Monthly Archives: May 2013

Cynara by Ernest Christopher Dowson

I don’t often include work by other writers here. However I have chosen to include Cynara by the English poet, Ernest Christopher Dowson because it is, in my view one of the greatest poems in the English language. Dowson lived a short life (1867-1900), one full of drunkenness. He is perhaps best known for his wonderful poem, “They are not long the weeping and the laughter”, however he deserves to be better known for his other poems including the below.

 

Cynara

 

Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae

 

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine

There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed

Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;

And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,

Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

 

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,

Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;

Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;

But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,

When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

 

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,

Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,

Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;

But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,

Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

 

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,

But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,

Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;

And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,

Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

 

Her Mother’s Daughter

Your mother’s daughter, she is proud of you, but does not see what you do. She does not see her daughter sweet stripped, stark naked from head to feet. She does not see the massage oil, her little girl bringing a naked man to the boil. She does not see him pawing you, the disgust on your face, but what can you do? For, after all he is paying you. She can not look inside your head, see what thoughts trouble you as you lie in your own bed. Could she see inside your brain, the world would reel, her heart fill with pain. Your mother knows not what you do, perhaps that is best for both her and you.

Epitaph On A Seeker Of Pleasure

He lived his life like a feather, blown hither and thither forever, by the cold winds of change. Young ladies of pleasure filled his leisure with bliss and pain. He held nothing dear, no one came near, life passed him by, until with a sithe, death came and called his name.

The Blackbird

Yesterday evening on the way home from a restaurant , with my friend Jeff, he and I where delighted by the singing of a blackbird. There he sat atop an urban chimney in the heart of Crystal Palace singing fit to burst. His singing filled that busy street with music and he made me feel life coursing through my veins. Beauty in the heart of the city.

Are you Bored?

Are you bored? Turn on the TV, kill the tedium, watch it with me. Have a problem? Does it hurt to think? The perfect solution, lets have a drink. Don’t like the truth, the nagging thoughts in your head? Turn up the volume, fill it with noise instead, and, if all else fails take refuge in bed.

I have a problem (sorry challenge)!

Yesterday I attended a course on CV writing. At one point the trainer refered to the problems one faces when composing or amending a CV. I was struck by the refreshing way in which she acknowledge that problems actually exist here in the real world. There is a deplorable tendency particularly among management types to come out with statements along the lines of

“There are no problems, only solutions” or

“There are no problems only challenges”.

On communicating my pleasure to the trainer regarding her acknowledgement that problems as opposed to challenges actualy exist she related the following humorous true story.

In marketing there are supposed to be no problems only situations. A group of salesmen where attending a training course when one of them refered to the problems he was experiencing in his work. His colleagues rebuked him saying that there are no problems only situations. He responded that

“Well I am facing so many situations it is turning into a problem”!

I would love to meet that man and shake him by the hand. With one brilliant stroke he cut through the Gordian knot of management speak and told, god help us the plain unvarnished truth. Would that there where many more men and women of his ilk. But then again the rubbish spouted by management types does provide endless hours of amusement to we mere mortals!

The Pub

A noisey pub, full of beer, people drinking, be of good cheer.

Saloon bar bore, full of self,, whittering inanely to himself. He’s an opinion on everything, the news of the day, cares not a jot what others have to say.

Judges and brickies, all life is here, all drawn to the pub by what else but beer!

 

Book Review: Pimp: The Story of My Life By Iceberg Slim

A couple of weeks ago I was browsing the Kindle store when I came across Iceberg Slim’s biography, Pimp: The Story of My Life (see http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pimp-The-Story-Life-ebook/dp/B005GK7LPG) which tells the story of how the author became one of America’s most notorious pimps. Slim ppulls no punches. The book is a no holes barred account of how Iceberg entered pimping, the people he met and of how he controlled his girls. I flinched as I read how Slim punished his first working girl, Joyce by whipping her with a wire coat hanger. The whipping had (from Slim’s perspective) the desired result as Joyce returned to the streets to sell her body.

Slim was brought up during the era of racial segregation which had a profound effect on his view of the world. As a young black man Slim saw pimping as being one of the few opportunities open to him to become rich. His mentor, Sweet Jones hates white people as a result of his father having been murdered by a white lynch mob and his mother having been raped by the same mob. Sweet tells Slim that black pimps where the early heroes who turned the tables on their former slave masters by becoming prosperous in pimping. It is ironic that Sweet and Slim fail to see that they themselves are slave owners of a kind and are perpetuating the practices of the former plantation owners (it is Sweet who recommends to Slim he keeps his girls in line by the use of practices including whipping with coat hangers). The slave holders of yester year would, no doubt have been proud of them!

As a child Slim’s mother has relationships with a number of unsuitable men including with Slim’s father who, at one point throws the child against the wall. The exception to this rule is the gentle Henry who dotes on both Slim and his mother. However Slim’s mother leaves Henry for another man, had she stayed with Henry who Slim clearly adores it is very possible that I wouldn’t have read Pimp as the author wouldn’t have entered the world of pimping.

On reading Pimp one wonders why the women Slim controlled put up with their treatment at the hands of Iceberg. Fear goes some way to explaining it, however this is not the only explanation. Working on the streets and frequently unobserved by Slim his ladies had many opportunities to escape. One or two of them did but many others did not. Ironically a number of the girls “loved” Slim and convinced themselves that their feelings where reciprocated which explains why they remained with him. In particular one girl sends Slim money while he is in prison (she could have stolen it but chose instead to sell his car, on Slim’s instructions and send the cash to him).

In the end it is the fear of dying in prison rather than any moral revulsion which leads Slim to exit pimping. There is, so far as I can see no wholehearted moral rejection of his former life but I haven’t read any of the interviews which he gave subsequently so perhaps I am wrong on that point.

If you want a comfortable bedtime read then Pimp by Iceberg Slim is not for you. However if you want to try and understand why a man might enter the world of pimping then this book makes a fascinating read.

It Must Be True

It must be true, it’s here in black and white, celebrity raped by martian in the middle of the night.

It must be true, paedophiles are everywhere, innuendo and suspicion fill the air.

It must be true, immigrants are stealing are jobs, I read it in that organ of truth, The Daily Slob.

Look at that couple on reality TV, he watched while his girlfriend had sex with is best friend’s wife, but what has that got to do with my life?!