Ryszard Kapuściński, 1932-2007

I am stunned. When unable to travel to a certain place or space, my window into the World was Ryszard Kapuściński. He gave us 'Soccer Wars', 'Imperium', 'The Emperor', 'Shah of Shahs' and 'Shadow of the Sun', as well as other works. His writing was both perceptive and beautiful. I believe our view of the World is short-sighted, poorer, without him.

The results of editing

During this seemingly protracted editing exercise, I have been amazed at how some poems have essentially been rewritten, with a minority undergoing subtle revision - with all having a change in emphasis, meaning, although final interpetation is, as always, left to the reader.

The iPOD Perv & Cistern Kid doubt I am actually doing any editing. To assuage their fears, here is one of the recent cuts.

First, the original:


'Catalyst'

Catalyst:
1. A person or thing that precipitates a change.
2. A substance that aids or speeds up a chemical reaction while remaining unchanged itself.

My arrival was
unannounced,
spinning, as I was,
in a whirlwind.

I was, to say the least,
quite surprised
that my moonbeam,
flung haphazardly,
was caught.

Strutting across
all obstacles,
I stayed the course,
turning things
helter-skelter.

But now,
the chemical reaction
has run its course.
The catalyst –
this thing
must now return
to the galactic
special effects
cupboard,
ready for the next
spiritual alchemist
to fling a moonbeam.

21st February 2004


Here is the tweaked version:


'Catalyst'

Catalyst:
1. A person or thing that precipitates a change.
2. A substance that aids or speeds up a chemical reaction while remaining unchanged itself.

My arrival was
alarming, a
spinning, twisting,
thundering, threatening
presence;
mostly disarming.

But I was
bushwhacked,
stunned at
the intensity
of my reception -
by way of
an explosion.

Strutting across
all obstacles,
balancing love
and laughter
in each hand,
I stayed the course,
breaking, building,
turning things
helter-skelter,
everywhichywayndat.

But the thrill
has fizzled out
following encounter
unstable,
and this queer smear
must return to love's lab,
as just another part
of the periodic table.

That ole red leather chair, 13th January, 2007

Other jazz musicians I am not seeing

I had a ticket to go and see Archie Shepp at the Jazz Cafe this evening. Just as something went wrong with the Donald Byrd gig last weekend (he pulled out), something had to go wrong with this one. I bowed out with a case of the lurgies. Thanks to my colleagues recently returned from Las Vegas - Kristof, H, TKS. It'll make my flight to Beijing this Sunday a memorable experience, as I scare stewardesses and children alike with my coughing.

I've just found out that Alice Coltrane, innovative jazz pianist and wife of the late, great John Coltrane, passed away at the weekend. Her obit on NPR is here.

Listening to: 'Journey in Satchidananda' by Alice Coltrane (a fantastic album on Impulse from 1970)

Chapman at The Windsor Castle, London

I saw Blondie play last night in front of a full house. It was a good job that he was the last act, as I don't think the others could have followed him. Checkout his Myspace page for details of forthcoming gigs in February.

Memory & perception

"Life is not how you live it, it's how you remember it."
Gabo

"As long as there's one person to believe it, there's no story that can't be true."
Paul Auster

Feeling: sated and unable to walk, following family lunch at my brother's

Ambivalent over: my rewrite of the 2003 poem 'Being There' (so i'll leave it to Da Bomb)

Reading: the essays of George Orwell

Looking for: a small, simple writer's desk

Thinking about: Russell Brand's show on R2 last night, where he mentioned 'nan kids' - kids raised by their nans, who adopt their nan's speech and expessions. He's absolutely right - I remember a nan kid from both primary and secondary school, Neil. I'm buggered if I remember the nickname we gave him. I know that some of the nicknames used were Granny (Tracy), Betty (John Betteridge), Wobbler (Richard Darling, because his bubble butt wobbled when he ran), Smiler (Chris Screen), Hambo (Paul Hatter), etc. Oh, and 'Woz' of course.

So...

...bad things happen in soap operas, usually more fantastically than in reality. They also happen at Christmas. So why don't the major characters in each soap bugger off and leave town just before Christmas, only returning in mid January when the heat is off them? Oh, to be a fictional character!

Musing over: the phony anger of various politicians and governments (including the Iraqi's), over the release of Saddam Hussein's execution, exposing the taunts, etc. How can it be a surprise? After all, didn't the Iraqi's initially release footage, both in terms of photographs, as well as video without a soundtrack?

Also musing over: the fact that most often, imperialists (of whatever stripe) install puppet regimes that are at least as brutal and as incompetent as the administrations they replace.

Gutted

The legendary Donald Byrd has cancelled all his UK dates. The iPOD Perv & I were due to see him this Saturday. I was looking forward to watching him play hard bop from his early Blue Note albums, as well as the jazz-funk he pioneered with the Blackbyrds.

Reelin' lines

I'm trying hard not to write any new poems, as the focus right now is on editing the ol' stuff, but there is a line (from Sappho) that I really want to use in a poem, as it says such an awful lot in few words:

'When I think of love, I think of two people stranded on a sofa'

New year, old friends

Well, we ended up in Southampton:

We met the male bouncer equivalent of Ethel Merman who stopped me from entering a club, to which I responded by singing Broadway showtunes, mincing and camping it up while following an Elton John lookalike around, telling him he hadn't done any stuff worth a dick since the 1970s. As you do.

But last night I caught Roy Ayers in action at the Jazz Cafe. What was funny was that he entered the club from the front door, walked past me (we smiled, but didn't kiss), danced some moves behind a bunch of girls, who totally ignored him, so he scuttled off. It would appear that quite a few of the people in the audience didn't recognise him, and most of the revellers only seemed to know the words to just one of his songs - maybe thats the case with most concerts? I found that, with cramp in both feet, trying to dance resulted in my toppling over. However, he was brilliant, ably supported by great musicians including the saxophonist Ray Gaskins. He didn't do 'Poo-Poo-La-La', but he opened with 'We Live in Brooklyn Baby' and went on to perform 'Running Away' and 'Love Will Bring Us Back Together', amongst other soul-jazz classics (I refuse to use the term smooth jazz, as its bollocks and much of that tat sounds like elevator music for the clinically depressed).