways of fighting back. To carry on after James Dyer realized it was a barren and bleak enterprise is somewhat admirable. If James Dyer where a real explorer and attempted to for instance walk to the north pole, he would die.

north canada forests

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spikes- Victorian Era

Homeless, Victorian Era

Workhouse had special quarters. For tramps/vagrants/travellers. Sometimes called Spikes. Work could include picking oakum- reducing old rope to constituent parts. Or breaking rocks into stones to be sold for road making. Casuals were not allowed to return for 30 days. There conditions where worse than in poor houses. Food was bread and guel.

Were soldiers of the gutter and heaven
I think, I Frank am supposed to feel grateful

For the straw bailed bed
His last thought before a guttural deep sleep
Another days work. Then the soft hay of the bedstead
Tomorrow I will walk to Leigh spike
No one says nowt- so I guess this is our lot
A frown from the missus in Gaberdine and umbrella
A scowl from the man in top hat
Av you a penny sir for the poor
Its not much of a laugh I can tell yi
We don’t drink as we can’t afford to
Walking to next spike, in the biting cold. 

workhouses

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blackhouse , Scottish Borders

Blackhouse, Scottish Borders
(Former residence of poet James Hogg 1770-1835, “The Ettrick Shepherd”)

The Snow slips down on Christmas day
We have been marooned by snow for one month
Her face on the mountain slopes in summer and winter
The sky knows no one’s names. A gossamer duvet.

Love starts again, the finches in the woods
The fire warms us, guitars resound in the mountains
A snipe zig zags to paradise. Then the snow and snow
A naught nestled cottage, becomes a one.

You see here in the Border mountain’s there are no cities
Between here and the North Ocean
Snow buttercup, sun, brambling wings
To bleach the north with orange.

Then love begins again, with dawn and snow
Rice like bread like wine like incense like grass
A gale of clouds and waiting, and icicles of hope
Looking into her face on the mountain slopes.

blackhouse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pope Clement 1

Pope Clement 1. Was the third Pope after St Peter and then Linus. Although this time frame is disputed. He was Pope from 26 April  88 AD to 23 November 99 AD (credits to Wikipedia)

Very little is known of him. It was a period, an idyll? before the church gained wealth and political influence.

The background. There was during his time a large congregation existent in Rome. Paul wrote his letter to the Romans in 58 AD. Nero persecuted Christians after the burning of Rome in AD 64. and possibly Domitian after Nero.

His only known writing is the “letter to the church at Corinth.” advocating for bishops/presbytery not to be disposed from being rulers of the church. It is the first existent christian writing after the new testament.

He was sentenced to prison and exile in Greece under emperor Trajen. There tradition false or true: Says he saw a vision of a lamb on a hill. Dug a pick into the spot and released gushing water for the famished other prisoners. Many of whom converted. He was martyred – tied to an anchor and thrown in the Black sea. (So the tradition goes)

popeclement1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tribe of Brannan 2

The Tribe of Brannan

The poem is a bit off the wall. Includes research on Livia Augusta. Less so on the depicted Celts. The poem is part of a series and probably doesn’t make sense ? I had difficulty finding images to accompany.

Meeting Livia Augusta

 

After the Celts had stayed in Byzantium

They went forth

In regal dishevelled squalor to meet Livia Drusilla on a hill called Caellian

On the outskirts of Rome

 

Tattered from 18 years of gruelling walking

They stood forlorn on the crest of Caellian

For three days they waited, indifferent to the wave torrents of rain that swept across them

Standing motionless hooded as the sun devoured them

They gazed permanently north east, it is not known why

 

 

On the third day

A retinue of Marcellus, Guy Salutis, Casar Dio

Eighteen splendour horses and fifty five centurions arrived

 

Livia Drusilla hair burnt radiant in Jupiter’s fire light, says

Do you carry the dominion of Tiberius my son to emperor

Rhiannon and Pwyll and Branwen stare forward with blue incandescent eyes

There is a long silence

The Roman retinue glare. Livia turns her horse. I will kill those two she says

Gesturing to her group.

A long silence

The retinue of Romans beat sword handle on shields

 

Who am i.

Silence

I am the virtuous empress. Enabler of women. The perfumed daggeress of enchanted Roman palace

The Celts stood forlorn ravid with hunger and disease

Looking north east

Are you not the seers of the northern forest. Speak my men’s swords are sharp

The Celts turned and walked equidistant north east, slowly due to atrophied famine

Livia turns and turns on the splendid horse. Then the night comes. The fluttering of the army’s regal banners

All chant in ravid voices once, we needed to see you, that is all

Then the night came. Like a wound deep and turned septic with gangrene