"Casus Belli" (2010) A short film by Yorgos Zois

James Fenton, Two Poems

James Fenton was born in 1949. He is an English contemporary poet who seems to have taken the relay baton from the hands of W.H.Auden himself without slackening the pace. Some people even believe that he is just hitting his stride. But there are quite a few laps to go 'til the finishing line and Fenton's run is likely to provide many more gasps and cries of excitement from the madding crowds. A recent collection of his poems has just been published called "Yellow Tulips". He is credited with saying: "The writing of a poem is like a child throwing stones into a mineshaft. You compose first, then you listen for the reverberation."

God, A Poem (1983)

A nasty surprise in a sandwich,
A drawing-pin caught in your sock,
The limpest of shakes from a hand which
You'd thought would be firm as a rock,

A serious mistake in a nightie,
A grave disappointment all round
Is all that you'll get from th'Almighty,
Is all that you'll get underground.

Oh he said: 'If you lay off the crumpet
I'll see you alright in the end.
Just hang on until the last trumpet.
Have faith in me, chum-I'm your friend.'

But if you remind him, he'll tell you:
'I'm sorry, I must have been pissed-
Though your name rings a sort of a bell. You
Should have guessed that I do not exist.

'I didn't exist at Creation,
I didn't exist at the Flood,
And I won't be around for Salvation
To sort out the sheep from the cud-

'Or whatever the phrase is. The fact is
In soteriological terms
I'm a crude existential malpractice
And you are a diet of worms.

'You're a nasty surprise in a sandwich.
You're a drawing-pin caught in my sock.
You're the limpest of shakes from a hand which
I'd have thought would be firm as a rock,

'You're a serious mistake in a nightie,
You're a grave disappointment all round-
That's all you are, ' says th'Almighty,
'And that's all that you'll be underground.'


In Paris With You

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.

"Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night (1951)

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Listen to:
Dylan Thomas reciting "Do not go gently into that good night"

"Daytripper" by Fábio Moon and Gabriel Bá

How do you make sense of life? Is it by examining carefully this journey from infancy until old age looking for common themes or repetitive patterns? Is it by coming to terms with death? Is it by not even thinking about it, just being there, playing the part until the curtain falls? What do you choose to remember and what do you leave behind? What is valuable for you? These are some of the fundamental questions that "Daytripper" tries to tackle. By adopting a unique format of tightly scripted stories of an imaginary life that ends in a different way in each episode, twin brothers Fábio Moon and Gabriel Bá have exploited the comic book medium to perfection.

"Daytripper" was initially presented in instalments of individual, independent stories or alternative versions of the life of the main character Bras. This is the first time these stories are collected in one comic book volume and suddenly the whole thing looks like a completed puzzle. We are now able to see for the first time the big picture.

Through these stories we get to meet all the people that are important and play a role in the life of Bras and each one is given a subtle shading of essential everyday behaviour that rings true. And this focus on the everyday, the mundane, the small gestures that we perform unconsciously most of the time, serves a dual purpose. Apart from establishing a connection with the reader who identifies with the narrative situations, it helps unravel the complexity of the questions asked by simplifying the framework and giving value to a distilled essence of the proceedings. 

In a 2010 interview to Zona Negativa, Gabriel Bá said: "- We like to tell stories that would stick with the reader, that would make something click on their heads and not leave instantly after they close the books. This idea of paying attention on what really matters in life has always surrounded our stories, so when we had to come up with a story to propose to Vertigo, this was the one we had more stuff to talk about. We were actually surprised with how personal and deep the story ended up, like we have been thinking about it all our lives, preparing ourselves to tell it."

John Lennon once said that "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans" and to manage to put this in a comic book format is quite an achievement.

 

A temporary graffiti invasion in Luxembourg

On John Barrymore's Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde (1921)

“His imagination afire with this new idea, and his whole being mastered by the exploring passion of the scientist, Jekyll spent days and nights in his laboratory.”

The scene is set for the transformation of John Barrymore from the kind and considerate Dr Jekyll to the ghastly and bestial Mr Hyde. In 1921, when the film was shot at Paramount's Long Island studio in New York, Barrymore was also appearing on stage in the evenings as Shakespeare’s Richard III. One can only imagine Barrymore's King Richard with a slight explosive pinch of Mr Hyde in the mix. No wonder Barrymore collapsed from nervous exhaustion at the time and was taken to the White Plains sanatorium.

So when Dr Jekyll pours the last ingredient into the glass, there is apprehension and a moment of fear. The doctor has second thoughts. He leaves the glass on the table and steps back. But like a magnet, the glass is drawing him back. He wants to know. He wants to prove them wrong. The scientist takes over and clenching his fist he drinks the potion in one go. The effects are immediate. The liquid burns through his throat and he starts to twist and shake from violent convulsions and spasms. His face, up to now hidden in his hands, slowly emerges and you see the change. The whiteness, the stare, the rigidity. His face is turning into a japanese demon mask. The eyes seem frozen on something beyond and the hands are twisted. Then the camera zooms into one hand resting on a book. We witness its gradual transformation into an elongated skeletal hand with nails like claws. Dr Jekyll, or the creature he has become, looks at this hand and at that point there is a moment of reflection. It's a moment that fills him with horror followed by a feeling of power and elation in view of the absolute freedom to indulge in every imaginable vice and crime with no regard for the consequences. He heads for the door unlocking this new world of forbidden experience. A kind of "Zone Libre". The dark world of Mr Hyde.     

Now Robert Louis Stevenson mentioned the first name of Mr Hyde as being Edward in his 1886 novella "Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde". But some pertain that "Jack" would be a more suitable name. Not least because two years later some strange chap started committing hideous murders in London and called himself Jack the Ripper. Jack the Ripper seemed also to have an alter ego and most agree that he could have been a doctor.  

So from the dark Whitechapel alleys of 1888 to Paramount's Long Island Studio in 1921 where John Barrymore is having a well needed rest in between takes for the new silent film "Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde". He sits reading what he has to do for the next scene. From where he will enter, where the camera will be standing, when to look into the light and so on. But he has trouble concentrating. King Richard the III's words are still buzzing in his head: 

"I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad,
That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch:
Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Jack."

It's suddenly all too much for him and exhausted he sees the lights go out one by one. He cannot resist this welcoming, irresistible darkness and faints. Cut.

Ένας δίκαιος μέσα στις πόλεις του χαμού

Ένα απόσπασμα από το βιβλίο του Χρήστου Μαλεβίτση “Οι Παράκτιοι άνθρωποι”, εκδόσεις Ευθύνη, 2002:

"... Τώρα κλαίνε μόνο τα παιδιά. Άλλοτε κλαίγανε και οι ομηρικοί ήρωες. Αλήθεια, πότε κλαίει κανείς; Κλαίει όταν υπάρχει ένα μέγα κέρδος ή μια μεγάλη απώλεια. Και τι θα πει μεγάλο κέρδος ή μεγάλη απώλεια; Θα πει πως δίνεις υπέρτατη αξία σε ορισμένα συμβάντα. Και τι θα πει δίνεις υπέρτατη αξία; Θα πει πως από αυτά εξαρτάς τη μοίρα σου, την ίδια σου την αξία, που κινδυνεύει να εκπέσει σε απαξία, σε τίποτα. Άρα για να δώσεις αξία σε ορισμένα συμβάντα, πρέπει να νιώθεις σίγουρος. Και δεν νιώθεις σίγουρος, μόνο όταν βρίσκεσαι στην ακρογιαλιά. Όταν αντιμετωπίζεις τον επίφοβο ωκεανό. Κλαίνε οι παράκτιοι. Οι ηπειρωτικοί δεν κλαίνε. Αλλά αυτό θα πει πως ο ηπειρωτικός κόσμος, ο κόσμος της σιγουριάς δεν έχει αξίες. Τις αξίες της ζωής τις τρυγάς από τις ακρώρειες των αβύσσων. Με τον έσχατο κίνδυνο. Είναι το κέρδος από τον κίνδυνο της έσχατης απώλειας. Μόνο άνθρωποι που κινδύνεψαν έδωσαν αξίες στον κόσμο. Αξία είναι η κερδισμένη απώλεια, τη στιγμή του κέρδους, όχι κατόπιν. Η ελευθερία, π.χ. είναι αξία τη στιγμή που την αποκτάς από τον θάνατο. Η ελευθερία υπάρχει μόνο ως ¨Ελευθερία ή Θάνατος¨. Μόνη ελευθερία δεν νοήται. Γι΄αυτό και η ελευθερία στις σύγχρονες κοινωνίες κινδυνεύει, διότι είναι ελευθερία κληρονομημένη, είναι ελευθερία της σιγουριάς, της ενδοχώρας. Της χώρας όπου εξέλειψαν οι αξίες. Οι αξίες ανταλάσσονται με την απώλεια. Στην ενδοχώρα οι αξίες ανταλλάσσονται πάλι με αξίες. Αλλά αυτό μπορεί να συμβεί μόνο με οικονομικές αξίες. Δηλαδή οι αξίες της ενδοχώρας ανταλλάσσονται με χρήμα. Και ο έρωτας. Και όλοι οι έρωτες. Υπαρχει μια γενική εξίσωση. Όλα ανταλλάσσονται. Δεν νοήται απώλεια. Αλλά ούτε και κέρδος. Οι σύγχρονοι ηπειρώτες ανταλλάσσουν ασμένως την ελευθερία τους με υλικά αγαθά. Εξισώνουν την ελευθερία τους με τόσο τοις εκατό αύξηση του βιοτικού επιπέδου τους. Το συμβόλαιο της ανταλλαγής λέγεται “σκοπιμότητα”. Σκοπιμότητα δε θα πει σκοπός. Θα πει μετάθεση του σκοπού στο μέλλον. Θα πει δρόμος προς έναν μελλοντικό σκοπό. Τούτο θα πει πως οι άνθρωποι δεν ζουν άμεσα αλλά έμμεσα. Το παρόν είναι το μέσον. Δηλαδή ζουν το εκάστοτε παρόν προσωρινά. Αυτή η “προσωρινοποίηση” της ζωής, είναι ο μέγιστος ευνουχισμός της. Σημάινει πως η ζωή απεκδύθη την αμεσότητα της, και συμμορφώθηκε με τον εξωτερικό φυσικό χρόνο, τον μαθηματικά ισομερή, ομοιόμορφο και γραμμικό χρόνο. Δεν ζει το έσχατο κάθε στιγμή, αλλά έθεσε το έσχατο στην εσχατιά του φυσικού χρόνου, που ποτέ δεν έρχεται. Και η πλήρωση έγινε οριστικά ανεκπλήρωτη. Διότι ο φυσικός χρόνος δεν έχει πλήρωση, δεν έχει τέρμα. Η πλήρωση, που είναι η ύψιστη ολοκλήρωση, η ύψιστη αλήθεια, αφ΄ης έγινε ανεκπλήρωτη, μετατράπη σε ψεύδος. Αυτή είναι η ολοκληρωτική παράδοση στην επιπέδωση της ενδοχώρας, η πλήρης εξωτερικοποίηση...” 

Δημοσιεύτηκε για πρώτη φορά στο τεύχος 339 του περιοδικού “Ευθύνη” 
  

An Imaginary Recollection of The Country, Bluegrass and Blues Music Club and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers

When? Sometime in the 70s. Where? 315 is the street number, you'll see the tent.“1-2-3-4”... That hectic voice comes straight from the bowels of the Bowery and it’s breathlessly followed by a sonic wave of guitar distortion. It's frantic, direct and essential. It resonates, crackles, pops and tears you apart. Out of the cerial box then, (what did you say was the name of that band on the plywood stage? ... Never seen them before, but Hilly said they were good. I think he said they were called the... the Ramones) you follow that filthy sound bouncing off the walls. Those demented Pollock painted kind of walls where the smoke and the filth have cemented together layer upon layer of posters and stickers. Hey Ho, Let’s go! The music is coming down like raw sledgehammers. You can almost ignite from the energy. What band did you come to see? Hey, watch that beer on the cable asshole. Oh, man the stink... This whole place smells of piss and vomit. But when the band play, you forget. When you are deaf it seems you lose a few olfactory neurons as well... You even contribute your share of stink and sweat to that of a couple of hundred bodies jumping up and down. Or were they just fifteen? Rough. Was that Patti and Tom kissing in the toilets? Did you see the toilet? It’s graffiti infested man, even on the soap. But marijuana is a good deodorant. It’s dark in there and it’s damp. Oh yeah, this whole place is a dump. Nobody is going to pack it in early tonight. I don’t care. The Bar is serving Joey’s favorite Bud light. What are you having Deb? Let’s go out man it’s getting stuffy in here. Out to that Extra place, that’s the wall on the record... Knock, knock who’s there? Zat you Patty? Yes Mr Burroughs... Come on in. I want ideas not quality. In chaos I’ve found the elixir of eternal youth. You are bleeding from the nose. Let’s find the rough diamonds in the primitive mine. Self expression not amusement. Derelict, lost souls, maybe... but not dead, man. Hilly what did you say to the health inspector who came around asking? Told him the ruts were playing next Sunday matinée. Television, who the hell are Television? Hell is the name, Richard Hell, and what’s your name sweetheart? I work here. A poet and horses. It’s 5.00 in the morning and we are closing down. I am a Sonic Reducer, aint’ no loser still ringing in my ears. And it was free. Free money, free time. All the time to dream and grow up. All the time in the world. 


Dammit. Time has gone by while you were waiting for things to happen. Flushed down the drain. Expecting something to happen. But nothing ever happens... Then again, there was a time and a place and some things did happen there. Was it original sin or original love? Don’t know my friend but it certainly was original.

Listen to:

The Feelies - Original Love (Live at CBGBs on 14/12/1977)

Ο Valère Novarina και το ἐν τῶ λόγω ταξίδι

“ Ἱδού, λοιπόν, πού οἱ ἄνθρωποι, ἐπί τῶν ἡμερῶν μας, ὡς ἀόρατα σύμβολα ἀνταλλάσουν τίς λέξεις, ἕνα καί μόνο νόμισμα ἐξ αὐτῶν σφυρηλατώντας: ἄλαλοι θά καταλήξουμε, διά τῆς ἐπικοινωνίας. Ὅμοιοι, ἐπιτέλους, μέ τά ζῶα, διότι τά ζῶα ποτέ τους δέν μίλησαν, μά πάντοτε ἄριστα ἐπικοινωνοῦσαν μεταξύ τους. Κι ἐμᾶς δέν μᾶς χώριζε ἀπό αὐτά παρά μόνο τῆς ὁμιλίας τό μυστήριο. Καί εἰς τήν κατάστασιν τῶν ζῶων ἐν τέλει θά περιέλθουμε: ἐκ τῶν εἰκόνων προπονημένοι, ἐκ τῆς τῶν πἀντων συναλλαγῆς ἀποβλακωμένοι, τοῦ κόσμου τούτου καί πάλι καταβόθρες, καί πάλι τροφή γιά τόν θάνατο. Ἄφθογγο τῆς ἱστορίας τό τέλος. Στήν μηχανική καί ἐνόργανη εἰκόνα τῆς ὁμιλίας, τῆς προτεινόμενης ἀπό τό μέγα ἐμπορικό σύστημα πού ἔρχεται νά ἁπλώσει τά δίχτυα του πάνω στήν ἀποπροσανατολη-σμένη μας Δύση, στήν λατρεία τῶν πραγμάτων, στήν ὕπνωση τοῦ ἀντικειμένου, στήν εἰδωλολατρία, σ´αὐτόν τόν χρόνο πού, αὐτοκαταδικαζόμενος, μοιάζει νά μήν εἶναι πιά παρά ὁ κυκλικός χρόνος μιᾶς πώλησης ἐσαεί, σ´αὐτόν τόν χρόνο κατά τόν ὁποῖο ὁ διαλεκτικός ὑλισμός, ξεπεσμένος, ἀνοίγει διάβα στόν ὁλοκληρωτικό ὑλισμό - ἀντιπαραθέτω τήν ἡμετέρα κάθοδο διά γλώσσης ἀγλώσσου ἐν τῆ νυκτί τῆς τοῦ ἡμετέρου σώματος ὕλης, μέσω τῶν λέξεων καί τῆς μοναδικῆς ἐμπειρίας πού αποτελεῖ κάθε ὁμιλῶν, κάθε λαλέουσα ὕπαρξις τοῦ ἐδῶ, ἑνός ἐν τῶ λόγω ταξιδίου...” 

Απόσπασμα παρμένο από το βιβλίο του Valère Novarina “ Μπροστά Στον Λόγο”, σε μετάφραση (εξαιρετική) της Λουίζας Μητσάκου που κυκλοφόρησε στις εκδόσεις Παπαζήση.

Listen to:

Arcade Fire (feat. David Byrne) - Speaking in tongues

The photographs of Francesca Woodman (1958-1981)

Some tender and sensitive souls are not meant to swim too long on the surface. Very soon they are ready and they dive deep. Francesca Woodman started experimenting with the camera very young. At the age of 13, her self portrait, when seen today, is as powerful as any work by an accomplished artist. The angle and the focus, the light, the shadow, the frame, the composition, are all already finely tuned to create a dynamic and at the same time utterly hypnotic photograph. In most of her work she would often use, instead of a studio, the decaying rooms of abandoned derelict buildings. They provided her with the perfect backdrop on which to experiment. She worked meticulously inserting her nude body in the frame as the host and the ghost. A silhouette that bends and blends in with what surrounds it and sometimes becomes suspended in mid air as if obeying the rules of another parallel plane of existence. Sometimes we are confronted with a world of symbols and myths which tend to be strange yet hauntingly familiar. She brought mirrors and antiques and played with the idea of the distortion and the echo of the image. She used long exposures and captured that fleeting moment when a certain state is not yet ruled by rigidity and therefore is still full of magical potential becoming interior. There is a feeling of transcendence when one looks at the photographs of Woodman. But the sincerity and the innocence manage always to shine through the ruins and the surrealist setting. There is nothing pretentious here. Just the beauty and the purity of a talented young artist pushing the boundaries of her imagination and in the process creating a body of work which at the same time confounds and enraptures the viewer.   

Self portrait at thirteen