November Show’s over, folks. And didn’t October do A bang-up job? Crisp breezes, full-throated cries Of migrating geese, low-floating coral moon. Nothing left but fool’s gold in the trees. Did I love it enough, the full-throttle foliage, While it lasted? Was I dazzled? The bees Have up and quit their last-ditch flights of forage And gone to shiver in their…
There, there, said the parent to the anguished child whose ice cream fell to the gutter. There! There! said the whale watcher pointing at the spout on the horizon. There’s no there there, said Gertrude Stein when she visited Oakland in 1934 and found her childhood home razed to the ground. In what they called an experiment, Stamp and Rave…
Before the Nazis took power in 1933 Jeanne Mammen earned her living as a commercial artist, selling her work to film producers, fashion magazines and satirical journals. Her work portrayed the vibrant life of the big city. She chronicled the nightlife of Weimar Berlin capturing scenes from bohemian dives and proletarian bars to elegant cabarets and exclusive Lesbian clubs. This…
From George Orwell at the Café Royal : The coming of the Hitler regime in 1933 had a chilling effect on all the arts. Many writers and artists left, if they could, fleeing for their lives. Those who remained – and who were not Jewish – had to fit into the enforced Nazi orthodoxy if they wished to be published…
A recent visit to Montreal found us at the MAC Musée d’Art Contemporain de Montréal Fortified with coffee and breakfast treats at Olive et Gourmando on Rue St. Paul, we walked up Rue Saint-Pierre and onto Rue de Bleury to Rue Sainte-Catherine. We managed to miss the entrance – even though it was right in front of us – but nonetheless…
I love this poem by Hans Magnus Enzensberger. It’s a commentary on the fact that – even in the darkest times – simple acts of unexpected generosity and kindness have the capacity to remind us that not everything is bleak and hopeless even in a nasty, brutish, trumpian world. Optimistic Little Poem Now and then it happens that somebody shouts…
Mustn’t Grumble We mustn’t grumble We have wireless and cable And there’s food in the shops. Beyoncé had a birthday and the game is on tonight. We have work to do. And all the really bad things like weather and politics are a long way away so we don’t have to worry. And there’s always pizza delivery. We can still walk…
George Orwell had an interesting chance encounter with a blasé conspiracy theorist at the Café Royal in 1940. (See left). The young man is in the grip of a dangerous fallacy. As always with autocracy and totalitarianism, Orwell nails it. The fallacy is to believe that under a dictatorial government you can be free inside. Quite a number of people console themselves…
Friends in the UK who usually come to visit in August were prevented by an illness this year. Big disappointment, but there it is. On the visit last year we got into some rainy day playing with art – painting rocks and leaves and acorns and so on. I was looking forward to some more art fun this summer. (They…
When I first became a head of school I had this daft idea that I would make personalized cut-and-paste greetings cards for every member the faculty and staff. It was daft on a number of levels including the sheer daunting nature of the task and the time it would take that I didn’t have. But I set to work that…
Two quite different wartime farewells at Charing Cross Station: The first is from Vera Brittain on the eve of 1915: At Charing Cross, with half an hour to wait for the last train to Purley, we walked together up and down the platform. It was New Year’s Eve, a bright night with infinities of stars and a cold, brilliant moon;…
Two Sundays, two documentaries and two very satisfactory movie experiences. The first was Maiden at The Moviehouse in Millerton, NY. The second Toni Morrison: The Pieces I am at Upstate Films in Rhinebeck. And before say anything about either film I have to comment on the pleasure of film-going at Indy cinemas like these. Two recent movie going experiences at…
In 1975 the poet Allen Ginsberg was in hospital. At a later poetry reading he explained the causes in an introduction to a poem that he had written from his hospital bed.: I got real angry and wound up sick in a hospital, for various karmic reasons, and woke up looking out the window, and started taking notes on what…
And New York is the most beautiful city in the world? It is not far from it. No urban nights are like the night there. I have looked down across the city from high windows. It is then that the great buildings lose reality and take on their magical powers. They are immaterial; that is to say, one sees but…
It was pleasant to wake up in Florence, to open the eyes upon a bright bare room, with a floor of red tiles which look clean though they are not; with a painted ceiling whereon pink griffins and blue amorini sport in a forest of yellow violins and bassoons. It was pleasant, too, to fling wide the windows, pinching the…