Showing posts with label Sonnets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sonnets. Show all posts

Saturday, 21 June 2025

Enter Owen























The Capacity for Love
It’s not an original experience, I know, but I did spend some time feeling bewildered about whether or not I would be able to love a second grandchild as much as the first. Bewilderment is now in the past, faded to nothing, evaporated into a faraway haze. Reader, it is a truth universally acknowledged that the chambers of the heart expand mightily when love comes a-knocking.























Hello there, Owen Thomas                                                      
Fortune has smiled upon this baby. He arrived and we learned his name, second son to Harriet & Chris, brother to Samuel Miles, nephew to Emily, grandchild to Sally & Tony. Plus he has another family of cousins, an auntie and a grandma in the Midlands. And there’ll be a whole tribe of neighbours and friends around to create “Owen’s village.”






















The basics
It’s easy to forget how, for a good number of weeks, it’s all about the food, the poo, the wee, the comfort, the sleep. Oh, the sleep, please Grant Them Sleep! And this time around there’s a 2-year-old to care for, keep entertained, and integrate into the newly fresh routines.






















The future – the hope and the promise
Eleanor Roosevelt said “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.” I know I can be irrationally sentimental, but it is hard not to see Hope and Promise in the presence of a little baby – no cynicism, no worries, no knowledge of evil, no pressures from social media or society – just survival and growth. Potential.






















Two brothers
Sam has already shown tenderness to his younger brother, talking to him, reading to him. What kind of relationship will Sam and Owen develop as they live together in the same house for at least sixteen more years? So much potential for silliness, skirmishes, support and love.






















Reach for Shakespeare
Sam can already identify the image of Shakespeare and he has a couple of books with characters from the plays. So far he has enjoyed Extracts from The Sonnets, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Romeo and Juliet (minus the stabbings.) What came into my heart when I held Owen for the first time was Ophelia’s line from Hamlet:

"We know what we are but know not what we may be."


Saturday, 31 October 2020

Pumpkin Trail to Bolsover

The Pumpkin Trail
It’s Autumn:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.…
(sonnet 73)
People who know me, know I love Autumn: a fresh start for the new academic term (still feel it even after retiring from teaching); birthday month; ravishing colours in the world outside; wearing jumpers; lighting fires; wandering along the atmospheric Pumpkin Trail at Bolton Abbey estate (pictures above and below)

Metaphor of Autumn
The traditional poetic view of Autumn is that it represents the dying of the year, the Autumn of life, the descent into decay and transition towards Death…. Winter is coming.  I agree there’s something in the metaphor, though my Libran Pollyanna rose-tinted specs also sees and feels the following:
  • Autumn leads to Advent to Winter to Christmas to New Year and it finally leads to Spring = good;
  • the Autumn colours red, burgundy, purple, gold, orange, yellow, green, brown and beige scattered across a landscape = good;
  • falling leaves like nature’s confetti = good;
  • warmth of a real (controlled) fire = good;
  • Bonfire Night and fireworks = good;
  • cosy knitwear = good;
  • snuggled up indoors, hunkering down with food, drink and TV = good 

Golden Age of TV?
Everybody has an opinion about pinpointing the golden age of TV. In the 1960s I was breathless with excitement at the cliffhangers at the end of each Batman episode and had many a dream of Cathy Gale and Emma Peel in The Avengers. Was anybody as thrilled as me in the 1970s at being allowed to (once a week) stay up and watch Glenda Jackson in Elizabeth R or Derek Jacobi in I, Claudius? Or the camp excesses of Dynasty or the stately poignancy of Brideshead Revisited in the 1980s? Was the 1990s the Golden Age with the first run of (weekly) showings of Friends or the weird compulsive cult of (the first season of) Twin Peaks? I could keep going, but it’s clear to me that this Autumn, in Covid Full-Semi-or-Partial-Lockdown, I’m grateful that there is so much choice on TV that it is easy to find something to while away the hours, conversing with the flowers, consulting with the bees. No such thing as a Golden Age since creative talents have always produced good stuff, but today there is a (happy) glut of choice.

How can all these things happen to just one person? 
My “birthday season” viewing has included the glorious 1938 Bringing Up Baby (from which the sub-heading above is one of a hundred quotable lines) with the astonishing Katherine Hepburn at the top of her game, and Cary Grant in one of his finest unfettered performances. I also chose to watch Tom & Kelly & Val & Anthony & Tom taking breaths away in the retro jetplane-porn of 1986’s Top Gun. And for binge-watching I'm watching Goose from Top Gun (that’s Anthony Edwards aka Mark Greene) leading the ensemble cast of the early seasons of ahead-of-its-time ER; but as a bedtime digestif, to reassure myself that everyone can adapt to change, I like to visit Schitt’s Creek, where Moira is proving to be my touchstone of taste and dignity….

Jigsaws, Meals out, Walks
I continue to puzzle through Autumn. For me, jigsaws have been a lifelong activity, not just a lockdown one. And Katherine Hepburn appears on my current jigsaw with Peter O’Toole in The Lion in Winter along with my own face and snapshots of selected loved ones from “The Harry Potter Film Club” and beyond. Above also features snaps of The Terrace in Saltaire, another local venue for lovely grub. And below our socially distanced birthday walk with our adopted family from Badby, this time meeting at Bolsover Castle for a wet and misty meander through muddy Derbyshire.

Saturday, 3 March 2018

The Unforgettable Mermaid Inn

Back to the future
I met a man called Graeme on May 14th 1991, the day we were both interviewed to become drama teachers in the same department in a school in Wakefield. Nearly 27 years later he’s still a key piece of my life’s jigsaw and it was an unadulterated joy to celebrate a round number birthday with him this year high above the North Staffordshire Moors overlooking a panoramic valley across from The Roaches, the stegosaurus ridge outside Leek. Spookily the weekend party was in a venue that I’d haunted in the mid-1980s during my first teaching job and in the early days when Sally and I were newly married. The Mermaid Inn was then a pub and is now a luxury holiday let for large groups.
Mingling 
Food, drink, fairy lights, dancing, karaoke, walks up and down the valley, cracking ice in the furrows, capering round tussocks, gambolling across stepping stones, shoes lost in the mud (Squelchy Socks for Rosie!), skinny dipping in the (freezing) Mermaid Pool, cocktails at the bar, songs, speeches, nimble-fingered Dave conjuring atmospheres old and new, techno-Nigel dragging us into the 21st century, Ian & Nick dragging in an alternative way behind the bar, Nicky snapping our portraits, wigs a-waggling, dresses dressed up with somewhere to go, senses infused, palates satisfied, bellies gratified and chattering, chattering, words, words, words. Opening up, catching up, filling up…. the ghosts of the past met the people of the present. The different cast members in Graeme’s life lined up in order of when he met them, settled down, rearranged, intermingled…. and drank some more…. and more.
And Graeme, Nick, Lesley, Rosie and me entertained during dinner with the following, occasionally tweaking the lyrics:
Perfect Day (sung by Graeme)
Lou Reed

Just a perfect day
Drink champagne in the house
And then later
When it gets dark, we are soused

Just a perfect day
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later
Dancing, too, and then home

Oh, it's such a perfect day
I'm glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on
You just keep me hanging on

Just a perfect day
Problems all left alone
Weekenders on our own
It's such fun

Just a perfect day
You made me forget myself
I thought I was
Someone else, someone young

Oh, it's such a perfect day
I'm glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on
You just keep me hanging on

Maria (sung by Nick)
Stephen Sondheim and Leonard Bernstein

The most beautiful sound I ever heard:
Graeme, Graeme, Graeme, Graeme!

All the beautiful sounds of the world in a single word
Graeme, Graeme, Graeme, Graeme!
….Graeme…. Graeme!

Graeme! I've just met a boy named Graeme
And suddenly that name
Will never be the same to me.

Graeme!
I've just kissed a boy named Graeme
And suddenly I've found
How wonderful a sound can be!
Graeme!
Say it loud and there's music playing
Say it soft and it's almost like praying

Graeme!
I'll never stop saying Graeme!
The most beautiful sound I ever heard
Graeme!

Ode to Bonnie Graeme (recited by Lesley, The Mermaid Bard)
Lesley (Burns) Boyd
(tae be read in a Rabbie Burns accent)

As a walked inta school that day
feeling kinda sad and doon
a walked intae the staffroom
and there he was, Mr Graeme Broon

A thought tae mysel, who can this be
this gorgeous gorgeous creature
and then a wis introduced, to
the brand new drama teacher

Cigarette in hand wi a great big smile
be his friend i wondered if I dare
this gorgeous gorgeous creature
with soft brown eyes, and hair

He wis an oasis of normality
amongst a group of nutters
Jean from PE, the slug
They still give me the jutters

And we smoked and laughed
and played bridge together
did we ever teach?
for here we are, friends forever

For auld lang syne, my dear
For auld lang syne
we’ll take a cup o kindness yet
for the sake of auld lang syne

The way you look tonight (sung by Rosie)
Dorothy Field and Jerome Kern

Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight.

You're lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft,
There is nothing for me but to love you,
And the way you look tonight.

With each word your tenderness grows,
Tearing my fears apart
And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,
Touches my foolish heart.

Yes you're lovely, never, ever change
Keep that breathless charm.
Won't you please arrange it?
'Cause I love you
Just the way you look tonight.

Sonnet 29 (recited by Shakespeare’s boyfriend, me)
William Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
       For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
       That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Unforgettable
To quote the titles of some of the songs performed by Rosie and Maggie: When I Was No But (Sweet Sixteen), Lillie Marlene was Mad About The Boy and Every Time We Say Goodbye, I Get A Kick Out Of You, since I’ve Got You Under My Skin and wish we could spend our days Cheek To Cheek. Many thanks to Graeme and hubby Nick for the generous gift of a wintry weekend away. And a massive hoorah to all family and friends for pitching in, setting up and clearing away. The Mermaid Inn will forever be a part of our memory bank, isolated geographically but connected to many souls in their feelings for Graeme. Unforgettable!
The best thing about memories is making them.....


Saturday, 28 October 2017

Venus and Adonis 1592-3

Photo Credit: RSC (Greg Doran/Little Angel production)

Venus and Adonis
From the summer of 1592 onwards, plague was rife in London so all the theatres were closed to prevent the infection spreading through tightly-packed crowds. A small book was produced in 1593, which turned out to be the most frequently printed work by Shakespeare in his lifetime. Did he write it in 1592-3? Or earlier when he was at school studying Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the origin of the story? Or did he start it earlier and finish it when the theatres were closed? This important volume of poetry, Venus and Adonis, was printed by Richard Field, a neighbour of the Shakespeare family from Bridge Street in Stratford-upon-Avon. Field had set up in London and had a reputation as a scrupulously honest printer with exacting standards. The first edition is printed beautifully.
Images of Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, played by Tom Sturridge and Eddie Redmayne in different dramatisations. Shakespeare dedicated Venus and Adonis to this patron.

“The first heir of my invention”
In the dedication to the poem Shakespeare presents Venus and Adonis as “the first heir of my invention” suggesting that either:
  • it was the first thing he had ever written
  • it was the first thing he had ever printed or
  • it was the first thing he wrote that he hoped to make money from
Writing plays was not a lucrative business in Elizabethan and Jacobean England; Shakespeare made his money from being a shareholder of the theatres in which he worked and later from land-owning and property development. Poetry was one of the few ways writers could make money, especially in well-bound short volumes. Venus and Adonis sold like hot cakes. Young people apparently carried the book around with them and no less than 10 editions had been printed by the time of Shakespeare’s death in 1616, a remarkable number considering the level of literacy at that time. Only one original copy of the first print run survives in the Bodleian library at Oxford.
Rubens, Titian and de Ribera paintings

Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie

The poem tells of the goddess Venus pursuing the young Adonis who would prefer to go hunting the boar. The language is playful, comic, erotic (see lines in sub-heading above) and ultimately moving. The most frequent motifs in the poem are those of hunting, lips and kissing; the build-up of tension between the pair is a model of the will-they, won’t-they convention in comedy. Unusually for the time, the woman is the main protagonist and Venus is a lusty huntress, reveling in her own sexuality, beginning and ending the poem and driving forward the entire story. One of the key themes of Venus and Adonis is making hay while the sun shines, or, gather ye rosebuds while ye may, or carpe diem or, as the Sonnets express time and again, “love that well which thou must leave ere long.”
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.
The poem is written in six line stanzas with a controlled rhyme scheme (ababcc) so the poetry bounces along playfully but is crafted to within an inch of its life.
Photo Credit: RSC (Greg Doran/Little Angel production)

"Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies"
Venus uses all her metaphysical wit to try and persuade Adonis to give her a kiss, even fainting at one point. She is assisted by Adonis’s stallion, which gallops off lustily to nuzzle a passing mare, thus giving an illustration to Adonis of how he could behave, almost like the comic sub-plot of a play. In the recent Greg Doran/Little Angel production of the poem at the Royal Shakespeare Company, the horses almost upstaged Venus and Adonis. At the end (spoiler alert) when Adonis dies bleeding from his boar-wounds, Venus’s grief is real and painful and the Venus puppet in the RSC production became expressively heartbroken. The poem was possibly a response to Marlowe’s unbridled and unbuttoned Hero and Leander poem, with Shakespeare’s narrative being more controlled and consciously poetic, but whatever the inspiration (a poetic exercise, a way of making money when the theatres were closed, a poetry-battle with Marlowe, a joyous act of creation) Venus and Adonis cemented Shakespeare’s reputation in his lifetime and contains many elements that define his canon, not least his exploration of love:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
Elements of the poem reappear in Love’s Labour’s Lost, Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, As You Like It and Twelfth Night, not to mention the thematic connection with the Sonnet sequence and the other great narrative poem, The Rape of Lucrece which can be seen as this poem’s tragic counterpart and which I’ll blog about in the future.
Photo Credit: RSC (Greg Doran/Little Angel production)

Tuesday, 5 July 2016

When most I wink


Actual anniversary
Today is my Pearl Anniversary of being married to Sally on July 5th 1986. Thirty years, four houses, two daughters, and two careers later, we are celebrating by going out for a meal tonight. Over the weekend family and friends surrounded us but tonight we’ll be going it alone. Will we have enough to talk about after thirty years? I expect so.
Dud in the pit at Birmingham Hippodrome and afterwards in a Chinese restaurant
There are certain people….
People come and go in your life. Some are “little while” friends and some take root in unexpected ways. I met one such friend in 1979, before I’d met Sally, whose 1998 wedding in Italy I was honoured to attend (along with Sally, Emily and Harriet.) Dudley Phillips, for it is he, loves family, loves music, loves castles, loves reading, loves absurd humour, loves talking, loves listening, loves being quiet, loves eating, loves drinking, loves life – all loves I happily share. Our most recent meeting was prompted by his performance in the Colin Towns’ Mask Orchestra playing Duke Ellington/Billy Strayhorn music for David Bintley’s Shakespeare Suite for Birmingham Royal Ballet. Dud plays bass guitar thrummingly, dynamically and intricately, always supporting, always driving, always surprising.
Wink
The first piece, choreographed by Jessica Lang, was based on five Shakespeare’s sonnets read tenderly by Alfie Jones, taking as the starting point Sonnet 43 “When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see….” The sonnet can be paraphrased something like the following, and it is as good an expression of friendship as I know:
When I’m asleep, then I see clearly
For during the day I look at things I don’t care about
When I sleep I dream of you.
Your image brightens the darkness of sleep
You brighten the dark
You even brighten the day
Things seem clearer when I think of you.
Day seems like night until I see you
During the night it seems like day when I dream about you.
Dudley Phillips on bass and Wink
A group of ten dancers twisted, turned and lifted through pairs, trios and groups expressing heartbreak, joy, loss, love and anger. A raw violin dominated the music by Jacob Ciupinski, aching with longing, longing with ache.
The Moor’s Pavane
José Limón’s riff on Othello was less abstract and set to stately music by Purcell. The four dancers representing Othello, Desdemona, Iago and Emilia presented a palpable sense of abusive love, smothering emotions and violent outbursts. The contrast between the regular pulse of the music and the discordant actions and reactions between the four performers was deeply disturbing.
The Moor's Pavane
The Shakespeare Suite
The final piece, the highlight, David Bintley’s The Shakespeare Suite, with Dudley’s bass playing, surprised and delighted with sassy variations on Shakespeare plays: a virtuoso Hamlet, a punky Taming of the Shrew, a quirky Richard III, a gothic Macbeth, a comically lusty Midsummer Night’s Dream, a troubling Othello and a lyrical Romeo and Juliet. Each pairing (Kate/Petruchio, Richard III/Lady Anne, Macbeth/Lady Macbeth, Titania/Bottom, Othello/Desdemona and Romeo/Juliet) was scored with a different mood and strangely captured the essence of the whole play without any words at all. Hamlet leapt alone but was surrounded by the other dancers in more abstract outfits symbolising different aspects of his personality (or so I thought….) The designs were startlingly bold (Costumes: Jasper Conran; Lighting: Peter Teigan and Steven Scott.) The Duke Ellington/Billy Strayhorn music was sexy, strutting, prowling and funny – switching and purring, changing and swinging as the pairings paraded. One of the best things I’ve seen (and heard) this year!
Loyal, Dependable, Non-judgemental, Honest, Open-hearted
A couple of lines that neatly capture my thoughts about Shakespeare (and Dudley….):
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor’d and sorrows end. (from Sonnet 30)


Saturday, 24 October 2015

Autumn Orgies

Autumn is my favourite season and the orgy of sensations brings me profound pleasure: soft golden light, cooling breezes, falling leaves, burning tints, shades of red, yellow, orange, brown and darkening green. Why is Autumn my favourite season? (“The teeming autumn, big with rich increase” from Shakespeare's Sonnet 97) Is it because, as an ex-teacher, Autumn heralded the new academic year, the fresh start, the new beginning (supplanting Spring as the metaphorical dawn of the year)? Is it because Autumn brings the last blaze of colour before “Winter is Coming”? Or is it because I was born in October? October is the source of my nativity and maybe Autumn imprinted its seasonal DNA in my own DNA.
Odd Autumnal goings-on at Bolton Abbey
An Autumn twas/That grew the more by reaping*
(*from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra)
As well as the Autumn orgy of sensory delight, I also had an orgy of Shakespeare last week. On Tuesday I saw the new film of Macbeth at the cinema. A difficult play to get right and with notoriously tricky bits of staging, I think Justin Kurzel did an excellent job and certainly created a film that holds up well against Polanski’s, Kurosawa’s and Welles’s cinematic versions. Fassbender was solid, though became a bit one-note, I think, from about half way through (apart from his brilliant delivery of the scene after the death of his wife.) The photography, design and music were, I thought, fantastic, capturing the play’s brooding, violent and disturbing imagery. I also admired the performances of David Thewlis as Duncan, Sean Harris as Macduff, Paddy Considine as Banquo and Jack Reynor as Malcolm. But the bits that jump into my brain four days later were the decisions around the women of the play – the way the Weird Sisters were filmed, the fate of Lady Macduff and the portrayal (and interpretative decisions) focused on Marion Cotillard’s heartbreakingly disintegrating Lady Macbeth.
Macbeth
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers
On Wednesday I attended the RSC Live screening of Henry V, a production I’d seen with daughter Emily in Stratford with the understudy cast. I partly wanted to see it because I’m a huge fan of Oliver Ford Davies and his delivery of the play’s Chorus lines were wonderful, I think. The production is the end of the sequence of four histories directed by the assured and talented Greg Doran, ex-actor and current Artistic Director of the RSC. The staging, design, music and performances were all compelling and I look forward to the completion of the history Octology in the near future.
The cast of the RSC Greg Doran production of Henry V
The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!
And so to my third Shakespeare production of the week: the NT Live screening of Lyndsey Turner’s Barbican production of Hamlet. I had managed to avoid reading most of the commentary about the production so went in with Sally feeling open-minded but not especially fired up. Reader, I loved it. I thought the production was a magnificent version of the play (a play that I have directed and seen many times and hope to see many more times.)
My production of Hamlet
Lyndsey Turner's production
My enthusiasm for Lyndsey Turner's production could have been because I think (and have always thought that) Ciarán Hinds is a tremendous actor and his Claudius was at first magisterially plausible and finally cowardly and evil. Anastasia Hille’s Gertrude and Sian Brooke’s Ophelia were two of the best portrayals of those roles I’ve ever seen and the way Turner directed them both in the lead-up to Ophelia’s death I thought was very moving. “There is a willow grows…” was as good as I’ve ever heard. Cucumberpatch hooked me from the start and I thought the editing of the text(s) was absolutely legitimate in revealing new aspects of the play. The disintegration of the production’s world through the blowing in of the war detritus at the end of the first half was vivid and admirably utilised by the actors. Most of all, though, I think I enjoyed it because I could see the close-ups of the actors’ faces. Would I have enjoyed it as much live on the vast Barbican stage? I’ll never know, but as a cinematic experience, it gripped me from haunting start to brutal finish.
Lyndsey Turner's stimulating production of Hamlet

Saturday, 22 August 2015

July 1966 Thornes Park & Eastmoor Estate

My Mum put the date on the back of these photographs. The first six were taken at Thornes Park in Wakefield on  Saturday 9th July 1966 so I was five years old; four months away from being six.
Chris (Skip) Wilby, Kenneth Beck, Mick Smith, me, brother Chris, Keith Gillings
 Out and about with big bro, Skip and the YMCA gang again.

99, please

Who remembers Mr Softee’s chimes?

Me, Terence Quinn, Patrick Roberts, Skip, Mick Smith, Chris, Kenneth Beck

I have to admire my stylish haircut and clothes. I wish I had that much hair now….



Slightly blurry image but I think my Mum was showing brother Chris her biceps.



That’s the way to wear a raincoat. Whatever caught my eye clearly also caught Chris’s eye, whilst everybody else looks in another direction….


It’s very admirable that we’re all munching apples – a healthy option that’s less likely to be the snack of choice for a gang of lads today.

The final three photographs were taken on Saturday 2nd July 1966 at 122 Linton Road (it later became 164 when new houses were built.)
I can’t remember why these three pictures were taken, but this shows the scene of my nativity. I was born in the corner of that very room behind Keith and Mum. I don’t know what Mum was about to do with the cricket bat she was holding.


The path. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of hours were spent playing on that path. In the sun, in the moonlight, in fog, in rain. Next door lived the Corcorans – Mum, Dad, Gary and Elaine. Memories, like the corner of my mind; misty water-coloured memories; of the Way We Were.
Keith Gillings and brother Chris, aged ten

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 77 muses on memory and how planting memories in written form (or in pictures in this blog, perhaps) revives the memories and helps them live again in the mind:

Look, what thy memory can not contain 
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain, 
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.