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The Postcard
A Shurey's postcard, on the back of which is printed:
'This beautiful Series of Fine Art Post Cards
is supplied free exclusively by Shurey's
Publications, comprising "Smart Novels",
"Yes or No", and "Dainty Novels".
The publications are obtainable throughout
Great Britain, the Colonies and Foreign
Countries'.
The claim of world-wide availability seems somewhat misplaced - can you imagine walking into a shop in, e.g. Port Saïd or Manila in the early 1900's and asking for a copy of 'Yes or No'?
Does anyone out there know what the ominous-looking box is for? If so, please let us know.
The Card was posted in Luton on Thursday the 16th. June 1910 to:
Miss Boston,
Brightwell,
Morden,
Surrey.
The message on the divided back was as follows:
"The box came quite safely,
Dad fetched it on Saturday.
I should not get a pin Dear
as they are not worn now.
You are behind the times.
Leave it until you come
home, also your hat unless
you are hard up.
Dad, Mum and I went up to
the Hoo on Tuesday - we did
enjoy ourselves.
We will write a letter next
week.
Much love,
H."
Jack Sheppard
Jack Sheppard, also known as 'Honest Jack', who was born on the 4th. March 1702, was a notorious English thief and prison escapee of early 18th. century London.
Born into a poor family, he was apprenticed as a carpenter, but took to theft and burglary in 1723, with little more than a year of his training to complete.
He was arrested and imprisoned five times in 1724, but escaped four times from prison, making him a notorious public figure, and wildly popular with the poorer classes.
Ultimately, he was caught, convicted, and hanged at Tyburn, ending his brief criminal career after less than two years.
The inability of the notorious "Thief-Taker General" Jonathan Wild to control Sheppard, and injuries suffered by Wild at the hands of Sheppard's colleague Joseph "Blueskin" Blake led to Wild's downfall.
Sheppard was as renowned for his attempts to escape from prison as he was for his crimes. An autobiographical "Narrative", thought to have been ghostwritten by Daniel Defoe, was sold at his execution, quickly followed by popular plays.
The character of Macheath in John Gay's The Beggar's Opera (1728) was based on Sheppard, keeping him in the limelight for over 100 years.
He returned to public consciousness around 1840, when William Harrison Ainsworth wrote a novel entitled Jack Sheppard, with illustrations by George Cruikshank. The popularity of his tale, and the fear that others would be drawn to emulate his behaviour, led the authorities to refuse to license any plays in London with "Jack Sheppard" in the title for forty years.
Jack Sheppard - The Early Years
Sheppard was born in White's Row, in London's Spitalfields. He was baptised on the 5th. March, the day after he was born, at St Dunstan's, Stepney, suggesting a fear of infant mortality by his parents, perhaps because the newborn was weak or sickly.
His parents named him after an older brother, John, who had died before his birth. In life however, he was better known as Jack, or even "Gentleman Jack" or "Jack the Lad".
Jack had a second brother, Thomas, and a younger sister, Mary. Their father, a carpenter, died while Sheppard was young, and his sister died two years later.
Unable to support her family without her husband's income, Jack's mother sent him to Mr Garrett's School, a workhouse near St Helen's Bishopsgate, when he was six years old.
Jack was sent out as a parish apprentice to a cane-chair maker, taking a settlement of 20 shillings, but his new master soon died. He was sent out to a second cane-chair maker, but Sheppard was treated badly.
Finally, when Sheppard was 10, he went to work as a shop-boy for a wool draper who had a shop on the Strand. The draper was called William Kneebone. (... the origin of 'The knee bone's connected to the thigh bone'? ... Maybe not ...)
Sheppard's mother had been working for Kneebone since her husband's death. Kneebone taught Sheppard to read and write, and apprenticed him to a carpenter appropriately named Owen Wood, in Wych Street, off Drury Lane in Covent Garden. Sheppard signed his seven-year indenture on the 2nd. April 1717.
By 1722, Jack Sheppard was showing great promise as a carpenter. Aged 20, he was a small man, only 5'4" (1.63 m) and lightly built, but deceptively strong. He had a pale face with large, dark eyes, a wide mouth and a quick smile. Despite a slight stutter, his wit made him popular in the taverns of Drury Lane. He served five unblemished years of his apprenticeship, but then began to be led into crime.
Jack Sheppard's Criminal Career
Joseph Hayne, a button-moulder who owned a shop nearby, also ran a tavern named the Black Lion off Drury Lane, which he encouraged the local apprentices to frequent.
The Black Lion was visited by criminals such as Joseph "Blueskin" Blake, Sheppard's future partner in crime, and self-proclaimed "Thief-Taker General" Jonathan Wild, secretly the linchpin of a criminal empire across London and later Sheppard's implacable enemy.
According to Sheppard's autobiography, he had been an innocent until going to Hayne's tavern, but there began an attachment to strong drink and the affections of Elizabeth Lyon, a prostitute also known as Edgeworth Bess from her place of birth at Edgeworth in Middlesex.
In his History, Defoe records that:
"Bess was a main lodestone
in attracting of him up to this
Eminence of Guilt."
Such, Sheppard claimed, was the source of his later ruin. Peter Linebaugh offers a more romantic view:
"Sheppard's sudden transformation
was a liberation from the dull drudgery
of indentured labour.
He progressed from pious servitude to
self-confident rebellion and levelling."
Jack Sheppard threw himself into a hedonistic whirl of drinking and whoring. Inevitably, his carpentry suffered, and he became disobedient to his master.
With Edgeworth Bess's encouragement, Sheppard took to crime in order to augment his legitimate wages. His first recorded theft was in Spring 1723, when he engaged in petty shoplifting, stealing two silver spoons while on an errand for his master to the Rummer Tavern in Charing Cross.
Sheppard's misdeeds initially went undetected, and he moved on to larger crimes, often stealing goods from the houses where he was working.
Finally, he quit the employ of his master on the 2nd. August 1723, with less than two years of his apprenticeship left, although he continued to work as a journeyman carpenter. He progressed to burglary, falling in with criminals in Jonathan Wild's gang.
He moved to Fulham, living as husband and wife with Edgeworth Bess at Parsons Green, before moving to Piccadilly. When Bess was arrested and imprisoned at St. Giles's Roundhouse, the beadle, a Mr Brown, refused to let Sheppard visit, so he broke in and took her away.
Two Arrests and Two Escapes
Sheppard was first arrested after a burglary he committed with his brother, Tom, and his mistress, Bess, in Clare Market on the 5th. February 1724.
Tom, also a carpenter, had already been convicted once for stealing tools from his master the previous autumn and burned in the hand. Tom was arrested again on the 24th. April 1724. Afraid that he would be hanged this time, Tom informed on Jack, and a warrant was issued for Jack's arrest.
Jonathan Wild was aware of Sheppard's thefts, as Sheppard had fenced some stolen goods through one of Wild's men, William Field.
Wild asked another of his men, James Sykes (known as "Hell and Fury") to challenge Sheppard to a game of skittles at Redgate's public house near Seven Dials. Sykes betrayed Sheppard to a Mr Price, a constable from the parish of St. Giles, to gather the usual £40 reward for giving information leading to the conviction of a felon.
The magistrate, Justice Parry, had Sheppard imprisoned overnight on the top floor of St Giles's Roundhouse pending further questioning, but Sheppard escaped within three hours by breaking through the timber ceiling and lowering himself to the ground with a rope fashioned from bedclothes.
Still wearing irons, Sheppard coolly joined the crowd that had been attracted by the sounds of his breaking out. He distracted their attention by pointing to the shadows on the roof and shouting that he could see the escapee, and then swiftly departed.
On the 19th. May 1724, Sheppard was arrested for a second time, caught in the act of picking a pocket in Leicester Fields (near present-day Leicester Square). He was detained overnight in St Ann's Roundhouse in Soho and visited there the next day by Bess; however she was recognised as his wife, and locked in a cell with him.
They appeared before Justice Walters, who sent them to the New Prison in Clerkenwell, but they escaped from their cell within a matter of days. By the 25th. May, they had filed through their manacles. They removed a bar from the window and used their knotted bed-clothes to descend to ground level.
Finding themselves in the yard of the neighbouring Bridewell, they clambered over the 22-foot-high (6.7 m) prison gate to freedom. This feat was widely publicised, not least because Sheppard was only a small man, and Bess was a large, buxom woman.
Jack Sheppard's Third Arrest, Trial, and Third Escape
Sheppard's thieving abilities were admired by Jonathan Wild, who demanded that Sheppard surrender his stolen goods for Wild to fence, and so take the greater profits, but Sheppard refused.
Instead Jack began to work with Joseph "Blueskin" Blake, and they burgled Sheppard's former master, William Kneebone, on the 12th. July 1724. However Wild could not permit Sheppard to continue outside his control, and began to seek Sheppard's arrest.
Unfortunately for Sheppard, his fence, William Field, was one of Wild's men. After Sheppard had a brief foray with Blueskin as highwaymen on the Hampstead Road on the 19th. and 20th. July, Field informed on Sheppard to Wild.
Wild believed that Bess would know Sheppard's whereabouts, so he plied her with drinks at a brandy shop near Temple Bar until she betrayed him. Sheppard was arrested for a third time at Blueskin's mother's brandy shop in Rosemary Lane, east of the Tower of London on the 23rd. July by Wild's henchman, Quilt Arnold.
Sheppard was imprisoned in Newgate Prison pending his trial at the next Assize. He was prosecuted on three charges of theft at the Old Bailey, but was acquitted on the first two due to lack of evidence.
Kneebone, Wild and Field gave evidence against him on the third charge, the burglary of Kneebone's house. He was convicted on the 12th. August, the case "being plainly prov'd", and sentenced to death.
However, on the 31st. August, the very day when the death warrant arrived from the court in Windsor setting the 4th. September as the date for his execution, Sheppard escaped.
Having loosened an iron bar in a window used when talking to visitors, he was visited by Bess and Poll Maggott, who distracted the guards while he removed the bar. His slight build enabled him to climb through the resulting gap in the grille, and he was smuggled out of Newgate in women's clothing that his visitors had brought him.
He took a coach to Blackfriars Stairs, then a boat up the River Thames to the horse ferry in Westminster, near the warehouse where he hid his stolen goods, and made good his escape.
Jack Sheppard's Fourth Arrest and Final Escape
By this point, Sheppard was a hero to a segment of the population, being a cockney, non-violent, handsome and seemingly able to escape punishment for his crimes at will.
He spent a few days out of London, visiting a friend's family in Chipping Warden in Northamptonshire, but was soon back in town. He evaded capture by Wild and his men, but was arrested again on the 9th. September by a posse from Newgate as he hid out on Finchley Common, and was returned to the condemned cell at Newgate.
Jack's fame had increased with each escape, and he was visited in prison by the great, the good and the curious. His plans to escape in September were thwarted twice when the guards found files and other tools in his cell.
Jack was accordingly transferred to a strong-room in Newgate known as the "Castle", clapped in leg irons, and chained to two metal staples in the floor to prevent further escape attempts.
After demonstrating to his gaolers that these measures were insufficient, by showing them how he could use a small nail to unlock the horse padlock at will, he was bound more tightly and handcuffed. In his History, Defoe reports that Sheppard made light of his predicament, joking that:
"I am the Sheppard, and all the Gaolers
in the Town are my Flock, and I cannot
stir into the Country, but they are all at
my Heels Laughing after me".
Meanwhile, "Blueskin" Blake was arrested by Wild and his men on the 9th. October, and Tom, Jack's brother, was transported for robbery on the 10th. October 1724.
New court sessions began on the 14th. October, and Blueskin was tried on the 15th. October, with Field and Wild again giving evidence. Their accounts were not consistent with the evidence that they gave at Sheppard's trial, but Blueskin was convicted anyway.
Enraged, Blueskin attacked Wild in the courtroom, slashing his throat with a pocket-knife and causing an uproar. Wild was lucky to survive, and his grip over his criminal empire started to slip while he recuperated.
Taking advantage of the disturbance, which spread to Newgate Prison next door and continued into the night, Sheppard escaped for the fourth time. He unlocked his handcuffs and removed the chains.
Still encumbered by his leg irons, he attempted to climb up the chimney, but his path was blocked by an iron bar set into the brickwork. He removed the bar, and used it to break through the ceiling into the "Red Room" above the "Castle", a room which had last been used some seven years before to confine aristocratic Jacobite prisoners after the Battle of Preston.
Still wearing his leg irons as night fell, he then broke through six barred doors into the prison chapel, then to the roof of Newgate, 60 feet (20 m) above the ground. He went back down to his cell to get a blanket, then back to the roof of the prison, and used the blanket to reach the roof of an adjacent house, owned by William Bird, a turner.
He broke into Bird's house, and went down the stairs and out into the street at around midnight without disturbing the occupants. Escaping through the streets to the north and west, Sheppard hid in a cowshed in Tottenham (near modern Tottenham Court Road).
Spotted by the cowshed's owner, Sheppard told him that he had escaped from Bridewell Prison, having been imprisoned there for failing to support a (nonexistent) bastard son. Jack's leg irons remained in place for several days until he persuaded a passing shoemaker to accept the considerable sum of 20 shillings to bring a blacksmith's tools and help him remove them, telling him the same tale.
His manacles and leg irons were later recovered in the rooms of Kate Cook, one of Sheppard's mistresses. This latest escape astonished everyone. Daniel Defoe, working as a journalist, wrote an account for John Applebee, The History of the Remarkable Life of John Sheppard. In his History, Defoe reports the belief in Newgate that the Devil came in person to assist Sheppard's escape.
The Final Capture of Jack Sheppard
Sheppard's final period of liberty lasted just two weeks. He disguised himself as a beggar and returned to the city. He broke into Rawlins brothers' pawnbroker's shop in Drury Lane on the night of the 29th. October 1724, taking a black silk suit, a silver sword, rings, watches, a wig, and other items.
He dressed himself as a dandy gentleman, and used the proceeds to spend a day and the following evening on the tiles with two mistresses. He was arrested a final time in the early morning of the 1st. November, blind drunk:
"In a handsome Suit of Black, with a
Diamond Ring and a carnelian ring
on his Finger, and a fine Light Tye
Peruke".
This time, Sheppard was placed in the Middle Stone Room, in the centre of Newgate next to the "Castle", where he could be observed at all times. He was also loaded with 300 pounds of iron weights. He was so celebrated that the gaolers charged high society visitors four shillings to see him:
"The Concourse of People of tolerable
Fashion to see him was exceeding Great,
he was always Chearful and Pleasant to a
Degree, as turning almost everything as
was said onto a Jest and Banter."
To a Reverend Wagstaffe who visited him, he said, according to Defoe:
"One file's worth all the Bibles
in the World".
The King's painter James Thornhill painted his portrait.
Several prominent people sent a petition to King George I, begging for his sentence of death to be commuted to transportation.
Sheppard came before Mr Justice Powis in the Court of King's Bench at Westminster Hall on the 10th. November. He was offered the chance to have his sentence reduced by informing on his associates, but he scorned the offer, and the death sentence was confirmed. The next day, Blueskin was hanged, and Sheppard was moved to the condemned cell.
The Execution of Jack Sheppard
The following Monday, 16th. November, Sheppard was taken to the gallows at Tyburn to be hanged. He had planned one more escape, but his pen-knife, intended to cut the ropes binding him on the way to the gallows, was found by a prison warder shortly before he left Newgate for the last time.
A joyous procession passed through the streets of London, with Sheppard's cart drawn along Holborn and Oxford Street accompanied by a mounted City Marshal and liveried Javelin Men.
The occasion was as much as anything a celebration of Sheppard's life, attended by crowds of up to 200,000 (one third of London's population). The procession halted at the City of Oxford tavern on Oxford Street, where Sheppard drank a pint of sack.
A carnival atmosphere pervaded Tyburn, where his "official" autobiography, published by Applebee and probably ghostwritten by Defoe, was on sale. Sheppard handed a paper to someone as he mounted the scaffold, perhaps as a symbolic endorsement of the account in the "Narrative".
Jack's slight build had aided his previous prison escapes, but it condemned him to a slow death by strangulation from the hangman's noose. After hanging for the prescribed 15 minutes, his body was cut down.
The crowd pressed forward to stop his body from being removed, fearing dissection; their actions inadvertently prevented Sheppard's friends from implementing a plan to take his body to a doctor in an attempt to revive him. His badly mauled remains were recovered later, and buried in the churchyard of St. Martin-in-the-Fields that evening.
Jack Sheppard's Legacy
There was a spectacular public reaction to Sheppard's deeds. He was even cited (favourably) as an example in newspapers, pamphlets, broadsheets, and ballads which were all devoted to his amazing exploits, and his story was adapted for the stage almost immediately.
Harlequin Sheppard, a pantomime by John Thurmond (subtitled "A Night Scene in Grotesque Characters"), opened at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, on the 28th. November, only two weeks after Sheppard's hanging.
In a famous contemporary sermon, a London preacher drew on Sheppard's popular escapes as a way of holding his congregation's attention:
"Let me exhort ye, then, to open the locks
of your hearts with the nail of repentance!
Burst asunder the fetters of your beloved
lusts! - mount the chimney of hope! - take
from thence the bar of good resolution! -
break through the stone wall of despair!"
The account of his life remained well-known through the Newgate Calendar, and a three-act farce was published but never produced. However when mixed with songs, it became The Quaker's Opera, later performed at Bartholomew Fair.
An imagined dialogue between Jack Sheppard and Julius Caesar was published in the British Journal on the 4th. December 1724, in which Sheppard favourably compares his virtues and exploits to those of Caesar.
The most prominent play based on Sheppard's life is John Gay's The Beggar's Opera (1728). Sheppard was the inspiration for the figure of Macheath; his nemesis, Peachum, is based on Jonathan Wild. The play was spectacularly popular, restoring the fortune that Gay had lost in the South Sea Bubble, and was produced regularly for over 100 years.
An unperformed but published play The Prison-Breaker was turned into The Quaker's Opera (in imitation of The Beggar's Opera) and performed at Bartholomew Fair in 1725 and 1728. Two centuries later The Beggar's Opera was the basis for The Threepenny Opera of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill (1928).
Sheppard's tale may have been an inspiration for William Hogarth's 1747 series of 12 engravings, Industry and Idleness. These show the descent of an apprentice, Tom Idle, into crime and eventually to the gallows, beside the rise of his fellow apprentice, Francis Goodchild. Goodchild marries his master's daughter and takes over his business, becoming wealthy as a result, eventually emulating Dick Whittington to become Lord Mayor of London.
A melodrama, Jack Sheppard, The Housebreaker, or London in 1724, by W. T. Moncrieff was published in 1825.
More successful was William Harrison Ainsworth's third novel, entitled Jack Sheppard, which was originally published in Bentley's Miscellany from January 1839 with illustrations by George Cruikshank, overlapping with the final episodes of Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist.
An archetypal Newgate novel, it generally remains close to the facts of Sheppard's life, but portrays him as a swashbuckling hero. Like Hogarth's prints, the novel pairs the descent of the "idle" apprentice into crime with the rise of a typical melodramatic character, Thames Darrell, a foundling of aristocratic birth who defeats his evil uncle to recover his fortune.
Cruikshank's images perfectly complemented Ainsworth's tale - Thackeray wrote that:
"Mr Cruickshank really created the tale,
and Mr Ainsworth, as it were, only put
words to it."
The novel quickly became very popular: it was published in book form later that year, before the serialised version was completed, and even outsold early editions of Oliver Twist. Ainsworth's novel was adapted into a successful play by John Buckstone in October 1839 at the Adelphi Theatre.
Indeed, it seems likely that Cruikshank's illustrations were deliberately created in a form that would be easy to repeat as tableaux on stage. The play has been described as:
"The exemplary climax of the
pictorial novel dramatized
pictorially".
Jack Sheppard's story generated a form of cultural mania, embellished by pamphlets, prints, cartoons, plays and souvenirs, not repeated until George du Maurier's Trilby in 1895.
By early 1840, a cant song from Buckstone's play, "Nix My Dolly, Pals, Fake Away" was reported to be "deafening us in the streets". Public alarm at the possibility that young people would emulate Sheppard's behaviour led the Lord Chamberlain to ban, at least in London, the licensing of any plays with "Jack Sheppard" in the title for forty years.
The fear may not have been entirely unfounded: Courvousier, the valet of Lord William Russell, said in one of his several confessions that the book had inspired him to murder his master.
Frank and Jesse James wrote letters to the Kansas City Star signed "Jack Sheppard".
Burlesques of the story were written after the ban was lifted, including a popular Gaiety Theatre, London, piece called Little Jack Sheppard (1886) by Henry Pottinger Stephens and William Yardley, which starred Nellie Farren as Jack.
The Sheppard story has been revived three times on film in the 20th century: The Hairbreadth Escape of Jack Sheppard (1900), Jack Sheppard (1923), and Where's Jack? (1969), a British costume drama directed by James Clavell with Tommy Steele in the title role.
Jake Arnott features him in his 2017 novel The Fatal Tree.
In 1971 the British pop group Chicory Tip paid tribute to Sheppard in "Don't Hang Jack", the B-side to "I Love Onions". The song, apparently sung from the viewpoint of a witness in the courtroom, describes Jack's daring exploits as a thief, and futilely begs the judge to spare Sheppard because he was loved by the women of the town, and idolised by the lads who "made him their king."
In Jordy Rosenberg's 2018 novel Confessions of the Fox, a 21st-century academic discovers a manuscript containing Sheppard's "confessions", which tell the story of his childhood and his love affair with Edgeworth Bess, and make the unlikely revelation that he was a transgender man.
Charles Mackay in Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds wrote:
"Whether it be that the multitude, feeling the
pangs of poverty, sympathise with the daring
and ingenious depredators who take away
the rich man's superfluity, or whether it be the
interest that mankind in general feel for the
records of perilous adventure, it is certain that
the populace of all countries look with admiration
upon great and successful thieves."
A Hungarian Cloudburst
So what else happened on the day that the card was posted?
Well, on the 16th. June 1910, a cloudburst in Hungary added to existing flood waters, killing 800 people in villages in the Kronstadt district, another 180 in Temesvar and 100 in Moldava.
Arizona and New Mexico
Also on that day, the United States Senate unanimously passed a bill extending statehood to the territories of Arizona and New Mexico.
Admission as a state still required adopting a proposed state constitution, subject then to the approval of Congress and the President, as well as other procedures.
Stutter Rap (No Sleep til Bedtime), was a parody on Gangster Rap (No Sleet til Brooklyn), by the Beastie Boys. Morris Minor and the Majors, fronted by comedian Tony Hawks took the song to number 4 in 1988.
Ok, the record is naff, but the cover is the reason for this posting, a superb red 1950 moggie convertible, RVW 178, a car that is still around.
and ChaCha had captured it in the suit.
Love those liver spots, Marcel, not quite freckles but a good simulacrum. I still love when grown men stutter, it makes me feel protective towards them, like I want to tell them it is OK, they will be fine.
It gives me a little heartache, but not of the bad kind.
I guess it's called 'fellow-feeling', or something like that.
I particularly love when we make mistakes and realise it, almost simultaneously.
The window's open, it's the heart of the summer More people comin' lookin' for the number Mary Ellen sees them she has a little stutter, she yells
TERRA / Heft-Reihe
Reuben Robert Merliss / Kampfroboter
(The Stutterer)
cover: Karl Stephan
Moewig-Verlag
(München / Deutschland; 1960)
ex libris MTP
the library project is a project creating a subtle dialogue about the issue of giving,lending and taking.as most of my pieces have a lifespan of a stutter in the street (either because of collectors or weather or the street cleaners), i thought i would try to embrace it and play around with the circumstances. before placing the pieces on the surface, i wrote(for the first edition, but later came up with alternate sentences) "i let you borrow my heart for a while,let others borrow it as well", and then placed the piece over the writing,covering it.
the pieces in this series are applied with double sided tape (which can be easily removed) with some unpeeled scraps of tape on the cardboard left for the borrower to replace anwhere.i think its great if someone wants to take it home, but it raises the conflict of the fact that its in the street for the art to be shared with the people using it.therfore, whoever dispatches the piece can replace it in it original location, or even better, a new location,making him/her part of the arts existence and making it even more part of the collective reality than it was before.
(best viewed large)
These two were waiting on the edge of the village for a lift into town. Fortunately, we had some spare seats and were able to help. Stutter Village, Tibet
I've burnt the blank page
until my stuttering stalls
and I've been talking to myself since the fall
I can hear strangers speak
from the door in the hall
and we both live on the other side of the wall
the men that I hear
they just want to make love
and the women, they make nothing at all
we don't speak face to face
because we're too into out of place
if my ears are ringing, then I'll heed the call
all my words are bound and backward
and all my tales are tall
I'm embarrassed that my syllables are small
only when I'm all surrounded
and surrendered to the silence
will the white noise leave me in a lull
I've burnt the blank page
until my stuttering stalls
and I've been talking to myself since the fall...
© Steve Skafte
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JULY 11: Eric Dinallo, Emily Blunt and Lucy Fato attend the 2022 Freeing Voices, Changing Lives Gala at Guastavino's on July 11, 2022 in New York City. (Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris/Getty Images for American Institute for Stuttering)
A part of Vegetation series
I love how this set turned out. It is exactly how I wanted it to look. All the elements came together: good lighting, wide open space, and a willing beautiful subject. It was so much fun!
Special thanks to: Stephanie Kim and Susan Park
For this photo I've used:
Canon Elan II w/50mm 1.8, Expired Kodak 400 Film, Epson V330 scanner and Photoshop CS3
In a mouse model of stuttering (lower panel), there are fewer astrocytes, shown in green, compared to controls (upper panel) in the corpus callosum, the area of the brain that enables the left and right hemispheres to communicate.
Researchers believe that stuttering — a potentially lifelong and debilitating speech disorder — stems from problems with the circuits in the brain that control speech, but precisely how and where these problems occur is unknown. Using a mouse model of stuttering, scientists report that a loss of cells in the brain called astrocytes are associated with stuttering. The mice had been engineered with a human gene mutation previously linked to stuttering. The study, which appeared online in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, offers insights into the neurological deficits associated with stuttering.
Read more:
www.nih.gov/news-events/news-releases/nih-study-mice-iden...
Credit: Tae-Un Han, Ph.D., National Institute on Deafness and Communication Disorders, NIH
Title: The Case Of The Stuttering Bishop.
Author: Erle Stanley Gardner.
Publisher: Pocket Books.
Date: 1943.
Artist:
Spotted Sandpiper (Actitis macularius) Bertram Creek Regional Park, Kelowna (soty15)
(From Cornell's All About Birds):
"The dapper Spotted Sandpiper makes a great ambassador for the notoriously difficult-to-identify shorebirds. They occur all across North America, they are distinctive in both looks and actions, and they're handsome. They also have intriguing social lives in which females take the lead and males raise the young. With their richly spotted breeding plumage, teetering gait, stuttering wingbeats, and showy courtship dances, this bird is among the most notable and memorable shorebirds in North America.
Spotted Sandpipers are the most widespread sandpiper in North America, and they are common near most kinds of freshwater, including rivers and streams, as well as near the sea coast. Their range includes water bodies in otherwise arid parts of the continent, and it extends into the mountains, where they may occur upwards of 14,000 feet above sea level. Breeding territories generally need to have a shoreline, a semiopen area where the nest will be, and patches of dense vegetation for sheltering the chicks. Spotted Sandpipers spend the winter along the coasts of North America or on beaches, mangroves, rainforest, and cloud forest up to 6,000 feet elevation in Central and South America.
Cool Facts
• The Spotted Sandpiper is the most widespread breeding sandpiper in North America.
• Female Spotted Sandpipers sometimes practice an unusual breeding strategy called polyandry, where a female mates with up to four males, each of which then cares for a clutch of eggs. One female in Minnesota laid five clutches for three males in a month and a half. This odd arrangement does not happen everywhere and often they are monogamous, with the female pitching in to help a little.
• The female Spotted Sandpiper is the one who establishes and defends the territory. She arrives at the breeding grounds earlier than the male. In other species of migratory birds, where the male establishes the territory, he arrives earlier.
• The male takes the primary role in parental care, incubating the eggs and taking care of the young. One female may lay eggs for up to four different males at a time.
• Despite the gender roles, male Spotted Sandpipers have 10 times the testosterone that females have. However, that’s only in absolute terms. During the breeding season, females see a sevenfold increase in their testosterone levels, perhaps accounting for their aggression and the overall role reversal between male and female.
• The female may store sperm for up to one month. The eggs she lays for one male may be fathered by a different male in a previous mating.
• Its characteristic teetering motion has earned the Spotted Sandpiper many nicknames. Among them are teeter-peep, teeter-bob, jerk or perk bird, teeter-snipe, and tip-tail.
• The function of the teetering motion typical of this species has not been determined. Chicks teeter nearly as soon as they hatch from the egg. The teetering gets faster when the bird is nervous, but stops when the bird is alarmed, aggressive, or courting."
For more information about this image and how it is made please visit the page for its set Did I Stutter?.
"Listen to what the landscape says,
And all that it fails to say, and what the clouds say, and the light,
Inveterate stutterer." - Charles Wright
"Porky stutters through the Elvis Presley classic, while a small crowd listens and giggles.
Porky's romantic line in the middle of the song is the icing on the Christmas cake.
The song was never a track on a Warner Brothers Looney Tunes Christmas album, with an official Porky Pig voice actor.
It has been attributed to several comedians over the years, since pretty much anybody who can do voices can do a Porky Pig impression. (That should be a job requirement.)
The song was done by voice actor Denny Brownlee on the John Boy and Billy radio show that aired for years in Birmingham on WZRR 99.5 FM. It's on the "John Boy & Billy Christmas Album," downloadable on iTunes.
The "official" artist is "Seymore Swine and the Squealers," after Warner Bros. threatened a legal smack down."
The stuttering is from my frozen fingers. it's about 5 below now, about an hour after I took the photo. Fumbling around in the dark with bare fingers on tripod, exposed metal and camera controls just about did me in. It was sort of silly anyhow. I only had an 80-200 zoom, not long enough to do a really detailed closeup of the Moon. Rather than do something half-assed at the long end of the range, I zoomed back to 80mm and went for an impressionistic image of the moon in the trees with stars, cranking up the ISO to add a bit of pointillistic noise for atmosphere. I'm not sure it works, but for me it's a visual reminder of a really beautiful moment. After partially defrosting my fingers, T and I went back out in the icy darkness, no longer messing around with hardware, but just looking up at the cold, clear panorama of a magical winter sky with our own eyes.
The Dodo is a fictional character appearing in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Carroll, who's real surname was Dodgson had a stutter and very frequently pronounced his name "Do-do-dodgson".
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JUNE 12: <> attends the American Institute For Stuttering 17th Annual Gala Hosted By Emily Blunt on June 12, 2023 in New York City. (Photo by Bryan Bedder/Getty Images for American Institute for Stuttering)
Available now @ Exposeur
Main Store - slurl.com/secondlife/Reek/178/209/23
Marketplace - marketplace.secondlife.com/stores/16816
Stuttering Barred Frog (Mixophyes balbus), Mid-north Coast, New South Wales.
It was very dry in the forest this time of the year and one of the creeks had no water except for a small pool with tadpoles of this species. I spotted this juvenile sitting a few metres away in the leaf litter where it had begun to develop the characteristic blue upper-eye of the adult.
[14:49] Caty Weezles: The sights of the man she loathed right now had her running ... away. She ducked into the first opening she saw and cowered there for a moment. Peering through the gates on occassion. Back to Elise.
[14:51] Elise Capalini sits in the graveyard quiet when everyone has gone, near the fresh grave that Eamon dug for the birds. One crow. a baby from the looks of it, flies down from the masoleum's roof, to sit on the grave and nose at the dirt. She watches the bird and thinks of the Mass that just was. She wonders if they will ever have a normal one again. She looks up when she hears movement, and catches sight of Caty, who appears to be running from someone. "Caty...are you all right?" she asks. She stands slowly, but doesn't yet approach.
[14:54] Caty Weezles: The familiar voice through the air had her turning, she shook then and backed into the wall, chocolate eyes looking to Elise as a threat too. There over her shoulder was a small bag. It didn't look full by any means. And under her arm she carried a small treasure chest music box. It chimed as she thudded against the concrete. "Go.. go..." She actually stuttered.
[14:57] Elise Capalini watches Caty turn and hears the faint music from her bag when she rocks against the wall. "Are -you- going?" she asks her. Judging by the running and the bag, she wonders if the girl is running away from home. She takes a couple steps forward, though slowly, and keeps her hands visible, not wanting to frighten the girl any more than she already is.
[15:00] Caty Weezles spread one arm across the wall, feeling it for length and how far she could creep before turning and bolting. Terror filled her eyes, the music chiming in now and then. The music was wound too tight, for too long, too many times and was now offkey of the normal soothing music it once played. She shook her head some, her voice croaked, "You go 'way. Cats are bad."
[15:02] Elise Capalini stays where she is and doesn't come any closer. She hates hearing those words from Caty; they feel like a physical blow. She sinks back to the ground, her shoulders slumped. "Why are cats bad, Caty?" she asks softly. "The gate there is open--if you need to run..." She doesn't want the girl to run, but understands well the need to, the need to know escape was an option.
[15:06] Caty Weezles: Tears already threatened to spill down her cheeks. She was ready to go wherever it was they were going to. She thought she was leaving somewhere, "You shooted my Daddy. Daddy says cats are bad! You have to go to jail and Mister Eamon too!" She shouted across the way. It was a choking shout, the kind where you can't catch your breath to get the words out in one stream. "God shouldn't miss next time!"
[15:09] Elise Capalini's throat tightens at the sound of Caty's voice. Oh she'd sounded like that a time or two herself. She blinks, unshed tears stinging her own eye. "I shot your daddy," she says and nods. "Because he was shooting at Eamon--because..." She draws in a breath and closes her eye for a moment. When she looks at Caty again, she says, "You're angry because we hurt someone you love. We acted the way we did because...we were hurt, too."
[15:13] Caty Weezles shook her head frantically as those tears dripped. She sniffed heavily and shot her arm out pointing and accusing, "You made blood! BLOOD! Blood makes people go away, you tried to make my daddy go away! Mister Eamon tried to make my daddy go away! God taked my mommy and I has to keep my daddy! YOU DONT GET TO TAKE MY DADDY! GOD CANT HAVE HIM TOO!" She screamed and shook. Clutching the music box as tightly as she could. It's sour notes somehow lifting high and matching the tension.
[15:16] Elise Capalini finds herself nodding, at everything Caty says. "Blood does make people go away," she says, lifting a hand to wipe the spilled tears from her cheek, "My daddy went away in blood." That night cuts across her vision and she takes a shuddering breath. "Caty, I'm so sorry...so sorry." Her voice breaks and she finds herself crying freely now, letting herself feel the fear from last week, showing Caty how it touched her too.
[15:19] Caty Weezles sucked in a hitched breath. Simply asking in that same choked voice, "Why Miss Elise? Why do you want to make my daddy go away from me?" Her nose stuffed, she wiped at it with the back of her hand.
[15:23] Elise Capalini lifts her head and wipes her cheek again. She presses her mouth into a thin line and exhales a shaky breath. "Not from you, Caty, never from you." Was Forge truly her father? She still couldn't fathom it, but -Caty- believed he was and that was all she needed to know. "He hurt...he was hurting someone I love," she whispers.
[15:24] Janeiro Renard walked slowly long the road infront of the cemetary, blue smoke wreathed around his head. He paused, spotting Caty through the bars of the wrought iron gate, and then spotted Elise, crying? His face remained impassive. Well. There was a lot to cry about these days.
[15:26] Caty Weezles: How many times had she heard this, and she repeated it. Lifting her chin to suck in a deep breath. She'd release the wall then and eyes turned narrow on Elise, "That makes it okay? To hurt cause you hurt?" How many times had her mother told her? "Not okay. Not OKAY! That's my daddy."
[15:29] Elise Capalini draws in another uneven breath and releases it slow. She nods at Caty, catching sight of Jan beyond her, wreathed in smoke like he's just stepped out of the underworld. "You're right, Caty--it's not right. I screwed up." She eyes the little girl, her own tears starting to subside. "I did something bad. What should my punishment be?"
[15:30] Janeiro Renard heard the girl's voice, and frowned deeply, as he began to trudge forward down the road. Punishment, he mused. Trying to do the right thing in this city is punishment enough.
[15:33] Caty Weezles blinked. Swollen eyes were red and looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders just then. Staring at Elise's form. She
settled some, her voice softened from the scream and accusatory tone, "You..." Sniff, "You has to go to jail. You and Mister Eamon has to go to jail cause you're bad. You shooted him. You made Mister Andrei go to sleep and not wake up." Confused still. "You has to say sorry to people you hurts."
[15:37] Elise Capalini folds her hands into her lap, but breathes easier when Caty's tone softens. "If someone hurts someone else...they have to say sorry?" she asks, trying to make sure she understands what Caty is saying. "The police are investigating the shooting, Caty, but they haven't come to arrest anyone yet."
[15:42] Caty Weezles: "But you shooted him. I sawed it. And Mister Lazyrus too cause he hurted me," She took a step forward. Staring down the form that was Elise, not wavering but she was tired. So tired of having to explain the world to adults. They were supposed to -know-. "You has to go there now cause you made him mad and made him bleed." She nodded though, "Yes, you have to say sorry. And you has to say that you won't do it again and /means/ it." Shoulders slumped and she ran fingers over the music box.
[15:45] Elise Capalini nods at Caty, wiping at her own cheek to dry more tears. She sniffles a little, very tired herself. "Does that mean your daddy has to say sorry, too? Lying is something people need to say sorry for too, right, Caty? Will he say sorry to me and Eamon?"
[15:48] Caty Weezles shoved at her face matching Elise' actions. Heel of her palm dragging across freckles, "Lying is little. Shooting is big." She canted her head, "Daddy doesn't lie to me. Daddy tells me whats right. Tinkerbell too. She was right too!"
[15:53] Elise Capalini watches Caty and exhales; she knows there will be no budging her mind on the matter of Forge and his honesty. "Everyone can only tell you what -they- think is right, and everyone will have a different opinion." She wondered if the girl would understand that. She dries her hand on her skirt , fingers tight in the fabric. "I have your picture, Caty." She would draw out the folded piece of paper and show it to her. "I found it in the pews."
[15:58] Caty Weezles: She would approach, hefting the bag onto her shoulder and clutching the music box. It still wasn't heavy. Something she could carry easily on a normal day. Today was in no way normal now. Everything since last week had tossed normalcy out the window for her. She peered down onto the page and shook her head when she looked onto the angel, "God taked her and Tinkerbell is going to be my mommy now and we has to go away again. Cause of blood. Cause of blood we all has to go away again. Caty didn't trip this time." She was okay with the fact that she didn't cause it. "Mister Eamon and Miss Elise made the blood. Mister Eamon and Miss Elise made us go 'way." Those brown eyes looked to Elise' and searched. She had stopped calling Eamon Father in the past week, she had stopped believing in many things. God's love - gone. Vanished with the sound of the gunshot. Her innocence, part of it, went too.
[16:04] Elise Capalini spreads out the drawing on the walk beside them, very careful of how she moves when Caty comes closer. Caty didn't trip this time, she thinks, and looks up at the little girl, wondering exactly what that means. "If Eamon and I go to jail, and you and daddy and Tinkerbell go away...that will make things better?" she asks. She looks into Caty's chocolate eyes, wondering how to bridge this chasm between them. "Caty...I'm sorry." Her voice is very soft, and sincere. The depth of what she's done to this girl hits her then, like a punch. "I mean it. I'm sorry for hurting you last Sunday. I never meant to do that."
[16:10] Caty Weezles: "No!" She stared at the picture for another moment, "You and Mister Eamon has to go to jail and WE stay then. That's how it works." She shuffled back again. Further away. A leary look given to Elise, "Maybe sometimes sorry isn't good enough. Maybe sometimes ..." She started to choke again, mouth opened and closed gasping for air, "It hurts so bad and it hurted." She shoved again at her cheek, "Your daddy went away. You know don't make blood. It hurts." Fingers found the key to the music box and she twisted it.
[16:15] Elise Capalini says softly, "Oh," and starts to fold the picture back up. She watches the paper, rather than Caty, feeling there is nothing to be said. Forge's hold on her is absolute. She wants to comfort the girl, hug her and calm her, but knows that touching her would be entirely the wrong thing. "The police will decide if we go to jail," she eventually says, the paper moving with a soft whisper against the stone. Her black nails gleam as she smooths a fold down. "Blood does hurt...sometimes it doesn't make sense, either."
[16:20] Caty Weezles: The bag shifted with her thumbs, she felt like she won something in some way. She was right. Blood hurt and Elise knew it. A huff of air blown out into a long stream and she started to back away. Her eyes were intense, pupils dialated and fixed on her. Reflecting emotions that they were both feeling in some way - somehow they shared the hurt from different sides. She tucked her chin to her chest, softly spoke, "You made Caty go away."
[16:25] Elise Capalini makes a final fold in the paper, and the paper slices into her finger. Blood wells bright against her pale flesh, and then soaks quickly into the paper itself. She winces at the sting of it, closing her hand into her skirt to stop the blood. She nods at Caty as the girl backs away. "I made Caty go away," she whispers, and bows her head, unable to look at the girl. "But Caty...not -all- cats are bad...don't think that. They're not." Her voice is choked with tears; there's little more she can say.
[16:30] Caty Weezles: She stared at folds of a memory as the blood laced Elise's white hand, one last word, "Elise has to go away now. Blood stains. And Elise goes away." Was only slightly above a whisper as she backed away. Far from the scenes others had seen her make about people bleeding. Right now, Elise -could- bleed ... it was okay.
[16:34] Elise Capalini swallows hard. "Elise goes away," she murmurs. She frowns and looks up, eye locking on Caty. She stands up and takes a step backward. "Goodbye, Caty." She doesn't pick up the paper; she leaves it on the walk as she heads back toward the church. Though not inside...she doesn't want to be inside just now.
It has been fun watching her make people stutter. I can't believe she's never really modeled before. Henna by rovinghorse at Roving Horse Henna.
A Southern Barred Frog, Mixophyes australis, from the Watagans National Park, New South Wales, Australia.
Like the Giant Barred Frog, this species has also declined, however disppearances have largely been restricted to the southern-half of its distribution (which may represent a distinct species from northern areas [two species are now recognised from 2023]). However, the species remains common in the rainforests of the Watagan Ranges and adjacent areas.
I had actually never photographed this species in the Watagans until I came across this individual. Thinking it was posing beautifully, I had a look over my photos later to see it was in the midst of devouring a spider, with the leg still hanging out of it's mouth!
the horizon, and even the middle distance, really stuttering.
If you really want to see what I mean, view it in 'original' dimensions (10800 x 2460, under the 'download' button, then 'view all sizes'), find the horizon and scroll right-to-left.
it was all go on the lake the other day, with swans courting and chasing each other, grebes nest building, canada geese making a right racket and coots . . . well being coots
i think all the distractions may have caused this swan to lose concentration, as he tried to take off with his pall - he stuttered and fell back into the water as his friend took off!
he was perfectly fine, and flew off after a bit, even if he did look a bit embarrassed!
and after yesterdays shot – see below – gull strike again!
(PLEASE NO AWARDS OR PICTURES OR FLASHY BADGES)
TD: Up next is Regine! Tell us something about yourself Regine!
Regine: Uhm.. Uhm.. *stutters* I'm Regine, 20 years old, a college student taking up Mathematics. I can solve Math problems from algebra to calculus.
TD: Wow so you're definitely smart. Why did you join this contest even though you're already smart?
Regine: I.. I want to prove that I'm more than just a Math girl. I can show my other side too.
TD: That's nice to see you breaking out of your shell. What is your advantage from the other girls?
Regine: I.. I believe that in every challenge there's an solution. Hopefully I can calculate what the judges want for me to win.
TD: What a deep answer. Have you seen any competition so far?
Regine: Pa.. Paola is my competition because she's confident and has a pleasing personality.
TD: Thank you Regine and good luck on this!
Meet The Cast Video: youtu.be/nzIQhnzhmmc
YOU CAN VOTE FOR MODEL OF THE WEEK BY CLICKING ON THIS LINK:
Suki: *nods* "To some little Scottish chippy."
Chloe *visibly upset* "B-b-but, I d-d-didn't know he w-w-was--"
Suki (calmly): "Slow down, Chlo. You're stutter's showing. Take a deep breath and start again."
Chloe: *inhales deeply and says slowly* "I didn't know he was dating anyone serious."
Suki: "You and me both. Apparently, she's Yuri and Kumi's cousin on their dad's side. That's how he met her, hanging out at their place."
Chloe: "Oh."
Suki: "I called Yuri after Z told me the news, and she said the marriage was a shock to them all. I plan to call Kums later and get her side of it. She's less tactful, thus there will be more dirt."
Chloe: "Oh."
Suki: "I can't believe he did this! Last I checked, marriage was the farthest thing from his mind. I wonder what this Emma is like..."
Chloe: *rubs eyes*
Suki (intently): "She better pray to the surf gods I like her. That's all I'm sayin'--"
Chloe: *sobs*
Suki (surprised): "Chlo, hon, don't cry! I'm sure it'll be fine. I was just b***hin' a little. Zin usually knows what he's doin'."
Chloe: "N-n-not t-t-that."
Suki: *searches bag for Kleenex* "Then, tell me what's wrong."
Chloe: *shakes head and sobs harder*
Fashion Credits
Chloe
Re-root by valmaxi (love)
Bikini Top: Mattel - Beach Baby Marissa
Bikini Bottom: Momoko - Beach Rodeo
Sunglasses: MGA - America's Next Top Model
Necklace and Bracelets: Me
Suki
Bikini: Auntie Betty, a.k.a. watbetty
Shirt: Mattel - CaliGirl Barbie
Skirt: Momoko - Wild 'n' Sexy Tune
Bag: Cangaway (Etsy)
Earrings and Bracelets: Me
Sketches by: Alex May / DARYL_GAMMA / Davide Della Casa / Dorkbot London / Jonny Stutters / Sally Northmore / Sophie McDonald
Original music by: Jonny Stutters, edited by Davide Della Casa
You can play/modify these sketches online at: www.sketchpatch.net
REVIEW FROM SIMON LEWIS WWW.TERRASCOPE.CO.UK
Greece is perhaps not the first place you would
associate with instrumental garage surf punk but the
invisible surfers aim to change that with their
collection of high-energy stompers. Played with
confidence and precision each song is a perfectly
formed tribute to the twangy guitar sounds of Dick
Dale, and the sun, surf and easy living mystique of
mid-sixties California. With a tight rhythm section
anchoring the tunes, the guitar is allowed to roam
freely creating an effective and original whole.
Special mention must go to the amazing version of
Runaway which is fantastic and is guaranteed to make
you move.(Andreas Zorbas higher_ups@yahoo.gr )
THE REVIEW FROM WWW.DEVOSHENROLL.FR.TC
It is in 1996, in Athens, after the Split of their
former(ancient)
group "
the blue jeans " that Alex Berekos (guitar), Johnny
Ted ( basses) and
Giorgos Fokas ( battery(Fokas ( drum kit)) decide to
go(take) up the
Punk
combo surfing INVISIBLE SURFERS. (Much more Surfing
which Punk I find)
In 1997, they take(bring) out a mini cd of 7 minutes "
it won t last
forever
" with some present bases in albums as well as a piece
more rock 'n'
roll!!
They then turned(shot) during some time(weather) with
groups such "Dead
Moon"; "Cramps";
Then it is only 5 years later, in 2002, that they
take(bring) out
finally
their album " dogs killa cat " in association with
Hith-Hyke Record!!
This
album is totally instrumental, indeed surfing and
quite nevertheless
they
say themselves " garage punk surfing with some sound
effects of the
other
planets " but me A demo also went out in 2004
In brief a good group Surfing, rather basic(basal),
but with well
mastered
fragments, we see that they have some
experience(experiment) in the
domain.
It is a pity there is vocal or no faster songs!!
THE LANCE MONTHLY REVIEW APRIL 2005
the Invisible Surfers "Dogs Killa Cat" (Hitch-Hyke
Records)Te
They have the grooves down pat, but still operate in
a realm of their own.
For a few years now, The Invisible Surfers have been
thrilling crowds with the kind of surf rock
instrumentals that never grow old. And in view of
their first album, "Dogs Killa Cat," they bring their
live expertise right into the studio. Generated by raw
and uninhibited energy, the Athens, Greece band sports
a sound that is loose, flexible and visceral.
Dazzling all the way through, "Dogs Killa Cat" swerves
and curves with interesting motions. Toxic yet catchy
tones pierce cuts such as "Poison Pussy,"
"Machination" and "The Hunter." Stuttering guitar
riffs, complemented by chugging bass work and stirring
drums are what The Invisible Surfers peddle. One can
imagine the band's instrumentals spinning in the
background of a grainy black-and-white monster flick
from days gone by. Every single track on "Dogs Killa
Cat" exposes how sincerely devoted The Invisible
Surfers are to the style of music they perform. They
have the grooves down pat, but still operate
in a realm of their own. h
PIPELINE MAGAZINE [ REVIEW DEMO INVISIBLE SURFERS]
THE INVISIBLE SURFERS HAIL FROM ATHENS,CREECE WHERE
THEY FORMED IN 1996 FOLLOWING THE DISSOLUTION OF THE
BLUE GEANS.IN 1997 THEY RELEASED THEIR FIRST SINGLE
WITH THREE UPHAET INSTUMENTAL TRACKS.IN 2002 THEY
RELAESED THEIR FIRST ALBUM,DOGS KILLA CAT ON
HITCH-HYKE RECORDS,WHICHDREW MUSICAL ELEMENTS FROM
TRADITIONAL GREEK STYLE,SCI-FI,SPAGHETTI AND
GARAGE.THEY NOW HAVE A 13 TRACK DEMO READY FOR THEIR
NEXT ALBUM WHICH THEY ARE LOOKING TO PLACE WITH A
LABEL OUTSIDE OF THEIR HOMELAND. STRONG GUITAR
THREE-PIECE VERSIONS OF DUCKPOIND [AS SURFIN'LAKE]
RUNAWAY
THE WEDGE AND SQUAUD CAR [AS THUNDER RIDE]ARE JOINED
BY NINE UPTEMPO ORIGINALS WITH INFLUENCES FROM
DUANE EDDY THROUGH TO PUNK.
[ CONTACT ANDREAS ZORBAS HIGHER_UPS@YAHOO.GR]
ALAN TAYLOR PIPELINE MAGAZINE
review from void&action japan
THE INVISIBLE SURFERS / DOGS KILLA CAT / CD /
HITCH-HYKE (2002)
ήηΝAMVΝAelΜT[tEpNECXgEohB»Μpπ©ΉΘʼgζθB1996NΙ¬΅ANΙVOπo΅½ΖΝʼ¦A2002NΙζⱬ¯½t@[XgEAo±ΜCDBήηΜoCIOtB[ΙζκΞAMVΕΝΘ©Θ©κ½η΅ʼB»ΜΜΝΖΰ©Aξ{ΙΐΕADΆIΘtπθIn³ΉΔʼιΖ±λΘΗΝAm©Ιξρί½ΜAJβϊ{ΜohΙΝΰΝβ^ΜoΘʼv~eBΕpζcΘ£ΝΖΘΑΔlηΜ¨ΙcιΙαʼΘʼBJ@[ΜXg[gΘIπΰ
άθΙfp·¬ιA»κΰήηΜOgΜohΌu[W[YΖΘκΞAΰΆεΰΎ¦ΘʼΎλB/
²ʽl Masato Sato
THE REVIEW IS FROM SAVAGE MAGAZINE
THE INVISIBLE SURFERS
Dogs Killa Cat CD
Greek surf.. New surf done the tradidional way is not
really my cup of tea. There are a few bands out there
that do it okay but I dont go out buying surf records
anymore. That was ten years ago (about).. This is
pretty heavy surf and for hardcore surf fans only.
(Thomas)
No label
www.garage rock radio.com review
The Invisible Surfers from Greece are a cool surf
instrumental band. Their recent effort, "Dogs Killa
Cat" features 14 authentic 60s-tinged guitar surf
tunes. Production is very good and there is much good
guitarwork. Tempos range from psyche-trippy to
standard 60s surf pop to speed metal (track 9 borrows
from Motorhead's "Ace of Spades"). Surf and Garage are
first cousins in the Rock family. If you like surf,
check out the great guitarwork on this CD! For more
info on this band, please write to Andreas Zorbas.
REWIEW FROM THE www.digginfordirt.com
The Invisible Surfers - Dogs Killa Cat/Demo
Written by Paul4dirt
Tuesday, 08 February 2005
Two cdr-discs by a Greek surf band. The Dogs Killa Cat
one being by far the best of the two. The demo has
more predictable songs on it and the dogs killa cat cd
has some great swingin' songs like nr. 5 'Restlesness'
and nr. 9 'The Hunter'. If you're a fan of surf music
be sure to check this here band out. I mean, it's not
VERY often the Greeks bring us some decent surfin
music, or is it?
review from bob ignizio WWW.UTTERTRASH.NET
The Invisible Surfers Demo (currently unreleased)
Although the post-Pulp Fiction boom in surf music
has largely died down, theres still a few bands out
there playing the style. Hailing from Athens, Greece,
The Invisible Surfers are one such band. Theyve
definitely got the chops, and if you like a purist
approach to this style, you cant do much better.
This is pretty much the classic Dick Dale/Ventures
sound with a bit of garage rock grit and intensity.
Unfortunately, theres not much to differentiate this
band from a hundred others doing the same thing.
Without a distinctive sound, that leaves only the
tunes themselves to set this band apart. While
theres no bad tracks on this demo, theres no
Miserlou or Walk, Dont Run, either. The
instrumental version of Del Shannons Runaway is the
only thing that even comes close. Its enjoyable
background music, but doesnt really stick with me.
(Bob Ignizio)
TSUNAMI SOUL
Hi Andreas,
I got the cds on Saturday and I like them a lot! I
wanted to wait until
I had listened to them a few times before sending you
my comments. I
think that these demos are all really good.
"Cobra Snake Neck Tie" is a good example of the
Invisible Surfers'
great rhythm. This song also has some cool changes.
"Burned Brain" displays
the adventurous guitar that is in all of these songs.
"Eyes Like The
Deep Blue Sea," which is another great song that I've
been enjoying,
shows that the Invisible Surfers have reverance for
the more "traditional"
style of instrumentals, like those of Duane Eddy and
Link Wray. Still,
this song is as unique as all of the Invisible
Surfers' songs! "O.D.
From Love" is another song with a strong and solid
rhythm. A very cool
song. I think that the fast, foot-tapping melody in
"Stabs 'N' Hugs" is
excellent and "Total Satisfied" is also very exciting.
I like this song
a lot. "Hellfire Whips" has a great melody line. The
Invisible Surfers
do a nice job on this song. The last "Untitled" song
is another
foot-stomping song. I really like the fast guitar
picking in this song. This
song deserves a title!
All of the Invisible Surfers' original demo songs on
this CD are very
good. They incorporate dynamic changes and they are
all very
adventurous. The covers ("Surfin' Lake," "Runaway,"
"The Wedge," and "Thunder
Ride") are also done well. I especially like the great
chords and excellent
guitar playing in "Runaway" and "The Wedge."
Thanks also for sending me a copy of "Dogs Killa Cat."
These songs are
all amazing! What a great CD. I'll be playing the
Invisible Surfers'
songs on my Tsunami Soul radio show and helping to
spread the word about
this great band. I know that my show's listeners will
appreciate the
Invisible Surfers as much as I do.
Thanks again, Andreas. I hope to hear lots of good
things about (and
from!) the Invisible Surfers.
All the best,
Tom
Tsunami Soul
WOBC 91.5 FM
wobc.org (Thursdays, 6:00-8:00 p.m. EST)
www.oberlin.edu/staff/thinders/
THE INVISIBLE SURFERS - "TOO MANY TALK"
What can a surf-/trash fan expect in times where
instant, electronic chartmusic is nummero uno ?!? No
idea ?
There could only one possible answer...raw, powerful
surf instrumentals for sure !
"No one plays it !" some would yell. But hey, wait a
minute and take a sharp look at the horizon. Can`t you
feel that strong choppy instrumental breaze, coming up
from the golden coast of greece ?
That are the sounds of "THE INVISIBLE SURFERS"
considered to be some of the wild! est rock`n`roll
instrumentals played in the new millenium ! The
formula for the "Surfers" style seems to be simple...a
fast played and rough soundin surf guitar, a bone dry
rhythm section and the seventh sense for an earcatchin
melody. But only Alex, Johnny and Giorgos can mix
these ingredients the right way. The results are
always top notch instrumentals ala "INVISIBLE
SURFERS". A good example for the SURFERS recipe is
that nifty tune called "Too many talk". It`s a
statement for the high art of entertaining rock`n`roll
instrumentals and better...it`s not just an appetizer,
it`s an beef tea for every one who`s addicted to the
power of cool instro tunes nowadays !
So, don`t waste your time listening to all that chart
music crap, better move over to the Surfers sound,
okay ? okay !
JAMAS !
-- > get 100 % cheap o instromania !
Welcome to HangNine - the Instrumental, Surf and
Garage WebZine
From now on, the main page at HangNine will feature
recent reviews and anything else current that takes
our fancy. Reviews will eventually be added to our
extensive archive.
First, though, a short explanation of our new rating
system:
AFBOM - A guitarist friend, frequently asked, "What
did you think of the band?" felt it best to avoid
answers of the, "Not much, to be honest," variety and
always picked on something positive to say. This might
have been, "Great chorus to the last song," "Loved the
guitar sound in that first number," or even, "The
drummer's trousers are really cool." Favourite of the
lot, though, was, "Fine bunch of musicians," which
became something of a catchphrase round our way.
NBAA - Not bad at all.
PDG - Pretty damned good.
AB - Absolutely brilliant.
AFB - Better even than absolutely brilliant.
The Invisible Surfers
Who are they? Surf-punk instrumental band from Athens,
in sunny Greece. The Invisible Surfers speicalise in a
highly effective, high-octane brand of rocking
instrumental surf. This untitled demo features some 28
numbers spread over two cdr's (rather attractive, 7
inch single style cdr's, by the way); a blend of
originals and covers, including some which you might
expect to find played by a band of this ilk (Rumble,
The Wedge, Jack The Ripper) and some which you might
not (Swan Lake and Del Shannon's Runaway).
Unfortunately, it's not possible to name any of the
originals featured here, since there is no track
listing.
What's good? The playing, which is really lively on
all numbers. The whole demo has a pretty much live
feel and, if this is anything to go by, you can be
damn sure that The Invisible Surfers are a great live
act. Maybe they'll make it to the UK for HangNine to
check out.
Great choice of tunes to cover.
Some very good original tunes too.
What's bad? 28 numbers spread over around 95 minutes
is quite a lot of material to include in a demo!
Some numbers feature digital glitches and dropouts,
while one is unplayable, due to really unpleasant
digital distortion. This is obviously a potential
problem with self-manufactured cdr's; you really do
have to check them, which can be a real drag.
No track listing.
HangNine Rating: PDG - you can email manager Andreas
for further details
review from roctomber fanzine;
Invisible Surfers ( Unlike most
boring, clichΓ© surf music, this band stands out because , while
staying
true to the beach, they also draw from indie rock, jazz and ethnic folk
music. Of course, the latter may not be a stretch, they say Dick
Daleβs
Middle-Eastern roots helped contribute to the sounds of early surf.
These Invisibles may not be much to see, but they are really something
to hear
review from rock&roll prugatory
Invisible Surfers
2 CD-Rs
Higher_ups@yahoo.gr
I am not sure what the two CD-Rs I received by this Greek band represent. I think some of it is off past releases, and some is not-yet-released material. At any rate, it is pretty decent instrumental surf music worthy of mention. The recordings range in quality, and a couple songs had major glitches. Im guessing a lot of these songs are originals, while the covers that I recognized ranged from predictable (but enjoyable), to somewhat less expected. The execution is quite good, and the moods range from heavy and dark to bright and breezy. While they dont quite stand apart from the pack, they are certainly towards the front. Ill be interested to see where they go from here. BL
Then Garp got some hate mail of his own. He was addressed in a lively letter by someone who took offense at Second Wind of the Cuckold. It was not a blind, stuttering, spastic farter - as you might imagine - either. It was just what Garp needed to get himself out of his slump.
Dear Shithead,
[wrote the offended party]
I have read your novel. You seem to find other people's problems very funny. I have seen your pictures. With your fat head of hair I suppose you can laugh at bald persons. And in your cruel book you laugh at people who can't have orgasms, and people who aren't blessed with happy marriages, and people whose wives and husbands are unfaithful to each other. You ought to know that persons who have these problems do not think everything is so funny. Look at the world, shithead - it is a bed of pain, people suffering and nobody believing in God or bringing their children up right. You shithead, you don't have any problems so you can make fun of the poor people who do!
Yours sincerely,
(Mrs.) I. B. Poole
Findlay, Ohio
That letter stung Garp like a slap; rarely had he felt so importantly misunderstood. Why did people insist that if you were "comic" you couldn't also be "serious"? Garp felt most people confused being profound with being sober, being earnest with being deep. Apparently, if you sounded serious, you were. Presumably, other animals could not laugh at themselves, and Garp believed that laughter was related to sympathy, which we were always needing more of. He had been, after all, a humorless child - and never religious - so perhaps he now took comedy more seriously than others.
But for Garp to see his vision interpreted as making fun of people was painful to him; and to realize that his art had made him appear cruel gave Garp a keen sense of failure. Very carefully, as if he were speakingto a potential suicide high up in a foreign and unfamiliar hotel, Garp wrote to his reader in Findlay, Ohio
Dear Mrs. Poole:
The world is a bed of pain, people suffer terribly, few of us believe in God or bring up our children very well; you're right about that. It is also true that people who have problems do not, as a rule, think their problems are "funny".
Horace Walpole once said that the world is comic to those who think and tragic to those who feel. I hope you'll agree with me that Horace Walpole somewhat simplifies the world by saying this. Surely both of us think and feel; in regard to what's comic and what's tragic, Mrs. Poole, the world is all mixed up. For this reason I have never understood why "serious" and "funny" are thought to be opposites. It is simply a truthful contradiction to me that people's problems are often funny and that the people are often and nonetheless sad.
I am ashamed, however, that you think I am laughing at people, or making fun of them. I take people very seriously. People are all I take seriously, in fact. Therefore, I have nothing but sympathy for how people behave - and nothing but laughter to console them.
Laughter is my religion, Mrs. Poole. In the manner of most religions, I admit that my laughter is pretty desperate. I want to tell you a little story to illustrate what I mean. The story takes place in Bombay, India, where many people starve to death every day; but not all the people in Bombay are starving.
And among the nonstarving population of Bombay, India, there was a wedding, and a party was thrown in honor of the bride and groom. Some of the wedding guests brought elephants to the party. They weren't really conscious of showing off, they were just using the elephants for transportation. Although it might strike us as a big-shot way to travel around, I don't think these wedding guests saw themselves that way. Most of the were probably not directly responsible for the vast numbers of their fellow Indians who were starving all around them; most of them were just calling "time out" from their own problems, and the problems of the world, to celebrate the wedding of a friend. But if you were a member of the starving Indians, and you hobbled past that wedding party and saw all those elephants parked outside, you probably would have felt some disgruntlement.
Furthermore, some of the revelers at the wedding got drunk and began feeding beer to their elephant. They emptied an ice bucket and filled it with beer, and they went tittering out to the parking lot and fed their hot elephant the whole bucket. The elephant liked it. So the revelers gave him several more buckets of beer.
Who knows how beer will affect an elephant? These people meant no harm, they were just having fun - and chances are fairly good that the rest of their lives weren't one hundred percent fun. They probably needed this party. But the people were also being stupid and irresponsible.
If one of those many starving Indians had dragged himself through the parking lot and seen these drunken wedding guests filling up an elephant with beer, I'll bet he would have felt resentful. But I hope you see I am not making fun of anyone.
What happens next is that the drunken revelers are asked to leave the party because their behavior with their elephant is obnoxious to the other wedding guests. No one can blame the other guests for feeling this way; some of them may have actually thought they were preventing things from getting "out of hand," although people have never been very successful at preventing this.
Huffy and brave with beer, the revelers struggled up on their elephant and veered away from the parking lot - a large exhibition of happiness, surely - bumping into a few other elephants and things because the revelers' elephant plowed from side to side in a lumbering wooze, bleary and bloated with buckets of beer. His trunk lashed back and forth like a badly fastened artificial limb. The great beast was so unsteady that he struck an electric utility pole, shearing it cleanly and bringing down the live wires on his massive head - which killed him, and the wedding guests who were riding him, instantly.
Mrs. Poole, please believe me: I don't think that's "funny." But along comes one of those starving Indians. He sees all the wedding guests mourning the death of their friends, and their friends' elephant; much wailing, rending of fine clothes, spilling of good food and drink. The first thing he does is to take the opportunity to slip into the wedding while the guests are distracted and steal a little good food and drink for his starving family. The second thing he does is start to laugh himself sick about the manner in which the revelers disposed of themselves and their elephant. Alongside death by starvation, this method of enormous dying must seem very funny, or at least quick, to the undernourished Indian. But the wedding guests don't see it that way. It is already a tragedy to them; they are already talking about "this tragic event," and although they could perhaps forgive the presence of a "mangy beggar" at their party - and even have tolerated his stealing their food - they cannot forgive him for laughing at their dead friends' elephant.
The wedding guests - outraged at the beggar's behavior (at his laughter, not his thievery and not his rags) - drown him in one of the beer buckets that the late revelers used to water their elephant. They construed this to represent "justice". We see that the story is about the class struggle - and, of course, "serious", after all. But I like to consider it a comedy about a natural disaster: they are just people rather foolishly attempting to "take charge" of a situation whose complexity is beyond them - a situation compsed of eternal and trivial parts. After all, with something as large as an elephant, it could have been much worse.
I hope, Mrs. Poole, that I have made what I mean clearer to you. In any case, I thank you for taking the time to write to me, because I appreciate hearing from my audience - even critically.
Yours truly,
"Shithead"
Garp was an expressive man. He made everything baroque, he believed in exaggeration; his fiction was also extremist. Garp never forgot his failure with Mrs. Poole; she worried him, often, and her reply to his pompous letter must have upset him even further.
Dear Mr. Garp,
[Mrs. Poole replied]
I never thought you would take the trouble to write me a letter. You must be a sick man. I can see by your letter that you believe in yourself, and I guess that's good. But the things you say are mostly garbage and nonsense to me, and I don't want you to try to explain anything to me again, because it is boring and insulting to my intelligence.
Yours,
Irene Poole
Garp was, like his beliefs, self-contradictory. He was very generous with other people, but he was horribly impatient. He set his own standards for how much of his time and patience everyone deserved. He could be painstakingly sweet, until he decided he'd been sweet enough. Then he turned and came roaring back the other way.
Dear Irene,
[Garp wrote to Mrs. Poole]
You should either stop trying to read books, or you should try a lot harder.
Dear Shithead,
[wrote Irene Poole]
My husband says that if you write to me again, he'll beat your brains into pulp.
Very sincerely,
Mrs. Fitz Poole
Dear Fitzy and Irene,
[Garp shot right back]
Fuck you.
Taken from right-to-left, as I was sitting on the north side of the train, headed west.
I really like what happened when I set the camera on my phone to 'panorama' and then held it stationary against the window of the train: (from an email I wrote) "The camera accrues the image unevenly: it's looking for motion but its internal gyroscope ("accelerometer") is confused. If things aren't changing much in the foreground, the picture 'piles up' and the horizon stutters, but water or trees close-by trigger a richer capture
This was just after sunrise. Fall colours here, and lots of standing water."
The Compur shutter from Rolleiflex Old Standard No. 403037. With the circular black facia ring removed step (84) and the control plate ring removed step (87) we reach the insides of the shutter where all the action takes place. This shutter was 'stuttering' on the slow speeds particularly 1 sec & 1/2 sec. The cause of this is a dirty shutter speed escapement mechanism: my finger points to this speed escapement mechanism and this mechanism can be considered to be the 'heart' of a Compur shutter. This piece of clockwork controls every one of the different speeds (except the shortest one and B & T) Clean it by brushing some lighter fluid petrol very lightly across it and into it with a fine brush then blow out the solvent with a jet of air from a rubber lens blower bulb. This generally is all that is required to get it running sweet again. The main problem with all these leaf shutters is that dirt and or dried down grease has got into the clockwork to stop it working. These mechanisms are extremely reliable and quite robust. Very rarely do they fail completely or break down in my experience. IF THE SHUTTER BLADES WON'T OPEN AT ALL when you release the shutter (and it just goes 'click') it's very likely grease or dirt has dried on the shutter blades and is sticking them together.Again try cleaning them with a hydrocarbon solvent such as cigarette lighter fluid petrol applied on a cotton bud or fine brush. Work the mechanism (read the WARNING BELOW first) and clean the blades with cotton buds. Let the solvent dry out completely (the blades won't open and close if they are wet with solvent). The solvent will hold the wet blades together until it dries out. [To understand this get two pieces of wet glass such as two microscope slides then put the wet pieces together and you'll find they slide over each other only with difficulty and pulling them apart is very difficult because of surface tension (caused by hydrogen bonding in the water molecules)] BIG WARNING DON'T COCK THE SHUTTER AND TRY TO FIRE IT UNTIL THE CONTROL PLATE IS BACK ON : see step (89).
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JULY 11: (L-R) Tina Brown and Emily Blunt attend the 2022 Freeing Voices, Changing Lives Gala at Guastavino's on July 11, 2022 in New York City. (Photo by Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images for American Institute for Stuttering)
from The Prodigal: 10
The ground dove stuttered for a few steps then flew
up from his path to settle in the sun-browned
branches that were now barely twigs; in drought it coos
with its relentless valve, a tiring sound,
not like the sweet exchanges of turtles in the Song
of Solomon, or the flutes of Venus in frescoes
though all the mounds in the dove-calling drought
the hills and gulches all briary and ochre
and the small dervishes that swivelled in the dust
were like an umber study for a fresco
of The Prodigal Son, this scorched, barren acre.
He had the smell of cities in his clothes,
the steam and soot of trains of Fascist stations
and their resounding vaults, he had the memory of rain
carried in his head, the rain on Pescara's beach
with the pastel hotels, and instead of the doves
the air-show with the jets soaring and swooping
over the Fair, the smell off that beach
came back on the rock-road where the turtle lifted
its mating music into the dry acacias,
and mixed with the smell off the galloping sea-flock,
each odour distinct, of sheep trampling their pens
as if their fear had caught the wolf-scent.
The rock-brown dove had fluttered from that fear
that what he loved and knew once as a boy
would panic and forget him from the change
of character that the grunting swine could smell.
A sow and her litter. Acknowledged prodigal.
Grey sunrise through a sky of frosted glass,
the great trees sodden, the paths below them pooled,
the headlands veiled and muslin-thin, no birds,
and pale green combers cresting through the drizzle;
a change of climate, the clouding of the self
in a sudden culture but one more confident
in its glazed equestrian statues in wet parks,
its railway stations echoing like the combers
in the ground-shaken caves under the cliff;
gathering, cresting then dissolving shallows
as light steps quietly into the house.
Light that inaudibly fits in the house
as a book on a bookshelf with its spines of tombs
and names, mouths slightly parted, eager to speak
wherever their station now. Every library
is a cemetery in sunlight. Sometimes, a shaft . . .
Across the dry hillock, leaves chasing dead leaves
in resurrecting gusts, or in the ochre quiet
leaves too many to rake on the road's margins,
too loaded to lift themselves, they lapsed singly
or in a yellow chute from the cedar, burnt branches;
lyres of desiccation choked the dry gutters
everywhere in the country, La Feuillée, Monchy,
by the caked track to Saltibus, over D'ennery.
Drought. Song of the wireless harp of the frangipani
that still makes a tangled music out of silence.
II
Now to cherish the depredations of April
even on the threshold of March, its sunlit eve—
the gommier maudit unshouldering its leaves,
barrow after loaded barrow, the leaves fading, yellow,
burnt grass and the tigerish shadows on the hillside,
and the azure a trowelled blue, and blue hill-smoke,
parched shortcuts and rust, cattle anchored in shadows
and groaning like winches, the didactic drought
against the hot sea that teaches what? Thirst
for the grace that springs in grooves of oblivious dust.
A fine haze screens the headland, the drizzle drifts.
Is every noun: breakwater, headland, haze,
seen through a gauze of English, a bright scrim,
a mesh in which light now defines the wires
and not its natural language? Were your life and work
simply a good translation? Would headland,
haze and the spray-wracked breakwater
pronounce their own names differently?
And have I looked at life, in other words,
through some inoperable cataract?
"What language do you speak in your own country?"
Every noun has its echo, a noun is a noise,
as every stone in the expanding sunlight
finds an exact translation in its shadow,
and it may be that you were halved by language
as definitively as the meridian
of Greenwich or by Pope Alexander's line,
but what makes this, if this is all it is,
more than just bearable, in fact, exultation
is the stone that is looked at, and the manchineels,
bitter, poisonous yellow berries, treacherous apples
that look like Eden's on the tree of knowledge
when the first noun was picked and named and eaten
and the shadow of knowledge defined every edge
originating language and then difference,
and subtlety, the snake and contradiction
and the sudden Babel of the manchineel.
III
The blank page grows a visionary wood.
A parallel section, no, in fact a whole province
of far, of foreign, of self-translating leaves
stands on the place where it has always stood
the right-hand margin of the page
loud, soft but voluble in their original language,
an orchestrating lexicon, veined manuscripts
going far back in time and deep in roots
and echoing in the tunnel of the right ear
with echoes: oak-echo, beech-echo, linden-echo,
and beech and birds a half-ancestral forest
whose metre was an ocean's and whose break,
parting declared the white-lined conjugation
of combers' centuries. This ocean, English and this forest weald,
this clattering natterer "burn," this distance, mist,
kept its high columns marching as my pen moves
towards that gap of light that comes upon
the bright salt arc of a bare unprinted beach
or where the piper leaves a print, its claws,
dim, imperceptible as an ancient rune—
that is the landscape, that, the stand of forest
made up of all these leaves and lines that
still rasp with delight with rhyme and incantation
pages of shade turning into translation.
And my left hand another vegetation
but not their opposite or their enemy,
palms and wild fern and praising them, the sea,
sea-almond, grape and vine and agave
that the wind's finger folded carefully
drawing its thumb to mark the dog-eared wave
across the dry hill, leaves chasing leaves
in a shiny, scurrying wind, and, in the brown quiet,
leaves, unraked, tiling the road's margins,
so loaded they don't lift, they lapse singly, yellow,
or chute from the cedars. Lyres of desiccation
in March's autumn, filling the dry gutters,
everywhere in the country, La Feuillée, Monchy,
except for the wireless harp of the frangipani
that still makes its music out of extreme stillness.
In my own botanic origins, frangere panem
to break bread, flower-flour in its white lilies,
except that in rare blossom I now remember
the flower is pink. It doesn't matter.
Since whatever hue it is, its wafer it serves that need,
petal on the sky's open palate at early mass
every morning but here most on this Sunday
with its Lenten drought, the heart-coloured flowers then
the caterpillars determinedly devour,
on a Sunday when a sadness still eats at the parallel
petals of my beaten heart, and the white pews of the sea,
the waves coming in aisles, my longing
for the communion of breakfast, the leafless,
flower-less but crusted bark of the frangipani,
frangere panem, the pain that I break and eat
flower and flour, pain and pain,
bright Easter coming, like the seas white communion.
IV
In the country of the ochre afternoon
it is always still and hot, the dry leaves stirring
infrequently sometimes with the rattling pods
of what they call "women's tongues," in
the afternoon country the far hills are very quiet
and heat-hazed, but mostly in the middle
of the country of the afternoon I see the brown heat
of the skin of my first love, so still, so perfect,
so unaltered, and I see how she walked
with her sunburnt hands against the still sea-almonds,
to a remembered cove, where she stood on the small dock—
that was when I thought we were immortal
and that love would be folded doves and folded oars
and water lapping against eroding stone
in the ochre country of the afternoon.
Derek Walcott