More about the song - rambling with Rachel Fox

Reasons to be cheerful, bats out of hell and other unconnected items

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 12:56:27 PST

Right then, reasons to be cheerful? There's always something.

How about (1) this great interview with poet John Cooper Clarke (from this Sunday's 'Independent'). We were talking about him recently, remember (back here)? I loved all the bits in this new and fascinating interview about people mistaking JCC for a Rolling Stone (the hair..), also the excellent quotes from poets Adrian Mitchell and Simon Armitage (SA calls JCC “a cross between Sid Vicious, Ken Dodd and Allen Ginsberg”) and there's a funny story about 'shards' too. Most of all I loved the respect (from interviewer Robert Chalmers) for JCC's “depth and range”. Respect where it's due, as they say.

And how about (2) this episode of the BBC comedy series 'In the Thick of It'? If you've never seen it it's kind of 'The West Wing' meets 'Fawlty Towers' and I would probably not have watched this show on my own but Mark started watching it and was laughing so much that I had to join in. There is a lot of swearing in it so if you don't like swearing keep well away. Personally I think swearing used in humour can be just perfect (the key word there being 'can'). There's some particularly good twitter content in this episode (and I have yet to twit and so can laugh freely...).

And (3) how about this marvellous book – 'Nude' by Nuala Ní Chonchúir

I'm not going to write a review of 'Nude' because I just wrote a book review a few posts ago and they drain the life out of me. I will say, however, that it is fabulous, and that you should most definitely read it and buy it as a Xmas present for all the people you love (buy it here). It contains probably the best short stories I've read since I last read some Alice Munro (and indeed they are probably as good as hers...yes, I really do think she's that good... dazzlingly good).

And then (4) there has to be a song, doesn't there? I posted the Ian Dury mentioned in the title back here so I can't post that one again. So what can I suggest (she says rattling around in the cds)...what have I been listening to this week? Well, for a start we've been 'educating' our Girl with some classic rock of late (and we've been having a lot of fun at the same time). We're not quite sure what she makes of this yet...my guess is you'll either love it or hate it already.

I know it's a bit Lloyd Webber in a leather jacket sometimes...but there's some great stuff in it too - some very amusing lines and some fantastic lung action. And listening to it again after all these years it does make me wonder what Meat Loaf would be like on the monstrosity that is 'The X Factor'? He'd probably eat the competition (though I'd prefer it if he ate the 'judges' to be honest...the women would be more snacks than meals admittedly).

Can't end on Meat though so (5) let's have some dessert after that main course (in the form of an Aimee Mann song). I first heard it whilst watching the movie 'Magnolia' (great soundtrack, fairly average movie).

Well, I feel better. How about you?
x

Watching 'Garage' and what came after (kind of a Monday poem)

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 05:26:58 PST

Back when some of us were writing Monday Poems for TFE in September and October of this year one of the assignments involved watching a film called 'Garage' (2007 dir. Leonard Abrahamson). I couldn't get hold of the film on the week in question so I took the other option on offer (reading a particular Plath poem...and then writing this). However some of the poems others wrote after watching 'Garage' were intriguing so I eventually got a copy of the film last week (via one of those clever postal dvd rental places) and sat down to watch it on Thursday night.

From the poems and comments (find them all via TFE's post here) I knew the movie wasn't going to be a light-hearted comedy but it wasn't the doom-fest some of you had led me to expect either. It was sad, sure enough, but...really...what isn't? Some days almost everything makes me sad.

Anyway, I enjoyed the film (maybe that isn't quite the right word - let's say 'I thought it was good'). It is slow and simple and, I assume, fairly cheaply made but that can all be good when done right (and I think it was). There's some great acting, a lot of truth and a little story well told.

Straightaway after watching 'Garage' the first thought that came into my mind was that I might write something about small town life and its down side...then I remembered I'd pretty much done that for another TFE assignment (here). Then I thought about teenage drinking (I did a lot of that...and I really do mean a lot) but I just wasn't in the mood to write about that (maybe another time...). Then as I thought on and on a (really cheesey) song came into my mind and helped me on my way. I'm not going to tell you the song (maybe you can guess it...it has an Irish connection too) but here is the poem. Like the film the poem has sadness in it but it is not overwhelmingly sad (I don't think). It is just looking at what there is...as I see it.

Hold on, hold on

Some riders insist on hogging the front
They think it's their place, their right almost
They want to face obvious danger head on
Look it proudly in the face - open eye to open eye
They raise their arms joyfully, most voluntarily
And they laugh at the very idea of fear

Others select the middle cars
They don't look out and they don't look in
They watch the noisy folks up front
Whooping, flying, apparently progressing
And decide that often...
Just thinking about something is more than enough

Odd ones sit at the back, always
They don't really want to be there at all
They hate the people at the front
They hate the people in the middle
They squirm and shift and hate the safety harness too
They scribble in notebooks, draw wings in margins

There is movement between the zones, of course
Nothing's ever simple, nothing's ever complex
And then every once in what feels like a heartbeat
At the top of a rise, or the dip of a fall
Someone undoes a buckle and jumps clear out
The cars keep on moving, the track's unchanged

The body just falls so quickly down
Sometimes hitting scaffolding, sometimes not
And it pretty much always makes a fair old mess
Pieces of a life
Pieces of a dear life
You can't expect nothing to come from something

But below in the shadows someone will sort it
They have mops and cloths and tools down there
And an army of tough, well-worn pit ponies
All is unseen and unspectacular
By silent hands the bolts are tightened
And the whole goddamned show goes on, ever thus

RF 2009
x

For Sunday

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 14:49:02 PST

This isn't really a post - just a link. It's an old poem...it's in the book and it's here too. The other thing that sparked it (that I don't mention elsewhere) was a poem by a schoolgirl in one of the local papers. I wrote it in 2006.

x

Tom Duddy – another great Irish writer?

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 14:42:53 PST

Hello friends and visitors. I'm going to write about someone else's poetry book again. Are you sitting comfortably? Good, then I'll begin...

You might have noticed that I only write about books of other people's poetry occasionally – mainly because I'm not a poetry critic and the whole subject of poetry lit crit is not one of my favourites really. I quite enjoy writing about novels, films, music, comedy, even visual art sometimes these days...but when it comes to poetry I definitely prefer writing it to writing about it. I think it's partly that I tend to have fairly strong (and odd) feelings about how I want to write poetry (the whats and hows and whys) and I'm never sure how to fit that in with talking about someone else's work. I can tell you if I like something (and I think there's a chance you might like it too) but beyond that...poetry criticism can get so dry and academic (and totally not my kind of thing). It can make me quite uncomfortable...physically and mentally...look, here I am positively shifting about in my seat as I type!

I had a flick through my archives and whilst I do mention other poets' work fairly regularly all I have done on this blog even remotely review-wise has been something about an anthology (here) as well as two posts about chapbooks by JoAnne McKay (here) and Anna Dickie (here). Today however I have an urge to write about another poet again. So come on down Irishman Tom Duddy, you are the lucky subject. You are also the author of a book of poems called 'The Small Hours' that looks like this:

So let's get started...how did I come across the work of Tom Duddy? Oh yes...

Now and again I take a look at the HappenStance blog kept by publisher and poet Helena Nelson. Many of you will know (but some of you won't) that HappenStance publishes poetry chapbooks (pamphlets) and other related thin and papery items and that the whole enterprise is based in Fife in Scotland. I own quite a few of their publications already (all bought with real money!) and probably my favourite HappenStance product so far is Helena Nelson's own 'Unsuitable Poems' (with its fine mix of style and humour and the slightly unexpected). Hell, I even included Nelson in my list of '25 writers that have influenced me' (back here – she's number 24).

I am interested in Nelson's opinion (even if I often disagree with it...and I do...sometimes we come at poetry from VERY different directions) so I was intrigued by a post on the blog (here) where she wrote this about one of HappenStance's chapbooks (Tom Duddy's 'The Small Hours' 2006):

“Tom’s (The Small Hours, one of my favourites) isn’t (sold out) – and that is partly because the poet is not a natural self-promoter. His poems are quiet. They sneak up on you sideways. But the deep, quiet excitement I felt when I first read him is with me yet.

Poetry World, alas, has entered celebrity culture. Sometimes I like the fun of that. However, I also lament the pressure it brings for poets to have to be glitzy and out there, blogging, slogging, hogging the limelight.

Some of them should be doing that stuff, no question. It’s what they’re born for (though celebrity should not be equated with genius).

Others should be doing it their own way, skulking between the pages. Let them be hard to find, verschmuggelt. Let them be a well-kennt secret . . .”

That is the kind of thing that draws me in, I suppose, (even if Poetry World and celebrity culture have been pals before...Lord Byron, anyone?). In the post Nelson also linked to another piece online (see here) and this all made me very curious about Irishman Duddy and his wee book of poems (I've read a lot of good poems and stories by Irish writers off and online recently – are you having a golden age over there or what?). So I sent off my £3 to buy 'The Small Hours' (you can buy it here) and when it came I did what you do with a poetry book (why, I read it!). And Nelson was so, so right (she first read him and fell for his work in the poetry magazine 'Magma')...Duddy's poems are irresistible, wonderful, well worth investing in.

Never mind all this effusive behaviour, you say, let's be more precise - what kind of wonderful are these poems exactly? Oh...this is the bit I hate but let's see...how about they are gentle-and-thoughtful wonderful...how would that do for a start? They're also that kind of make-you-want-to-find-Duddy-and-throw-your-arms-round-him wonderful (or maybe that's just me...I am a bit of a hugger...I said a 'I'm a bit of a hugger'). Nelson is quite right about them being quiet poems too...they are so quiet that at times they are almost whispered (but how powerful the right whisper can be). The subject matter is varied - everyday life, conversations in pubs, everyday death, getting old, everyday love, Ireland, everyday sleep and being in bed, social interaction, everyday days out, tiny happenings, everyday poets (like Robert Frost), family relationships, everyday history and progress. They are finely crafted (even I can see that...) and they all make you want to sit still and just think for a while - no disturbances, no modern nonsense (and Duddy's workday subject is philosophy so I suppose that's not really a huge surprise). Duddy teaches philosophy at the University of Ireland, Galway and has written a book called 'A History of Irish Thought' (there's a little bit of author biography here, if you like that kind of thing).

I have to confess that one of my problems with poetry reviews is the way they give you lots of snippets of poems all over the place (to illustrate their argument and so on). Is it just me or does anyone else often find that feature of a review more confusing than elucidating? It works with novels but with poetry...isn't it better to just show a whole poem or two to illustrate the style and content (unless the poems are all ten pages long of course)? I prefer that route so here (with permission from the publisher) is one of Duddy's poems in its entirety. I could've picked several favourites ('The Language of Visitors', 'Harvesters', 'The Life of Robert Frost', 'The Elderberry Tree') but I asked for this one instead. It's a great piece of painting...and a sad song...and a poem too. Clever, eh?

High Grass

This time last year we joked about the state
of her front gate, while she, down on one knee,
chucked drooling brushfuls of Brilliant White
into flaking weals of rust. We were ironic too

about signs of summer in this neck of the woods -
the wrappers and cans as bright as mushrooms
across the newly mowed green; the back wall
of the community centre running red again

with young love's equations; and OF COURSE
the thrill of lying awake all night again to hear
the best of Chopin from the ghetto blasters!
A sudden sobering of mood then as she left

the paint brush across the tin, straightened (stiffly,
in stages, like a weight-lifter), and came to stand
before me, pulling herself together, pushing
her gold-rims up and back before laying a hand

on the wall between our lives. Your children,
she said, have grown SO tall, SO tall. Do you EVER
feel the time! And both of us stood in awe then
for a moment, prayerfully shaking our heads

as if to misdirect a god, divert some evil eye.
This summer her own tall sons go in and out,
hardly seeing us, hardly speaking. The scrolls
of iron weep with rust, the high grass leans

everywhichway in the garden, and the sycamore -
which the boys SWORE they'd trim back last winter -
scrapes its leaves against an upstairs window where
the curtains have stayed drawn since early June.

by Tom Duddy
from 'The Small Hours' (HappenStance 2006)
Copies are still available. Go buy.

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Monday poem? Well, it's a poem and it is Monday...

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 03:06:50 PST

Here's something we recorded earlier. In fact it was recorded at the National Poetry Day Plus One event in Montrose last month. I wasn't on the bill as such but I was compering/hosting and I did a poem in between each of the other acts on the bill. At the beginning of the second half I did this poem to warm the audience back up after the break (or something...really I just like doing it). There is a bit of a ramble at the beginning but it all helps set the scene.

Quite a change from last Monday's poem, don't you think?

x

Weekend songs – life from death

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 02:22:07 PDT

This will be the end of this short series of songs, I promise. Here are two lovely sounds for the weekend (and nothing Halloweeny...I'm sure you can find those elsewhere).

First off, here's the song I was going to post yesterday. The song itself was made more famous by other Latin American singers (Mercedes Sosa in particular who died very recently - another blogger wrote about her here) but this version is sung by the writer of 'Gracias a la vida' (Chilean Violeta Parra 1917-1967). She had the obligatory tragic end but it's a beautiful song...a really beautiful song. If you don't know Spanish I would just enjoy the sounds but if you really want an idea of meaning there is a translation here. I haven't gone through it word for word to see how good it is but it could give you at least an idea of what the song is about (if you really want that).

And another person I wanted to squeeze into this week's DJ set was Nina Simone (1933-2003). What a woman, what a musician, what a voice like no other...so here she is singing another song about life ('la vida' is life in Spanish...and I'm sure at least some of you know that). Although Simone did write songs this one is not one of her own compositions but was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot (read about it here – it originated in the musical 'Hair' which I've never seen a production of in any format – anyone else seen it?). Anyway, on with the weekend...here's Nina:

Have a great weekend...a weekend full of life!

x

Friday song – from Iceland with love

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 00:22:07 PDT

I was thinking of posting a song by a Chilean singer/songwriter today but then Titus put in a vote for Iceland's most famous...and I couldn't say no to that cute little doggy face now could I? That's Titus' face not Björk's...obviously!

So which song? To be honest my very favourite Björk number is on her album 'Debut' and it's her version of a fairly conventional 65 year old song (maybe I'm just an old-fashioned girl). Here it is – a bit of romance for a Friday...

The song, of course, is 'Like someone in love'. It was composed in 1944 (for a film soundtrack) by Jimmy Van Heusen, with lyrics by Johnny Burke and it was Bing Crosby who had a hit with it first.

I guess I'll post the Chilean song tomorrow. This could run and run...

x

p.s. So is there really no TFE Monday poem task? He'd better not throw one out at the last minute...Halloween is taken very seriously in this house and we're going to be busy.

Thursday song – Mmm, skyscraper, I love you

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 02:35:31 PDT

This is turning into one heck of a jukebox/DJ mixtape! Today's musical contribution is by one of the best-known bands of what you might call the rave era...and I know just saying that will make some of you switch off (or click away) IMMEDIATELY but please don't! It wasn't all bad...it really wasn't. Some of it was brilliant...even without the drugs.

OK...a lot of the electronic dance music of the late 1980s and 1990s was and is, I admit it, a rather specialist subject...but that's not the case for all of it. I mean, some of you didn't think you liked folk music but you loved June Tabor yesterday, right? So why stop there? Onwards, soldiers, onwards! To where? To the Underworld...

The British band Underworld have made quite a lot of electronic dance music that can, I think, appeal to a huge range of listeners (if they just give it a go). One of their tracks did cross over to pop success (the track 'Born Slippy', thanks to its inclusion on the 'Trainspotting' soundtrack) but I have to say that that is one of my least favourite bits of Underworld. Much, much better is their album from the early 90s 'Dubnobasswithmyheadman'. It is full of great tracks – 'Cowgirl', 'Dark and Long' and most of all, for me, 'Mmm Skyscraper, I love you'. This track features vocalist Karl Hyde to great effect and has some fairly quirky lyrics (one of the reasons Underworld stood out from the dance crowd was their different approach to vocals). You can read the lyrics here (if you really want to...they're quite bizarre). The following video was the best version of this track that I could find on youtube and bizarrely, but interestingly, it features lots of pictures of a Frenchman who climbs up buildings for fun (Alain Robert...nothing to do with the band).

To listen to this track properly I would suggest you put on headphones and concentrate on it thoroughly - it's really not background music. Listen to it from start to finish and leave any prejudices you might have about electronica/dance music/rave/house/trance/techno aside for a minute. This is just a really good piece of music (and the words are fun too...though they don't really get going till about 3 minutes in). Try to enjoy it. Go on...just try one...

So what do you think? I love it. Always have...always will.

x

A Wednesday song - back to clouds

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 05:35:26 PDT

Maybe I'll post a song every day for the rest of the week (I did used to be a DJ you know - maybe this is just a different outlet for that occupation). Today's song is one that was mentioned in the comments last week when we were talking about clouds. It is sung here by one of English folk's finest singers June Tabor. Tabor isn't one of the young, new singers of the latest folk invasion (and boy, are there a lot of them!). Instead she is very much old guard but unlike some of the latter (with their wobbly, for me, almost painful voices) Tabor has a beautiful, deep, strong voice with a wide range. She's really something special (though I suspect she'd hate to read that...I get the impression she's all about the music and the tradition and not particularly self-interested). I've yet to see her live (details of current tour dates and so on are here) but I own a couple of her cds and they are all fantastic. Anyway, see what you think of this:

The song was written by Bill Caddick (his website is here).

Now, what song for tomorrow?

x

Tuesday Song – and here's Thom

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 04:02:09 PDT

The Monday Poem is still there if you want to read it. In the meantime I'm moving on to a Tuesday song.

You might remember that my Mark is quite a Radiohead fan (and I've written about that band here and here). Mark also listens, quite regularly, to the solo album that Radiohead's Thom Yorke put out in 2006 ('The Eraser'). I remember it was up for the Mercury Prize that year and Yorke performed one of the tracks live on the awards show and it was brilliant (the track, the performance, the ability to turn a poxy awards show into something altogether more fantastic). You can see that performance here (who won that year? Arctic Monkeys says google) but the song from Yorke's album that has well and truly seeped into my mind this week is this one:

The lyrics (more or less...) are here.

Now I'm off to go and do some cleaning. Oh and I must email some questions to Liz Gallagher for her book blog tour thing.

x

Monday Poem – a hellish assignment

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 12:21:16 PDT

So – Monday poem. I'm posting now because I put my Monday piece up on Sunday last week and nothing terrible happened (computer didn't self-destruct or anything...TFE didn't kick me off the bus and into the gutter...). Plus I'm not sure this subject/mood is good for Mondays. Anyway, on with it.

The assignment was...(a) listen to the clip below (without trying to find out anything more about it), (b) write down what occurs/comes to you whilst you're listening to it and then (c) present your offering on your blog (unaltered). Here's the clip (it's about 10 minutes long and I don't think it's ever been covered by Atomic Kitten or anyone):

Below is my written offering. I had to make a few tiny changes to my original outpourings because there were a couple of details that really needed to be looked at before this was ready for anyone other than me to see it. I make no apologies for doing this - this is my blog and I have to be able to stand by anything I put up here (even if it's only me and then...oh yes, me again who reads it). Is it a poem? It's some writing, that's all I know. Here goes:

Inferno again

1.
Fear
And Hitchcock
Go together like
A lot of buses
Hitting the brakes at the
Same time

And still they brake
Because there's somewhere
They really don't
Want to go

2.
Seagulls, fading seagulls
Playing some kind of
Infernal bongos
Whoever let the seagulls
Near the bongos?
They've gone wild
And they may just beat us
To within an inch
Of our mystery

3.
Distant foghorn
It wants to join a band
But no-one will listen

4.
Time to think
Time to remember
Other times listening to
Experi-mental music
Like once when that guy said
'Hey, have you listened to Aphex Twin?
He's wicked
He sampled the sound of
A woman screaming
Whilst she's being raped.'

It probably wasn't even true
He was a fair bullshitter
Still I thought
He should roast in hell
For even considering that
Wicked
In a good way

Him and Ricky Gervais
Bring forth the pitchforks

It is worth, I think
Learning to see the line
Because there is a line
And once you've crossed it
You are all the things that previously
You may have fought against
You're shit

5.
The vampires have left the fairground
But the foghorn's still going
It's lonely and it wants to go home
No rhythm though
So it can't find a way
Even with a prescription
And it gets lost in some dreadful
Modern dance piece
Where everyone is just
Rolling around and acting out horror
When we don't need to go to a theatre
To see horror

Stand at a bus stop
Open a drain cover
Flip back your ears
And hear the screaming
Of rat demons
As they work their way
From the sewers to the tops of our trees

Some are here already
They sent the seagulls on ahead
But the rest
Dripping in waste
Are coming

They're on their way

RF 2009

Interesting challenge this week, I think. Look forward to reading some of the others.

x

More bits from papers

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 10:29:20 PDT

I will be posting my Monday Poem tonight but just before I make the gravy for Sunday dinner/tea let me share a few more news links with you. In the last post I didn't link to any articles about the bnp's Nick 'born liar' Griffin and his BBC TV appearance however Saturday's Independent newspaper had several good pieces on the subject so I thought I might link to some of them quickly.

You can read a piece challenging some of the statements Griffin made on TV here.

There's one by Diane Abbott about why he shouldn't have been on the programme in the first place here.

There's one attacking the programme for its treatment of Griffin (and what this might mean) here.

And finally...bring on Barnsley...there's one about reactions to the show from people in a Northern English town here.

I hope the Independent doesn't go under (as some say it will). They print some good articles (when they're not busy making far too many holiday supplements). Drop all the lifestyle crap, I say. Just be a really good newspaper, maybe.

x

Other stuff in the news

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 04:55:14 PDT

I'm not the world's most zealous housewife (I'm not a wife for a start). For example, our house is a bit of a mess this week but the first job I turn to (well, after cleaning the toilets...some things just cannot wait...) is sorting out all the piles of newspapers that accumulate here. Mum gets the Independent every day and it does have some good articles so I like to at least flick through each copy before I send them to the garage (for recycling or firebuilding). That has been my housework yesterday and today...does it count?

Some of the papers are very old but that doesn't really matter (an interesting article is an interesting article). Below are links to some of the pieces I think you just shouldn't miss (and none of them are about England's cuddly nazi, Nick Griffin...I have been giving my thoughts on him and his TV appearance on facebook and elsewhere).

Start with this article about 10 year old Isabelle Cain winning the Independent's art competition for children. It's fascinating and possibly particularly of interest to those with autism in the family.

Move on to this interview with Afghan campaigner Malalai Joya (published in July of this year). A huge, huge article that touches on so many subjects. It's one to make a person feel guilty about moaning about stupid little things too.

Back in September the Independent printed this open letter about being an intersex woman (from Sarah Graham to South African athlete Caster Semenya). It's inspiring and revealing.

Finally...I never knew writer Zadie Smith's brother was a rapper but apparently he's a comedian now (read about him and the family here). Usually stories about families full of talented people get on my wick but I really admire Z Smith's work so I can make an exception. If he's half as funny as she is talented then he'll be pretty good. And we need good comics...we really do.

x

More about the clouds

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 13:20:35 PDT

Last week (back here) I mentioned a 'small stone' that I had up on Fiona Robyn's popular A Handful of Stones site. I also said I would post the other four 'stones' about clouds that she had not picked so here they are:

Cloud stone

Nothing looks as real as the clouds today
So total, so solid

Low cloud

Over there they see nothing
Over here we see their low cloud
And wonder what they see

Cloud factory

The place where they make clouds
Must be very busy
A great employer

Cloud association

Clouds
Dreams
Speech bubbles
Puffs of smoke

So what do you think? Would you have chosen the one that Fiona did...this one:

Cloud secrets

What do the clouds know
That they're not telling?

Or one of the others? I liked the 'Low cloud' one myself.

I'd be interested to hear your thoughts. Or read some other 'stones' on clouds.

x

Some singing

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 16:19:11 PDT

Just back from the folk club and I really should go to bed. The guest tonight was Texan Katy Moffatt (now resident of California...she is touring though and you can find songs and dates here). She's been singing and recording for years but I'm afraid to say I'd never heard of her before. Here she is with a quite lo-tech video clip (it's a lovely song about a girl and her gun...tongue in cheek, I'm quite sure).

x

Monday poem - Death, the Musical!

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 03:37:32 PDT

And so to this week's Monday Poem task (a bit early - we'll be travelling home all day Monday)! As some of you know I've been away all week so there was no danger of me taking the first option (finding the film 'Garage', watching it and writing about it). This meant I had to take TFE's second option which was...take in this Sylvia Plath poem, think about it for a bit and then get to work on one of our own. I didn't have a lot of time but I wanted to keep up my 100% attendance so I got to work when I could (quickly and quietly and in between visits and meals out with family...).

To be honest with you (rightly or wrongly) Plath already popped up in a Monday Poem of mine a couple of weeks ago (here) so I was not exactly keen to work on another Plath-related task again so soon. I'm not a huge Plath fan (as I've said before) and so I would have been happy to read anything by pretty much anyone else for this assignment. But it was not to be so I got on and read the poem (as many times as I could bear) and then I started writing guess what...a sad poem about the tragedy of humanity. Luckily, perhaps, that poem didn't seem to want to come out right (it's still sulking in a file somewhere). Then, without any warning, this song came into my head...as songs do. It came again...and again...and again (and I've chosen to post you a version sung by our Girl's favourite singer...RIP EK).

It's a while since I rewrote an existing song (there was this one a while back) so I thought I'd have a go at it with this Cole Porter number. To begin with I wondered if English comedian Victoria Wood had already done it but her song shares only the title (see here). Mine has a different title but shares the tune and the format (you will notice the two longer verses at three and seven as in the original). I've sung it to myself a few times and it does all fit if you pause in the right places (so if at first it feels wrong just give it another go). I would sing it for you but my excuse, once again, is that we're away from home (and I'm really not meant to be doing this kind of thing at all). Here it is...and you'll be humming the tune all day if nothing else:

Dying art

Birds do it, bees do it
Dogs and frogs and certain seas do it
We all do it, we all die some day

And whilst bees do it, birds do it
Love and friendship, tired words do it
We all do it, we all die some day

Eventually, even cats do it
Once they get to their ten
Buddhists get less stressed about it
Such is the power of zen

Presidents, monarchs - popes do it
Fairly often all our hopes do it
We all do it, we all die some day

The so-called great and the good do it,
From nowheresville to Hollywood they do it
We all do it, we all die some day

Young hearts way ahead of turn do it
Some of us dread it, others yearn for it
We all do it, we all die some day

Victims of war on all sides do it
We know that's part of the plan
There seems little sense to it
Some people do what they can

The folks at home and away do it
Two hundred thousand every day do it
We all do it, we all die some day

RF 2009

I could have kept going and written a hundred verses...still might try some more at another date. For now there's more family stuff and then a long journey and then we should get home Monday night. I might get to read everybody else's contributions then.
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Two little notes

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 00:48:36 PDT

I have a small stone over at this site today. It's funny because I sent four others to Fiona with this one (though they were all about clouds) but it was my least favourite one that she picked! If I was at home I'd post the others here for you to see...but I'm not so I can't. Maybe next week.

Also there's a lovely post about my poetry postcards up today. That's over in Wales - here. If anyone orders cards obviously I will send them when I get back...postal strikes in the UK depending...

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Monday poem - from a distance

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 06:24:04 PDT

I'm not really here...you haven't seen me. I wanted to leave the post below as my 'out for a week' sign but TFE is doing a Monday poem after all and I haven't missed one yet so I thought I'd try to squeeze a quick one in from a distance. TFE put some photos up as a prompt the other day and I (very hurriedly) produced the poem below. It wasn't quite a five minute poem (maybe ten minutes...) but who knows...maybe you'll find something of interest in it anyway. I won't be about for much commenting just now but I'm with you all in spirit if nothing else. And I just remembered...one of the other photos was of balloons and I have a balloon poem that I posted back on 1st January this year (here...that one's on a postcard too). But back to today - I'm sure you'll be able to work out which of his photos I chose for this piece (see all the images here). I didn't really write about his image...more about what it reminded me of.

Patchwork

Everywhere I've gone
I've taken
Pictures on a wall

You, you and you

I see the image of your eyes
Still signs of life
And I'm revived

RF 2009

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National Poetry Day and five words for Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 08:54:47 PDT

Oh my goodness...the National Poetry Day (Plus One) event here in Montrose last night was a huge success. Lots of people came! You can read a bit about it here and I'm sure there will be more posts about it as time goes by (that was quick...there's another one about it already here). I'm a bit too worn out to write much today...plus we go away tomorrow and I've packing to do.

In the meantime Hope had a 'write about 5 words' meme a while ago (here) and I said I'd do it and now I have (I wrote it up yesterday when I was trying not to worry about how the evening's event would go...). The five words Hope gave me were music, ocean, words, travel and home.

Music
All the clichés...it's saved my life, been my best friend...I suppose I could live without music (just) but I wouldn't be very happy about it. It just makes everything better. Well...nearly everything.

Ocean
I saw the Pacific Ocean once...touched it even. I was in Nicaragua in...maybe 1987 (certainly in the Sandinista era) and I was there with a group of people from university. They had all gone to 'learn about the revolution' ( and I was unofficial interpreter) but I got a bit bored with the official tours and ended up wandering off on my own and staying with a local teacher, going dancing, having more than a few adventures, going hitchhiking. One day a few of us were helping build houses (me, build a house...how ridiculous!) and the two Nicaraguans we were 'helping', Luis and Marlon, suggested a trip to the beach (I think). We ended up getting a taxi (public transport being a bit ropey/non-existent during the Contra war and all) to the Pacific coast. The radio in the cab was playing a Samantha Fox song I seem to remember (that was weird). The place we went to was one of the fancy resorts left over from the Somoza era but there was no-one there...no-one had the money or the time for fancy holidays during this period. We sat on the beach, touched the water...and then (I suppose) we got back in the cab and returned to Managua. It's a bit of a fuzzy memory but I do remember being very excited and thinking 'that's the Pacific Ocean, the PACIFIC OCEAN!'

Words
Now, do I love words more than music or...do I love them the same? I have no idea (but put words together with music and you have songs, of course, which is a pretty amazing business). But I do know I walk around in clouds of words most of the time....like they're fairy dust. I like that they're real (in some ways) and yet (in others) they're not real at all. I find it all fairly magical and I don't really want some boring pseudo-scientist telling me otherwise (I did a linguistics module at uni – what a pile of dullness that was...). So back to magic...pass me the dictionary and pretty soon I'll show you something amazing...

Travel
I've been an adventurous, free-spirited, hit-the-globe traveller and I've been a scaredy-cat stay-at-home and I suppose just now I am somewhere in between the two. I think people can get too obsessed with travelling ('move, move, never look at where you are now...') and people can get too tied up with where they live ('no-one exists but us') so I think somewhere in between the two is probably not a bad place to be. Compromise is an often underrated solution. Does that make me old?

Home
I've been thinking and writing about home loads of late (in Monday poems and beyond). What is home, we ask ourselves again and again, what is home? I'd say home is warmth, comfort and (if you're lucky) people, a little peace and sustenance. Sometimes it really is simple – home is the place where you know you'll get a decent cup of tea. Sounds like I am officially an old person. Hurray!

Now I'm on holiday (and luckily it's a week off Monday poems from TFE too - good timing). ADDED LATER - it was going to be a week off but I've just read a post of his and he's changed his mind and posted another task! Somehow I just find them irresistible. I'll try to manage something quick before we go.
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Round and around and home we go

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 03:55:39 PDT

Busy week this week. Monday poems (tick), Martin Simpson at the folk club (tick) and still to go the National Poetry Day Plus One event (this Friday in Montrose) and then Sunday we set off south (to England...) for a week of family visiting and such like. Busy, busy, busy.

Martin Simpson at the folk club last night was, as last year, simply brilliant. I wrote about last year's performance here and he was every bit as good this time. He played a lot of tracks from his new cd 'True Stories' (not as immediate as his last one, 'Prodigal Son', but in its own way just as special) and he started his set with a song from the new album called 'Home Again' (about his home town of Scunthorpe in North Lincolnshire, England). I can't find that song online yet but his myspace page is here for information, tour dates and so on.

It was a great audience at the folk club last night and a top show of local floor spots in between Martin Simpson's two sets (there were acapella singers, guitars, a sitar...post and poem about our folk club back here, if you're interested). I read two poems – the tea one (from two posts ago) and a new one (that I'll post today). The new one is about my first home town (I've had quite a few). I felt a bit bad about the home town poem that I wrote for the Monday Poem a few weeks ago (here). I know a lot of you liked the poem but still...I felt that I owed it to some of my home towns to try and write some more positive poems on the subject too. So I started with my first home town...and this may turn into a series.

I was born just outside Darlington in county Durham (England) and I lived in or around that town until I was about 12 (when we moved miles and miles to...Middlesbrough...). Darlington is famous for being the site of the first public railway and you can read all about that here. It is my home town (in one sense) but it is not in many others – I didn't live there for long, I've never lived there as an adult, I don't have any family there and neither of my parents grew up there or anything. The poem covers all these things in a way...and it is a villanelle. I know not everyone likes them but I do...some of my best poems have been villanelles (see here). Anyway, here it is. I might record it later on for an audio version.

Rolling stock

People talk, people sing about homeward bound
Of the place where they stay, where they'd like to remain
But the wheels of our lives go round and around

Take a town, Darlington, once so key and renowned
As the place where they rolled out the age of the train
People talk, people sing about homeward bound

The tracks of our trains may now seem run aground
But in 1825 they were our future - plain
The industry wheels going round and around

Locomotives moved coal and then folk by the pound
All thanks to the whirring of George Stephenson's brain
People sing, people long to be homeward bound

But progress takes over the wheel, so we've found
From the foot to the cart, from the car to the plane
Faster and further, around and around

Still we look for a home and listen for its sound
Where will it be, do we know its refrain?
People talk, people sing about homeward bound
But the wheels of our lives they go round and around

RF 2009
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Monday poem - it's a picture

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 11:14:52 PDT

OK, it's Monday and recently that can mean only one thing...it's TFE's Monday poem time. I was a bit busy last week writing like a possessed person but I did squeeze in a look at the task at some point. This week's assignment was to look at the photos at this post (oh, and this one), choose a photo, look at it again and then write something. To begin with I picked the kind of underpass one (first photo on the first post as listed here) and then I started work on an ill-advised poem about whether the word 'underpass' might work as a synonym for...well...a certain part of a woman's body. I didn't finish that poem...it couldn't decide whether it wanted to be humorous or not and I just didn't have time last week to find out. Plus I'm not sure it was working at all so it may never see the light of day. As it were.

Instead I wrote a very short poem about photography and art (and all kinds of other related matters). It's not really connected to any one of the photos we were shown – sorry about that. I used to write lots of short poems (and I wrote about some of them on the blog back in February of this year...posts every day from 2nd to 6th February 2009) but recently I seem to have got a lot more long-winded. I'm not sure that's always a good thing so back in the interests of brevity I present you with the poem below with my very best wishes. Below that I have pasted some photos that seemed appropriate. They were all taken by other members of my family - one Our Girl took on the streets of Bruges in the summer and the other two were taken by Mark in (a) New York and (b) that museum in Barbizon, France that no-one recognised in the summer photo quiz (back here). I hope you enjoy this short trip.

Mixed messages

'Oh, that photograph!'
They said
'It's beautiful
Just like a painting'

'Oh, that painting!'
They exclaimed
'It's marvellous
Just like a photograph'

RF 2009

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Tea break

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 01:17:10 PDT

I almost feel like apologising...I'm just writing so many poems at the moment...it's like a mania. Maybe it just is a mania. I suppose I should send them off tidily to competitions and magazines...but all that side of poetry just gets me down if I think about it too much! So instead, here it is for you gentle visitors. Remember yesterday we were talking about tea (and I took a line about tea - the drink - out of a poem)? Well, here's the don't-worry-the-tea-will-get-its-own-poem piece I was referring to in the comments. I hope you find it enjoyable and refreshing. Mug in the photo is model's own, by the way (my favourite morning vessel just now).

Best drink of the day

1. First blood

More than mother's milk
I remember Dad's tea
Brewed by magic elves
(Well, a teasmade)
It was good and sweet
And usually left by the bed
As he dozed for England
Quite dead to the world

The drink as I sipped it
Was adventure in a mouthful
Maturity and wisdom
All life in a taste
In the twilight mornings
In that big old room upstairs
There was little else to think about
We were animals in our den

2. Next generation

Tea, coffee, wine, beer
So much liquid under the bridge
Then finally some growing up to do

I was in labour for about a week
But at least at the finishing line
There was strong, proper tea for two

The cups were white, institutional
And we sat in shock, you and I
And drank her health for the first time

Today she's healthy still and growing
So far, at nine, she drinks nowt but water
But we know that can't go on forever

I see her as she watches us imbibe
The must-have clockwork tea in the morning
The desperate, snatched gulps in the afternoon

And I see her wonder, I'm quite sure
What secrets the special potion holds
What power's in the cup

RF 2009

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Monday poem – part two...what there's more?

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 07:43:27 PDT

Great reactions to the last post and its poem so thanks very much for all those. I forgot to mention that in fact I wrote two poems in response to this week's task from Totalfeckineejit. The other poem is much quieter and simpler than that great big shouty thing below. It is probably more like the careful, thoughtful poems all the other Monday Poets came up with. It has some stillness and it's no big thing (might not even be finished) but I thought I'd share it with you anyway. It's inspired by the same time in my life (the up all night years) but it's out of the clubs and parties...and just in a car on the way back to...well, anywhere with a kettle and a soft place to sit down usually. Here it is:

Long night

We're in a car
It's daylight
But nothing like morning

Is someone driving?
They must be
How else would we be moving?

The streets are almost empty
And we are somewhere lonely
In London, England
It seems kind of unlikely

Somebody says something
About us being in the east
And there still being miles to go

The car rolls on and on and on
When we get where we're going
We will call it home

RF 2009

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Monday poem – take it to the top, Ted

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 00:03:39 PDT

Can you believe this is the fifth Monday poem in a row? Anyway, this week's task was to read two Ted Hughes poems and then write something (both the poems and the instructions are over at our friendly leader, TFE's, blog). It was another interesting idea so I read the two poems and got to work. Of the Hughes poems I had read 'The Thought-Fox' before but had never been particularly keen on it (or at least not as keen as everyone else...maybe something to do with Fox being my name...that can change your relationship to a word). 'The Horses' though - that appealed to me much more...so I read it a few more times and let my mind gallop about with it for a while. All that talk in both poems of being up and awake when other people aren't around perhaps inevitably brought me right back to Raveworld (where I lived more or less completely from 1989-1997). It was very much a life lived at night and a few years back I wrote about this period a lot (often with a negative slant). Now more time has passed I feel a lot better disposed to it all than I did - I can even remember some of the joy and exhilaration...and hence some of the reasons we all got into it in the first place.

Some of the references in the following poem won't mean much to you if you missed the house music/nightclub/rave explosion of that time (for example Americans Masters at Work are dance music producers/DJs/remixers and British band Brothers in Rhythm had a couple of big cheesey records called things like 'Peace and Harmony') but we all drop our own nonsense into poems and that's part of what keeps it all interesting. I suppose in places you might think this poem is in bad taste...but it's really not meant to be (I see it more as a kind of celebration). In particular I didn't mean to bring Sylvia Plath into it (I really didn't – it's like the worst of crimes!) but I'm afraid in she came (...like she's never been away). You must remember though that although I mention poets who were once real living people this poem is really not about them as people...it's more about their myths (and lots of other things too). It's the freest free verse I've written in a while...but I guess that goes with the subject matter (generally I find form and content do find each other quite naturally). I apologise for the swear words and drug references (neither big nor clever) but I'm afraid, once again, it was very much part of it all and keeping it clean and tidy would not have been right at all. But enough intro, here it is (audio version here too):

Set text fever

Night time is the right time
The time to change direction
The time to shake your measly body
Like you've never shaken anything before

Seriously

And honey, I don't care who you are
How important, how seminal
When the night call comes
You will respond
You will leave your daytime
(Don't you know who I am?)
Bullshit at home
Put on the most ridiculous outfit
Cram yourself in with the masses
Sweat like a bastard
And lose yourself
Yes, you will lose yourself
In the dark

Take old Phil Larkin over there
He is going for it big time
He has finally removed that damn suit and tie
Taken off those infernal glasses
And look
He has set himself free
Free, free, freer than free
It's beautiful to watch really
He is grooving, totally grooving
I think he might even be
Communicating with the bottom of his soul
And whilst you wouldn't normally have him down
As a guy for leather shorts and nipple rings
People can surprise you
And there he is now
Reaching for the higher plane
Finding his happy place
Dancing on a podium
With poppers up his nose

And check Sylvia (the sweetheart)
She is smiling like you've never seen her
One ecstasy tab short of a hospital visit
She's right out there, flying
I bumped into her just now in the toilet
And she grabbed my bare arm tight and said
'This is so extreme
I don't think I can get any higher'
And I just hugged her
We all did
We told her that we loved her
That we always will, whatever
And that she should rave to the grave, baby
Rave to the grave

But it's hard for her because just look at Ted go
He is the king of the jungle
The ruler of the beasts
The man to end all men
No DJ can get near him
With that huge frame
That thick mane
He is the Master at Work
The Brother in Rhythm
Standing in the middle of the dancefloor
Barechested and vibrating
With his arms outstretched
His fingers pointing at something somewhere
That none of us can see
And he is howling
Full and hard like a wild creature
(You can't hear him for the music
But somehow we all feel it)
He is howling like a wolf
That wants to eat and live
High on life
Starlight barking
He is howling
At the moon
At the earth
At the night

RF 2009

So you see...another very different poem this week. I suppose there is a gentle 'deathly serious one week/bit more light-hearted the next' rhythm to my output but that's about all I can see in terms of regularity. If you want to read my other Monday poems so far here are the links:

Week 1 (and please remember this one was written in five minutes...that was the task).
Week 2
Week 3
Week 4

Everyone else's Monday poems to date can all be found via Totalfeckineejit's blog. He's like a one man PoetrySocietyAcademy (or something). And he's no eejit.

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Weekend colour returns

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Fox) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 11:34:19 PDT