Saturday, March 31, 2007
Worthy endeavours
Hangovers from many countries
jeg har tommermen
Which means - "I have carpenters in my head."
[At least it could, I suppose, be better than having Carpenters' songs in your head, which is what we so often suffer at unwanted times here in The Unnameable Country!!]
Hangovers & Me
I don't get them.
Really.
Well, not what I'd call a hangover.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Perhaps I spoke too soon?
Haiku for an overcast day (HBH 22)
Escape from grey days
In daydreams of the tropics.
A tall rum and coke.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
The London Inn
It is in an obscure hamlet called Molland, in the middle of the county of Somerset, in south-west England. My parents discovered it by happy chance on one of our regular family holidays down in that area, and a trip there became one of the regular high points of my childhood summers.
The lines are open again
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Juvenilia
My Muse's name is Smirnoff;
I'll meet her late tonight
At the bottom of the bottle
Where I find my second sight.
Whether tossed on waves of ecstasy
Or in dark depression sunk,
I gain a newer vision
When I'm well and truly drunk.
As the body droops to slumber,
The inner voices rise.
Here I lie upon my back -
A watcher of the skies!
There's a melancholy wonder
In the view the gutter gives;
Among the lowest of the low
The poetic spirit lives.
As the bottle empties
And my mind begins to fill,
I gaze up at the distant stars
And try not to be ill.
Prometheus's liver grew again,
But I've seen the last of mine!
We, the thieves of heaven's fire,
Should expect no lesser fine.
Many chide me as a pagan
And revile my Muse's name;
But I'll continue in my worship
Without an ounce of shame.
The favours of a goddess
Entail an early death;
But I shall make the most of them
As long as I still have breath.
I may well die young and lonely
In my squalid little room;
But let the drab teetotallers
Read this lesson on my tomb:
"I've lived, and loved life keenly,
Though dying sooner than I might;
I may have burned out very soon,
But I burned very bright."
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Besting Eric (Yet another memory of The Temple)
Monday, March 26, 2007
Elements of the 'good life': perfect martinis and poisoning pigeons
The important things....
Hearts full of truth!
Six parts gin to one part vermouth!"
Tom Lehrer
Sunday, March 25, 2007
A dedicated follower of football
Saturday, March 24, 2007
The Beermat Game (Another memory of The Temple)
Mind you, I miss 'the beermat game' too. The richest pleasures are often the simplest.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Remembering Ivor Cutler
He is perhaps best-known for pieces of whimsy like this:
If your breasts are too large
You will fall over
Unless you wear
A rucksack
A haiku with a classical reference (HBH 21)
Indifference
No future, no past -
Diet of lotus-flowers.
Ship rots at anchor.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
The Temple
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Messing with the Judge
In the last few weeks we have all heard some pretty extraordinary allegations...."
And it ends:
And now, being mindful of the fact that the Prudential Cup begins on Saturday.... putting all such thoughts from your mind, you are now to retire (as indeed should I).... you are now to retire, carefully to consider your verdict of 'Not Guilty'."
Aha! At last the sketch has shown up on YouTube.
Persecution Blues
"Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up sniffing glue!"
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Another comedy hero
Monday, March 19, 2007
In the words of.....
"Some people claim there's a woman to blame,
But I know - it's my own damn fault."
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Dialogue with a Search Engine
I just typed "dead drunk" into the Keywords box.
The reply I got was: "Did you mean 'determined'?"
The way my mind works......
Don't try to understand it. Just be the seagull following the trawler.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Plastic Paddy
So, not much cod Irishry for me tonight.
Plastic Paddy
He's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
In a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarney Stone.
There's plastic shamrocks everywhere, there's Guinness and green beer,
And a sign in Gaelic above the bar which says "God Bless All Here".
His guitar sounds like a wardrobe, and it's out of tune at that.
His singin' voice it ranges from A-sharp to A-flat.
He's just desecrated "The Holy Ground", ripped apart "Black Velvet Band",
Sang some nights drunk, and now he's sunk "The Irish Rover" with all hands.
'Cause he's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
In a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarney Stone.
The publican's a Proddy Scot by the name of McIntyre
Who does not allow collections for the men behind the wire.
He's done awful things to "Molly Malone" and "The Farrows of Tralee";
He's murdered "Carach Fergus" and poor old "Mother Machree".
He's just thrashed his way through "Galway Bay" and "The Wild Irish Rose";
And if he starts singing "Danny Boy", I'm gonna punch him in the nose!
He's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
In a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarney Stone.
There's Aer Lingus posters everywhere showing pretty Irish scenes:
All peaceful and idyllic.... and very bloody green!
"When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" and "The Mountains of Mourne":
In a central Celtic cliché, the man has left no stone unturned, '
Til he embarks upon the harp once heard through terraced halls,
Accompanying himself on the bodhrán, which takes a lot of... courage!
'Cause he's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
In a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarney Stone.
Now he's just sung in his mother tongue "The Ancient Irish Curse",
And cleared the pub completely by the forty-second verse!
'Cause he's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs.
He's started singin' "Danny Boy", so it's time that I was gone.
And just one thought comes to my mind, as I stagger through the door:
Where are you when we need you, Christy Moore?
Where are you when we need you, Christy Moore?
Eric Bogle
The Party Before Last
Luckily, someone else is throwing the party tonight. Plastic Paddy time again!!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Who's the lucky birthday blog?
Thank you for reading (both of you). Tell your friends (both of them).
Expect more of the same (and a little of the different) over the next six months.
HBH 20
After the party
Records out of sleeves,
Carpet stains and lost earrings.
Stale smoke aftertaste.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
World's worst Irish joke??
But, in honour of the imminent St Patrick's Day, here is one of my favourites.....
An Irishman is marooned on a tiny desert island.
As he walks disconsolately around and around his tropical prison, he happens on a small, exotically-coloured bottle half-buried in the sand.
The Irishman picks it up and examines it, removes the cork - and, YES, out puffs a Genie!
"Thank you for releasing me, Paddy," says the Genie, with something less than the deference that is customary with his kind. "In accordance with tradition, I must now grant you three magical wishes. You may have whatever your heart desires."
"What - anything?" boggles the Irishman.
"Yes, anything," repeats the Genie patiently.
"Well," says the Irishman (who is desperately parched, after spending a couple of days on the island without attempting to find water),"I could murder a Guinness!"
"Your wish be granted," says the Genie. And out of thin air there appears in the Irishman's hand a perfectly-poured, ice-cold pint of the black stuff.
The Irishman eagerly glugs it down, and smacks his lips in appreciation.
He is about to toss the empty glass into the ocean.... when he notices that it is suddenly full again with another creamy-headed, velvety smooth pint of the black beer.
"Saints preserve us!" he cries. "What's going on here?"
"It is a magical beer glass," explains the Genie. "It will always be full again one second after you empty it."
"Ah, man, yer havin' me on!"
"No, really, the glass will always fill itself with Guinness again."
"What - really?"
"Yes."
"Sure, that's a marvellous thing! I never seen the like."
"Well, that's what we call 'magic'," says the Genie modestly. "Now, what would you like for your other two wishes?"
"I'll have two more of these!" shouts the Irishman delightedly.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The Colton
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
The elements of a Good Night Out
No, not at all a promising start.
I have had many such nights in this crazy city..... but this, this was one of them.....
Monday, March 12, 2007
Hot off the press.....
musical history
I started playing truant
from my early years at school
then I moved on
to playing the fool
with a band of mates
for several years
I duetted with a girl
I played tough
while she played hard-to-get
then she switched
to playing away
and broke
our partnership up
citing 'artistic differences'
I went back
to playing the fool mostly
and moved
around the country a lot
now I play old fart most nights
in local bars
the regulars seem to like
my performances
they buy me drinks
sometimes
they make requests
they say:
"play 'Solitude' again.
we never get tired
of that." or
"what's that one
about the redhead?
that's good."
they even flatter me
they say: "wow, man,
you really got something,
you could've been
one of the greats."
I tell them
they're too kind
I say
I've only been playing old fart
a few years...
but I guess
I've been practising
all my life
Many a true word....
"A beer makes everything OK. A woman makes everything a problem."
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Another bench statue
As well as being a wonderful - if considerably more eccentric-than-average - pianist (his recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations is a must-have), GG was of course also immortalised by '32 Short Films About Glenn Gould', surely the weirdest tribute film ever made, but quite fascinating. This in turn inspired one of the greatest-ever Simpson's episodes, '22 Short Films About Springfield' (I particularly like the 'Pulp Fiction' pastiche in the KrustyBurger, and Apu's 'Bollywood' pool party scene).
However, I'm free-associating here..... brainfogged by a long and tedious afternoon of editing. I put this picture up purely as a comparison with the one below of Patrick Kavanagh's statue in Dublin.
The Gould picture comes from a favourite photoblog, Daily Dose Of Imagery - which, rather as you'd expect from the title, puts up one new picture each day. It's the baby of Sam Javanrouh, a professional photographer, originally from Iran but now living and working in Toronto. Well worth a look.
A bench beside the canal (that Kavanagh statue)
Lines Written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublin
'Erected to the memory of Mrs. Dermot O'Brien'
O commemorate me where there is water,
Canal water, preferably, so stilly
Greeny at the heart of summer. Brother,
Commemorate me thus beautifully
Where by a lock niagarously roars
The falls for those who sit in the tremendous silence
Of mid-July. No one will speak in prose
Who finds his way to these Parnassian islands.
A swan goes by head low with many apologies,
Fantastic light looks through the eyes of bridges -
And look! a barge comes bringing from Athy
And other far-flung towns mythologies.
O commemorate me with no hero-courageous
Tomb - just a canal-bank seat for the passer-by.
Patrick Kavanagh (1904-1967)
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Wistful, Waits-ful
I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You
Well, I hope that I don't fall in love with you,
'Cause falling in love just makes me blue.
Well, the music plays and you display
Your heart for me to see.
I had a beer and now I hear you
Calling out for me.
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.
Well, the room is crowded, people everywhere,
And I wonder, should I offer you a chair?
Well, if you sit down with this old clown,
Take that frown and break it,
Before the evening's gone away,
I think that we could make it.
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.
Well, the night does funny things inside a man:
These old tomcat feelings you don't understand.
Well, I turn around to look at you;
You light a cigarette.
I wish I had the guts to bum one,
But we've never met.
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.
I can see that you are lonesome just like me;
And it being late, you'd like some company.
Well, I turn around to look at you,
And you look back at me.
The guy you're with has up and split;
The chair next to you's free.
And I hope that you don't fall in love with me.
Now it's closing time; the music's fading out.
Last call for drinks - I'll have another stout.
Well, I turn around to look at you;
You're nowhere to be found.
I search the place for your lost face....
Guess I'll have another round.
And I think that I just fell in love with you.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Mulligan's
Last Sunday
I have a camera in my head
Which keeps the snapshots
Of a strange weekend.
You, jogging across the street
To fetch the milk and papers,
Bowing your head into the gale.
And Kavanagh on his bench,
Haloed by the dazzle of the canal,
Waiting resignedly for the next poem
As if for a bus.
The sudden kiss
On Stephen's Green,
And passing strangers smiling
At the tenderness of it.
But most of all, a corner table in Mulligan's:
A glimpse of the blue morning behind,
As spring sunshine teemed through the frosted window
Finding strands of gold and copper in your hair;
And the light reflected back from the newspaper,
An amber glow, showing your face
More beautiful than I had ever seen.
But your thoughts, your troubled thoughts
Hung heavy about your head,
Visible as blue billows of cigarette smoke
Swirling in the slanted sunshafts....
While I sipped my Guinness slowly
To extend these moments,
This ecstasy of happy-sadness.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Wine Lake
People who bring wine to my parties.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Never again!!!
What's the matter with you people?? Drink up, for heaven's sake!!!
Monday, March 05, 2007
Traffic report - belated blog stats for Jan, Feb
What will March have in store?
The vanity of ambitions
One day the burly barman is chiding him, "You need to set goals and objectives to give your life meaning. What are yours?"
The jester looks up from his drink and says hopefully, "To be 'Customer of the Month'!"