Month: Jun 2016

On the value of creative writing degrees/courses

Anna Hope (c) Jonathan Greet

 

http://www.oxfordtoday.ox.ac.uk/opinion/can-great-writing-be-taught#

Was this a good photo to use of this author?She looks too lacking in confidence to .Maybe the angle of the camera.She looks hopeful but not sure of herself.

We acknowledge

As we come nearer,
I feel your warmth.
Warmth draws me in
I see you here.
We touch each other tenderly.
Your  hand
on my face,
on my skin,
acknowledges my being.
At this boundary of my world and yours,
we touch.
I feel that peaceful breath,
the spirit,the wholeness of the flesh.
Touching gently,
we acknowledge the Otherness
the holiness of life itself,
in the form of the Beloved.

The cooing doves

The cooing of doves
In this humid heat of June
Reminds me of days with you.

The M25
Makes a circle round London
Beyond that are fields.

In a green valley
Near the home of Henry Moore
The river murmured.

We drove through a ford
With your mother and father
That still thrills me.

But  not one of you
Can share that memory now
Dad went  the first

How he loved the shed
In Henry Moore’s  big garden
Full of shells and rocks

The shed’s clear window
Showed a sheep track up a hill
Green,now far away.

Little miracles
In his last stay in our home
National Garden Day.

He made me chuckle
As he wandered down ginnels
While Mother went,Tch.

We used to lose him
But usually he turned up
Until the last time.

They went to London
Then ate in Swan and Edgars
Stories to take home.

You were like he was
Funny,kind and wandering
Off the beaten track.

I knew I’d lose you.
But that made no difference
To my  sorrowing.

Now I recall you
To save these sweet memories
And to answer me.

How will you cry out?
Would you send a ringed dove
To coo from my tree?

 

 

 

 

Flashes of light in a vacuum

“Quantum physics explains that there are limits to how precisely one can know the properties of the most basic units of matter—for instance, one can never absolutely know a particle’s position and momentum at the same time. One bizarre consequence of this uncertainty is that a vacuum is never completely empty, but instead buzzes with so-called “virtual particles” that constantly wink into and out of existence.”

 

 

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/something-from-nothing-vacuum-can-yield-flashes-of-light/

Beware the man

No woman ever can be what he dreams

Nor can such give comfort on the road.

Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.

And rarely does he ever go abroad.

No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.

The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.

He grumbles and will not admit to wrong.

I ‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk.

No bed can be the right one for his sleep.

No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin.

He often has made gentle maidens weep

Crying out they’are fat or boney thin.’

Beware the man who never can adapt

For in own lone wishes he is trapped

Mary buys a dummy

New cats today

While Mary sat in the kitchen on a large pine chair looking at Hotter’s  latest shoe catalogue,Annie was creeping up the garden path in a pair of turquoise suede elegantly heeled shoes matching her teal tencel culottes and matching blouse.Round her neck was a large lump of amber on a gold chain handy for beating off muggers or lustful men
Despite the heat she was in full splendour with  golden beige tinted moisturiser from Langone of Lyons on her lovely complexion,pink eyeshadow  from Yves St Current and dark brown boot polish as  her mascara had run out and she’d not been out for a while to buy more
Annie ran the last few yards and darted like an eel into Mary’s 1970’s  kitchen.
What on earth are you doing,dear? Mary asked her.Those shoes look unsuitable for  leading anyone up the garden path.Mind you,I do like them
Oh,I’ll explain,Annie said huskily.
I told  that therapist across the road I was  living with you.
What exactly do you mean by living,Mary asked anxiously.
Well,he said yesterday that anyone who lives alone must be lacking in some way.Except for him of course as he had full  analysis with Alfred Zion.
You mean Wilfred Bion,Mary told her.
Zion,Bion,what’s the difference?
It shows your  lack of education,Mary told her.Not that education nowadays makes much difference when almost anyone can get a 1st or 2.1.After all would you pay £90,000 for a third class degree in Aeronautical Engineering?
That’s not quite what I would have done, said Annie.A degree in flirtation and pleasing men would be more up my street.And cooking of course although I once did have an interest in Hebrew and Aramaic.
It’s not a way to progress in  a neo-liberal economy,although reading the Hebrew Bible is always interesting.Personally I  prefer  that to the New Vex-a man.The stories,the love songs,the action.Mary’s round eyes gleamed with intellectual life and a bit of  languorous lust
How about God? Annie asked her.
He seems to have changed as he related to his people.But he was a friend despite being an abstract concept.Though one could hardly call him a concept as he is inconceivable.
Mary’s voice faltered as  she was stunned by her own articulacy and wondered what she might say next that could offend millions around the globe.
You should write a book,Annie said kindly.
I think I am ill-equipped to write about God.And ,also ,I am saddened to see how his  own people  have been treated.I can’t dwell on  it over much as I already feel weak and weepy.
Why what have you  been doing,asked Annie.
I have been sorting out clothes to  give to the hospice shop. I’ve got a big bag
full already and  2 bags of newspapers and rubbish of various kinds which somehow creeps into my bedroom…  tissues,cotton wool, old hairbrushes.I am hoping to get it nice and neat before my sister comes to see me in August.And no doubt she will not be happy even then.She’d like me to buy a  small new house with a  lovely bathroom and kitchen. But I don’t want to leave my neighbours behind.If I won the lottery I could get the neighbours to move as well.Love thy  neighbour  etc
And now I realise I have far too many pans despite burning several.But it’s a big decision for a woman who was  famed for entertaining friends with  scorching Beef Vindaloo and lemon mousse that  tasted like  rubber.Giving that up is a big wrench.
Why can’t you carry on, asked Annie.
Carrying on is precisely why I can’t do it.Now I am a widow the wives of my former  colleagues and  my own women friends are afraid I will steal their husbands.
Emile miaowed in ecstasy as any  talk about  the love lives of his family were always intriguing.He was hiding as usual behind  the stone flour bin.
Don’t you see,said Annie.If we pretend we are living together then you can mingle with men without suspicion.
This is beginning to sound like a spy story,Mary told her.And do not drag me into  a character part  in the play  based on your romantic love for that psychoanalyst.
He looks ugly and boring to me.
Oh,that’s just a projection,Annie told her.You are defending yourself against acknowledging how much you long to lie in his arms and let him smother you in kisses.
Well,said Mary,I see you have been reading Freud for beginners again.
Or is it Freud for Dummies?
Mary recalled  how nice her dummy used to taste when it was dipped into a jar of malt and codliver oil.Maybe that is the answer,she thought.
I’m going to Mothercare,she called as  she ran out of the house in her green trainers and denim trouser suit.See you later.
Annie sat in the kitchen wondering how soon she could see the psychoanalyst again without  being accused of sexual harassment.Even   old age has not deterred her from seeking a replacement for dear old Stan.A few tears ran down her cheek and Emile  jumped out and sat on her knee.

And changed history

How could a culture
Built on Nero’s ruined Rome
Be kind to strangers?

How could Yeshua
Be rehomed in the Vatican
And remain unchanged?

Yeshua’s people?
Shall these bones live ,shall they die?
It is cast,They’re gone.

A butterfly’s wing
Suffered a small detachment
And changed history.

 

A common word displays its origins

IMG_0006.JPG
ADJECTIVE
ˈadʒɪktɪv/
noun

GRAMMAR
noun: adjective; plural noun: adjectives
  1. a word naming an attribute of a noun, such as sweet, red, or technical.
Origin
late Middle English: from Old French adjectif, -ive, from Latin adject- ‘added’, from the verb  adicere, from ad- ‘towards’ + jacere ‘throw’. The term was originally used in the phrase noun adjective, translating Latin nomen adjectivum, a translation of Greek onoma epitheton ‘attributive name’.

The museum shuts

The man made of wood
Grew branches, twigs and leaves
Will he come to bud?

She did not notice
Treated him like a real man
They were well rooted.

She bore him a child
Fertilised by his flowers
The child was human.

A  canopy hung
From branch to branch making safe
A home and shelter.

Later he  appeared
In the Middle East and was
Hung from his father.

Torture was sacred
And his father was defiled.
He began to burn.

A red  flame shrieked .
A child drew butterflies.
They are in Prague now.

The little children
Their huge eyes and anxious trust
Oh, mother,father.

All  burn evermore
In the black mind of Europe
The height of culture.

Their  eyes,close their eyes.
Let them not look out at us
From the  photographs

When we celebrate
We deck the halls with  holly
The Museum shuts.

As the lights go out
Remember, men  like to fight.
And holly draws blood

 

 

No man can touch her heart nor bring her bliss

No man can woo her or bestow a kiss
Nor even help her opening the door.
For with her cruel tongue she ne’er can miss.
Her epithets will knock him to the floor.

No man caresses her in warmth of night
Nor brings her tea and comfort when she’s sick.
She puts them off by always being right
And giving answers far too sly and quick.

No man can puzzle out what he’s done wrong
No man can cut the wire that binds her heart.
Yet now and then they hear a wistful song…
And think they see black demons swift depart..

Beware such women as they are accursed…
For never by Love’s touch have they been blessed

	


	



			
				


			

			
Mode,the meaning
		
	
	

		
5352445_f248




mode




məʊd/




noun


noun: mode; plural noun: modes


    

  1. 

    

    

    1.
    

    

    

    a way or manner in which something occurs or is experienced, expressed, or done.
    

    “his preferred mode of travel was a kayak”
    

    

    


    
synonyms:
manner, way, fashion, means, method, system, style, approach,technique, procedure, process, methodology, modus operandi, form,routine, practice
    

    

    

    “an extremely informal mode of policing”
    

    

    
    		

    
    

    

    

    

    

      

    • 

      

      

      an option allowing a change in the method of operation of a device, especially a camera.
      

      “a camcorder in automatic mode“
      

      

      


      
synonyms:
function, position, operation, role, capacity
      

      

      

      “with the camera in manual mode you can zoom in fast”
      

      

      
      		

      
      

      

      

      

      

      • 

    • 

      

      

      COMPUTING
      

      a way of operating or using a system.
      

      “some computers provide several so-called processor modes”
      

      

      

      • 

    • 

      

      

      PHYSICS
      

      any of the distinct kinds or patterns of vibration of an oscillating system.
      

      

      

      • 

    • 

      

      

      LOGIC
      

      the character of a modal proposition (whether necessary, contingent, possible, or impossible).
      

      

      

      • 

    • 

      

      

      LOGIC GRAMMAR
      

      another term for mood2.
      

      

      

      • 

    

    

    

    

    

    2. 

  2. 

    

    

    2.
    

    

    

    a fashion or style in clothes, art, literature, etc.
    

    “in the Seventies the mode for active wear took hold”
    

    

    


    
synonyms:
fashion, vogue, current/latest style, style, look, trend, latest thing, latest taste; More
    

    
    		

    
    

    

    

    

    

    

    

    3. 

  3. 

    

    

    3.
    

    

    

    STATISTICS
    

    the value that occurs most frequently in a given set of data.
    

    

    

    

    

    4. 

  4. 

    

    

    4.
    

    

    

    MUSIC
    

    a set of musical notes forming a scale and from which melodies and harmonies are constructed.
    

    

    

    

    

    5. 









Origin




late Middle English (in the musical and grammatical senses): from Latin modus ‘measure’, from an Indo-European root shared by mete1; compare with mood2.



	


	



			
				


			

			
Advance ,he advised her  adrenal glands, ad infinitum
		
	
	

		


DSC00100.JPG




















ad-























1.


a prefix occurring in loanwords from Latin, where it meant “toward”and indicated direction, tendency, or addition: adjoin. Usuallyassimilated to the following consonant; see a-5, ac-, af-, ag-, al-, an-2, ap-1, ar-, as-, at-.












Origin of ad-Expand














Latin








< Latin ad, ad- (preposition and prefix) to, toward, at, about; cognate withat1
















Dictionary.com Unabridged

Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2016.

Cite This Source






British Dictionary definitions for ad-Expand








ad-














prefix




1.


to; towards: adsorb, adverb






2.


near; next to: adrenal












Word Origin




from Latin: to, towards. As a prefix in words of Latin origin, ad- becameac-, af-, ag-, al-, an-, acq-, ar-, as-, and at- before c, f, g, l, n, q, r, s, andt, and became a- before gn, sc, sp, st














Collins English Dictionary – Complete & Unabridged 2012 Digital Edition

© William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins

Publishers 1998, 2000, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2012






Word Origin and History for ad-












word-forming element expressing direction toward or in addition to, fromLatin ad “to, toward” in space or time; “with regard to, in relation to,” as aprefix, sometimes merely emphatic, from PIE *ad- “to, near, at” (cognatewith Old English æt ; see at ). Simplified to a- before sc-, sp- and st- ;modified to ac- before many consonants and then re-spelled af-, ag-, al-,etc., in conformity with the following consonant (e.g. affection,aggression). In Old French, reduced to a- in all cases (an evolution alreadyunderway in Merovingian Latin), but written forms were refashioned after Latin in 14c. in French and 15c. in English words picked up from Old French. In many cases pronunciation followed the shift.



















	


	



			
				


			

			
As honeysuckle on the walls
		
	
	

		


They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each other’s eyes
And so did rhapsodise.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul and heart so true.
They gazed until,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.

Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands;
And while they touched and gazed so long,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

The eyes are mirrors to the soul,
and love will make us grow more whole.
Gaze lovingly on humankind..
And hold care in your mind.

	


	



			
				


			

			
Cherry tree branches
		
	
	

		


Cracks in the pavement
Look like rivers approaching
an estuary.

Natural beauty,
the shapes and forms wandering,
sanctifies the road.

Cherry trees branches,
A wide canopy of leaves,
Blossom blows away

Sung geometry,
held still and made eternal,
Catches at my throat.

	


	



			
				


			

			
The fortunes of us all
		
	
	

		




No words of mine can potently display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.

No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse;
we need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.

Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better action justly comes
each day the grace we have is just enough
as through the meta narratives we roam

For life' s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intent

	


	



			
				


			

			
We turn to darkness
		
	
	

		


When tensions in our minds then harm our souls
And into stranger's  ears   we  pour our woes..
When grief and sorrow  shudder through our   walls.
And whether all is lost we cannot know

When  what is in  or out we cannot tell
When fantasy and dream become confused.
When  spears of agony  are  felt to maim each cell.
When sensibility is utterly bemused.
.
He in  whom  we  trusted  wills us fail
For what  he said was love was mere  desire.
Now pain and disappointment make us frail;
With torment know   this  lover was a liar.

Then, having lost all other means  to live,
We turn to darkness where our consolation is.

	


	



			
				


			

			
The quiet wood
		
	
	

		


As I walk slowly through the quiet wood
I feel the need to kneel and say a prayer.
The sacredness of trees is  understood
For symbol and its meaning  coalesce   here

 The canopy on high is bathed in sun
and birdsong is so lovely to  my ears.
The noise of city traffic I now shun
And natural meditation calms my fears.

 The trees were bare and elegant last week
Today the leaves have opened sweet and green
I hope no thunderstorm will wreak
Its havoc on the new world  I have seen.



For nothing on this earth will last for long
So  commemorate  each Spring  with a new song

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Demagogue:what does it mean?
		
	
	

		
vs.jpg




Trend Watch


 Merriam Webster { link at the bottom of the page]


Demagogue


The word means “a leader who makes use of popular prejudices and false claims and promises in order to gain power”
















Lookups for demagogue increased 9,000% over the hourly average after Stephen Hawking, one of the most famous scientists in the world, stated that he was unable to explain Trump’s success in the Republican presidential primaries:


I can’t. He is a demagogue, who seems to appeal to the lowest common denominator.




leviathan-front




Abraham Bosse’s frontispiece to the book Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes. Published in 1651, the book argues for an absolute monarch and a system in which people trade liberty for safety.






Demagogue means “a leader who makes use of popular prejudices and false claims and promises in order to gain power.” It comes from the Greek word meaning “popular leader” and originally had the positive connotation of “a leader in ancient times who championed the cause of the common people.” The first known use of the word in English comes from the introduction to Thomas Hobbes’s 1629 translation of a text by the ancient Greek historian Thucydides:


It need not be doubted, but from such a Master, Thucydides was sufficiently qualified, to have become a great Demagogue, and of great authority with the People.


Hobbes wrote Leviathan a few years later in 1651, in which he argued for the merits of absolute political power held by a monarch and against the separation of church and state. Demagogue took on the negative meaning of “a leader who seeks to gain power by exploiting popular prejudices and making false or extravagant claims and promises” very soon after it was introduced in English in the mid-1600s.


This isn’t the first time that the word demagogue has been used in reference to Donald Trump. Back in July, both Lindsay Graham and Rick Perry used the related word  demagoguery to refer to Trump’s ideas.


Trend Watch tracks popular lookups to see what people are talking about. You can always see all Trend Watch articles here.









	


	



			
				


			

			
I stole her sturdy wings
		
	
	

		
The sun is shining brightly

Shall I sit by the pool?

No,I always live my  life by

Rigid personal rules.


Last week’s unruly weather

Let rain fell down in spools

I might have had the heating on;

Oh,those rigid personal rules.


Wear a dress from Mayday

Wear  coats when winter’s cool

Only wash your hair on weekends

That’s a personal rigid rule


But,Ma ,my hair is oily

The girls all point in school.

Don’t be such a  cry baby

Don’t  be such a fool.


Ma,I’ve done my homework

I’m top of all my year!

Can I have an hour alone?

She thwacked me on the ear.


I was her little puppet

And she controlled my strings

Till I caught my Guardian angel

And I stole her sturdy wings.


Well,Ma died  half my life away

But  she is now a ghoul

Watching me so patiently

With her chart of rigid rules.


She didn’t leave me no money

She didn’t leave me no jewels.

She just left me a message

All my rules are  yours.


I cried ,Holy Moses

She is worse than God

She made rules for everything

From  love to  boiling cod.


Don’t bath when you’ve your period

Don’t let your brothers see

You are now a woman

But  you’re still under me


I think I’ll leave those rules behind

And if it makes me fear

God will send a devil round,

I’ll hit  him with this spear.


Flexible  our bodies

Flexible our minds

We must climb the mountain

And leave those rules behind.


Following personal rules

Can make us feel secure

But  our vocation calls to us

And cares not if we’re   pure.


Steal  and purloin all you need

From books and people too.

Follow your own calling

While you share our human zoo.


And share your learning freely

Give as well as take

Oh,my Lord ,I see some men

Carrying a stake.


They are going to burn my body

But they can’t touch my  soul

Wrap me well in flax,  my dear.

In heaven ,I’ll be whole


 

	


	



			
				


			

			
How median,how average?
		
	
	

		
















cat2 alone








Stan was just about to begin his talk on “Averages” when a   clap of thunder  frightened the old folk who were waiting to  listen to him, while eating their first  slices of marmalade cake which his dear wife Mary had baked and iced with orange icing

That was loud,cried Minnie  Muddle from the next street.I hate thunder.Her white face did look very pale especially as she used to use Blusher in Pale Orange.However ,she couldn’t afford it  anymore

I like it,Stan remarked,but Emile  is nervous.And there was Emile inside the big wicker waste paper basket with his amber eyes gleaming anxiously and his tongue licking his dry lips.

Well,said Stan,the word “average” has different meanings in different  situations.

In ordinary language it usually means typical. However in  statistics  which analyses data it is used as a way of describing the “centre”  or” center”of the data.

There is more than one way of doing this.

If we are asked the average wage in the UK and told it is £26,500 what does it mean?

Does it mean nearly every body gets that?

Well.I don’t called, his neighbour,John as he re-arranged his tartan kilt over his knobbly red knees.

This is based on people in work,Stan replied kindly.

It is called the median which is that figure such that 50% get less than this and 50% get more.I can’t recall where the folk who get exactly that are placed.So 50% of people in work get less than £26,500.Some on the lowest wages get only about £11,000. and even less if they are part-time or on zero hour contracts.

And ,of course , we know bankers and rock-stars get millions some years.So it’s not  telling us much about the spread or range of wages.How far they differ or deviate.We can measure that but it is based on the mean wage.We get that by adding up all the wages and dividing by the number of workers.

The mean is usually higher as it is pulled up the the million-pound earners.In London wages are higher


 




Example:


GLA Household Income Estimates






 July 30, 2015


By 








In July 2015, the GLA published an update to the Household Income estimates. This data covers a range of geographies from Lower Super Output Areas (LSOAs) to UK regions. The full dataset can be downloaded from the London Datastore.


The median household income for London in 2013/13 was £39,100, while the mean income was £51,770.


5230546_f248That’s enough for one day,Stan,whispered Annie.She was looking very glamorous in her red knit dress and purple tights which matched her eyeshadow – she had  got  that in Harrods.It was called.Purple Princess.The only problem was it was hard to remove and the matching cleanser cost £40.As she was on only a quarter of the  median income in the UK she could not afford it so she had to keep wearing this colour regardless…. unless perchance she did some shop-lifting which is, of course ,a crime.As Annie had killed her own husband and got away with it,no doubt stealing Eye Make Up Remover was pretty low on her list of sins or crimes.

Some crimes are sins  but some are not.such as stealing food for your baby if you can’t afford to buy it.However eyes shadow is not essential to life even for a woman like Annie.

Stan boiled the big kettle and made the tea while Annie cut up the  remaining marmalade cake and passed it round. to all the merry pensioners staring at the Blackboard somewhat tentatively.

What about pensions,asked John plaintively.What is the average there?

I think we’ll wait for a few days before we  tackle that or you can google it and see what you find.The State Pension is about £6,600 per annum but many people also have a pension from their jobs too.That is really important if you can get it.

I don’t know how people live on the State Pension, Minnie cried.I suppose they eat tripe and oxtail and such things.Or steal from the waste bins of their neighbours.

What exactly is tripe? her friend Joan enquires tactfully;her blue eyes full of tears..

I think it’s the lining from the cow’s stomach or intestines,Annie cried.

No wonder people go to McDonald’s.It might be a cheap cut  but we don’t know.

Annie jumped up to turn on  the  fan heater and knocked over Stan who was sitting by her.He fell  over and his chair broke in half.

That chair must have been listening to your talk,chortled John swinging his kilt humorously.Fortunately, he was wearing some green underpants and a half slip in silk beige.

Ring  999.Stan called.We need help from Dave.Emile was very pleased because he preferred chatting to Dave to listening to Stan’s lectures.As does the average person in the UK,so I guess.And so will all of us


P1000308










5271657_f248





	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
LITERARY OR POPULAR FICTION?
		
	
	

		












































 political-pictures-darth-vader-blasphemy-style


























This  is  very good!

This is an interesting article about the difference between literary and popular fiction.I have written short stories but always wanted to write a novel.

I love Nicholas Freeling.His  novels are written as detective stories but they qualify as literary fiction.I especially like Dresden Green.

You can get a full  list of his novels via the link above.I shall be mulling over the thought of writing this weekend and looking a people walking by as I stroll along.

Why do we women wear such clothes?Why is “feminine” a bad word… like flowered dresses?How can one reconcile feminism with femininity?We don’t all want abortions like Simone de Beauvoir.

The other day I wore a dress and my partner said,Auntie E!


Not a compliment is it?I was wondering how good my imagination is.It’s based on experience


Related articles


    




Guest DJ: Finding Literary Inspiration Just Outside Your Door by Chris Campion(heatherharlen.com)


Novel Finding: Reading Literary Fiction Improves Empathy (scientificamerican.com)


    




True or False: Feminists Lack Sexuality (feministfalsehoods.wordpress.com)


In Defense of Feminism, and in Rejection of Pseudo-Feminism (alstefanelli.com)


Girls, Girlhood and Feminism (binarythis.com)


Fashion and feminism (thessbook.wordpress.com)


Women’s Institute’s new wave crafts its own politics in crochet and patchwork(theguardian.com)


When a woman says she’s not feminist, we can do better than shout her down | Ruby Tandoh (theguardian.com)







































	


	



			
				


			

			
Fiction and/ or truth?
		
	
	

		
Nuneham_2016-3 [800x600]




Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.





I also have just read this very exciting essay by Susan Sontag








	


	



			
				


			

			
‘Combat Gnosticism’ by Ian Duhig
		
	
	

		










Poetry The Guardian


Carol Rumens’s poem of the week




Poem of the Week: ‘Combat Gnosticism’ by Ian Duhig
















This quiet, wry poem reflects on the unique, incommunicable knowledge that comes with service in conflict






















British soldiers read a tourist guide about France on D-Day
‘Relaxed, they began letting it out

into grey shades of afternoon light’ … British soldiers read a tourist guide about France on D-Day. Photograph: STF/AFP/Getty Images






Monday 30 May 2016 15.46 BSTLast modified on Monday 6 June 201611.44 BST








‘Combat Gnosticism’


Campbell’s term for war writing born

of a gnosis only being there can earn:

I witnessed it once from old soldiers

in a poetry workshop at Age Concern.


They’d lost that battle with the word,

believing too much better left unsaid

to the likes of me and not those pals

now threescore and ten years dead.


How many old soldiers does it take

to change a lightbulb? asked one.

You can’t know if you weren’t there!

They all fell about. Now they’d won.


Relaxed, they began letting it out

into grey shades of afternoon light,

into words they feared betrayed it.

And I learned why they were right.


    

  • Poem taken from The Blind Road-Maker by Ian Duhig, published by Picador at £9.99
    • 










	


	



			
				


			

			
A poem by Fleur Adcock
		
	
	

		


 


Dragon Talk


How many years ago now

did we first walk hand in hand –

or hand in claw –

through Alice’s Wonderland,


your favourite training ground,

peopled with a crew

of phantasms – Mock Turtle, Gryphon –

as verbal as you?


Your microphone, kissing my lips,

inhaled my words; the machine

displayed them, printed out

in sentences on a screen.


My codependant,

my precious parasite,

my echo, my parrot,

my tolerant slave:


I do the talking;

you do the typing.

Just try a bit harder

to hear what I say!


I wait for you to lash your tail

each time I swear at you.

But no: you listen meekly,

and print ‘fucking moron’.



*


All the come-ons

you transcribed as commas –

how can we conduct a flirtation

in punctuation? –


Particularly when,

money-mad creature,

you spell doom to romance

by writing ‘flotation’.


*


I can’t blame you for homonyms,

but surely after a decade

you could manage the last word

of Cherry Tree ‘Would’?


Context, after all,

is supposed to be your engine.

Or are you being driven

by Humpty Dumpty?


*


I take it amiss

when you mis-hear the names

of my nearest and dearest;

in particular, Beth.


Safer, perhaps, if I say Bethany.

Keep your scary talons

off my great-granddaughter:

don’t call her ‘death’.


*


You know all the diseases

and the pharmaceuticals:

bronchopneumonia,

chloramphenicol


are no trouble to you,

compulsive speller,

hypochondriac,

virtual dealer.


 









You’re hopeless at birds:

can’t get wren into your head –

too tiny, you try to tell me:

it comes out as rain or ring.


Let’s try again: blackbird, osprey,

hen, (much better), kingfisher, hawk,

duckling. But I have to give up

and type Jemima Puddleduck.


*


What am I thinking of,

dragon bird?

How could I forget

that you too have wings?


Fly to me;

let me nuzzle your snout,

whisper orders, trust you

to carry them out.


*


Do I think of you as “he”? –

Beyond male or female;

utterly alien,

yet as close as my breath –


invisible, intangible,

you hover at my lips –

am I going too far?

Are we into theology?


*


Animal, vegetable or mineral?

Who’s playing these games? –

Abstract, with mineral connections

and a snazzy coat of scales.


Gentle dragon, stupid beast,

why do I tease you?

Laughter’s not in your vocabulary:

all you understand are words.


*


Today I saw you cresting the gable

of someone’s roof: a curly monster

smaller than me, but far too large

to hide yourself inside a computer.


They’d painted you red – was that your choice?

But this was only your graven image.

Your private self was at home, waiting

for reincarnation through my voice.





	


	



			
				


			

			
Mary wants to throw out her bed
		
	
	

		
phon


Mary picked up her mobile  phone to ring for a cab..On it,there was a message.You have missed a call from home.Mary shivered.

Has Stan come back?

Then she recalled she had rung her own mobile before coming out.Her mind sagged like sheet of rubber suspended between four  tall trees in the jungle..

Hello,It’s Mrs Tan.Can you do  a me cab from the  dental surgery to my home? It’s right by the doctor’s surgery.

She stepped outside into the warm air which felt like a caress on  her poor  numb face

When she got home she found Annie in the kitchen looking at her collection of cookery books.

Do you want to get rid of any of these, her friend queried.

I am thinking of  learning some new recipes so I can invite those awful therapists across the road for dinner.But I have to be sure that what I serve has no hidden meaning especially aggressive or sexual.

Well,Mary said,don’t you think that people differ in what they find sexual?

Beats me,said Annie meaningfully.I fancy doing beef in beer with French bread and mustard  baked on the top.

I used to do that,Mary said.Why did we stop  doing that cooking? Penguin brought a new book every month.I have most of them and ,at the weekend, I’d study them for ages looking for things like apple mousse and different stews.

When we first got married I used a kind  of   cheap women’s magazine approach and most often as a pudding I did tinned peaches with cinnamon   sprinkled on grilled till hot and spicy.Eventually, Stan got fed up with it and so I got into cordon  bleu and using real cream  not Carnation milk


P1000322


Her blue eyes gleamed in excitement and were rendered even more remarkable by the teal and turquoise eye shadow Annie had forced her to wear which matched the sea blue mascara she already had.Annie said.

it will be good for us both to meet new people especially educated ones

Mary disagreed.I like ordinary people because a certain amount of education makes some people very conceited and only real scholars or mystics realise that the more we know the more we realise our own ignorance.Will such folk  like makeup?

Perhaps one of the psychoanalysts will be a mystic,Annie retorted loudly

But would such a  person want to visit us? Mary bleated childishly.

Why not? They have to eat and they may need a new love interest or someone  sympathetic who  will know  how hard their job is.Someone like me,beautiful funny and willing to look after a man when he needs it.

How about a man who might look after you,Mary said  brightly

Well,it’s not quite the same.I like looking after men whereas you  prefer reading about Fourier series and infinite integrals.And knitting patterns,she added hastily as if omitting  that interest would severely anger Mary.

I think we’ll invite two men and two women ,all single.They can bring their cats for Emile to play with if they want.And we’ll eat in the kitchen to make it more relaxed.

Thank God,said Mary as the dining room was full of paper and books.

Why don’t I have a study,she pondered.Or ,if I slept in the dining room, my bedroom has a lovely view and I have an old desk somewhere.

Mary ,in her younger days, had often moved the furniture around and had even slept on a camp bed on the lawn one summer but she no longer did this as looking after Stan had worn her down to a shred of her former self.

But beds do take up so much room.Without them ,the house would be quite spacious.And how about tables and chairs… her mind ran on as she quite fancied a new start  without moving house.

With fewer clothes ,she could ditch a wardrobe… on the other hand ,she could not afford such quality  clothes again  on her widow’s pension.Isn’t life tough?

To think she might  have to stop wear Bowlands of Wrath  was a rather painful thought.Still most of humanity have got hardly anything so maybe Mary will think more deeply about donating some to Oxfam.

Suddenly the doorbell rang.Dave was outside

Are you both ok?I’ve  not heard from you lately,he remarked as he powdered his nose.

Well,I do have an old desk that you can carry upstairs for me,Mary told him thoughtfully.Then we need the floor scrubbing.I’m sure the NHS will pay.After all dirt might make us ill!

And so prey all of us.