Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Two poems from Todd Swift

My Father In Hydra
by Todd Swift

Father that was,
Night you bother
My sleep, why?

Once you banged things,
Didn’t you come to me
When I was a child, to

Ask where the friends had gone?
I wish you a solid death –
I kiss your red face.


A Stoic Writes A Love Song
By Todd Swift

It isn’t different to die
Or swoon; both times
Someone will cry out.

Todd swift is a leading UK-based Canadian Poet and the author of several books of poetry and anthologies, including Mainstream Love Hotel, pictured left. He is the editor of Eyewear, a British-based blogzine that focuses on poetry, politics and pop culture. Eyewear is being archived by The British Library.

Monday, September 27, 2010

London, Musical Theatre, 1920'S

I discovered this after doing some family research following up on a vague lead my father mentioned.

Leslie Stiles was my grandfather's uncle. Uncle Harry.
He lived in Fulham.
He wrote a famous Gaiety Musical theatre song called Why do they call me a Gibson Girl?
He had a wife and son and maid in 1911.
He lived off the proceeds of his writing.
He wrote Lumber Love in 1928, about a Canadian Logging Camp.
Lumber Love played at the Lyceum Theatre on The Strand.
Leslie Stiles lost his wife in a fire and this was reported on page three of The New York Times.
He lost his fortune in the stock market crash of 1929.
He worked as a doorman afterwards.

How does this relate to me, taking the stairs and so on, you might well ask.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Library murmurers n mumblers

Every time I go into the library I am reminded that I am not alone in my state of mind. This is not just because there are other people in the library, fellow introverts, but because if you listen hard you will hear restless minds at work.
The first thing I always notice is murmuring, or talking to oneself. This happens frequently in libraries and there is always a strange dude in a coat who is sitting at a terminus talking to himself. Could be me right? I know, however I am frequently reminded when I see the librarians deal with the odd person patiently and kindly, talking to them as if they are a little mad but not mass murderers or petty thieves or vagrants (as I am certain the police would if they found them on the street) – that there is a certain normalcy of letting people be people in libraries.

The second is scrawling. I find it funny when people scrawl their thoughts in libraries, so I attach this one found in a National Geographic in scratchy handwriting:
MY LAST 4 MONTHS WERE ALMOST LIKE A PRISON SO I WON"T GIVE A BREAK FOR PEOPLE THAT PUT ME IN THIS SITUATION. (written in a national geographic entitled Hubble Renewed: The telescope sees more clearly than ever.)
I can't establish (ANY) business connections.
Well I myself would rather be in the library than in the office. But maybe that is just me.

Sunday, September 05, 2010

illustrated poem

Little buggers My Mom from Scouts are Cancelled illustrated by Anna Jouli

Saturday, September 04, 2010

Sumpin I wish they'd do.

"I keep tellin' em to turn up the music in between poets."
How Yah Doon? - Blogged