QOTD

‘I respect faith, but doubt gets you an education,’ (playwright and conman Wilson Mizner)

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QOTD

On Challenge

Freefall

I’m sitting down to start this blog after the very first ‘Poetry Corner’ at Manchester Metropolitan, a Wednesday drop-in session open to anyone who wants to talk, read magazines or share poems. This week – perhaps inevitably – the first topic of discussion was Rebecca Watts’ article in PN Review lambasting the ‘cult of the noble amateur’, a piece which Hollie McNish responded to very eloquently and generously in her recent blog. Our creative writing students come from many different backgrounds and bring a range of experiences to their studies but they were uniformly outraged by what they saw as an attempt to question whether poetry is something that can be accessed in many ways by many people. One student, Heena, contrasted the apparent exclusivity this implies to Asian network radio stations she used to listen to with her gran in the car as a child where poetry…

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On Challenge

Brian Eno & Kevin Ayers team-up for oddball progrock poetry album ‘Lady June’s Linguistic Le prosy’

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Brian Eno & Kevin Ayers team-up for oddball progrock poetry album ‘Lady June’s Linguistic Leprosy’
// Dangerous Minds

I’ve been on a bit of a “70s Brian Eno kick” of late, scooping up all of the recent 2XLP 45rpm editions of Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, Here Come the Warm Jets,
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Read in my feedly

Sent from my iPad

Sent from my iPad

Brian Eno & Kevin Ayers team-up for oddball progrock poetry album ‘Lady June’s Linguistic Le prosy’

Couples #2

We came across these two in a museum in Volterra, in Tuscany. They are an Etruscan couple – a memory of a society that – as far as we can tell – valued women as equal partners with men.

The figures adorn a funerary casket and I thought this poem from the Dorset poet William Barnes, made a good match. It’s called Wife A lost and is written in dialect:

The Wife A-Lost

Since I noo mwore do zee your face,
Up stairs or down below,
I’ll zit me in the lwonesome place,
Where flat-bough’d beech do grow;
Below the beeches’ bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An’ I don’t look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I’ll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippèn wet;
Below the rain-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your vaice do never sound,
I’ll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your vaice an’ face
In prayer at eventide,
I’ll pray wi’ woone sad vaice vor grace
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an’ bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An’ be a-waitèn vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.

Couples #2

A broadside against bureaucrats

My sister, a while ago, was telling me about the unreal demands her managers were making – insisting on ‘quality’ systems that only hindered an overworked and under resourced group of staff. 

I came across this today and thought it might be a small comfort to know the Duke of Wellington suffered similarly.

I think bureaucracy could join death and taxes as one of the few certainties of life: 

Portugal, 1812
Gentlemen,
Whilst marching from Portugal to a position which commands the approach to Madrid and the French forces, my officers have been diligently complying with your requests which have been sent by H.M. ship from London to Lisbon and thence by dispatch to our headquarters.

We have enumerated our saddles, bridles, tents and tent poles, and all manner of sundry items for which His Majesty’s Government holds me accountable. I have dispatched reports on the character, wit, and spleen of every officer. Each item and every farthing has been accounted for, with two regrettable exceptions for which I beg your indulgence.

Unfortunately the sum of one shilling and ninepence remains unaccounted for in one infantry battalion’s petty cash and there has been a hideous confusion as to the number of jars of raspberry jam issued to one cavalry regiment during a sandstorm in western Spain. This reprehensible carelessness may be related to the pressure of circumstance, since we are war with France, a fact which may come as a surprise to you gentlemen in Whitehall.

This brings me to my present purpose, which is to request elucidation of my instructions from His Majesty’s Government so that I may better understand why I am dragging an army over these barren plains. I construe that perforce it must be one of two alternative duties, as given below. I shall pursue either one with the best of my ability, but I cannot do both:

1 To train an army of uniformed British clerks in Spain for the benefit of the accountants and copy-boys in London

or, perchance,

2 To see to it that the forces of Napoleon are driven out of Spain.
Your most obedient servant,
Wellington

Thanks to Memex 1.1

A broadside against bureaucrats