Epitaphs Video
The new single flagged in the last post now has a video on Youtube.
Love to hear your thoughts, if there is anyone there......
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The new single flagged in the last post now has a video on Youtube.
Love to hear your thoughts, if there is anyone there......
Thoughts and Videos.
I seem to be feeling an attraction to blogging again, after a number of years. I don't know if it's strong enough to actually get me writing regularly or even non-regularly but I'm thinking about it. Anyway, it's a chance to blow some of the digital spiderwebs from this dusty corner of the internet.
Perhaps it's the need to find some sense of purpose at the moment as Covid19 has just been making me feel like I'm drifting even more aimlessly than is usual.
One of the 'projects' that I have been pursuing is making videos for old songs by my band and putting them on Youtube. (I've actually been trying to write and develop a bunch of new songs but that will not be complete until we can actually get back together as a band when this current situation has ended..)
Anyway here are some of the recent videos I've assembled, mostly using silent films. This first one, however, uses footage I shot myself.
Cold
Airwaves
Toothache
El Mariachi
Resurrection
Worse
Today, the death of the great Irish poet Derek Mahon was announced. It inspired me to try and capture the passing relationship I had with the words of his poem A Disused Shed in County Wexford. I read it when I was young and felt a poet was something to be.
Although the ambition has borne little fruit, it remains a fascination. It seems to call me back but I am aware that I am an amateur versifier - while Derek Mahon made phrases that change how you see the world.
Thoughts upon hearing of the death of Derek Mahon
"Web-throated, stalked like triffids, racked by drought
And insomnia, only the ghost of a scream
At the flash-bulb firing-squad we wake them with
Shows there is life yet in their feverish forms."
When first I read these words there was a shiver
of recognition.
Once, opening the small door
into the unconverted eavesliding attic
Confusion turned to fascination
And a slight unease.
The creeper from the front of the house
Had grown into the dark
White, grasping,
like roots above ground
searching for sustenance in the air.
Triffids, I thought
Reaching for my sleeping throat
Marooned in the bloodless dark.
Now it feels that I have sprouted
In the dark
Poems without soil.
As you enter the wordless mouth-shuttering clay
I wonder will my unflowered stems
Ever feel the sun.
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| “Homeless Jesus” by sculptor, Timothy Schmalz of Canada at Christchurch Cathedral, Dublin. |
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| This crowd picture seems to feature me in the top left. I remember the position and the shirt... |
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| Me |
No Such Place - Jim White![]() |
| The Grand Social |