Just ready to sleep and wake up at the end of this tunnel
Wednesday, 23 December 2020
Friday, 17 April 2020
Limbic Resonance
I have begun to notice that in confinement my movement has begun to take on the pattern of a wail... it's as if I am a pendulum, swinging between anxiety and a tightly wound misery in a way that speaks to more than a response developed over my 3 decades.
sing songs of bitter earth and breathe through a nose full of the scent of despair clinging stubbornly to hope
Tuesday, 11 February 2020
why?
Plagued by a kind of emotional ague, an ache... I just want to not deal with being treated as some after thought.
what would that feel like?
what would it look like?
what would it sound like?
...what would the realisation that how I want it to look like is not what it is to them feel like? this feeling? this space?
one then argues, why ask to know someone's needs, if the end result is to not serve it? hmm... why bother hold to account?
the question then
just.
why?
what would that feel like?
what would it look like?
what would it sound like?
...what would the realisation that how I want it to look like is not what it is to them feel like? this feeling? this space?
one then argues, why ask to know someone's needs, if the end result is to not serve it? hmm... why bother hold to account?
the question then
just.
why?
Monday, 20 January 2020
God Did Not Say - Francis Boston
...For Miss Roe
God Did Not Say
by: Francis Boston
God did not say
You will find me
If you carry out
A deep enough analysis.
God did not say
I have made a tree;
To know me
You must
Cut it down,
Cut it up
Pulp it
Make paper
And write upon it
Holy words.
God did not say
I have made a butterfly
Don’t let it flutter by
Get it
Net it
Set it
And hold it up
Dead
In praise of me
God did not say
Anything.
Silently
He made
All things
All stones
All plants
All flowers
All animals
And man
As one.
And
Without loudspeakers
Without book
Without script
Without word,
Without letter,
Even without
A Little Bang Theory –
And God saw
That it was GOOD
Perhaps…
We should too
Thursday, 7 November 2019
“…any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and
therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
—John Donne
An Elegy For Ernest Hemingway
Now for the first time on the night of your death
your name is mentioned in convents, ne cadas in
obscurum.
Now with a true bell your story becomes final. Now
men in monasteries, men of requiems, familiar with
the dead, include you in their offices.
You stand anonymous among thousands, waiting in
the dark at great stations on the edge of countries
known to prayer alone, where fires are not merciless,
we hope, and not without end.
You pass briefly through our midst. Your books and
writing have not been consulted. Our prayers are
pro defuncto N.
Yet some look up, as though among a crowd of prisoners
or displaced persons, they recognized a friend
once known in a far country. For these the sun also
rose after a forgotten war upon an idiom you made
great. They have not forgotten you. In their silence
you are still famous, no ritual shade.
How slowly this bell tolls in a monastery tower for a
whole age, and for the quick death of an unready
dynasty, and for that brave illusion: the adventurous
self!
For with one shot the whole hunt is ended!
by Thomas Merton
from A Book of Luminous Things
Harcourt Publishing 1996
therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
—John Donne
An Elegy For Ernest Hemingway
Now for the first time on the night of your death
your name is mentioned in convents, ne cadas in
obscurum.
Now with a true bell your story becomes final. Now
men in monasteries, men of requiems, familiar with
the dead, include you in their offices.
You stand anonymous among thousands, waiting in
the dark at great stations on the edge of countries
known to prayer alone, where fires are not merciless,
we hope, and not without end.
You pass briefly through our midst. Your books and
writing have not been consulted. Our prayers are
pro defuncto N.
Yet some look up, as though among a crowd of prisoners
or displaced persons, they recognized a friend
once known in a far country. For these the sun also
rose after a forgotten war upon an idiom you made
great. They have not forgotten you. In their silence
you are still famous, no ritual shade.
How slowly this bell tolls in a monastery tower for a
whole age, and for the quick death of an unready
dynasty, and for that brave illusion: the adventurous
self!
For with one shot the whole hunt is ended!
by Thomas Merton
from A Book of Luminous Things
Harcourt Publishing 1996
Sunday, 1 September 2019
I remember...
THIS WILL BE DISJOINT. THIS WILL BE ERROR LADEN. THIS IS INCOMPLETE. THIS MAY NEVER BE COMPLETE. THIS IS GRIEF.
it is the eve of your interment.
it is the night before they lay you down to rest
But that line of reasoning is heavy handed, and tends toward the dark, that bit of me you always encouraged me to acknowledge and leave alone. plenty there to make you upset, missa Carl, just put that out yuh thoughts for now."
So I say this: I remember.
I remember, before I even met you, the uttering of your name. I remember festival as a babe, and blue stage curtains, my primary school uniform. I remember the orange covered hymnal of daily devotions on the open quadrangle. I remember hymn 39, and the beautiful drawing of an angel above it. I remember touching your name each time before I opened it to follow along to "We Build our School" or "If I had a Hammer" or my favourite, which I came to know as one of yours, "The Right Hand of God."
...I remember passing for Ardenne, and my first assembly, and a classmate laughing when I took out said hymnal. I could no longer carry you with me in public.
I remember Music Club, and discovering your ties to my school, and the legacy that you helped forge that I was now an inheritor of. I remember Give me Wings, sung with reverence as passed to our school from "a previous teacher and choirmaster who did great things while here." I remember thinking the lyrics felt like a country western. I remember looking it up years later and being vindicated. I remember crying when we the Music Club sang it at a function - I finally sang the ending note to completion, on pitch and it truly felt flawless. I moved from liking singing, to loving the art of choral music.
I remember when I became a conscious fan of Noel Dexter (I admit now that I started calling you Christmas Dexter in my head because of first year French class, and the feelings I associated with singing choral music). I remember that rehearsal when you came to Ardenne and did a workshop with the choir as we undertook Lift every Voice and sing. I remember the newly donated Piano, that we tuned ourselves to at the peril of flatness, of the excitement of your impending visit and the re-tuning... and the resulting disaster as muscle memory made us stick to our previous perception of the notes. you were patient and quiet, and you DEMONSTRATED what you wanted across the lines. I was impressed. I was fascinated. I became voracious.
I was late to being impressed by the University Singers. when my friends were listening on loop to the albums ahead of my investment, I was looking up Orff and Beethoven, trying to understand how I could write something to make as much sense, and articulate the feeling they put on paper - bless the patience of Mr Hird for looking at all the discordant and half thought out drafts of this phase. That workshop opened my eyes. There, I was seeing a master elicit excellence (not perfection, but excellence) from a group he had not before worked with. we were always good, and Mr Hird held highest esteem as a physical presence and mentor, but in that moment on that afternoon you became a goal.
I remember Chorale concert before I became a student. I remember I am Seeking for a City. I remember Charles, and his work, but mostly I remember the members after saying their main aim was getting your notice - hoping to be good enough for the nod from you that meant they could advance to Singers. I remember feeling less ambitious than them because I thought access to you was all I would need.
I remember sitting eagerly in the first round of Chorale auditions, running between there and the dance studio to audition for UDS and hoping I could juggle both. I remember being too nervous to sing, then singing a riff from some gospel song my church choir had been working on. I remember "Second Tenor."
I remember talking about my experience before coming to UWI, after you discovered the Ardennites (who were also Nexus members, who were also enthusiastic singers fans, who were also fans of your work). I remember that afternoon you saw me in the Music Unit and we had our first talk. I told you the story of my attempt to teach a sextet of voices, a percussionist, a keyboardist and a violin "O Fortuna" while playing flute and floor tom and conducting; of Mr Hird's laugh when we performed it for him, and the subsequent avoidance of all things conducting because of my misinterpretation.
I remember being asked to conduct the Chorale for a one off service in the Chapel. I remember being terrified, but doing as was wished. I remember feeling I had disappointed you. Years later you said it was simply that I had lacked the ability to get them to pay attention. you encouraged me to keep at it, and keep that "attitude of dependability" - I never quite understood what that meant.
I remember the talks about my writing, and those crits and encouragements I will hold to my heart, and those I will at your urging, dismiss from my consciousness.
I remember the mischief making
I remember the "Dance, Carl. is what you want to do"
I remember the "Alright Bredda" that meant the debate was over and I had failed to look past my self doubt and learn the lesson
I remember the "AHHHH" when the lesson was learnt and received. I remember the pat on the shoulder and the laugh when the lesson learnt came readily and was applied to situations.
I remember "yes, I think you should take him with you. he really needs a change of surroundings for a bit." I also remember the "take this time to look at where you are and decide what you want and need to move forward."
I remember that wide eyed surprised and delighted smile at AV5 when you saw me drop in. that hug and admission of pride will stay with me forever.
I remember "Well it looking like you doing good over there; I hope when we ready for you them can let you go."
I remember so many other things that make these, this, everything seem so...trite as a tribute
It is all so...unworthy
everything is
I miss you
I can't envision not eagerly staking out at the Music Unit in hopes you will shuffle in through the door, on your way toward your office on autopilot until you realise just who it was that hailed you.
The high pitched "Carl!" the hug and back pat.
The inevitable comment on my weight gain or loss/ facial hair, head of hair, new glasses...
i Miss YOU ...and it eats me up how for granted I took my access to you, a far cry from the boy who came to UWI and would be tongue tied, always just short of asking you if you were aware just of who you are - if you realised you were
The orange hymnal man
The father figure
The choral clinician and mentor
The singer and vocal coach
The Patient repetiteur
The Indulgent enabler
The shady co-conspirator
The support system
it is the eve of your interment.
it is the night before they lay you down to rest
But that line of reasoning is heavy handed, and tends toward the dark, that bit of me you always encouraged me to acknowledge and leave alone. plenty there to make you upset, missa Carl, just put that out yuh thoughts for now."
So I say this: I remember.
I remember, before I even met you, the uttering of your name. I remember festival as a babe, and blue stage curtains, my primary school uniform. I remember the orange covered hymnal of daily devotions on the open quadrangle. I remember hymn 39, and the beautiful drawing of an angel above it. I remember touching your name each time before I opened it to follow along to "We Build our School" or "If I had a Hammer" or my favourite, which I came to know as one of yours, "The Right Hand of God."
...I remember passing for Ardenne, and my first assembly, and a classmate laughing when I took out said hymnal. I could no longer carry you with me in public.
I remember Music Club, and discovering your ties to my school, and the legacy that you helped forge that I was now an inheritor of. I remember Give me Wings, sung with reverence as passed to our school from "a previous teacher and choirmaster who did great things while here." I remember thinking the lyrics felt like a country western. I remember looking it up years later and being vindicated. I remember crying when we the Music Club sang it at a function - I finally sang the ending note to completion, on pitch and it truly felt flawless. I moved from liking singing, to loving the art of choral music.
I remember when I became a conscious fan of Noel Dexter (I admit now that I started calling you Christmas Dexter in my head because of first year French class, and the feelings I associated with singing choral music). I remember that rehearsal when you came to Ardenne and did a workshop with the choir as we undertook Lift every Voice and sing. I remember the newly donated Piano, that we tuned ourselves to at the peril of flatness, of the excitement of your impending visit and the re-tuning... and the resulting disaster as muscle memory made us stick to our previous perception of the notes. you were patient and quiet, and you DEMONSTRATED what you wanted across the lines. I was impressed. I was fascinated. I became voracious.
I was late to being impressed by the University Singers. when my friends were listening on loop to the albums ahead of my investment, I was looking up Orff and Beethoven, trying to understand how I could write something to make as much sense, and articulate the feeling they put on paper - bless the patience of Mr Hird for looking at all the discordant and half thought out drafts of this phase. That workshop opened my eyes. There, I was seeing a master elicit excellence (not perfection, but excellence) from a group he had not before worked with. we were always good, and Mr Hird held highest esteem as a physical presence and mentor, but in that moment on that afternoon you became a goal.
I remember Chorale concert before I became a student. I remember I am Seeking for a City. I remember Charles, and his work, but mostly I remember the members after saying their main aim was getting your notice - hoping to be good enough for the nod from you that meant they could advance to Singers. I remember feeling less ambitious than them because I thought access to you was all I would need.
I remember sitting eagerly in the first round of Chorale auditions, running between there and the dance studio to audition for UDS and hoping I could juggle both. I remember being too nervous to sing, then singing a riff from some gospel song my church choir had been working on. I remember "Second Tenor."
I remember talking about my experience before coming to UWI, after you discovered the Ardennites (who were also Nexus members, who were also enthusiastic singers fans, who were also fans of your work). I remember that afternoon you saw me in the Music Unit and we had our first talk. I told you the story of my attempt to teach a sextet of voices, a percussionist, a keyboardist and a violin "O Fortuna" while playing flute and floor tom and conducting; of Mr Hird's laugh when we performed it for him, and the subsequent avoidance of all things conducting because of my misinterpretation.
I remember being asked to conduct the Chorale for a one off service in the Chapel. I remember being terrified, but doing as was wished. I remember feeling I had disappointed you. Years later you said it was simply that I had lacked the ability to get them to pay attention. you encouraged me to keep at it, and keep that "attitude of dependability" - I never quite understood what that meant.
I remember the talks about my writing, and those crits and encouragements I will hold to my heart, and those I will at your urging, dismiss from my consciousness.
I remember the mischief making
I remember the "Dance, Carl. is what you want to do"
I remember the "Alright Bredda" that meant the debate was over and I had failed to look past my self doubt and learn the lesson
I remember the "AHHHH" when the lesson was learnt and received. I remember the pat on the shoulder and the laugh when the lesson learnt came readily and was applied to situations.
I remember "yes, I think you should take him with you. he really needs a change of surroundings for a bit." I also remember the "take this time to look at where you are and decide what you want and need to move forward."
I remember that wide eyed surprised and delighted smile at AV5 when you saw me drop in. that hug and admission of pride will stay with me forever.
I remember "Well it looking like you doing good over there; I hope when we ready for you them can let you go."
I remember so many other things that make these, this, everything seem so...trite as a tribute
It is all so...unworthy
everything is
I miss you
I can't envision not eagerly staking out at the Music Unit in hopes you will shuffle in through the door, on your way toward your office on autopilot until you realise just who it was that hailed you.
The high pitched "Carl!" the hug and back pat.
The inevitable comment on my weight gain or loss/ facial hair, head of hair, new glasses...
i Miss YOU ...and it eats me up how for granted I took my access to you, a far cry from the boy who came to UWI and would be tongue tied, always just short of asking you if you were aware just of who you are - if you realised you were
The orange hymnal man
The father figure
The choral clinician and mentor
The singer and vocal coach
The Patient repetiteur
The Indulgent enabler
The shady co-conspirator
The support system
Thursday, 18 July 2019
If you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, your eyes stop tearing up
I am heading home
home
so many feelings ring out of me as I ponder it, but not light things stay.
laughs fly by, anger gingerly sidesteps direct confrontation. But. But. But.
there is this heaviness
this weight
that settles in the pit of my stomach and makes me feel like i stare into an abyss from which there is no reclamation of self, no reprieve, no cure.
I can't see the happy inherent
I can't see the sunshine implicit
I can't feel the light
I am in a unique self perpetuating hell that I can't help hurtling toward
and I do not want to help it.
and I do not have any way to escape it
but I do not want to escape it
I wish I could...
How I wish i could,
but you can't follow me
so I make a pillow fort by the stygian depths
and as you replenish yourself from the Lethe,
while my other companion lies half alive, but fully awake - in a cycle I am just as impotent to break
I sing lullabies to sanity
and steadfastly look away,
urging Hades to grant me the mercy of the deal he struck with Orpheus
but lacking the talent that would make such a deal worth his consideration.
we three blindly sit.
Cerberus, eat your heart out
home
so many feelings ring out of me as I ponder it, but not light things stay.
laughs fly by, anger gingerly sidesteps direct confrontation. But. But. But.
there is this heaviness
this weight
that settles in the pit of my stomach and makes me feel like i stare into an abyss from which there is no reclamation of self, no reprieve, no cure.
I can't see the happy inherent
I can't see the sunshine implicit
I can't feel the light
I am in a unique self perpetuating hell that I can't help hurtling toward
and I do not want to help it.
and I do not have any way to escape it
but I do not want to escape it
I wish I could...
How I wish i could,
but you can't follow me
so I make a pillow fort by the stygian depths
and as you replenish yourself from the Lethe,
while my other companion lies half alive, but fully awake - in a cycle I am just as impotent to break
I sing lullabies to sanity
and steadfastly look away,
urging Hades to grant me the mercy of the deal he struck with Orpheus
but lacking the talent that would make such a deal worth his consideration.
we three blindly sit.
Cerberus, eat your heart out
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