Artist

Alexander Averin

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

March Ramblings



Dear Diary,

It is not a sign of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society.
J. Krishnamurti


It has been too long since my last posting so I can only offer many apologies. I have been suffering from a berludy virus that is doing the rounds.  I am still not fully better so bear with me, I am a wee bit fragile.  I had a break of fever in the night and felt so much better, so much so that I got up for an hour and checked emails etc while supping on ginger tea.

What am I doing now? Very little, keeping warm having dosed myself with strong analgesics, cough mixture and herbal teas.  I am trying to avoid going t o the GP and going down the antibiotic route.

Blessings?

Radio 4.  How could I live without it?

The  book programme at 6.30 pm on BBC2 every evening with Anne Robinson (don’t worry, she  has softened and is excellent in this, she has also apologised to the Welsh!).  She and Chris Evans also made a fantastic case against closing libraries on TV recently so both have gone up in my estimation.

A ‘comforter’ which I bought in a lovely craft shop in a  local market town recently.  It is Fairtrade, made in Nepal and just the thing for my sore throat.  It is knitted in multicolour; turquoise, rusty red, burgundy, greens and  dark pinks.   I am a firm believier in colour healing. It is also very soft and soothing to my neck and throat., if I had the energy I would photograph it for you.

The weather is also comforting me, it is bright and blue. cloudless and sunny (!), as it was yesterday for St David’s Day.  The sky was a mass of blue then too which made the day special.  I spotted several children in national costume which was sweet.   The yellow sun here in Wales made up for the lack of daffodils in my garden  which  are nowhere near out yet.  I have instead bought some wee pots of the lovely dwarf varieties and they are very cheering.  Yellow is the perfect colour to lift us from winter blues.

A new magazine to get lost in.

Some new books ordered from the library:

The Elegance of the Hedgehog., Muriel Barbery
Life in a Cottage Garden, Carol Klein
Stranger in the Mirror, Jane Shilling.
Life Alignment, Philippa Lubbock
A Discovery of Witches, Deborah E Harkness
Bird Cloud, Annie Proulx
21 golden rules for cosmic ordering, Barbel Mohr
A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry

A no-work today day luckily.

A poem is brewing in me, a line came to me during the night.

I made a breakthrough in my husband’s genealogy trail yesterday when I  found  a relative in France, thanks to the Ancestry website.

The birds in my garden, better than TV sometimes, I could watch them for hours.

My daphne is flowering, its colour is a perfect mauve.

I am soon going to make a big pot of spicy and  hopefully curing, vegetable soup.   I had a very tasty bowl of spiced parsnip soup in the aforementioned craft shop last week, very spicy indeed, just how I like it.  And along with most delicious home-made bread it was delicious.

March is underway, thank God.  A friend and I have come to an agreement, we would like to abolish two months from the calendar and they are December (my number one hate it is so stressful, pressured and I hate it!) and also February as most folk are a tad depressed, exhausted, or are suffering from some virus or possibly all three.

But now the only way  is up and

(wait for it a cliché  is coming)

Spring is just around the corner……………………..


But just before I go here is  a newly discovered poem by Elizabeth Bishop.



The End Of March




 











 
 
It was cold and windy, scarcely the day
to take a walk on that long beach
Everything was withdrawn as far as possible,
indrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken,
seabirds in ones or twos.
The rackety, icy, offshore wind
numbed our faces on one side;
disrupted the formation
of a lone flight of Canada geese;
and blew back the low, inaudible rollers
in upright, steely mist.

The sky was darker than the water
--it was the color of mutton-fat jade.
Along the wet sand, in rubber boots, we followed
a track of big dog-prints (so big
they were more like lion-prints). Then we came on
lengths and lengths, endless, of wet white string,
looping up to the tide-line, down to the water,
over and over. Finally, they did end:
a thick white snarl, man-size, awash,
rising on every wave, a sodden ghost,
falling back, sodden, giving up the ghost...
A kite string?--But no kite.

I wanted to get as far as my proto-dream-house,
my crypto-dream-house, that crooked box
set up on pilings, shingled green,
a sort of artichoke of a house, but greener
(boiled with bicarbonate of soda?),
protected from spring tides by a palisade
of--are they railroad ties?
(Many things about this place are dubious.)
I'd like to retire there and do nothing,
or nothing much, forever, in two bare rooms:
look through binoculars, read boring books,
old, long, long books, and write down useless notes,
talk to myself, and, foggy days,
watch the droplets slipping, heavy with light.
At night, a grog a l'américaine.
I'd blaze it with a kitchen match
and lovely diaphanous blue flame
would waver, doubled in the window.
There must be a stove; there is a chimney,
askew, but braced with wires,
and electricity, possibly
--at least, at the back another wire
limply leashes the whole affair
to something off behind the dunes.
A light to read by--perfect! But--impossible.
And that day the wind was much too cold
even to get that far,
and of course the house was boarded up.

On the way back our faces froze on the other side.
The sun came out for just a minute.
For just a minute, set in their bezels of sand,
the drab, damp, scattered stones
were multi-colored,
and all those high enough threw out long shadows,
individual shadows, then pulled them in again.
They could have been teasing the lion sun,
except that now he was behind them
--a sun who'd walked the beach the last low tide,
making those big, majestic paw-prints,
who perhaps had batted a kite out of the sky to play with.
   


         

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Why?




Why?


Why did God make Men; was She only joking?
Why does the caged bird sing?
Why do I beat myself up and always drive myself on?
Why do the good die young?
Why do I always fall asleep on the sofa
and then wake at the end of the film?
Why can’t I sleep when I get to bed
but not want to wake in the morning?
Why do I feel wide awake at night
yet  could easily drowse the day long?
Why does time pass more quickly the older you get?
Why does each year go faster than the last?
Why do a few minutes pass so slowly when I am willing them to go by?
Why do hours just whiz by on the computer?
Why does time fly when I’m having fun?
(Where does the time go?).
Why does food always taste better out of doors?
Why, if I am looking for a particular card in my purse, it will be the last to be found?
Why does a good book always end too quickly?
Why do people only call by when the house is a tip?
Why does no-one call when it’s clean and tidy?
Why, if heat rises, is it colder the higher up you go?
Why does the phone ring just as I am dishing up a meal or wallowing in the bath?
Why does a word keep cropping up after it has been discussed?
Why do we always want what we haven’t got
and not appreciate what we already have?
Why is youth wasted on the young?
Why can’t there be an end to war?
Why do we never learn from history?
Why do we laugh?
Why do we cry?
Why do we write?
Why do we blog?
Why are we here?
Why are you reading this cr**?
Why do we worry anyway?

Answers on a postcard please.
(Or in comments below).



Cait O’Connor

Friday, 18 February 2011

On Finding An Ancestor's Will



On Finding An Ancestor’s Will


In Cumberland, upon a hillside’s crag,
sweet Archibald, I  found you.

But were you really not so sweet,
were you rather sour and tight?

You lived and worked by border folk
and married one, Christiana.

Two hundred years have passed,
each archive speaks, yet hides from us its story.

You made and dealt in earthenware,
you dreamed in clay, your land was stone and slate.

A gifted artist, palms worked their alchemy
to make the finest china in the land.

You left great wealth but all was spoken for
by creditors, well more than one in truth.

When you were safely cold, buried deep
and moulded in St  Andrew’s clay

the first in line was Samuel Binns, the local man of coal.
Another dealer, patient, open-palmed,
he’d quietly watched you die.

Six hundred pounds lay wait for him.
his conscience clear and firm, un-pricked,

the money owed to him had kept you whole,
had warmed your body and its heart

and hopefully your artist soul,
through all your long, cold, dying days

in Cumberland, upon a hillside’s crag.


Cait O’Connor

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Adele at the Brits

I was babysitting last night and only caught some of the Brit Awards.  A lot of what I saw left me unmoved but not Adele's performance.  What a talent; she stood out from the rest as far as I am concerned.

See what you think.


I heard that your settled down.
That you found a girl and you're married now.
I heard that your dreams came true.
Guess she gave you things I didn’t give to you. Old friend, why are you so shy?
It ain’t like you to hold back or hide from the lie.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited.
But I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it.
I hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded
that for me, it isn’t over.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don’t forget me, I beg, I remember you said
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead”
Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead, yeah.
You’d know how the time flies.
Only yesterday was the time of our lives.
We were born and raised in a summery haze.
Bound by the surprise of our glory days.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,
But I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it.
I hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded,
That for me, it isn’t over yet.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don’t forget me, I beg, I remember you said
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead”, yay.
Nothing compares, no worries or cares.
Regrets and mistakes they’re memories made.
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don’t forget me, I beg, I remembered you said:-
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead”
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don’t forget me, I beg, I remembered you said
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead”
Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead, yeah.


Monday, 14 February 2011

Just a litle romance




Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
   Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
   And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
   And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
   By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
   Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
   When in eternal lines to time thou growest;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare

 Here is a song for the day.


First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies.

The first time ever I kissed your mouth
And felt your heart beat close to mine
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command.

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time my love
It would last till the end of time my love

The first time ever I saw your face, your face,
your face, your face



Friday, 11 February 2011

Crazy Valentine

Dear Diary,

When love is not madness, it is not love.  
 
Pedro Calderon de la Barca
 
 
I was thinking this morning (dangerous I know) about the places and times that inspiration strikes me.  I usually get an idea for a poem, or a line for one in in the middle of the  night,  in the shower, out on a walk,or when I am driving.  These are all places where a notebook is of no use whatsoever.  I wonder where you get your flashes of inspiration about what will be your next creation?  Do you always carry the essential notebook and pen?  Or are you like me who often has little scraps of paper all over the place?

I was leafing through a Country Life magazine in the library in my lunch hour yesterday as there are often interesting snippets in it.  I have discovered an artist I had not come across called Arthur Hacker, (1858-1919).  I expect you all know of him but my education is often sadly lacking.  I have picked one of his pictures to illustrate a wee poem about Valentine's Day.  It is a bleak poem which is about love but not the happiest aspects of it so I am posting it before Monday when I expect the day to be a happy one, full of Cupids, arrows, soft nothings and anonymous messages of love.






Vale of Farewell
Arthur Hacker



The idea for this poem came to me when I was driving. It is a true story, based on real people who shall obviously have to remain anonymous.


Crazy Valentine



He has lost his wife.
Some folk said he should have been more careful,
that the cause was his neglect.
He swore she was not lost,
that he had just mislaid her
but now she lays with another.

He lives a solitary life now
in their longhouse below a Welsh mountain.
Memories of their sweet union still hang around the yard.

Even the hills are sexy, their curves seem way too beautiful;
symmetrical, symbolic, their view from the cottage
both attract and pain him in equal measure.

He has joined a dating site and goes on nervous assignations
but the women all seem coarse and not remotely like his wife,
the one he swears is calling to him from some secret  place.

She is still arty, awash with sweetness and a cool allure
which he knows can quickly sway according to that moody moon.
He looks out for her in special hope upon the feast of Valentine.

Sometimes she is dominant and close,
sometimes distant, hidden and reserved.
but he believes that she is there and that she calls to him alone,

that she is waiting for the moment to return
that life will return to normal
and that everything will be the way it  always used to be,

before he had woefully mislaid her.


Cait O’Connor

Wednesday, 9 February 2011

About toleration

Dear Diary,


A short blog post today. It is a trifle chilly up here in the study and I am a little under the weather today. The sofa and log burner (and Brian Keenan) are calling me from downstairs so I won't keep you.  My book group are comparing Brian Keenan's book An Evil Cradling with John McCarthy and Jill Morrell's Some Other Rainbow, an excellent choice for this month by one of our members and I am looking forward to the discussion.

 I apologise because I have been lazy and posted a copy of an article.  It is Nicky Wire of the Manics speaking to Robin Turner of the Guardian.  I realise I am preaching to the converted here but I am so incensed that in a so-called civilised society anyone could even consider closing a library.  There is a great song at the end for you.  Stay with it.

Do check out the Lauren Laverne link, (if you missed it on 10 o'clock live)........ it's great.

It's hard not to feel utterly despondent at the current plight of public libraries. Along with the NHS and the BBC, our libraries are some of the few truly remarkable British institutions left. So often absolutely ordinary in appearance, a good library should offer escape routes down the most extraordinary avenues, pathways into different worlds from the one you've left outside. Ridding our villages, towns and cities of libraries, which are essential in shaping a nation's consciousness, seems like a direct attack on the soul of the country.Libraries have always reassuringly been there when I've needed them. Blackwood library in Wales helped me through my O- and A- levels. They have given my parents decades of pleasure, satiating their desire to read and learn. This country's greatest ever poet and one of the biggest influences on my life and work, Philip Larkin, was – of course – a librarian. My wife Rachel worked as a librarian across all the branches in Newport. My brother Patrick worked in Blackwood library. I remember clearly my mother bringing home a biography of Under the Volcano author Malcolm Lowry during my teenage years. Here was a life that was truly beyond eccentricity, incredibly sad and fucked up. I was wholly drawn to the nihilistic, hyper-intelligent nature of Lowry's story. That was the turning point that made books so precious to me, part of the transformative process that would eventually make me almost fetishise books themselves. For these and countless other reasons, the public library was a key factor in shaping who I am today.
There's a tendency to resort to romantic cliche when talking about libraries; clearly in a digital age they aren't a "sexy" alternative. Maybe I'm old-fashioned but I still believe that the core of libraries will always be printed words rather than screens or keyboards. In any town or city, you can walk in and pick up the works of TS Eliot or Brett Easton Ellis, extremes of taste that you can dip into and thumb through without having anyone nudging you to make a purchase. There really aren't many things in life that can enrich you for free yet ask for nothing in return.
As an utterly self-made band, in our formative stages we vociferously consumed high and low culture – magazines, literature and TV. Without money, libraries became something of a lifeline, offering a clear window on to a wider world. In the summer of 2009, the band were honoured to be asked to open the new Cardiff Central Library. For us, it seemed like a chance to give something back to Wales. Seeing one of our lyrics – "Libraries gave us power", from A Design for Life – inscribed on the opening plaque was in its own way as affecting as playing the Millennium Stadium.
That opening line was adapted from an engraving above the entrance to Pill library in Newport that read: "Knowledge is power." The weight of those almost Orwellian words became intertwined with an idea about what the miners had given back to society when they built municipal halls and centres across the country – beautiful looking institutes that they proudly left for future generations. The lyric was me railing against what I saw as a flippancy pervading the country with the rise of Britpop, a wholesale adoption – and bastardisation – of working-class culture.
The double life of that song's opening line is one of the most amazingly serendipitous things that's happened during the life of the band. I still feel intensely proud when I hear it cited out of the context of the song, like last week when Lauren Laverne dropped it into a brilliant piece of polemic on 10 O'Clock Live.
At the moment, it really does appear that the establishment is back in control of Britain. After 30 years of semi-pluralistic governance, the establishment is pushing hard its own agenda. When you look at the cabinet, the millionaire's row in the front benches of Parliament looks like a very public-school coup. One of the most amazing things about public libraries remains their utter classlessness. You don't have to have gone to Eton to make the most out of a library. They aren't inhabited by the kind of people currently damning them. The closure of libraries in conjunction with tuition fees, the sell-off of our forests and radical reorganisation of the NHS are symbolic of the blatant power grab of this fiasco of a government. There is a way of solving these problems – it's called higher taxation of the wealthiest 10% of the country. In the 90s, I'd have gladly included myself in that bracket.
We need to cherish these things while they still exist. Seek solace, seek knowledge. Seek power.
• Nicky Wire, the Manic Street Preachers' bassist and lyricist, was talking to Robin Turner of The Guardian.




Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait

Sunday, 6 February 2011

Libraries Change Lives

This will be the first of many posts about libraries and the fight to save them.  

Support your Local Library – The Pillar of Civilisation

These are the words of Shoo Rayner, a very popular children's author and illustrator.
I tried very hard to embed a copy of his video (with his permission) but to no avail. It can be found here should you wish to view him speaking. However I am able to copy the words below.




I don’t get this country sometimes. As an island nation in a cruel, new, worldwide economic environment, we are in peril.
Our future relies on the imagination of our people. The future will be dominated by the intelligent and the imaginative. That is where profits will come from.
So what do we do in a time of short term political stress? Obvious… go for the short-term easy option – as always. Let’s cut the libraries.
Great Britain became great for many reasons, but I would hazard to suggest that universal education was the main reason.
The real driving power of the industrial revolution was the autodidact, the man who wanted to better himself and move up. How did he do this? He went to the library or the worker’s reading rooms and taught himself. That is the British way – that is the British genius that has kept us “punching above our weight” all these years.
Andrew Carnegie, the richest man that ever lived, understood this. He was that self-made man. He knew what it took to make it in this world, and far from pulling the ladder up behind him as our politicians propose now, he bestowed thousands of libraries to provide a place of learning for those who would follow him in self-reliance, determination and all the other qualities needed in The Big Society.
So now, at what is probably our hour of greatest need, what do we do? We start closing down public libraries!
I admit, there are so many good accounting reasons to do this. You can massage the figures anyway you like, but leadership is not about accounting. A great leader listens to his advisers and makes brave, visionary decisions. Any leader who follows the obvious advice of accountant is just a manager – not a leader.
My mind has been in turmoil over the issue of public libraries in the current economic situation. The internet has changed everything. It is cheaper to ask library users to order their books from Amazon and keep them, rather than pay for a library and its staff.
But a library is so much more that a pile of books or bricks. At its best it is the heart of the community and the centre of life-long learning. With the rapid pace of change, life-long learning is something we will all have to get used to, and the Library is the perfect place to go for the information that we need.
People of my generation are obsessed with books and paper. Kids really couldn’t care what form their information comes in. They have no loyalty to paper or books. If they weren’t told to read books because they are a “good thing”, they wouldn’t.
I find that scary – I make my living selling books. I know I and all authors have a very scary but exciting ride ahead. The times they are a’changing.
Forget books. They are not the point – it is what is in the books that counts. All that information needs filtering, storing and organising, and that’s where libraries and librarians come in.
Libraries have changed a lot since I was a kid and I think they have a long way to go yet. In fact, I think the role of the public library will always keep changing. But a public library’s core business is knowledge and information.
Maybe those in power want to keep us in ignorance? I don’t believe that’s so. I tend to go for the cock-up theory of politics. Keeping us in ignorance will lead to a “Fourth World” future. Post-industrial, bankrupt and only fit to make cheap plastic goods or decontaminate the waste of the rest of the world.
Our future lies in motivated, educated citizens and the library should be at the heart of their lives. Teaching them the stuff they need to know to keep this country at the forefront of the information revolution.
Librarians may well be stereotyped as quiet, tea-drinking cat-lovers who will go meekly when presented a P45, but in reality they are the guardians of our knowledge, our history and everything that has got us to where we are and where we shall go.
Sir Isaac Newton said, “If I have seen further it is only by standing on the shoulders of giants.” And so our vision of the future is only possible because we stand on the shoulders of those that have come before. Their legacy is kept and guarded by libraries and librarians.
Librarians are priceless and so is the service they provide and so are the buildings they work in.
We need to have a discussion about their future and our future, but there is no point having that discussion if the buildings and the people who know how to handle information have gone.
At the moment, the Library is there for children who need to read books, They need to read lots of them repeatedly. Wonder why literacy levels are falling? Literacy is not about school records or results. Literacy comes from reading lots of books. It takes a lot of practice to get good at reading. Reading books may be seen as entertainment, but if a book is not entertaining why would a child want to read it? Literacy comes from reading entertaining books. Fact. Get over it!
Oh! And let’s not forget the home schoolers and the sick. And story time and toddler’s groups and craft sessions. Libraries are as much a part of our children’s education as schools are. In some case maybe more. The library is where you go when school’s out or it doesn’t teach what you need to know.
And what of older people once they have switched the telly off? There’s not a lot on the box for them. The Library is there not only to borrow books from, but it’s a meeting place and source of information.
The library is often where older people discover and use the internet. How confused are you by your computer? Can you imagine being eighty and trying to get to grips with one on your own? Libraries provide computers that work and don’t need to be fiddled with all the time.
And the computers are there for everyone else too. Information at your fingertips in the information age, with Librarians there to help you find what you want. Yes, computers are cheap and easy to get hold of now, but they are no easier to maintain. How many people have a computer sitting in their front room, unused because it won’t start up and no one knows what to do with it? Millions probably.
And what of all those people out working all day? The ones who earn the money to pay the council tax, who complain about the expense of the libraries?
Well, maybe we need to re-examine opening hours. Maybe we need to examine what those people want and need from libraries.
Maybe more evening book groups, special interest groups, more adult education.
Maybe this is where the Big Society comes in, local lectures on any subject under the sun, passing on information, making connections in the community, building new groups and businesses, the library as the human/person/body/real-life meeting place of the faceless, FaceBook generation.
I know that libraries are going to go through massive change in the next few years. I’ve met one or two young librarians who are champing at the bit, with visions of entirely digital libraries, free of the weight of paper and dusty shelves.
There is an amazing future ahead for public libraries, at the heart of our communities and at the heart of the life-long learning and self -improvement we will have to invest in for the sake of the country’s future.
But if you take away the very pillars of civilisation don’t besurprised if everything comes crashing down on you!
Take libraries away and they will never come back and soon the dark shadow of a post industrial wasteland will descend upon this once great nation.
We can rise again and lead the world into the next historic revolution, but not without our libraries..

Shoo Rayner

Friday, 28 January 2011

Thought for a Friday




Tony Bliar speaking about Egypt on the Today programme on Radio 4 this morning.

Yes we want change but it must be ordered and stable, we have got to keep people together. You have got to take account of the fact that when you unleash this process of reform, unless you are going to be very, very careful about how it's done and how it's staged, then you run risks as well.  If you open up a vacuum anything can happen.

Whose words?

Tony Bliar.

Yes Tony Bliar.

Three words come to my mind.

Pot, kettle and black.

Saturday, 22 January 2011

The Reading Season




The Reading Season


It is the reading season;
we do not ask for much
our call a plea for human hibernation.
Come Winter-tide, Wales tests us all.
When snow is forecast, all is gloom
and libraries fill with starving folk.
All seeking words to warm themselves upon.
All seeking books to lose themselves within
and so it is fine weather for the words.
Beloved books will always be a loyal friend,
a blanket of pure comfort, an escape,
a goose down duvet or a featherbed so soft,
a touchstone for the soul when life is hard.
Our needs are simple now and fill one tiny space:
a fire of logs or coal, a comfy chair, a throw,
a mug of cocoa, hot toddy or a glass of red,
a book or two to raise the spirit, test the mind,
cause blood to warm, bring hearts to ease
and keep us from this season’s dark and chill.


Cait O’Connor

Monday, 17 January 2011

Mood Music and More



 Royal Academy Artist Ann Fawssett-Atkin,


Dear Diary,

Perhaps it is the waxing of the moon that makes me crave music this morning; it has a strong emotional pull and sometimes I just have to have music,  I could certainly not live without it. (My Moon is in Scorpio and the Moon rules the emotions).  So far I have been picking out favourite songs by David Gray, Robbie Williams and at the moment Jennifer Warnes and Leonard Cohen.  Ah, Leonard Cohen his words are almost to die for, though what would be the use of death if I couldn’t hear his words?  I will put one of my faves at the end for you.  So the  music is ongoing and I sing along as I type, just as well you can't hear me.  The laundry sorting can wait, ditto the cleaning, dog walking, bird feeding etc.

There is much news of film in the news today and the wonderful Colin Firth has won an award (but only his first for this particular film I promise you) -  his role in The King’s Speech.  I have only seen him in a short clip of this film and I can tell you that this taster alone brought a tiny tear to my eye, what a great actor he is.  I am afraid I shall have to be patient and wait for the DVD to come out because I don’t like going to the cinema.  Not enough leg room and I get fidgety and uncomfy, also I don’t like being amongst a lot of other people, I prefer to be cwched up on my sofa with soft lights, drinks, nibbles (and oftimes tissues) and without the prospect of a fair drive home in the cold.  Also, with all these flu bugs around I don’t want to risk catching anything!

Talking of films a fellow blogger was asking for film recommendations.  Here are a few of mine that I can think of so far.  In absolutely no kind of order, here are some of my favourites:

I shall start with anything with the late great Pete Postlethwaite in, God rest his soul, he is sadly missed. Here are three to be going on with:

In the Name of the Father
The Age of Stupid
Brassed Off

Anything with Robert Mitchum in because he was (and still is) a crush of mine.

Any films directed by Mike Leigh.

The Railway Children
Lady and the Tramp (original version)
Beautiful Mind
Fahrenheit 9/11 -
(Any Michael Moore film).
Brief Encounter
The Snowman
Dead Poet’s Society
Four Weddings and a Funeral
Love Actually
Pretty Woman
The Remains of the Day
Notting Hill
Local Hero
You’ve got Mail
American Beauty
The English Patient
Bridget Jones Diary
The Green Mile
Shrek
Field of Dreams
Iris
Whistle down the Wind
Calendar Girls
Rabbit Proof Fence
The Quiet Man
Ryan’s Daughter
Ladies in Lavender
I have loved you so long (French with subtitles)
The Invention of Lying
Ghost (Ricky Gervaise)
An Education
The Blind Side
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

There are loads more but I am in music mode and can’t think of them at the moment.  I agree that there are many really terrible films out there and so often they are the ones that are hyped up and in the bestsellers too. They are like books in that respect, the most feted are not necessarily the best,

I have also been asked by a friend to think of fifteen authors that have inspired me so I will do that here as well.

I tried to do as I was told (hard for me) and think quickly so here goes.  Of course I got carried away and have got too many but who cares, in my opinion you can’t have too much of any good thing.  You can’t have too many books, too much garlic, too much chocolate, too much music.......

Louisa M Alcott
Enid Blyton
A A Milne
D H Lawrence
Edna O’Brien
Tony Benn
Germaine Greer
Colm Toibin
Sebastian Barry
William Trevor
The Brontes
Carol Shields
Leo Tolstoy
Rumi
Rainer Maria Rilke
John O’Donohue
Philip Larkin
Bob Dylan
Leonard Cohen
Laurie Lee
Pablo Neruda
Czeslaw Milosz
Emily Dickinson
Khalil Gibran
Mary Oliver
Dylan Thomas
R S Thomas
Carol Ann Duffy
Julia Cameron
Sarah Ban Breathnach
Deepak Chopra
And a special mention to Nancy Verrier

So many more poets,  so many more writers…..I had better stop.


I will leave you with that song I promised with those die-for lyrics.   I have two versions, the one from my CD Famous Blue Raincoat where the great singer Jennifer Warnes sings the songs of Leonard Cohen and another version by Alison Crowe, whose voice I adore.  This is a bare version, just a piano for accompaniment, it is just beautiful and it brought tears.  Thanks Leonard.

Joan of Arc

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
as she came riding through the dark;
no moon to keep her armour bright,
no man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, "I'm tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before,
a wedding dress or something white
to wear upon my swollen appetite."
Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way,
you know I've watched you riding every day
and something in me yearns to win
such a cold and lonesome heroine.
"And who are you?" she sternly spoke
to the one beneath the smoke.
"Why, I'm fire," he replied,
"And I love your solitude, I love your pride."
"Then fire, make your body cold,
I'm going to give you mine to hold,"
saying this she climbed inside
to be his one, to be his only bride.
And deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and high above the wedding guests
he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.
It was deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and then she clearly understood
if he was fire, oh then she must be wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry,
I saw the glory in her eye.
Myself I long for love and light,
but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?

Leonard Cohen







Sunday, 9 January 2011

Marriage Funeral for a Friend

This is dedicated to a very dear friend.


Marriage Funeral for a Friend



Like a man recently returned to the world
he walked back in (again)
and butter-wouldn’t-melt (again)
for he was quite reformed (again).

He of the drunken rages,
the kicking-down of doors
the jumping on ceilings
and the breaking of floors.

Theirs was a mismatch made in hell,
that created for him a saint
but for her a brute.

(She of the far-too-forgiving).

His ways are wild;
she goes in gentleness
and believes the meek are blessed
though she dreams of her escape

as she tiptoes over eggshells,
creeping by him with only her halo shining,
as she trails fine angel dust in her sweet wake.

She sweeps it under carpets
along with all her heartaches,
and together they fall
and fall
and fall (again).

Down to a grave they fall
from her pure but over-burdened  shoulders.


Cait O’Connor

Wednesday, 5 January 2011

Musical Interlude


Music was my refuge.  I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.  
Maya Angelou 


Without music life would be a mistake.  
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche


Just two songs for today.  The first is Baker Street which is a tribute to Gerry Rafferty who sadly died today aged 63.

The song Baker Street always reminds me of January 1978, the time my first baby, my daughter was born, I remember it was playing when I began having labour pains at home. It is funny how music can 'take you back'.

God rest your soul Gerry, you are going home now

Don't you just love that saxophone?





The second song is one I heard on the radio this morning. Another old song that I love by Billy Joel.  I love the music and the lyrics so wanted to include both here.

Tuesday, 4 January 2011

Of suns and stars and things that go bang.



 Starry Night Vincent Van Gogh


Dear Diary,

One kind word can warm three winter months.

Japanese Proverb


Just lately the earth and the surrounding space has had us in its thrall.  Did anyone see the eclipse? I didn’t because our Sun was acting shy this morning, cloud-covered, her veil grey and dull, an altogether unattractive spectacle and a little higher up the valley the whole countryside was downright misty.

The messages coming out from the media were conflicting, look at the sun, don’t look at it - telling us not to miss the chance of a lifetime but also saying don’t look at it because the Sun could possibly blind you unless you wore special glasses. 

And did the Earth move for you?  There was another earthquake in the north of England yesterday.  We sometimes get little earthquakes here in Wales, I have experienced the crockery on my dresser shaking more than once.  We had a mysterious ‘explosion’ in these parts just before Christmas, all sort of stories are being bandied about as to what caused it.  Some say it was a sonic boom but I have heard those and this was nothing like a sonic boom.  I thought something had crashed into the library roof and the building shook.  My cottage also shook and that is six miles from the library.  The ‘blast’ was felt over a very wide area and seemed to originate from a mountain range used by the Army but they say they don’t know what it could have been.  It wasn't an earthquake, but what was it?  I doubt we will ever find out the truth.

I am lucky to live in an area unpolluted by artificial light and it is a great place for sky-watching.  I like to go out last thing at night with the dogs (unless it is very cold as it has been of late) and  look at the night sky. Last night was fairly warm. I have become that hardy in these last few weeks that freezing point or just slightly above is now considered warm!) so I went out looking for the promised meteor showers but there were none to be seen.  But I did see a truly  magnificent sky, completely clear and filled to bursting with stars and planets. I had never seen so many at one time. I always remember that stars twinkle and planets shine but I wish I knew all their names and more about their arrangement in our night sky. 

So much in life to learn, so little time.

I will leave you with a poem by the Cherokee poet Diane Clancy.


Solar Eclipse


Each morning
I wake invisible.

I make a needle
from a porcupine quill,
sew feet to legs,
lift spine onto my thighs.

I put on my rib and collarbone.

I pin an ear to my head,
hear the waxwing's yellow cry.
I open my mouth for purple berries,
stick on periwinkle eyes.

I almost know what it is to be seen.

My throat enlarges from anger.
I make a hand to hold my pain.

My heart a hole the size of the sun's eclipse.
I push through the dark circle's
tattered edge of light.

All day I struggle with one hair after another
until the moon moves from the face of the sun
and there is a strange light
as though from a kerosene lamp in a cabin.

I put on a dress,
a shawl over my shoulders.

My threads knotted and scissors gleaming.

Now I know I am seen.
I have a shadow.

I extend my arms,
dance and chant in the sun's new light.

I put a hat and coat on my shadow,
another larger dress.
I put on more shawls and blouses and underskirts
until even the shadow has substance.


Diane Glancy


Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait.

Monday, 3 January 2011

Ripples



Dear Diary,


Fear less, hope more;

Eat less, chew more;

Whine less, breathe more;

Talk less, say more;

Love more, and all good things will be yours


Swedish Proverb



It’s over, come closer and you might hear me whispering thank God for small mercies.  Tomorrow life will be back to normal. For the first time ever I have taken down the few  decorations I have about the place, even the new fairy lights which I found too bright  - before the Twelfth Night.  I fear there is no hope for me. I know I am Mrs Scrooge but part of Christmas was taken up with worry about others’ health, including one of the dogs and I seemed to have suffered much tiredness from too many broken nights.

I have been thinking about those New Year resolutions though, I think most people do secretly but not everyone will admit it.  I plan to economise, correction, I HAVE to economise.  I am dreading our leccy bill  because of te extreme weather we have been having and everything  has already gone up or is going up in price very soon.  Petrol, electricity, VAT, council tax, rail fares etc.  And all these rises will make everything  else cost more.  It’s not just the weather - my salary is frozen and my job is under threat so I must restrict my expenditure to what is absolutely necessary.

Our elderly dog has just gone on to heart medication and has three week’s worth of pills to take before we take him back for a review. I would pay whatever it takes to extend his life as long we can keep him well and pain free and to be honest (as they love to say in these parts) the effect of these tablets has been instant and amazing.  We had to pay £80 for the pills and the consultation so we wonder what we will pay in three weeks time.

I am going to cut back on everything, not just economically but rather on things that are a complete waste of my time but I am hoping to walk more, do more yoga, get more sleep, read more books and get more writing done.  Blog a little more often and  find more time to read others.  But in most things in life less is definitely more and I aim to pursue simplicity as much as possible.

I did have a lovely walk this morning, just me and the younger dog Kitty, the border collie.  We followed the river downstream and walked along the way of a  Roman Road which passes through our field.  I didn’t see a soul and there were no sheep in the fields which is most unusual.  There are more sheep than people in these parts.

Most of all in 2011 I am going to try to remember to think positive thoughts, turn every negative over (I think the phrase is flip it), count my (many) blessings and concentrate only on what is really important to me.  I shall resolve to live in the moment and enjoy it.  There is so much gloom and doom around but if we all tried harder to be optimistic then I am sure the ripple effect would be felt around the world.  I wonder if the Eclipse will help it along?

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
I wish you All a Very Happy New Year,
Cait

Wednesday, 29 December 2010

Thawing


Waiting for the Thaw - Dina Gregory


Dear Diary,

It is warmer, the air is kinder on my face and I can breathe easier. At kast the thermometer is several degrees above zero.  We are lying in a bowl of fading frost, still mostly white, but all around is fog, pale white like smoke and the hills are completely hidden in the mist.  There is hardly any green to be seen though there are a few patches to be found underfoot.  There is a slow, slow thaw which suits me and the river fine, we do not to be overwhelmed by a flood but the countryside seems all of a mess, it is like sitting in the aftermath of a party thrown during Christmas when everything was just-so, still, snow-covered and beautiful.

Only days ago every dwelling had its own  Christmas decorations hanging from the eaves, long long icicles, (some of which were a danger to folk walking beneath them); at night there were crystals on the ground to light the way, everything was laced in white, the bare winter trees were etchings on the horizon and all the lowland trees had soft cotton wool on their branches. The road river bridge wore stoles of snow (as one of my readers so aptly described it having seen a photo on my blog). Even the moon put on her best show and made for us a magic.

Now we are in the slightly sad, limbo-days, some folk are back at work but not many and there is still New Year to look forward to before everything is Back to Normal.  A lot of us are feeling stir-crazy for it feels as if we have been cooped up far too long having been snowed in for weeks even before Christmas arrived.  At least I have more energy today as it is warmer and I am not striving to keep myself and the cottage warm.  It is no longer icy underfoot, just soft and a bit squelchy so I have enjoyed a walk with the dogs. Being outside lifts the spirits, I recommend it.

I have two poems for you today that I heard on Radio 4's Today  programme on Wednesday.  Colin Firth was the stand-in editor and he did a grand job, there was so much of interest.  Especially  fascinating was how research has shown that our brains are different according to our political leanings...... to the left or the right.  This ties in with a book I have just read by a much-loved writer Gill Edwards called Conscious Medicine. This is basically about how everything is energy including our thoughts.   I will be blogging about this at a later date.

Colin Firth also included two poems in the programme, both of which were excellent.

Here is an audio link to the beat poet Haroon Anwar's poem Western Child; do take the time to listen if you can.

And below is The British by that great poet Benjamin Zephaniah.

The British












Take some Picts, Celts and Silures
And let them settle,
Then overrun them with Roman conquerors.

Remove the Romans after approximately 400 years
Add lots of Norman French to some
Angles, Saxons, Jutes and Vikings, then stir vigorously.

Mix some hot Chileans, cool Jamaicans, Dominicans,
Trinidadians and Bajans with some Ethiopians, Chinese,
Vietnamese and Sudanese.

Then take a blend of Somalians, Sri Lankans, Nigerians
And Pakistanis,
Combine with some Guyanese
And turn up the heat.

Sprinkle some fresh Indians, Malaysians, Bosnians,
Iraqis and Bangladeshis together with some
Afghans, Spanish, Turkish, Kurdish, Japanese
And Palestinians
Then add to the melting pot.

Leave the ingredients to simmer.

As they mix and blend allow their languages to flourish
Binding them together with English.

Allow time to be cool.

Add some unity, understanding, and respect for the future,
Serve with justice
And enjoy.

Note: All the ingredients are equally important. Treating one ingredient better than another will leave a bitter unpleasant taste.

Warning: An unequal spread of justice will damage the people and cause pain. Give justice and equality to all. 


Benjamin Zephaniah


Wise words eh?

And blessings today?

It is warmer.


The birds are happier.

A pleasant surprise in my post box.  I received a Christmas card from a fellow blogger all the way from Atlanta in Georgia which contained the same lines that I put on my header a few days ago.  Synchronicity at work again.  
Synchronicity.......... that window into the Divine....

I have five more days holiday.

I have nothing to do today but dream........




Bye for now,
Cait.

Sunday, 26 December 2010

Just a poem

My daughter sent me this poem by Giacomo Leopardi



The Infinite  

It was always dear to me, this solitary hill,
and this hedgerow here, that closes out my view,
from so much of the ultimate horizon.
But sitting here, and watching here, in thought,
I create interminable spaces,
greater than human silences, and deepest
quiet, where the heart barely fails to terrify.
When I hear the wind, blowing among these leaves,
I go on to compare that infinite silence
with this voice, and I remember the eternal
and the dead seasons, and the living present,
and its sound, so that in this immensity
my thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck seems sweet
to me in this sea.              

Thursday, 23 December 2010

Monday, 20 December 2010

Winning Poem


If you would like to see my deepening snow pictures which I took yesetrday they can be found on my Photo Blog here.  The snow is ever more deepening as it is snowing again today.

I love to post wonderful poems and this one below written by Peter Swales is the winning entry in my writing group's very first annual literary competition which was judged by the poet Ruth Bidgood.   The standard of entries was very high but this is a very worthy winner.  I find it very soothing.   See if you agree.



Once More Amongst the Thunderheads

Once more amongst the thunderheads-
the heavy air, the
shallow shouldered hills.
A ‘ton dawn.
A Shropshire morning.
It is in the upstroke that the light catches;
each shivering stem,
minute-to-minute, whispering.
Swathes of wind roar across,
in circling waves.
Brief pillows of air indent the gold-
flying shadows darken the path,
from here to the hill,
from the hill to here.
We wait in the shadow of a scarred sycamore,
edging the field like scarecrows.
We are criminals to this passing car,
strangers in the quiet rural world.
But we steal nothing-
take only solace,
comfort, in that unborn mound, the reckoning hill.
It has lived with us for as long as we knew;
brothers before the mountain,
in the nodding end of summer, becoming old.

© Peter Swales

Saturday, 18 December 2010

Cliches abound and a bit of pondering.

Dear Diary,




Warning.
This post contains cliches.
If you’ve nothing better to do you can spot and count them up as you go along.

I keep thinking about the Rumi poem I posted yesterday (see extract below, full poem is in previous post).  It is so simple yet profound but only says what I have always suspected, that this life is only one dimension of existence, many more are hidden from us, all on different planes.   Rumi lived in the 13th Century, I find that fact amazing. The extract Mark picked from it and left in the comments is one that will stay with me also.

This place is a dream
only a sleeper considers it real
then death comes like dawn
and you wake up laughing
at what you thought
was your grief


I too wish I had written it.




Life certainly has dreamlike quality to it at the moment and it is one from which I am reluctant to wake.  I know this wintry weather has many downsides and my heart goes out to those adversely affected but to me in my own little bit of dreamworld, all is pure magic. 




I walked out amongst the deep snow last night with the dogs in the garden and it was just heavenly. There is no other word to describe it.  By the river our little willow tree is laced with a set of solar lights which are delicate and pretty.  The beauty of the garden and the surrounding hills and fields was breathtaking. I was loath to come in and it wasn’t even that cold, not compared to  the harshness of the temperatures that we have been enduring of late.  But the wee cottage looked so inviting and as it is built of stone and painted white it blended into the scenery looking just like rough white icing on a cake.  And through a window  my tiny Christmas tree could be seen with its little lights glinting. 

In my ponderings I also got to wondering why snow is white; I am somewhat scientifically-challenged you see - M says it is something to do with light reflecting on the crystals.  I also pondered on the fact that each snowflake is said to be unique in pattern - just like DNA - this to me is symbolic spiritually and reminds me of humanity where each face, each character. each soul, is different,   I can’t help my mind wandering, when there is poetry all around me.

This morning we have a foot of snow; I went out with my ruler and measured it.  It snowed from about 2.30 am.  Before we retired to bed we left the outside light on so that if we woke we could see the next promised belt of snow arrive. Joy of joys we did wake just at the appointed hour and  we enjoyed a cup of tea, listened to the World Service - there were some very moving personal stories on there - and through our (curtainless) window we watched  the snowflakes fall past the window. The snow since then has been relentless and has laced everything in sight, so much so that even the most mundane objects have become pieces of art. There are photos, paintings, poems and sculpture in-the-making everywhere I look and I can’t wait for the snow to ease  so I can go out and take photographs.  And all the trees are decorated with cotton wool, as if for Christmas.

My first priority is to feed the ever-hungry birds, they are everywhere to be seen and flying frantically from branch to branch so while my porridge cooks I venture out into snow that comes up to the top of my wellies.  I put heaps of nuts and seeds on the covered bird table by the kitchen window and some more under the pine trees, where, miraculously, there is still a patch of green.  The snow is still falling.  When I come in as well as the usual cinnamon, raisins and ground almonds, I add some golden syrup to my porridge telling myself that I need the extra energy.




Blessings?

Apart from my dear dog Finn who will be fourteen on New Years Day - he loves the snow and plays in it just like a puppy.

An unexpected  Saturday morning off work as my road is hugely impassable.  So for once I shall enjoy a proper weekend like most folk do.  I shall have to deduct the time from my future leave but never mind -  it is a gift to be at home all day today.  I enjoy being in the situation of not being able to get anywhere, to be cut off  is a kind of freedom though I fully understand that, as in everything in life, there is a flip side to that statement.  We have enough food for a while, nothing in for Christmas but, Scrooge that I am,  I am honestly not bothered about that or the fact that we may end up living on baked potatoes for rather a long time.  The worst thing that could happen is a lengthy power cut, then we will be up the creek without a paddle.  But we do have a gas hob, an ancient Rayburn and a log burner so as long as we have coal, logs and gas we are OK. 

And now, just when you think life couldn’t be more bright and beautiful the sun has come out.  I will soon be out with my little camera.  I shall post these VERY snowy pics in a later post, the ones in this post were taken yesterday when we only had eight inches of snow..

But the best blessing of all, apart from the visual beauty, is the unique snow-muffled silence.  Its soft, quiet peace is felt deep within my soul.

Peace and quiet, these are two words that truly are a marriage made in heaven.




I did warn you about the clichés……..

Bye for now,
Enjoy the snow,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait