Quote-of-the-Month author: Andy Warhol

Monday, 24 November 2014

A Light Fog



I don't spend money on Christmas stars and lights. 

These things I leave 

to my neighbour. 

My neighbour welcomes Christmas with a light show 

worthy of an American movie director. 

His lights  will be more than enough for us both. 

His long strings of joy shall bring 

Christmas blessings to half 

this street, 

this once forgotten street 

the City has now upgraded 

to yellow lines and modern lamps 

- their Christmas present to us all. 

Overnight we've gone from comfortably dull 

into Hollywood glare, a glare so bright 

I no longer need to use the porch light. 


           And the moon is redundant. 


Perhaps . . .


 a light fog will hang over Christmas 


the long ago legend 

the story  

the journey 

the mystery 

the truth


all things lost in the mists 



of time



Vocklabruck 

Salzburg 1

Salzburg 2


Salzburg 3


Saturday, 22 November 2014

Your 2014 Poet-in-Residence Ebola Virus Christmas e-Card


The Poet-in-Residence Ebola Virus Christmas e-Card can be emailed together with your personal seasonal greetings to any place in the world with internet access. You may like to consider making a donation to a charity such as Doctors Without Borders, although this is not compulsory. If you would rather support a local charity you can easily find worthy causes in your local vicinity. My personal charity donation today was to press a few coins into the hand of a homeless man searching for cigarette stumps in the gutter. There but for the grace of God(?) go I. 





12" x 4" / biro, marker pen, pink newspaper


Egon Schiele the Icon





Two recent  posts Egon Schiele in Prison and Egon Schiele may be found via the blog search-box if required. The Leopold Museum is situated in the centre of Vienna in a public space known as MQ (the Museum Quarter). It was for leaving such works as the one shown here carelessly lying about in his atelier within sight of children that Schiele was imprisoned. He had been warned by other artists to be more careful. Time moves on, and we with it. 

Here's one by me. I call it The Last of the Summer Wine. 




Thursday, 20 November 2014

The Lazy Artist views a Still Life with a Pineapple




the lazy artist
the dilettante
that is me
filled a bag with a kilo of sand
approximately a kilo
it was not weighed
but it felt like a kilo
in my hand
though it may have been half a kilo
or more
but certainly not less than half a kilo
from Venice Lido
and carried it in a rucksack
all the way to Vienna
maybe a train is involved
yes a train is involved
and maybe a ferryboat
that too
in fact it is two ferryboats
but nevertheless
it is a beginning
and there it ends
the beginning is the end
the sand is
or may now be
one can never be sure of these things
at the bottom of the back of the wardrobe
underneath the old fleece
and the old newspapers
and the old rucksack
and the other old things
that should have gone to the recycling bin
or to the charity shop
many years ago
unlike Louis Marcoussis'
still life study
of a pinapple
negligently missing an 'e'
which Louis Marcoussis 
whose real name is Polish and therefore difficult to read
painstakingly created using sand
and oil paints - 
it is a pineapple which appeals
to me because of its simplistic straight line 
ice bucket design
and the fact 
that it can be viewed on a wall
in a gallery basement
that is reachable
with a lift
and two trams
or one tram
and a train
and a lift





Journey to Mauthausen


(in process of revision)

through the fog 
it rumbles on and on

i drink czech beer 
and chew brown bread 

exiting tunnel
emerging 
 from darkness 
 to shapes in the fog 
november covers the fields
 perhaps glimpsed  
by some who passed here before 
me 
on this plain 
with its farms 
and its barns and its trees 
 and tall pylons marching through fields
 through the fog 
the squeal means we halt
time passes slowly
waiting for the connection  
to come   
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

to return to nikolai-struden

it crosses the danube 
and passes allotments 
under a rapidly darkening sky 
 in woodland more lines 
branching in many directions 
 and goods trains in sidings suddenly glimpsed 
now and then 
    perhaps from here they would walk 
their final few miles to the hill 
    which i do from the village
in memory of them
    through the autumn drizzle 
    shielding the danube shopping park  
the bella flora shop 
the fressnapf pet store
the golden m
and the house of the local celebrity poet 
a mundart dichter  
the gasometers
the barges
the tall chimneys  
the containers on the wharf
and the river

the tiny church
the heinrichkirche 
locked and barred 
aside the night club 
and the psychotherapist

and then the last mile 
up a wooded lane 
apprehensive 
i munch my apple 
perhaps to settle the nerves 
  and try to anticipate what i may find  
up ahead 
 what they must have felt 
 hearing the broken cry of the crow 
my solitary unseen companion 

the road levels out 
onto a plateau 
 of silence and furrowed fields  
below 
a glimpse of the river 
white smoke ascending 
from industrial chimneys 
 faint to decipher here through the gloom 
and suddenly 
it seems 
i am finally here 
standing  
 beside the clean 
green 
grass 
under the long grey wall with its watchtowers
                                            i head for  the ticket office 
to find it is closed 
                                          as is the bookshop 
and the room of the names
and the information desk 
for today is 
a monday 
and the month is november 


Monday 10th November 2014 Mauthausen