“I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read—I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School—and I will call the Child able to read, the Soul made from that school and its hornbook. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways!” Keats
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.
The creative life is one defined by insecurity, doubt and uncertainty (as well as overconfidence, arrogance and delusion). We asked 40 poets, painters, photographers, filmmakers, actors, musicians and writers to share hard-earned wisdom for every stage of an artistic career.
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me They waken up my heart from dull, dark dreams The marvels are the poignant shapes I see I recognise them in the grace and fear Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me I’m branded with their shapes so known so dear Yet how huge shadows frighten,haunt the seer Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me They waken up my heart to what may be
I am looking at the painting by Philip Steer that I have described to s friends before of the place in Suffolk where the Freud .. family used to take their summer holidays and know some of them live there. It’s called Walberswick
It’s in Suffolk and when I’m looking at the picture of the girls on the pier going out towards the sea I can see the sea itself in my mind’s eye I can hear the ripples of the waves and I’m standing on the sand and just behind me is a wooden building which is an art gallery which also sells paintings and now I can see this picture as it was .. hanging on the wall which is made of cream coloured wood and there are other similar paintings and more recent ones by modern artists and the sand comes right up to the door of the art gallery and I can see the sea and hear it lapping on the shore.
One benefit of having beenlaud up is that my visual memories have become even more powerful. I can see everything even the sea far out where there are fishing boats.
The air is pure and salty I could almost believe I’m there now.
Next to the art gallery there is a cafe where we sat outside in the garden one afternoon to drink tea and because of my vision just having deteriorated I couldn’t judge the depth of the tea in the cups so they overflowed then the puddles were wiped up by a merry waitress. You see I was using w teapot!
You need three dimensional vision or you’ve got to be very very careful which I now am
I’m determined to see as much as possible of everything in case my vision gets worse so I see the weeds in the grass and I see the the boat man rowing.. he’s rowing people across the river Blyth in his little boat.
The .air is so clear I seem to hear noises from far away
.. children getting out of cars and running about.. the air is clear and beautiful… No other place seems to have air like this.
Now I have dropped my eyes . I am back in this room but the sun is shining today and there are magnificent clouds… Winter will be over very soon the daffodils are coming out too early it’s the crocuses I love best.
I feel like running about like those children with my arms and legs bare just running in circles on the sand…..
Cain and Abel fought the bitter fight Posted on February 11, 2018
Cain and Abel fought the bitter fight Like baby eagles, sharks and all that bite For parents stand aloof as if amused By sibling killing sibling for their food
This may be the crime original So common it may seem to be banal Inside the heart of love lurk greed and hate Genetics brings destruction as a fate
So hatred precedes love if any grows As dead egrets have no claw to show. Families have their scapegoats all will harm No-one seems to notice wild alarm
So Cain was not unusual nor mad Indeed he was a hero, that is sad.
Professor Rosa Benchez was in the staff-room at Middle-Jeans-Rise University collecting her mail and having coffee at 9.30 am on Monday morning after running 10 miles on her rowing machine.It rowed and she ran How are you? enquired Danny her friend and colleague in the School of Learning. I’m feeling very insignificant today,she replied. quietly.I am giving a lecture on Semiotics and it’s those French people who use such idiotically complicated language.We all know that an object like a bird has to have a name before we can talk about it. Well.,said Danny, I thought you’d just say,”In the pink” as usual to my greeting, so you must feel bad.Does each bird have to have its own name,he continued wonderingly? Well,it depends on the context, she informed him coolly and enigmatically. First,if we are looking at birds as a class or set, they just need a name like “bird”.It could have been anything but somehow it was” bird” that occurred like x is used in algebra.We may just study one bird then we give it a number to identify it.That is its name Danny gazed at her beautiful bosom under her semi-transparent pink blouse.Did she dress like that on purpose to provoke men or did she feel so deep;y insignificant that she didn’t realise anyone at all could see her purple lace bra and her green silk and wool thermal vest with matching briefs, though fortunately, the latter were invisible from outside sp Danny,I’m talking to you, she called sympathetically.Why are you quiet? I dunno, the world famous biologist replied.Maybe I am not quite here today. You too,she murmured quietly ,like the stream in Little Walsingham by the ruined Abbey. Are you anxious about your lectures,she enquired softly and caringly? No, not really ,he said tearing his eyes away from her revealing clothing. Is there a biological reason why a scholar like Rosa would wear this unusually exciting outfit. The truth was more mundane.Rosa bought her clothes in Sales and was indifferent pr unaware to the way men might feel seeing her like this.After all,did she notice if they wore deep purple underpants that showed above their low rise jeans or gold coins on a chain with matching long earrings? She only looked at their faces while they naturally were drawn to see what outfit she was wearing that day. and what her new lingerie looked like. What did her partner feel?Had he left her for a woman who dressed in thick beige blouses and stockings with grey skirts? To dress well takes time and Rosa did not give it enough although so far she had not lectured in a string bikini nor an evening dress she had found in a jumble sale. These French people have made a fortune by re-labelling well know things like birds as “signified” and the word “bird” as signifiers! It reminded her of a sociologist who got a large grant to see if women were more scared walking under a railway bridge at night if there were no streetlight there The conclusion seems obvious.And that was what they proved “scientifically” Statistics,numbers, that’s what journals want. She went to her lecture room and turned on the lights.Eighty students gazed at her happily.She was almost the best and funniest lecturer in the place. I put 30 handouts in Dr Bevan-Finnish’s drawer for the seminar but someone has stolen them, she said menacingly.I write these handouts myself and if they do not appear by noon ,nobody will get another one for the entire semester With that, she turned to the blackboard and defined ” the signifier” Well,it’s better than taking the insides out of chickens on a conveyor belt she thought silently as she moaned on while the students took copious notes or wrote limericks on kleenex tissues with their own blood After lunch Rosa was in the staff room talking to some women colleagues when Dr Bevan -Finnish came over,blushing dark red as he approached.He said the handouts were back in his tray Why is he so shy, Rosa asked herself,not realising it was her outfit that provoked his blushes.And that is a very important thing to remember… whoever we are with affects us so a bold man like Bevan-Finnish seemed shy when with Rosa whereas with another more sensibly dressed woman he was quite at ease. There may be a few men who are not affected this way but not many otherwise the human race would die out and then where would we be?Nowhere! What a pity nobody tells a lady like Rosa the facts of life so she goes about causing sinful longings in her colleagues quite oblivious.Even some of the women were getting affected but nobody dared to tell her.At least it drew students to her lectures and who knows, they might have learned some Linguistics as well.And it kept them off the streets.Which streets nobody knows.Yet!
Inside my shell, I dream of pearls, Caterpillars, snails with whorls. I dream contented, all enwrapped With reverie and dream, I’m lapped. The inner seas will comfort me, While gods allow my eyes to see
Oh, sweeter than confectionery Is my worn old dictionary. The words whirl round and fall to shape The sentences, which my world drape. This furnishing is rich and strange Yet magically self-arranged.
Oh, sweeter than the love of man Is reading works of poets long gone; And feeling deeply their dark tides, Upon which our boats may glide. The sea infinite we float on Is the same warm sea that ancients swam.
Sweeter still is this spring air And the blossom spreading fair. We’ll drown ourselves in deep green fields To the gods of poetry yield. We’ll rise again and spring up tall To grow more rich until we fall.
Sweet it is to live and die And to write my poetry Touch me with your ardent souls My mind and yours shall all be whole
Hollyhocks,delphinium and phlox Foxgloves,cat mint, nettles,near by docks The blind man breathed in air full of wild scent His daughted named the colours now absent
High up on the Kentish cliffs we sat Capel-le -Ferne I found it on a map We listened to this girl, we did not speak Absorbing by our senses,proud and meek
Now I recollect the details very well In those dream like memories I dwell Snapdragons growing just beside my chair I smell the scent as if I were still there
I may be blinded by the tears of loss But I remember, love, our happiness
Nuts Cottage 87 Rubbish Walks Stampedia North Norfolk NWe 0MG pie Dear Mary
How are you getting on with your new logic book? Mine is going well as having grown up doing my homework while my brother played ” The Ride of the Valkyries” full blast all night demanded I do his maths homework and some Latin I find with the TV on some rubbish programme I can really concentrate well On the other hand I might be writing rubbish. The main things seems to be to avoid writer’s block. whereas in the past it was to avoid writing rubbish,Funny how popular the word rubbish is nowadays. When we believed in God we had Cathedrals,plainsong and Byrd.Now we have Malls.Coffee Shops and Muzak.And rubbish.We are rubbish too Surely to get writer’s block would be an advantage as it would lead to reverie and dreams or maybe going on Tinder and seeing how many people in the town are looking for….Rubbish connections. My optician said not to go looking for men.With my eyesight I’d no doubt be chatting up a traffic cone.I don’t think that’s what he meant,Real men don’t like women running after them which is lucky.I can’t run nowadays,I could limp after one! He said his mother did get married again but she wasn’t seeking it actively.So she said.Would she have told her son? Definitely not.Well, that’s my view.Take it or leave it.Agree or argue,Talk or walk.Who can falsify his theory? Popper died.So they say.
I think I must be drunk with happiness.I’ll write again to tell you the plot of my novel.Basically,it’s total rubbish dressed up with a few sexual innuendos,These days innuendo seems quite out of date.Old fashioned.Like courting and engagement.Now we start in bed and end up in Court. Well, try phoning me or you’ll keep getting more rubbish letters
https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2014/07/25/the-vale-of-soul-making/
