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Showing posts with label digression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label digression. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 04, 2020

Take it easy!

Sunrise Painting - Mornings Early Rising by Addie Hocynec









I dutifully got up at my accustomed time of 6.30 am, responding to the intense irritation of the ‘music’ of my phone alarm, sat on the edge of the bed, then had a pee (in the bathroom!) and promptly returned to bed.  Sometimes, you have to do what you want rather than what you think that you should do.  It makes you a better person.  I think.
     And even if it doesn’t, I am not going to beat myself up about missing an early morning swim once in a while.  It does mean that I get the Guardian Quick Crossword done and dusted and have a leisurely cup of tea and am able to face the rest of the world with something approaching equanimity – even if lacking the smug self-satisfaction than early morning exercise gives you.
     The ostensible reason for my indolence was to give myself more time to study for the Catalan examination that is going to take place on the 13th of this month.  Given the format of the exam, and the extensive explanation about the content that we have been given, there is a reasonable chance of actually passing it.  But and this is where the rejection of swimming comes in, only if the time gained is actually used in revision (or something nearer to learning in my case) and the hard slog on forcing foreign words to at least have a temporary residence in my memory.  As far as I can work out the major emphasis in this exam is on the ability of, we candidates to demonstrate that we have retained the accurate orthography of the more cunningly accented words in Catalan.  The area we have to consider is one which is limited, but the use of the correct accents will be a crucial factor in gaining marks.  This means that the old look-cover-write-check technique needs to come into play.  Repeatedly.
     As it happens, I am still much more drawn to working on the pages of notes that I have for my latest poem, than I am for the hard slog of learning.  I know that one should never reject opportunities for learning, especially after the ‘official’ period of education has passed!  But it is much harder to force new information into my brain than it ever used to be.
     And yet.  Take this morning.  I was checking through my emails and I noted that Academia.edu site had suggested an art history paper that I might have found interesting.  This paper turned out to be part of a substantial book which offered a more than readable overview of a section of art history.  The extract on Cezanne got me interested and I jumped my way through to Chicago skyscrapers and the honorary Welshman Frank Lloyd Wright and then onto Picasso and abstraction and at that point I realized that I was in the grip of the you-may-as-we—finish-it syndrome and so I stopped.  Ostensibly to check on the publishing details of the book which were somewhat vague on the site.  This got me into the Baltimore Museum of Art and I was starting to flick through the site when I realized (again) that I was being taken further and further from what I had started out doing when I opened the computer.
     The point of that last paragraph (in case you were wondering) was to illustrate not only the ease with which I get side-tracked, but also the fact that I was gleefully hoovering up small facts about the artists and movements that I was reading about.  I am conversant enough with mainstream western modern art history that passing comments about how Seurat got the colour theory wrong, or than curtain walls allowed skyscrapers to have more glass, or that Synthetic Cubism literally emphasised the presentation of painterly element on the canvas, almost like a dish – that fascinated me.  Ever the snapper up of unconsidered trifles (is that quotation accurate?) I felt the drug-like pull of the writing, and I thought that I could buy the book (the very substantial book) from which the writing was taken.  But, so far, I have been unable to find it.  But I will.
It is one of those books (should it actually exist) that always seem to me to need to exist before it can be written.  The range and depth of knowledge it contains is the sort of book that would have been consulted to write it – if you see what I mean!  I have a History of Art book by Meyers (I think, I’m too laze to get up and look for it to make sure) that thoroughly intimidated me when I was younger because of its ease of flow from earliest times to the present.  You can’t be interested or know about it all.  Surely!
     It takes a while before you realize just how much of scholarship is built on the work of others: synthesis is what keeps you sane!  Over the past few years I have found, when searching for some fairly obscure information that, certainly on line, you find that there is often a core of Ur-information that has been ruthlessly plagiarised (without attribution) as the basis for what appears to be original research.  And, very often, searching backwards, you often find that confident assertions of fact are based on the flimsiest of factual evidence: suggestion develops into statement.  How often have I wished that there were footnotes so that I could find out just what the quality of evidence for the assertion had!  But even with what appears to be scholarly footnotes, you often find that ‘evidence’ is ‘personal’ book based and not on primary sources.
     In the Open University students are encouraged not to cite Wikipedia as it is not a ‘clean’ source of information, because it is able to be edited without the care that academy demands.  We OU students still use it of course, it is far too useful to ignore, but we look for another source to cite to give credibility.  This has meant that for one of my references for a particularly useful comments by Sir Laurence Olivier, I cited (in the correct manner!) a dubious website that I found.  That reference went through my tutor on the nod, but a Wikipedia citation would have been frowned upon.
     But, lurching back to what I was taking about some time ago, the book seems to me to be something worth looking for.  I have a possible author’s name, I know that it is connected with the Baltimore Museum of Art, and I suspect that it is also linked to The Cone Collection in the same institution.  So, you can rest assured, that when I should be learning and revising my Catalan vocabulary, I will be searching for yet another art history book to add to my collection!
Wish me luck!

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

Back again!


http://data.whicdn.com/images/753969/ra67hg_large.png?1253693589 

Old habits die hard.  Or at least they have a way of rising zombie-like from time lost in laziness or indifference.
This writing is a case in point.  I am using, not my newish laptop bought after extensive trawling through reviews and at least one expensive mistake, but my old trusted MacBook Air.  Although I have abjured the buying of new Apple machines after the shameless pricing of the latest iteration of the Apple Watch, I am ever drawn to my MacBook Air.  It is the only piece of computer technology which, even after the decade (or ‘century’ in computer age years) of use that it has given, it still looks the business and its svelte metallic appearance still makes it a little object of desire. 
I understand (horror of horrors!) that the Apple logo does not light up on the latest versions of the machine – that surely is a travesty!  I speak as someone who bought an entire music system (there are three words that you don’t often see together nowadays) because it met two of my basic requirements: it had to have lots of flashing lights and the cassette eject system had to open in slow motion.  The user may not see the illuminated logo, but other people do and they either feel a fellowship with the user that they can see, or they know themselves cast into the other darkness of lost souls with dead logos.  It may not add to the operating system but the light from the logo paradoxically puts others in the shadow.
Little things are important.  And they are not ‘little’ either.  The last time that an Apple Dealer saw my MacBook Air when I was trying to update the system, he described it as ‘Vintage’, as all machines over five years old are described!  That lustrum is the age of a Secondary School generation as it progresses from Year 7 to Year 11, and I suppose that kids in Year 11 looking back to their younger selves in Year 7 would wholeheartedly agree that anything that they liked and admired when fresh-faced first formers (forgive my own regression to out-dated nomenclature there) playing ancient games on their outmoded mobile phones in those far-off times!
But the look and the feel of the MacBook Air from 2010 still looks good, still makes other machines look clunky and somehow stodgy.  So, in spite of the fact that my (expensive, compact and powerful) Dell is within a hand’s reach, I am typing on the Mac.
And typing a blog entry.  I have been very remiss over keeping up my blog and it has become very much an Occasional Feast for me instead of the Daily Duty that it was at one time.  My self-protestations that I will produce a piece of writing every day, have been empty, and each day without writing makes it easier to add a further day to the dilatory approach.  But today, today I feel inspired to put finger to key and get back into the habit.
Why, you might ask.  The sad reason is that I have left my mobile phone upstairs and I am too lazy to go up and get it.  My morning schedule includes going the quick crossword in the Guardian and I usually complete that on my phone.  I can do the crossword on my iPad, but I have allowed the battery to run down and I have had to put it on charge.  I could, of course, use the very computer that I am typing on now to do the crossword, but doing the crossword on the computer smacks of slight perversity – so, it was either sitting down sipping tea and trying to look demure; going up stairs to get the phone, or setting-to and writing.
Today I had a lie-in and didn’t go for my usual early morning swim, so the opportunity to write in my notebook after my swim had been taken away.  Yes, I know that I can write in my notebook at any time, but I do it after my swim, so I hope that you begin to see that ‘circumstances’ have conspired to get me writing another entry for my long ignored blog, because ‘historically’ most of the entries for my blog have been written on the machine that I am using now, my Mac.
So, from the dark days of wordlessness, I lurch towards the light of articulacy and prose.
As someone who find the style of ‘Tristram Shandy’ eminently natural in its predilection for digression, I do not find it at all surprising that I have taken the best part of a couple of typed pages to say, “I’m writing a blog entry.”  And I now feel that I can get on with what might be appreciated as actual subject matter.

Since Christmas, indeed since a little before Christmas, we have been beset by noise.  Now, Catalonia is not a quiet place (although, paradoxically it is only the lingering sounds of the tail end of Toni’s cough that echo through the house at the moment) but we have had the cacophonous horror of the house next door being completely renovated.  As far as we can appreciate, this involves hitting all wall, floor and ceiling surfaces an infinite number of times with hammers.  As we live in a group of five conjoined houses, structural sound in one is seamlessly transferred to the others – and even more so if you live next door.  As far as I can tell, the workmen must have hit every square inch of the surface and each of those blows we feel.
One Sunday (sic) the noise was so intense that I couldn’t hear the radio in our living room.  I complained, but if the work needs to be done, what can I reasonably expect?  This is what you get when the skeleton of our houses is concrete; hit one part of the frame and it is shared with all!

This evening, Opera, Mozart’s last, La Clemenza di Tito – and not one that I know particularly well, but I am open to being enthused by the production, and of course the music!
When I go to the opera I take the opportunity in the interval to go to the Café de l’Opera in the Ramblas and scribble a few notes about the production with a view to writing a review in the blog.  I have again been rather remiss here too and my notes have remained notes.  Today, however, I will assume that tomorrow I write and post the review!

Talking of writing.   The production of my latest book, The eloquence of broken things[1], has been beset by problems.  The pdf of the book was used for the print but, for reasons that have not been discovered, a double series of printing errors made their way to the finished books.  The printer has not been able to explain how a good pdf copy produced faulty final product.  A reprint was necessary and I am more than pleased with the results.  But.  In reading through and admiring my and the printer’s handiwork, I noticed a typo in one of the first poems!  This could not be put down to the faulty printing; this was a proof reading error.  By the time I noticed it, it was too late to change anything.
I decided to make the best of a bad job and therefore wrote an insert ‘celebrating’ and explaining the error in a poetic mea culpa, tucked inside the front cover – each copy individually initialled to make it more official!

The poem is included here as part of the lead up to the publication of the collection.

 

Erratum

p.14,  l.2,  w.6
for hr read her



Within a Turkish rug’s
expensive symmetry
is woven an intentional false note –
because perfection’s the preserve of god,
and not of stumbling, imperfect Man.

But, isn’t there an arrogance
in saying, “Yes, of course there’s that –
but all the rest . . . !”  As if
parading of a self-made fault
limits additional faux pas?

It’s Baldrick’s bullet[2]. 
Logic?  False!

Yet it’s a way of life we all adopt
because we live inelegant reality,
not textbook-sharp, black-outlined clarity.

Mistakes and errors?  That’s who we are!
Come with the territory.
Flaws are the marbling of life.
We have to say.
Because it’s inescapable.



I’d read and read again
the poem that contains the fault,
and yet not seen the missing ‘e’
until the final print was done
and it was then too late to change.

The sticking-plaster-sized
erratum slip is grudgingly applied
accepting and bewailing
my falling short.

But, what are vowels in the scheme of things?
Thngs tht cn b thghtlssly gnrd –
and still the consonantal frame
allows a certain fluency. 

If there had only been a gap
the reader could have,
would have, filled it in
without a thought.

But these are cavils
trying hard to justify
imperfect sight.

I should regard the ‘humbling by slip’         
as something more akin to public sacrifice:
(expiation, celebration,
for inexact humanity)

than hoping that,
in spite of all the odds,
the misprint, all alone,
is by itslf.





[1] Rees, SM. (2020) The eloquence of broken things, Barcelona, Praetorius Books.
[2] Private S. Baldrick, Captain Blackadder’s idiot batman is caught inscribing his name on a bullet when in the trenches in 1917, his explanation is, “I thought if I owned the bullet with my name on it, I’d never get hit by it.”  Blackadder Goes Forth Series 4, Episode 1.  First broadcast 28th September 1989, 9.30 pm on BBC1, written by Richard Curtis and Ben Elton.