Self-Winding · A Sort of Progression

I was content with skeletons of trees
And the stubby darkness of winter firs.
For fine dawns used them as foreground,
And sometimes rayed beams,
Wide and bright, like a glance from God,
Made drama at the forest's edge.

Then when the primary sketch for spring
Laid down its wash of yellow green,
I sighed with pleasure at newness of it all.
Tracery, dark bark, tree bones
Were quickly lost in rounded mists of leaves.

Now, blossom gone, the summer shrubs
Queue for their turn to bloom.
Sap quietens in the pale soft leaves
That stiffen and grow dark
They are the perfect foil for flowers.
Sun strikes my face and happiness my heart.

How differently folks approach photography, a man in the village called yesterday and brought his photos from a Prague trip last year, I'd met him in the P.O. and said I'd been there. He'd taken panoramic views, studies of streets and buildings, close-ups of gates and bridges and they were wonderful. But none of the eighty or so images featured people at all. After a bit I got a little bored with the relentless procession of just things.

My effort was mostly about incident or people; I tend to buy postcards for the views, simply because they are always classier than anything I can produce. Pictures are touchstones for memories and what is memorable for me is mostly human. Some of them are posted on flickr. Instead of writing a 'what I done on my trip' essay I have put quite a lot of notes on the pictures.

P.S. We missed out two things on the visit that I regret: a visit to the Hergetova cihelna - an old brickworks building now restored and housing a collection of jewellery and this sculpture(N.B. willy-warning). And most of all Ginger and Fred - which I was just too tired to plod back to on the last day. Next time.

Michael Sowa: Flying Penguins.

I have been enjoying a lovely guest week - especially seeing my dear Neffe and Jo on a brief visit to move her things over to Switzerland. Also a surprise call from someone I worked with twenty years ago and hadn't seen since; she dropped in on her way back from bird-watching on the Norfolk coast. People don't get old any more, here she was in her sixties, all slim jeaned and dangly earringed, bright blonde and looking forty max.

In the quiet moments of the week I have resolved to put my nose to the grindstone and finish the little memoir of my late friend Ted that I have mentioned here before. It has been hanging in the back of my mind as an omission, his brother rings occasionally to ask how I'm getting on.

His army papers, photographs, letters and telegrams are sorted and the more interesting items scanned. The layout is decided more or less, now I must write up the text.

I may also make a small website of it when complete, the record of his experience as a Japanese POW is worth sharing. Here, for example, is the King's letter to the returning prisoners. I know such memoirs have been done many times, but each experience adds a small beam of individual perception to the history.

I will sort out my Prague photos at Flickr next. Those few hot, sunny days seem like a dream in the cold rainy Maytime that we are having. The sodden lilac droops, grass grows knee high in a night, we are wearing socks and sweaters still.

Tomorrow I am going to Norwich, I saw a painting there last week - only a canvas mock-up of an American street scene, back alley rather, but it has fantastic impact. It keeps haunting me and I rang to ask them to keep it for me till Saturday. It is too expensive, but I love it. Tell me I mustn't.

If you are lucky you click the shutter and capture precisely what you saw and wanted to preserve; but sometimes, rarely, the image has resonance beyond your expectation. Walking the Charles Bridge over the Vltava river in Prague is a pleasant experience, the crowded way is lined with portrait artists, jazz bands, hurdy-gurdy players and a mish mash of arty-crafty stalls.


I heard the two blind women before I saw them, singing a Slav folk song, one high pitched, one with a deeper voice in descant. As I came abreast of them they changed to church music, a Kyrie in plainsong. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up; their faces, sightless, concentrated, oblivious of the crowds standing before them touched the heart. They slipped from song to song without reference to each other. In the hot sun, coins and notes flooding into into their collecting box, two very plain and sightless women used their music to enchant. I stayed there for quite a long time.

When I looked at the photograph it was all there, the engaged hands, the lifted faces, the moment of musical delivery. Please view it large.

All the fruit trees are full of blossom this year, but this apple by the old hen-house has excelled itself. I have no idea what variety it is, but the fruit is small, pink and sweet and the deer go potty for it. We will have a glut later. The garden is covered in blossom dandruff; one little deer comes to eat the heaps of prunus petals which stick to his wet nose.


My photos from Prague are giving me aggro, I took 70 and all of them need adjustment - for some reason I consistently droop the camera on the left hand side; if I try to compensate, it just tips the other way. I can't seem to correct the habit. I have an odd left-side weakness since a viral attack years ago, maybe it's that. Anyway, they all have to be cropped on arbitrary rotation and a great bore it is. I had an excellent trip, by the way, I'll write up a few notes with the pictures.

Wonderful Jane Austen pastiches on the radio today - in a literary quiz; the conceit was to write her version of an 18-30s disco. In one, Emma is dancing round her reticule when a young man introduces himself "Hi, I'm Mr. Knightley - known round here as "Twice-Knightley". I note, by the way that Humph is back, "I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue" starts a new series on R4 on Monday, big treat.

If you have time, I have a couple of fascinating links; Covers is a collection of delicious book-jacket designs that confirms the unending ingenuity of illustrators. Then the extraordinary sculptures of Ron Mueck. Their realism and extremes of scale are stunning, not to say shocking. The acute observation he brings to "Two Old Ladies" affects me quite deeply.

I seem to have been energised by my trip, one can get stale and lazy. I walked a mile before breakfast, saw the doctor about my knee (small op' on patella needed), did a seventy foot pile of ironing, went for a swim, undercoated a set of shelves, helped a mate fill up a skip with rubble. Flaked out, checked out two yet untested birthday presents:- a DVD of Judi Dench in "Mrs. Henderson", sadly one of the worst films I have failed to sit through, a putrid script; and Corinne Bailey Rae's new album which I like when she's singing solo.

Mother Kind-Eyes has had fifteen ducklings; she brings them in long file right past my window four times a day. They stuff themselves on crumbs and corn for five minutes then climb their diving board & plop in for a huddled bathe.


They often all go to sleep. On a rather cool afternoon she managed to tuck all fifteen under her wings, you can't see them, but she has doubled in girth. Sadly, one or two are already missing. We have seen a sleek young stoat about, quartering the back grassland; I fear that his eyes are less than kind. It is, of course, the way of natural things.

While I'm away perhaps you would like to submit a caption for this photograph taken in a garden centre last week? I just adore the gesture.

On Tuesday on a 6 a.m. flight (groan) I am off to Prague for 4 days. I'm going with a friend who has recently retired; she fancies visiting lots of European cities over the next couple of years. We get on very well, like the same things and I'm looking forward to it immensely; J her husband, and G are not city fanciers, so this is just a fine arrangement. The long-term weather forecast looks good, I have my Korunas and my Czech phrasebook. G will tape Coronation Street and the final of The Apprentice and look after the hens. "Na shledanou" for now.

At Easter week-end on our first evening in Dorset, we went looking for dinner and landed up in a well-known pub "The Ship in Distress". The place was was buzzing and in the crowd I bumped into a lady who gave me a large smile and vanished into the kitchens.

"Sorry, we're booked solid." said the barman when we asked for a menu. Hungry and disappointed, we sat at the end of the bar until after a few minutes the landlady, for it was she who had smiled, stood behind us. "Can you suggest anywhere else to eat?" I asked. She thought for a moment and then said, "Sit there by the bar, I'll fit you in somehow." A white tablecloth was whisked over the little table, menus brought and we were absorbed into the warm atmosphere. Amazing Thai-style tiger prawns were consumed and the Visa card heavily deployed. The Neece joined us for a drink later. Such kindness does not go unacknowledged, the meal gave special pleasure because it was served with such grace.

And sitting there I was amazed to see this plaque on the bar in front of me; we visited Harvard and stayed by the Charles River in Boston a couple of years ago, so it took my fancy. It is dated 1874, but, according to most sources I have found via Google, the Head of the Charles race did not begin until 1965. The thing looked authentic, but I wonder? I know I have a couple of Boston residents who call in here sometimes, they might know more. I might even send the picture to the college.

Talking of Harvard plaques, I remember that I copied the text of one I saw there, attracted initially by the extraordinary name; it commemorated Caleb Cheeshahteaumuck, the first native American to graduate there in 1665. It's an interesting story.

I just can't seem to motivate myself to blog; suddenly it has become a duty rather than an impulse and has joined my plethora of small guilts. It saddens me, I have always looked forward to seeing what will emerge when I sit down to type.

This huge garden is so demanding in spring, I have been spending days out too, there are books to be read, paintwork to wash - you know, stuff. By evening I am often too darned tired to be bothered to turn on the computer. There is also an exquisitely painful right knee on the scene which is only comfortable when moving about; to sit for any length of time makes it lock, great courage is then needed to endure the pain of unlocking it. Sitting at the PC for an hour is contra-indicated. Aaaargh..

Checking my blogroll, I admire you all for your amusing, clever and regular posts. I think my enthusiasm will return soon, but I am afraid you might all have gone away before it does.

I had the 'Beatles' Birthday' last week - "Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty four?" I did get fed, and royally at that, with warm olives, icy wine, Cromer crab and pistachio ice cream up at the seaside with me mates. A great sunny day and I hobbled along the beach for a mile or so. I took my own birthday portrait:-

SEVEN OLD BAGS