I did not finish my script because... (Letter to TTR)

Dear TTR,

I did not finish my script as planned. I did one lesson then spent the afternoon with my sister and her baby. The baby's eyes - green - are half moons with the bases perfectly straight and the tops perfectly round with long long eyelashes. When she smiles, the half moons become waning crescents, little sunshines and bells. She has discovered new sounds and is experimenting with them this week - it's very musical. The development of the brain is fascinating to witness. This morning, she apparently watched a whole episode of Sesame Street (well, Elmo Street) with undivided attention (at 3 months!!!), and when it finished, she cried. (Attached is photographic evidence.)

My sis and I had a good conversation - we usually talk about writing and what makes a good book etc.

Cycling home, I listened to a perfect song by George Brassens - the man was a master and you know how wonderful it feels whenever you encounter the work of a human being at the top of their art.

Then there was a piece by Mozart, followed by Leonard Cohen's "Nancy". I was about to skip that one because I thought I knew it too well but then I stayed with it and I found new depths to it. I had never thought before about what "the House of Mystery" meant... Another master.

Then there was a Caprice of Paganini whose violins reminded me of John Cale's. The last song that came up as I arrived home was a mediocre Japanese pop song, but even it gave me some pleasure because of the beauty of the Japanese language with its pure and clean syllables.

I had a cup of tea and a daifuku with a fresh strawberry inside and thought about my script, and then it was time to go to Aikido. Great classes - I did both and I'm sure I must have lost some fat.

Voila. It's time for bed. A very pleasing day. Tomorrow and Sunday, I shall work on my script then send it to you.

n.

PS:  And the reason why I had such a good day was the relief and the pleasure to chat with you last night.

Little baby Forrest

Little baby Forrest
My baby sister's baby
How could this be?

We watched in awe
My baby sister's body
Become a busy, busy factory

The ultrasonic examination
Revealed your big cheeks
Very much like the ones I saw
In 1974

Ookiinaaa baby
Turned her mum into a belly
Under the watchful eyes of Jeremy

We'll try not to spoil you
We'll teach you to respect all sentient life
May you find your time on this boat
Full of enchantment

You'll count amongst your friends
Carl Sagan and Jacob Bronowski
You'll love the universe and this planet
There'll be piles of books by your bed

My little darling Schtroumpfette
May your exotic birthplace
Lead to an exotic life

I wanted you to be a girl
So I can take you to tea
So when the clock shows 4 or 5
Put on a tea hat, be ready!

Grow a taste for posh tea
I know a place, it will be
Our secret hangout


For my little bundle of a niece, born on 30th November, 2011

Ancient Studies

The British Museum and my Latin and my Greek, and my Ancient Egyptian studies, lose their value as your airplane races you back to England.

Fragrant Olive

He is packing
I play the DJ
Exit the sunflower
Enter the fragrant olive
Life will be long
All those wretched moments
That coiled around our necks
To extract some last tragic word
Will fall like fiber, diminished in the rain
We will live longer than our tragic moments
In the vastness of our lifetimes
Their modesty revealed
We will have other stories to tell
So pack well
I'll play you a song
That was there before we had started Act I

James Coburn

It's nearly 4 in the morning
And sitting here, at my desk
I select the elements of this world that I want to remember
In case, one day, the soul survives with its inlays of cut gemstones and glass
And valuable shards

Over and over I refer to the 'soul,' but I know
I am relying on a cheap and volatile definition
Perhaps it's nearly nothing when we're alive and nothing at all when we die
For now, I will imagine that the soul is
A cloisonné pot with hungry compartments and gold wiring

I capture with my mind a blue sky and bite-size clouds
Hanging over a tea house in Shropshire
And the sound of a violin playing to the grass
On a hill I dreamt about

Another hill in my hometown enchanted me for being so near
I couldn't believe in those days that such a quaint piece of land
A mere hundred meters away
Could be part of a life so ordinary

Then there were the summer nights in France
With our windows wide open
The stars pouring in
The air exquisite
I hear the crickets chirping to the score of a Hitchcock film
I remember my sad young beautiful mother's yellow jumper
And her pair of jeans
Again and again, I remember the balmy air

I want to remember the lanky build of James Coburn, his chiselled grin
His villainous accent in Charade, and Cary Grant's faultless suits
I mix into my dish Emma Thompson's impeccable tears
And an artist teaching an electric cello
To talk of convolutions and trouble and beauty in trouble

Now it's raining gracefully from merciful nocturnal skies
It's raining harmonically over my weary old Japanese tiles
This is how it started, my desire to spend the night with words
I caught sight of the rain pounding the asphalt outside my house

Coming up the stairs,
I glanced out the open little window in the narrow hall
And it felt as if I had walked in on the rain and caught it naked
This newfound intimacy, I pour it into my soul
All this water will wash the recent agitation and dust

It's been a few hours and now the rain has stopped
I will turn my lamp off in a moment as natural light sips in
All this night has also been about my affinity for you
But I think I can let you go too, there will be other men, no doubt

16th-Sep-10
Composed this morning from about 3 to 7 am

The Moon, the Sun, the Electric Angel

I invited sleep to overcome me in broad daylight In the open, under torrents of sunlight I invited multitudes to pass me by On the streets as I boldly lay I welcomed those who cared And loved those who did not I provoked anxiety Into sitting at my table To play a game of cards against my better self I let it come to bed with me I knew its prize A rich coat of fur That I did not need anymore As the sun enveloped me I asked darkness to come, and the moon to come And their shadows and their threats I summoned a chemical angel to kneel by my bed And pour me a drink full of deceit I let it sit there untouched I am forgiven for something I did I disarmed the guilt I watched the unfolding of time Its hands dispensing sweet medicine I crossed a vast desert I walked day and night I slept the sleep of the innocent When I reached the end As I heard a delicate breeze Passing through miraculous treetops I defied night to resurrect certain events Which took place in my life My heart had ceased to race at the thought of them And then As a last measure to prevent the crafty seeds of all that I reject From slipping into my peaceful realms And bringing dissension again I paid an electric angel To sit by my side And in the dark hours Watch over me (Sometime between the year before last and this year)

The Eater

The elegance of a mouthful of rice being attentively chewed by a female Japanese mouth, with the chopsticks and the bowl hovering gracefully above the table between slender fingers. The elegance of a subtle smile, a head held high and her eyes glancing sideways. She is listening to her friend next to her and would never suspect that she was being woven into a sort of a poem.

 

5th-Sep-10, Slow Cafe