Tag Archives: newauthoronline

Can One Place A Value On Artistic Creations?

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“Cecil Graham: What is a cynic?

Lord Darlington: A man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing.

Cecil Graham: And a sentimentalist, my dear Darlington, is a man who sees an absurd value in everything and doesn’t know the market price of any single

thing.”

(Oscar Wilde. Lady Windermere’s Fan).

 

According to the above, I am a sentimentalist for I had no idea what price to attach to my book, “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”. Indeed I must confess to finding the attaching of monetary value to artistic creations rather distasteful. For me literature and art more generally possesses a value in and of itself which can not be reduced to a matter of pounds, shillings and pence. Food feeds the stomach while art nourishes the soul. While the former is vital to the survival of the species, once food is eaten that is an end of the matter while, with art exposure to it continues to feed the spirit long after the creation in question has vanished from view. Poems I read as a boy continue to resonate with me today while countless meals are long since forgotten. Of course one may remember a dinner for the excellent companionship of friends but only on rare occasions will the food consumed figure in one’s recollections.

Having said all that, I do, of course accept that man does not exist by consuming fresh air alone. Authors must earn (and deserve to earn) a crust. Consequently it is necessary for me and other authors to attach monetary value to our creations. In the case of “Dalliance” I discussed the matter of price with several colleagues and friends who had read the book. None where of much help. One colleague suggested a price range of between £8 to £20. Given that “Dalliance” runs to 68 pages I felt that £20 was much to high. Eventually I consulted the man who owns my local bookshop, Bookseller Crow. He suggested a price of £7.99 which we agreed upon. This will cover the cost of producing “Dalliance” and, I hope allow both myself and the good purveyor of books to earn a crust.

In conclusion, books do possess an inherent value which can not be translated into purely monetary terms. However in the real world it is necessary (as with other artistic creations) to assign a price to them. However, deep in my soul I feel that it is sacreligious to place a financial value on Keats “Ode to A Nightingale” or Arnold’s “Dover Beach”.

 

The Guest – A Guest Post By Victo Dolore

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Many thanks to Victo Dolore for the below guest post. If you haven’t already checked out Victo’s blog please do so. She writes with humanity and humour about the medical world and so much more, (https://doctorly.wordpress.com/).

 

—

 

The Guest

 

The headmaster was standing at the back of the room in his brown suit and brown tie, his arms crossed somberly across his chest. He was a serious man who

never joked, never smiled.

 

I was nervous just looking at him.

 

It was my second grade class and it was the end of the school year. My teacher, Ms. White, held a sheaf of those wide ruled tan colored notebook papers

stapled together in her hands, turning each page slowly as she read from the podium at the front of the class.

 

They were my papers.

 

It was my story.

 

I stole another glance around the room. My classmates watched her with rapt attention, eyes growing wider. They were there in the story, I could see it!

 

There were dwarves and a wizard and a cave filled with treasure and scary monsters that clung to the dark shadows. I knew the secret, though. It was going

to end up with good winning out over evil. Just wait, I smiled to myself.

 

As she read the last words there was silence. More silence. My heart stood still as the seconds ticked by. Then… everyone clapped, even the somber, frightening

man at the back of the class.

 

He smiled at me!

 

I had never been recognized by anyone as being good at anything to that point. My handwriting was always awful. I read aloud too fast. My clothes were

old, worn hand-me-downs. Mathematics was a mystery to me. I was quiet as a mouse, never speaking, always invisible.

 

And so from that day forward I wrote every chance I could get.

 

I will never win any literary award. I will never have a huge audience. But when I put pen to paper I find my voice. The magic weaves its way through my

fingers, taking over…

 

Thus began my love affair with words.

“Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose” Is Available To Purchase From Bookseller Crow In Crystal Palace

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I am pleased to announce that my book, “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose” is available to purchase from Bookseller Crow in Crystal Palace, (http://booksellercrow.co.uk/). Print copies can also be obtained by contacting me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com, (please put “Dalliance” in the subject line). “Dalliance is also available as an ebook from Amazon, (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dalliance-collection-poetry-prose-Morris-ebook/dp/B00QQVJC7E). Below are examples of the poetry to be found in “Dalliance”:

 

Midnight

Midnight, black as pitch.

No scheming demon, ghost, nor witch.

Only the darkness, which in the human heart resides, manifests itself in cruelty and pride.

 

—

 

Let Us Away

Let us away and make hay,

For tomorrow we must pay.

Let us frolic the live long day,

But tomorrow we must pay.

 

—

 

Fire

I have felt the fire’s power;

It kindles brightly and sinks within the hour.

I have watched the embers dying fast;

Looked into the future and gazed into the past.

I have raked the ashes cold, felt the bleakness in my soul.

 

 

K Morris Featured Poet On Laura A Lord’s Website

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Many thanks to Laura A Lord for featuring me on her website, (http://lauraalord.com/2015/06/24/kevin-morris-featured-poet/).

 

Kevin

The Solitary Reaper By William Wordsworth

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I must confess to not being a lover of all Wordsworth’s poetry. I do, however derive considerable pleasure from the poet’s “The Solitary Reaper”:

 

“Behold her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland Lass!

Reaping and singing by herself;

Stop here, or gently pass!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,

And sings a melancholy strain;

O listen! for the Vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travellers in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian sands:

A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard

In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

That has been, and may be again?

Whate’er the theme, the Maiden sang

As if her song could have no ending;

I saw her singing at her work,

And o’er the sickle bending;—

I listened, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.”

A Review Of My Book, “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose”

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On checking the reviews of my book, “Dalliance; A Collection Of Poetry And Prose” I was delighted to see that a new review has been posted, which reads as follows:

 

“Kevin Morris shares his serious inner life in “Dalliance” in simple but often powerful poems and short, gritty vignettes full of honest feeling and meaning.

He shares his acute sense of hearing and touch and his connectedness with Nature and the elements. He feels rain and wind on his face, either warm like

a lover, or piercing and chill. His communion with birdsong reminds us that we are trapped in an over-stimulated electronic world out of earshot of the

call of the wild. Kevin clearly hears these sounds through and above our babble even in the pub, and may transfer his feelings onto them, sometimes his

sense of isolation. The pearl of this collection is a poem about the “eternal” wind, which has no regard for our petty civilisation: it is the ultimate

renewable power. The wind is from everlasting to everlasting. He hears the hoot of the deadly swooping owl intent in its prey. He feels and describes the

touch of the acorn, something he has loved since gathering acorns with his grandfather. His short stories are deeply felt and based on newstories told

with compassion. In sharing his gift, he opens up our own senses to the music of nature, the wind and birdsong, which is balm to the bruised soul. Highly

enjoyable!”.

Thank you to the reviewer for the above review which can be found here, (http://www.amazon.co.uk/review/R16IO99Q8EZCSG/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00QQVJC7E).

 

Kevin

Deliberately Bad Writing

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Inspired by this article (http://www.walesonline.co.uk/incoming/terrible-writing-leads-top-bulwer-lytton-7568759), about a civil servant who won a literary prize for deliberately bad writing, I thought I would try to produce something designed to make the lover of literature groan. Below is my attempt at deliberately bad writing:

 

 

It was freezing. Even the penguins wore fur coats while the polar bears refused to come out of their centrally heated homes. Bethany tripped along in her summer dress, without a care in the world, taking evasive action so as not to catch her 6 inch stilettos in the snowdrifts which had, somehow appeared overnight on the streets of Blackpool.

Pausing Bethany rummaged in the pocket of her skimpy clothing for the key to her front door. Or she would have done so had that garment possessed pockets which, quite naturally it didn’t.

“Blow me down with a feather”, Bethany said taking a closer look at her home, “I don’t remember buying an igloo”!

And The Logical Place For A Jar Of Coffee is …

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As an author, my mind sometimes wanders from the matter in hand and focuses on my writing. Yesterday I was making coffee. Not a difficult job as it merely entailed opening a jar of instant, spooning in coffee, adding milk and pouring boiling water into the mug. Yet I still managed to complicate this simple process.

“Why is there no milk in my coffee?” I asked myself.

On opening the fridge I discovered a jar of instant coffee comfortably ensconced next to the milk. Now I distinctly remember taking the milk out of the fridge. However instead of pouring milk into the mug I had returned it unopened to the fridge together with the jar of instant coffee!

On another occasion so intent was I on contemplating matters of a literary nature that I added both a tea bag and instant coffee to my mug. Now I am a relatively adventurous soul and am always willing to try out new things. I did, however draw the line at coffee mixed with tea!

I would be interested to hear from authors and readers. Am I alone in my odd coffee making habits?! I suspect others fall prey to the distraction of the book they are working on or reading and do bizarre things. Would you care to share what they are?

 

Kevin