Sunday 24 May 2009

Underwater (again)


The word 'underwater' came into a poem and then suggested itself as the title for all this stuff (and nonsense) - but why?


I discovered one certain source the other day, Robert Bly's superb Iron John, one of the books I go back to again and again. Not a perfect book; the style irritates, it's a bit too slick and American, but it recasts modernity poetically and mytholgically in a way that still resonates.


Modernity/postmodernity = lack of depth (so where do we go for depth? you've guessed!) and Bly frames the thesis around the Grimm Brothers story of the Wild Man discovered underwater. A book for men quite deliberately and explicitly, yet poetically/mythologically inclined females might like it too..


Reminded me of Hopkins too -"What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,O let them be left, wildness and wet;Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet."


You need to read the whole thing. Perhaps you also need to read a lot of poetry first, but here's a taste:


"...going down through water to touch the Wild Man at the bottom of the pond is quite a different matter. The being who stands up is frightening, and seems even more so now, when the corporations do so much work to produce the sanitised, hairless, shallow man. When a man welcomes his responsiveness, or what we sometimes call his internal woman, he often feels warmer, more companionable, more alive. But when he approaches what I'll call the "deep male", he feels risk. Welcoming the Hairy Man is scary and risky, and it requires a different kind of courage. Contact with Iron John requires a willingness to descend into the male psyche and accept what's dark down there, including the nourishing dark..."


And I thought too of Excalibur, a sword caught, and taken underwater. Something else I'm diving to find.

Monday 23 March 2009

Rant


The culture has been dumbed and dumbfounded, the language has been cheapened and blunted and everybody thinks they have to be so gawdam nice. No you don't. Be true, be good, be yourself. Be brave, be splendid, be ridiculous, anything.


Using big words is more offensive to some people than using bad words. They think you're putting one over on them.


The hardest thing to deal with is the truth. Power dictates its own, the New Labour spin machine set the template and so politics and business (two sides of the same bent coin) monopolise a soundbite vocabulary trying to tell you how it is, with all their dreadful cliches and jargon, "going forward"...(erm where exactly?) (Experience teaches that we experience things more in circular and cyclical fashion anyway - there is always change, but "progress" is a tired old myth.)


We need the truth and its cognate (?), trust to keep us sane. Not in the George Washington never-tell-a-lie way (tactful white mendacity has its place) but in order to maintain relationships, advance common purposes, even do business. Decent business, not glib customer service on a first name how-are-you-today basis. (You may wish me good day and establish that our relationships starts on good-mannered terms, but how I am, to you, a complete stranger, is neither here nor there and quite beside the point. We are effecting an impersonal transaction after all, not getting to know each other.)


I have been lied to so much that some basic honesty, even when it hurts, refreshes the soul. At least I know where I stand, even if I don't like it. If I'm not wanted, well, it may hurt a bit, I may smart and sulk, regret the loss of a connection that seemed sweet and valuable. But there are others. Soon come.


"Is it wrong to want to live on your own?" sang Morrissey. Well probably, but perhaps it's necessary to maintain sanity. "I must create my own system, or be enslaved by another's", wrote Blake, who Yeats so memorably described as "beating against the wall/Till truth obeyed his call."


It is a hard option, staying true to yourself in a society full of niceness and nonsense and bloody lies, risking isolation, being misunderstood or half understood or having people think you're an eccentric fool. Make a living, make a life. Combine them? Still haven't cracked it. Or as Joni sang, "I am on a lonely road and I am travelling" Still.

Saturday 14 March 2009

Sunday 8 March 2009

Know Your Enemy

The devil says sleep
The devil does not say kill or rape
The devil does not say stay awake
The devil says sleep


The devil is real
The devil does not say hurt or steal
The devil prefers the bed the meal
The devil is real


The devil is mean
The devil avoids the noise the scenes
The devil prefers the cave of dreams
The devil is mean


The devil devours
The years the months the days the hours
The devil delights in funeral flowers
The devil devours

Saturday 7 March 2009

Utopian musings


The old situationist in me refuses to lie down or go away. From one point of view it's all so much utopian nuttiness and adolescent wish fulfilment; from another it is incredibly inspiring.


Perhaps it's also a displacement of the religious urge - well of course it is, calling for nothing less than the complete and utter transformation of this fallen world.


Back in January I was musing over the 'saturnine' - limits, order, boundaries, duty. Now I think I'm just trying to regain some inspiration. Though while the art and the books and the ideas are important, life can still be somewhere else. "I might have thrown poor words away", wrote Yeats, "and been content to live"...

Wednesday 4 March 2009

The Hacienda must be built...


Writing yesterday, echoing around in the back of my mind was Chtchglov's sublime 'Formulary for a New Urbanism' - there is a theme there of building a new world in the ruins of the old which I like, but also one of remaking the things and places of this world as an opportunity to experience differently....


Endlessly quotable - dear departed old Tony Wilson took the bit about the Hacineda quite literally - a brave move, even if it did end up as just another nightclub - I still find the essay quite suggestive, immensely provocative.


Read the whole thing in full at http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/Chtcheglov.htm but chew on this for the time being:


"A mental disease has swept the planet: banalization. Everyone is hypnotized by production and conveniences — sewage systems, elevators, bathrooms, washing machines.
This state of affairs, arising out of a struggle against poverty, has overshot its ultimate goal — the liberation of humanity from material cares — and become an omnipresent obsessive image. Presented with the alternative of love or a garbage disposal unit, young people of all countries have chosen the garbage disposal unit. It has become essential to provoke a complete spiritual transformation by bringing to light forgotten desires and by creating entirely new ones. And by carrying out an intensive propaganda in favor of these desires."


I was also reminded of Adrian Henri's mad 'Entry of Christ into Liverpool' - only remotely Christian really. It's really about that transfiguration of the everyday and the mundane and the profane - building the Hacienda, building up Jerusalem...

Tuesday 3 March 2009

More thoughts on the "old world"..



A phrase I used last time to indicate what used to be, and what used to be better. My sometime intellectual hero Guy Debord used it however to signify a world that had to be surpassed and done away with, a world beyond the spectacle where we would see face to face, transparently. (Incidentally also the utopia of St Paul in 1 Corinthians). Phrases such as "the old world of spectacle and memories" or "the old world of hierarchy and alienated labour." abound in his writings.




So it is a futile gesture to see in the traces of that old world something suggestive of the new? I don't think so. It's not only in the arts that a return to the past for inspiration often proves fruitful. I will continue to muse on this. I will think of the correspondences between, say, cathedrals and great railway termini. There are clues in those traces of the past.




Sunday 1 March 2009

How hard it is....


...simply to engage with the world sometimes. Because the world is not enough, or rather the world outside my head fails to connect, or sometimes is simply not as interesting, as the world inside my head.

The old pictures and the old books and the the old songs of the old world make more and more sense the older I get. It is not simply nostalgia - I wasn't even old enough to fully appreciate what was happening in the sixties for example. The current culture is pretty uninteresting, unchallenging, simply not there.Or as an online friend wrote the other day, commenting on the current music scene:

"I've been told off for suggesting that new artists can never be as good as the good ol' gold old ones so I'd just like to make something clear: it's my contention that the the machinery of modern digital technology as used in making modern pop records, when coupled with the formidable machinery of the tabloid media and the way that showbusiness is in bed with it goes so far as to actively preclude the emergence of any genuinely remarkable pop personalities. It doesn't matter how much raw talent a performer has, in order for them to succeed they have to be fed into the Simon Cowell Sausage Machine. The public have had their tastes second guessed by professional smartarses for so long that they have grown to like it, to expect it, and anything that falls outside the Simon Cowell Sausage Machine remit will simply never be presented before a mainstream audience...

The dice of success are loaded against individuality and absolutely dead against young talented people having any chance to actually work out who they are, what they're trying to say and how they want to say it. Fit in or fuck off, is essentially the message. And I'm sick of it. " (Adam)

You could apply that to so many other art forms. My hope is that the economic downturn will open up space for stronger, more serious stuff everywhere. I really feel those shiny shallow nobodies with the money and the power have had their day. And maybe young people might begin to learn that they have a history, and a heritage.

Friday 27 February 2009

The risks of art criticism...


... the main one of which is you might find yourself talking pure bollocks.


Just found another pic from the McCullin session, I think the fabs were just off their heads. In this one they're clearly just having a laugh.


Not that I take back everything I said. It so depends on your mood doesn't it.? Too serious, always been my problem...

Wednesday 25 February 2009

The strangest picture of the Beatles ever taken?


Maybe it's also the best picture of the Beatles ever taken. Don McCullin. It is weird. It can't be a set up, McCullin isn't that sort of photographer. And the fabs were always up for pictures of them clowning around. But this isn't typical clowning is it?


Chief clown Lennon plays dead here. Or dying, or sick or something. An angelic McCartney looks at him attentively. Ringo looks like one of those suffering mothers in McCullin's war photographs. And Harrison, uninvolved, severe, just stares straight into the camera.


As I've never seen it before I guess they never released it at the time as not good for their image. Or maybe they saw it as some arty exercise. Though I'm not sure what to read into it. Four guys at the top of the world and the top of their game reveal their vulnerability, their mortality perhaps? (Lennon was the first to die, remember)


Of course it looks more like a McCullin photo than a Beatles photo. Though what he or what the Beatles thought they were playing at here is beyond me. Whatever it was, it's very strange, very haunting, very odd.

Monday 23 February 2009

White bicycles


Somebody has been reading about the Amsterdam Provos, or listening to Pink Floyd.


They've even painted the tyres (won't last, I promise).


But the whole crazy idealistic point about white bicycles as a solution to urban transport problems was they were not chained up.


So nice idea, whoever you are, but it sort of misses the point...
POSTSCRIPT...
Four days later and I passed it again, still chained up in the same place. One of the tyres has gone flat. Maybe it's somebody's idea of street art. Nice slogan anyway.

Sunday 22 February 2009

Hello mellow


Sometimes the same old routine has its satisfactions. Sometimes, better scream, as Pete Wylie said. But a bit of lightness to my mood today. Wish it was intenser, but it can't always be intense. I often crave excitement. But today it's just cool. Read a bit, wandered around a bit. Took a few pictures. A bit of this. A bit of that. Mustn't grumble...

Saturday 14 February 2009

Valentine humbug


I hate the way this has become some sort of festival, or rather some sort of capitalist festival like Christmas has become, an opportunity to buy and sell things, market a 'valentine' experience. People have been taken in by it to the extent that they "celebrate" - which in a post Christian civilisation empty of true festival and ritual is understandable enough I suppose.


But it's still all so much bollocks really. If you love somebody you can celebrate every time you're together if you want to. Without the paid for paraphernalia of cards and disposable stuff.


As a healthy antidote I offer the beautiful young Chet Baker singing My Funny Valentine in that stoned strange strung out way of his - it's more erotic in a way than a million red cardboard hearts could ever be.


Monday 2 February 2009

Dutiful not beautiful


On the day when London was hit by the biggest snowstorm in years, tough guy here proved how cool he was by going into work. 75% at least didn't make it. I should have stayed home and had some fun instead.

Sunday 25 January 2009

January is bad news for summer babies - official


While I sometimes think astrology is a lot of superstitious nonsense, January always seems the time when, with the post-Christmas anti-climax and the sun in my opposite sign of Capricorn, that bad things seem to happen. Bad or bad-ish things have happened to A, B and C this month (I'll spare their real names). A isn't too bad - she just can't get a job, and the prospects don't look too good. B had some problem, the details of which remain a mystery, and she also got sick. And C is probably in the worst situation of all, but I'll spare the gory details... But all three, like me, are June and July summer babies, Cancer, Leo and Gemini.


Well so what? Well A, B and C have all affected me in varying degrees, but, with the wisdom of experience I've learned to keep my head down this month, not try to do too much, not risk anything, and above all, avoid anything like a New Year Resolution.


All that said though, I'm beginning this week with a cautious sense of optimism. The sun has moved from Capricorn to Aquarius, a new moon heralds the Chinese New Year, with a solar eclipse thrown in for good measure. Time to start moving a bit more, leaving some things behind, seeking new openings.


Shakespeare wrote something about the fault not being in the stars but in ourselves. Which is probably true. But sometimes in this crazy world, the stars seem to provide as useful a framework as any for getting your head around things.

Thursday 22 January 2009

Life, friends, is boring...



" Life, friends, is boring" wrote John Berryman, in one of the best of the innumerable 'Dream Songs'. Well it is, sometimes, sometimes a lot of the time. You learn to live with it. Boring is quite easy really. Better than pain, or fear.
The problem is sometimes more one of finding yourself bored by things others seem content with - awful TV programmes, bad music, uninspiring work, whatever. The problem is always finding something worthwhile, something that keeps you awake on your own terms, for your own good, or somebody else's. And of staying awake enough and having enough energy for those moments.
Which can be a lot harder than mere boredom. As F. Scott wrote, echoing what seems to be my more or less constant theme, "All good writing is like swimming underwater and holding your breath."





.


Picture: Hugh Weldon

Saturday 17 January 2009

Liminality





Another big word (like Saturnine) it just means being on the threshold, in between, neither in or out, home or away. I think I feel like this most of the time actually. But who can you tell these things to? ("Hi, how are you today? - Oh you know, feeling a bit liminal." Ha) Being Saturnine is being in the dark, under a heavy load, performing dutifully rather than freely. But being liminal can be worse, neither light nor dark, neither weighed down nor buoyed up, neither positive or negative. Dead time.






Yet more positively the liminal is the door to another world. In a Jean Cocteau film or an Aha video or maybe that turning you didn't take or window you didn't look through. It may be total illusion to believe in this - that these spaces can take you somewhere else, can move you forward to something deeper, can free up and open new space.




It can even be a door back into the past, as in Bernard Fallon's marvellous black and white pictures of Crosby and Liverpool in the 60s and 70s. The one of kids in the snow in Regent Road had an uncanny impact - you need to go to his website for it 13/29 in Liverpool: The Long Way Home portfolio http://www.bernardfallon.com/ - it's nothing to do with nostalgia funnily enough. More the feeling that I probably walked down that road that day, I was only a few minutes walk away when that picture was taken. The kid with the snowball in that frozen moment stands in for a me that used to be. But if I could go back and ask him how he might imagine himself in thirty years time, he would have as little idea as I would have had, fixed as he is in the sweet liminality of childhood.

Monday 5 January 2009

SATURNINE

The world is heavier
Darker and colder
Dead and heavy as grey lead

The streets are emptier
The wind is still
The moon is like a bent icicle

World bears no welcome
For anyone born tonight
And laughs at fools who think themselves
'In love' or 'at home'

It's a time for price-paying
For all joys to be deferred
While wary angels unsheath their swords

Friday 2 January 2009

Underwater (again)


Not sure why this theme or idea keeps coming back. But I just happened to watch old French classic film L'Atalante last night which has this amazing underwater sequence where a guy whose wife has just disappeared jumps overboard and swims underwater and has a sort of vision of her. Not that I have a wife who's disappeared, it's just that image of discovering something lost and desired. Underwater.


Must learn to swim...