Saturday, 31 March 2012

Urban Walking

Put bluntly: deprived of mechanised means of locomotion — the car, the bus, the train — and without the aid of technology, the majority of urbanites, who constitute the vast majority of Britons, neither know where they are, nor are capable of getting somewhere else under their own power.

Nor even yet are they able to formulate the desire to do such a thing. So far as they are concerned, the journeys to work, to shop, to be entertained, to liaise with their social circle are all the utilisation of the built environment — such unpremeditated and willed walking as there is remains within these contexts, the most egregious example being the shopping mall itself. Yet a little over a century ago, 90% of Londoners' journeys under six miles were still made on foot — many of these would have been commutes, but even a walk to work involves a physical possession of the built environment and the exercise of orienting skills.

Year on year, the number of journeys taken on foot declines — indeed, on current projections walking will have died out altogether as a means of transport by the middle of this century.

WILL SELF (From his inaugural lecture as Professor of Contemporary Thought at Brunel University)

Le Flâneur by PAUL GAVARNI, 1842

When I spent a weekend in London recently, it didn't even occur to me to take a bus, tube or taxi. I simply walked. It seemed the natural thing to do. Evidently I'm in the minority.

According to a lecture by novelist and social commentator Will Self to students at Brunel University, urban walking is declining year on year, and could one day die out completely. What's more, if you look closely at your fellow walkers in an urban environment, you'll notice a strange thing: most of these walkers have ears attached to MP3 players and eyes glued to smartphones. Some are even navigating their way using GPS apps. They are just enough aware of their physical surroundings to avoid collisions with other walkers, vehicles, street furniture; but their actual, sensual, perceptual awareness of the environment has been reduced to a blocked-out minimum. Self believes such walkers are in a condition similar to psychosis.

I find this a sinister, frightening state of affairs. We are losing the ability to do the most natural and healthy thing in the world: to place one foot in front of the other and explore what's around us without distraction. We are losing the capability of finding our own, self-chosen way as we become increasingly dependent on Sat Navs and GPS systems. (I've noticed that the skills of navigating by intuition, by natural signs and markers, and by map reading are all atrophying in younger generations.) We are losing our sense of space, distance and perspective as we divorce ourselves from the real world and become ever more immersed in a virtual one.

I myself love strolling through cities, soaking up the atmosphere, setting myself little route-finding challenges, discovering hidden squares and alleyways, wandering at will. There is no greater freedom or enjoyment. Even in stores and hotels I usually take the stairs, rarely the lift. I just don't want to be reliant  on mechanical transport. I want the freedom and independence of my own two feet where I can and for as long as I can.

So it seems that the flâneur is morphing into the techno-navigateur. Are we all now bi-pedally doomed?

(Click here for my latest post at Turnstone and here for my latest post at words and silence.)

Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Blog Mania

To have one blog is exemplary; to have two is stretching the limits; but to have three, God forbid four, my dear reclusive writer, is utter madness. OSCAR WILDE

See what's happening musically on Turnstone ...

Click the pic

... and emotionally on words and silence ...

Click the pic

Thursday, 22 March 2012

Feeling Personal


The Seven Deadly Sins by Hieronymus Bosch


head or heart


the heart says yes
the head says no
the head says stop
the heart says go

the heart acts
while the head reflects
the heart dreams
what the head rejects

the head speaks out
a warning word
the heart sings
like a soaring bird

the heart is fire
the head is ice
give me the heart
at any price?


Join me here at the start of an emotional journey ... 

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Joan Baez In Nottingham



There But For Fortune

Show me a prison, show me a jail
Show me a prisoner whose face has grown pale
And I'll show you a young man
With many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or I

Show me an alley, show me a train
Show me a hobo who sleeps out in the rain
And I'll show you a young man
With many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or I

Show me the whiskey stains on the floor
Show me a drunk as he stumbles out the door
And I'll show you a young man
With many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or I

Show me a country where the bombs had to fall
Show me the ruins of buildings so tall
And I'll show you a young land
With many reasons why
There but for fortune, go you or I
You or I


Joan Baez sang this song by Phil Ochs in Nottingham's Royal Concert Hall last night. I was privileged to be there.


Click here for Alex Ramon's review of her concert in London's Royal Festival Hall on 17 March.

From the perspective of our current culture, it’s slightly tormenting to think back to a period when songs like There But For Fortune and Blowin’ in the Wind were massive mainstream hits. Baez’s status as a bridge back to that tumultuous yet perhaps more engaged and more conscientious time clearly constitutes a considerable part of her enduring appeal. And yet her gigs seldom feel like exercises in nostalgia, and that’s due not only to the timeless appeal of the material but also to Baez’s ability to extend a bit of the past into the present, as evidenced by her dedication of a stirring Joe Hill to the Occupy movement. How urgently we need the lessons in compassion and empathy – and the calls to action — promoted in these songs, these days. And how heartening it is that, all these years on and as vibrantly as ever, Baez is still out there, delivering them.

ALEX RAMON

Monday, 19 March 2012

In Search Of The Spring

Today I walked out in search of the spring. The snowdrop, the crocus and the aconite had bloomed and faded; it was now the turn of the primrose and the daffodil, the violet and the celandine; and the churchyard was carpeted with blue and white-petalled Chionodoxa, or glory-of-the-snow. Down the lane towards the river ash trees were coming into flower ...    

The male flowers of the ash tree. Ash trees can have all male flowers, all female flowers or a mixture of the two. What is more, male trees can change into female trees, and vice versa, from one year to the next. Apart from this arboreal gender bending, the ash is also supposed to have healing properties, and in Germanic and Scandinavian mythology it's known as Yggdrasil, meaning 'Tree of the World', 'Tree of Rebirth and Healing', 'Tree of Terror', 'Tree of the Gallows' or 'Odin's Horse' — take your pick.  

... and in the hedgerows the snow-white flowers of the blackthorn and the acid-green leaves of the hawthorn were tentatively emerging. Though most trees still revealed the tangled abstractions of winter ...

The bare bones of winter.

In the middle of an old gravel pit lake stood an island of tall trees — home to a colony of herons and cormorants. Since I was last here a local Wildlife Trust had put up a birdwatchers' hide, which you can see in the picture below. This morning the place was already quite noisy with birds, but in a few weeks the din will be enormous, as the cormorants and herons squabble over their territories and patch up tree-top nests with sticks, reeds and branches ...

Birdwatchers' hide overlooking a colony of herons and cormorants.

A closer view.

I left the lake ...

More of the same.

... and headed along the river. Gradually, as riverside supplies of sand and gravel are exhausted, the quarrying companies transform these unpromising areas into nature reserves, though this particular spot  still has some way to go ...

Entry barred — unless you are a cormorant.

Not a great deal of colour yet in the March countryside, but when I got home these primulas in the garden gladdened my heart ...

A tub of primulas.

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Read All About It


Thanks to Dominic for yesterday's phone call and today's video ... I'm sure every reader will be able to identify a 'Daily Mail' in their own country!

Latest posts on my new blog words and silence can be found here.

Monday, 12 March 2012

Martin Alvarado

The Great Hall, Southwell (Wikimedia Commons)

To Southwell Minster's Great Hall last night to see the Argentinian singer and guitarist Martin Alvarado ... 


Latest posts on my new blog words and silence can be found here!

Sunday, 4 March 2012

Words And Silence

The geographical pilgrimage is the symbolic acting out of an inner journey. The inner journey is the interpolation of the meanings and signs of the outer pilgrimage. One can have one without the other. It is best to have both. THOMAS MERTON


I'm experimenting with a new blog which will run in conjunction with this one. You might call it a 'soul journey' blog: a tentative, personal odyssey towards 'ecstatic truth' (or the illumination of something that is beyond sheer facts, as Werner Herzog described the aim of his films). It's called words and silence, and you can find it here or linked from my sidebar. (There's a 'Followers' widget if you wish to subscribe.) I won't be posting as frequently as I do for this blog, but the posts will be longer and more 'in depth'. My intention is to map the interior rather than the exterior journey, using literature, poetry, myth, religion and philosophy as signposts along the way. At least, that's my rather grand intention! We'll see how things develop ...

Words are all we have. SAMUEL BECKETT

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent. LUDWIG WITTGENSTEIN

Saturday, 3 March 2012

The Abundance Of The Gift In Motion

The artist appeals to that part of our being ... which is a gift and not an acquisition — and, therefore, more permanently enduring. JOSEPH CONRAD

A sculptural gift from Mexico to Ireland in 2002

Having accepted what has been given to him — either in the sense of inspiration or in the sense of talent — the artist often feels compelled, feels the desire, to make the work and offer it to an audience. The gift must stay in motion. 'Publish or perish' is an internal demand of the creative spirit, one that we learn from the gift itself, not from any school or church. In her Journal of a Solitude the poet and novelist Mary Sarton writes: 'There is only one real deprivation, I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one's gift to those one loves most ... The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.'

So long as the gift is not withheld, the creative spirit will remain a stranger to the economics of scarcity. Salmon, forest birds, poetry, symphonies, or Kula shells, the gift is not used up in use. To have painted a painting does not empty the vessel out of which the paintings come. On the contrary, it is the talent which is not in use that is lost or atrophies, and to bestow one of our creations is the surest way to invoke the next. There is an instructive series of gifts in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Hermes invents the first musical instrument, the lyre, and gives it to his brother, Apollo, whereupon he is immediately inspired to invent a second musical instrument, the pipes. The implication is that giving the first creation away makes the second one possible. Bestowal creates that empty space into which new energy may flow. The alternative is petrification, writer's block, 'the flow of life backed up'. LEWIS HYDE The Gift: How The Creative Spirit Transforms The World

This is interesting, is it not? Hyde is talking about how the artist receives his/her talent or creative inspiration as a 'gift' (DH Lawrence's 'the wind that blows through me'), and then feels compelled to pass on the 'gift' of the finished work to the world. In this way the gift increases in value and abundance, and serves to stimulate creative energy and fecundity all round. In the act of giving away, much more may be given back or produced in return. This reminds me of the line from Hebrews in the King James Bible: Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. We do not give in expectation of any reward; far from it, it should be the exact opposite — without any such expectation. Yet often the angels bless us, and the gift is returned — manifold, resplendent. This gift, released into the world, goes on to procreate and multiply. The thing is: to keep on giving. The process is a continual process, and never static. I see it as almost alchemical.

I wonder if we consider our blog posts as 'gifts'?

(Image from Wikimedia Commons)