Red Roses

red roses
tethered to an anchor
of thorns

Red Rose

first roses
a glossy red clot
nodding in the breeze

Photo Red Rose by cheesy42

Christ Church Arts Weekend

Here is a link to a local paper. It carries a little review of the Arts Weekend and recital at Christ Church.

Kingston Guardian

Azaea snakes

azalea snakes
its way through the garden
sheds its skin of light

Christ Church New Malden Arts Weekend

Mallard and Mandarine

guardians
of the still pond
mallard and mandarin

Photo Mandarine Duck by paulafunnell

Easter Azaleas

this Easter azaleas
sun drenched - there are
a million ways to love

Details of an arts weekend in New Malden, Surrey

Azaleas

azaleas still
unfolding the colour of
turmeric and saffron

Photo Azaleas Richmond Park by Sibisson

Azaleas and God

azaleas -
God's toy of colour

azaleas -
God plays with red

Azalea Rainbow

azaleas
a rainbow laid flat
upon the earth

Maroon and Indigo

azaleas cloaked
in fleeting summer robes -
maroon and indigo

Azalea Tanka

April at
the still pond - each day
slowly
azaleas are building
their temple of colour

Photo Isabella Plantation by Fred Dawson

The Hunger Trace by Edward Hogan

Have I mentioned a new novel by a colleague of mine. 'The Hunger Trace' by Edward Hogan is a beautifully written novel set in a small Derbyshire village. The novel is centered around a wildlife park. Once owned by David Bryant who has recently and prematurely died - Maggie his lover, Louisa and old friend of David's and Christopher - David's teenage son struggle with the loss of David, the past, the stresses and strains of their relationships and the practicalities of running the park. It is a powerful evocation of rural life and strong emotions that threaten them all.

Kronos Quartet & Tanya Tagaq - A String Quartet In Her Throat

I've been fascinated by Inuit Throat Singing from Canada and Tuva in Russia since we went to a story telling festival dedicated to the North where we heard and watched these two musical cultures in action.

The CD Early Music by The Kronos Quartet is one of the most beautiful CD's I've ever heard. It includes an extrordinary piece called Uleg Khem played by Huun Huur Tu and the Kronos Quartet.

Here The Kronos Quartet colaborate with Tanya Tagaq from Canada.

Stunning.

Another Spring Haiku

azalea sleeps
in its bed of green -
wakes to magenta

Photo Magenta Azalea by Olaf

Another Spring Tanka

green azaleas
ghosts in grey morning mist
emerging scarlet
magenta and crimson
in the growing light

A Spring Haiku

purple azaleas
unfolding a thousand
butterfly wings

A Spring Tanka

radiant
white cherry blossom
and sea gulls
against dark branches
and grey shrouded sky

An Exhibition and Recital in Support of Christian Aid Week

To support Christian Aid, on Saturday 7 May from 10.00 till 5.00 at Christ Church New Malden there will be an exhibition of paintings and photographs by two local artists inspired by the seasons. The exhibition will be accompanied throughout the day by live music also inspired by the seasons. The church will be open all day on Saturday for visitors.

On Sunday 8 May at 3.00 there will be a recital of music and poetry using the seasons as its theme.

Entry to the exhibition and recital is free but all donations will go to Christian Aid.

To find out directions to the church follow this link

Here is a link to Christian Aid where you can find out more about Christian Aid Week and the work of Christian Aid.

Anyway here is a short poem to whet your appetite

A November Night Llanberis Pass

All night wild white water
clawed the slopes
of the pass,
glutted the streams,
engorged Llyn Gwynant –
bloated, black and heavy.

All night the mountain
reverberated like the tightened skin of a drum
with falling water.
The air torn in two
on Tryfan’s serrated edges.

And next morning
emerging out of grey light
smothered fields
blotted out along the river’s line.
And broken slates - grey glazed
splintered debris across the streets.

The Majestic Plastic Bag

I thought you might find this amusing and disturbing.

The Majestic Plastic Bag

Power of Ten

Watch this great video and animation. Lets try and keep things in th right perspective.Click here

I've suddenly thought of a great video to compare it to. Click here.

Big Yellow Taxi and Nothing but Flowers

I rather like the contrasts presented in these two songs.

Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchel and Nothing but Flowers by Talking Heads

Beauty

I found this on youtube and had to post it to my blog. Just click here.

Ali Farka Toure & Toumani Diabate

Here is a New Year gift.

A video of Ali Farka Toure and Toumani Diabate - amazing!!

New Year

Photo New Year Fireworks London by Mike Campbell

We watched the fireworks at the London Eye from about ten miles away. We parked the cars outside Richmond Park and walked through the predestrian gates at The Star and Garter on Richmond Hill. Then we walked a little way along the road towards Holly Lodge where during the day there is a great view over central and east London. We stood there looking out with around 100 other people.

The fireworks were amazing even from this distance. We drank Champagne, sang and watched Chinese Lanterns rise and drift east towards Roehampton and Sheen.

Happy New Year!!

winter solstice
all night
from rooftops to drains
the slow thaw
like the ticking of a thousand clocks

dawn
a bloom of bruised light
rises in the east

Some Christmas Carol Links

Here are a couple of links to some beautiful Christmas Carols I've been bumping into recently. I thought you might like them.

Watch this space more may follow.

The Holly and the Ivy performed by Loreena McKennit


The Holly and the Ivy performed by Sedayne


O Come O Come Emmanuel performed by Enya

I walk into thick fog
and bring back a poem

Blue Snow

at twilight
fields of blue snow
glowing


Photo Cold Winter Landscape by D Reichardt

on the glazed grey ice
splashed and dazzled
red tail lights

across the garden
where I've retraced my steps
the snow remembers me

in the hush of a grey dawn
snow is whispering


...


in the hush of a grey dawn
the hiss of snow
slowly falling

frost falling
like the soft paws of a cat
gently spreading

all night
disturbed by frost
softly falling

Sunrise reveals
fields dissolved
with frost

Autumn Leaves

mist stained yellow
with the leaves


Photo by Mike Epp

this night
wrapped up in sleep
and fog pressing at my window

Rememberance Sunday

our fragile silence
framed by cannon fire and
a lonely bugle's call
into mist

dead leaves collect
around the war memorial
the wind's wreaths

autumn twilight
even the gutters sing with
gusting tongues of fire

Photo Clogging up the gutter by Deannster

Waiting for the Frost

tonight I am waiting up for the frost
silently falling -
a white lining in the streets
the bronzed leaves glazed white

remembering frozen breath upon the window pane.


(c) David Loffman

Red Leaves Close Up

a patchwork wreath of rust red leaves

Photo Red Leaves by David Loffman

Art review Paul Gauguin at Tate Modern Maker of Myth

I didn't know much about Paul Gauguin before I went into this exhibition. But what I'd seen of his painting really impressed me. And this helped me feel sympathetic towards him. However coming away from the exhibition I realised I didn't like him at all. And sadly this has affected my thoughts about his work.

However there was much to admire. Firstly Gauguin is a painter of place. His work is embedded in the locations he works in. Whatever he chooses to be a subject, the landscape bursts out, at every opportunity with passion and with vitality. It is a living landscape. And his subjects - generally women, clothed and unclothed are extensions of this landscape. I realise actually that his feelings about landscape are deeply connected to the women he paints. Someone said to me onece that painting is a way of possessing and owning the subject. So the message of these paintings is one of possession and ownership. This was expressed both sexually in Gauguin,s personal life and politically in France's colonial projects in French Polynesia.

His representation of the elements is attractive. His work seems dominated by earth and fire, by vibrant reds and rich shades of green. He has a wide ranging vocabulary of colour, incredibly attractive, it draws the eye. I am captivated by it. I am referring specifcally to the modern abstracted 20th century landscapes rather than the post impressionistic detailed painting of the earlier 19th century work. At times the earth is infused with fire, the earth glows; the earth is a thin transparent skin that covers the earth’s furnace below. The earth feels like a simmering volcano ready to explode and bathe everything with warmth. And yet I am aware of the awe and attraction of violence. I'm attracted to the monochrome oil seed rape fields on May and June. perhaps it's the uniform lines, the blanket, garish colour. And I know it is a form of violence, an expression of power and control of the land. It is the power of the tyrannt. A male power that wants to subdue and control.

I'm also attracted to his depictions of people including women. I don't think it is a sexual thing. For he infuses his figures with a vitality and a life of there own. I don’t know how he does it. Perhaps it is there posture, their body language or the colours or tones he uses. The painting I've posted above I think is exraordinary. There is something quite masculine about these women. The build is solid and broad. But the faces are touched with a individuality, a life force of their own.

Theatre Review Tribes by Nina Raine at The Royal Court

“How can you feel a feeling unless you have the word for it”.

‘Tribes’ is a play about a family coping with deafness. 'Tribes' is a play about love.'Tribes' is a play about what families do to each other. 'Tribes' is a play about communication. It's about being human.

Things are changing in this family. And can they cope with those changes? They are a well educated middle class family – two parents – he’s an academic, she’s writing a novel - and three adult children – they’ve all got degrees – Daniel’s doing a PhD - in the limitations of language, Ruth has ambitions to be an opera singer and Billy... - all in their twenties.

It opens around a kitchen table set probably in the country. We see them finishing a meal but we quickly realise it’s a battle ground where five egos battle it out. Ruth and Daniel have come back to the family home. They are all, highly opinionated, very articulate, offensive, aggressive and funny. Except for Billy, who sits silently throughout the meal and arguments, trying to follow what everyone is talking about. But the arguments are all underpinned by love. Or at least they believe that its love and it seems that way to us too.

But the quick fire competitive banter hides uncomfortable truths. These unspoken truths are focussed on Billy. He is deaf from birth. His mother has spent years teaching him how to speak. He has grown up in a safe and protected family home where his deafness is not seen as a handicap. And he has managed to speak and lip read throughout his life. The family especially Chris – the father is opposed to any kind of discrimination or attempt to see Billy as disabled. He rejects the emerging deaf culture with its aggressive challenges to the hearing community.

Billy brings a girlfriend home. Her parents are deaf and she is slowly becoming deaf through a genetic disorder. And although their experiences are different, at this point in their lives they meet and appear to get on well. But the tensions within that relationship tear it apart. However Sylvia introduces Billy to deaf culture. He discovers sign language and a new empowered awareness of his situation and relationship to the rest of the family.

The first Act of the play feels like an Ayckbourn domestic comedy. But the second Act takes the play onto a different level. Billy refuses to lip read. He will only sign and he expects them to learn to sign. He leaves the family home and moves in with Sylvia. As the breach between the family develops – Daniel begins to stutter again – an old problem they thought was solved - and hears voices in his head. Ruth hears her voice on a tape and hates it, she cannot find a job or a boyfriend. Beth – their mother has writers’ block.

This theme of voice is so beautifully played out through the play. The articulate become inarticulate; and the voiceless Billy asserts his signed voice and challenges them all to really and deeply listen to each other rather than speak. I wonder whether their voices have isolated themselves from the rest of the world. I wonder if the only place they feel safe is around that kitchen table in a sort of verbal sword fight. Billy challenges them – offers them another way to live.

At the end Daniel shrunken with insistent, negative, interior voices and a paralysing stutter manages to sign to Billy ‘Love’. And all of them watch – maybe even Chris will learn.

Tribes is beautifully acted. A script that bristles with intelligence and wit. A performance both thought provoking and entertaining.

river
gold leaf
in the setting sun

I've fallen among leaves
the soft hollow drum of the earth
beneath me

Camargue Fragments IV

IV Bull

In the arena
brute beautiful,
black blooded and bulging
a burning bundle of muscle.
A bursting bulk –
a sun basted, burnished beast.
A brazen bullet
of bull.

Photo Bull by David Loffman

Camargue Fragments V

V Salt Mountain

Flat land.

A sea breached sand bank,
leaving salt pans
stretched tight as a drum -
a thin skin of trapped sea
slowly simmering on the rack
of blind white sun

till a salt crust emerges
out of buckled heat.
Then salt scooped
clamped in metal
heaped onto a glazed and glacial
white salt silt mount
an ice berg among the sand dunes.


Photo Salt Mountain by David Loffman

At Cannes

I’ve not swum in the sea since I was 17. It was always a bit messy and awkward for me – all that bare flesh and wet sand sticking to the skin and too much sun and no shade and the crowds then being ill really put a stop to it completely.

One day this summer we decided to drive to Cannes. The car was full, hot and stuffy. There were four beach desperate children in the back and four adults squashed in the middle and in the front. But there was nowhere to park. We caught glimpses of the sea but the cars were parked nose to tail and the long slow congested line of cars coughed and spluttered there way passed the public beaches, then the private beaches and back to the public beaches.

Then suddenly Alex spotted a disabled parking bay and we made our way to it. It had an automatic bollard in the middle so we could not park. And Alex strode off looking for someone to help. He returned with a guy. I showed him my blue badge. And somewhere in our poor French and his minimal English we understood that the parking bay was reserved for disabled people who wanted to use the beach. And I understood what he meant was disabled people who wanted to get into the water. This was a handiplage.

I looked around at the four despairing children and realised the hopelessness of our situation. It was going to have to be this beach or we were going to have to give up on Cannes. So I made the ultimate sacrifice and told him I wanted to go into the sea. And so we parked.

It was a bit of a hassle working out the practical details but in the end I gave away my car key and wallet to someone. Folded away my glasses and gave them to someone else. Then in a changing room I took of my artificial legs and gave them to a complete stranger to look after. I borrowed Alex’s trunks. Transferred onto a wheelchair and was wheeled down a ramp to the sea. I took off my shirt. I put on a life jacket and holding Iona’s hand I was wheeled out into the sea. Shallow at first, waist, ribs, chest. And then he just tipped me out into the sea.

I lay on my back. I seemed to have let go of everything. So many burdens just lifted and drifted from me. I let the water carry me.

So there I was on the crowded beach at Cannes, where so many beautiful people sunbathed and swam. There I was without legs, white and over weight, swimming and free.