Tag Archives: reading

“Albatross: The Scent Of Honeysuckle” By Jeff B Grant Is Now Available For Purchase

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My close friend, Jeff Grant published “Albatross: The Scent Of Honeysuckle” on 22 September2015. I have known Jeff for some 15 years now and am thrilled that a book on which he has worked so hard is now available for purchase. The book description reads as follows:

“I take up the little dog-eared, black and white photograph and gaze at it yet again. He could be anybody: but I know he’s of me, mine. As I put it down

again on the rough table by the bed, lines from a Chinese poem are in my mind – ‘Let me go down next year with the spring waters And search for you to

the end of the white clouds in the east.'” Barnaby Marechal knows he has a choice: search for the son he abandoned as an infant many years ago, or risk

psychological meltdown under the burden of an unpaid moral debt”.

Jeff B Grant Born in the city of Leicester in the UK, Jeff was educated at Bedford Modern School, and Strode’s Grammar School in the county of Surrey –

then subsequently at St. Edmund Hall, Oxford where he studied English Language and Literature. After graduating, he worked for several years as a Producer

and then Director of television and cinema commercials in London. One of his early directing credits, the 1973 Public Information Film, “Dark and Lonely

Water”, is still garnering comments on YouTube today as the scariest of all Public Information Films broadcast on UK television. Jeff then moved on to

writing and directing films for organisations such as the Rank Organisation, the Ford Motor Company, the BBC, Central Television, British Oxygen Company

etc. He has worked all over the UK and mainland Europe, in several African countries, India, Hong Kong, Japan, Australia, the USA and the Caribbean. He

received many international awards for both directing and writing. Jeff left the film industry during the recession of the mid-nineties, moved out of London

into the country and took a long look at himself and at life. He eventually moved back to London where he now lives. When not writing, he plays piano,

tinkers with computers, watches films and birds, takes photographs of the world around him, practises yoga, spends time with his partner, family and friends,

and eats hot Indian food”.

Albatross

“Albatross” is available in paperback and can be found here (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Albatross-scent-honeysuckle-Jeff-Grant/dp/0993332803/ref=sr_1_44?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1444485269&sr=1-44&keywords=albatross), and here (http://uedata.amazon.com/Albatross-Honeysuckle-Jeff-B-Grant/dp/0993332803).

 

From The Dark We Come And To The Dark We Shall Return

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We come out of night.

Oh brief delight.

The song of the bird

A loving word

All are heard.

Nature’s scent

Our lives are spent

In joy and pain.

In the end ‘tis all the same.

From the dark womb

We come

For a time dally under the sun

Then to the tomb.

It is over all to soon.

 

A second reading of my poem ‘Dolls’.

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This is a re-recording of my poem ‘Dolls’. The clarity of the second recording is, I believe, better than the earlier reading.

‘Dolls’ can be found in ‘The girl who wasn’t there and other poems’, available here for the UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/girl-wasnt-there-other-poems-ebook/dp/B0155KSKOC/ref=cm_cr_pr_bdcrb_top?ie=UTF8 and here http://www.amazon.com/girl-wasnt-there-other-poems-ebook/dp/B0155KSKOC/ref=cm_cr_pr_bdcrb_top?ie=UTF8 for the US.

Why I Started Bibliomad By Olivia Emily

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Many thanks to Olivia Emily of Bibliomad for the below guest post. Do please visit Olivia’s blog which can be found here (https://bibliomad.wordpress.com/).

 

 

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Little, fair-haired Olivia flicked through the pages of Narnia, wishing ever-so deeply that she could escape through the back of her wardrobe, just like Lucy did.

But, she couldn’t do that.

Narnia is a fantasy novel, after all, and though it exists in a truthful era, the essence of fantastical concepts is entriely fictitious, much to little Olivia’s dismay. However, instead of climbing through a wardrobe, little Olivia immersed herself in books, wriggling through the flimsy pages, laying herself snuggly between the sentences, and winding the words around her adolescent bones.

This metaphor I use in the most truthful manner possible. Fiction isn’t in my blood, nor is it in my bones, but wrapped tightly around them thanks to little Olivia many moons ago. I wasn’t born to be a writer; I fell in love with fiction so deeply, that it seems as though writing is a natural becomming of that. And I couldn’t be more thankful.

Reading is an escape mechanism for many, and – in the earlier moments of my childhood – that value included me. However, despite my love developing from lonliness, literature makes me feel anything but. Firstly, the characters I witness feel like old friends. Secondly, the characters I write about feel like little parts of myself, sprinkled over the page. Thirdly, the doors both my reading and writing have opened are the doors to every little thing I have ever wanted, and ever could want.

And that brings me to the true purpose of this guest post – my blog.

I started BiblioMad just over 3 months ago, and since then, I have (somehow) accumulated 187 followers, who all seem to care about what I have to say. That is a great feeling.

Primarily, I post book reviews, which is a beautiful way to combine my love of reading with my love of writing, and – frankly – it is my favourite thing to do.

Although BiblioMad could also be percieved as an escape mechanism, I argue only with this: I write not to hide, not to escape from my life, and not to gain praise, but to throw myself into the spotlight and express what I have to say. Whether that’s personal opinions, works of fiction, or breif messages from my whirlwind of a mind, I write not to dissapear, but to exist in my simplist form; the writer.

 

The Poet On The Hill

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The poet on the hill

Sits still

And ponders why

Man must die.

The weather is fine

nature or the divine

causes the sun to shine.

Every living thing

Will have it’s spring.

The newly opened  flower

time will devour.

The blossom’s heady scent,

is quickly spent.

Men   soon disperse

We are lent this earth.

All must enter the dark wood

The bad along with the good.

The poet continues to ponder

While yonder

The light begins to fade.

Man’s destiny is the grave.

 

 

 

Saloon Bar

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You wow them in the saloon bar

Surely my friend you will go far.

You link

with those who drink

and refuse to think.

The pub goers applaud.

There can be no discord,

We must be protected from the unwashed horde.

A few wise old owls dissent

It’s a big tent

There must be room for dissent.

But the customers hear what they want to hear.

The regulars cheer

Never fear

Your friends are here.