Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten.

Poetry? Nanny Goats Lane, Battery Point. August, 2011.

Some quickies today!

#1 Generals Die in Bed by Charles Yale Harrison

Decent little WWI period piece that caused quite a stir on release in 1930. The frankness of a soldier's lot in (and out of) the trenches might seem familiar now, but no wonder it turned heads barely a decade after war's end. Recommended.

#2 The Meeting at Telgte by Günter Grass

Concept: the premier German-language poets decide to meet during the negotiations at the end of the Thirty Years War. At this meeting, the poets take turns reading their work for comment, the point being a desire not only for the end of military conflict, but a peace of language - that is, a standardising of their regional tongues. Verdict: Probably for linguists and poets only.

#3 Room at the Top by John Braine

One of the original Angry Young Men, Braine's debut is a fantastic portrait of a time, of a class-system, of gender politics, of personal character, and (ultimately) of ambition. I really loved this one, a great example of a flawed character in action. Highly recommended.

Comments

Roddy said…

Graffiti through the ages. It never changes.

20 August 2011 at 09:31

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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