Было время - любили гармониста, а теперь время настало

Было время - любили гармониста, а теперь время настало - любят тракториста.

I have gone down the gritty Soviet realism path here with Henry today. I think that he evokes an image of a rough hewn, long-haired Czech beat poet railing against Brezhnev’s tanks rolling into Prague (minus the flowers in the one hand, and the Molotov cocktail in the other). Change that shirt to a Dukla Prague away strip and we’re talking turkey.

You might have some trouble with the title today; it is an old Soviet proverb that I think captures the spirit of the time well:

There was a time they loved an accordionist, and now the time has come where they love a tractor driver.

I’d like to think that the ladies – and the people more broadly – will love Henry regardless of whether he is driving a tractor or driving a piano accordion (or at least that they will tolerate his piano accordion-ship and not accost him with rocks and burning stakes).

Comments

Tash said…

"Очи черные" but not "очи страстные". He is such a cutie that he will definitely be loved by the ladies.
Interesting set of memories you brought up... I remember watching the Russians tanks in Prague on Yugoslavian TV and all the adults being so concerned and anti-Russian.

8 December 2008 at 17:10

Nathalie H.D. said…

I didn't quite get the point you were trying to make but the photo is lovely.

Thanks for your visit in Avignon. Would you say that prickly pear is a pest in OZ ?

And now please turn to my comment re your Tampax ad below. I'm 100% sure it's a hoax.

8 December 2008 at 17:25

Kris McCracken said…

Tash, well spotted. I would imagine that the feeling in Yugoslavia at the time would have been one of apprehension!

Nathalie, prickly pear was a problem up in Queensland, yes. Thanks for the eagles eyes on the ad!

12 December 2008 at 14:51

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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