Sunday 27 June 2010

1/7

Quite why Mr London Street enjoys my writing I as yet do not understand. My naive, spoilt and archaic tone rather chills me as I re-read posts, but nonetheless it is more than flattering to receive a compliment from such an admirable writer. I certainly owe it to him to attempt "Seven Things I Like", the meme in which he has tagged me. Perhaps it will restore me to a more regular writing pattern. This assumes I can think of seven things that I both like and can write at length on....

So I shall start with a place I like a little too much. London. Londres. The capital of the United Kingdom:

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, Sept. 3, 1803 

"Earth hath not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! The very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!"


William Wordsworth

I couldn't more eloquently describe my affection for the place. Despite being written more than two hundred years before I came to be in the city, it is as true and stirring a picture of London as ever it was then. What I love about this poem is the extraordinary contrast to his poem London 1802. The two could have been written in completely different cities for all the similarities in sentiment they share.

However for myself, it is this fabulous contrast that speaks to me best. London is the tale of two cities. The darkness and the light, the rich and the poor, the beauty and the beast, the West and the East, the North and the South. London never failed to uplift when I was down, but it could equally bring me crashing back down to Earth if ever I lost sight of where my feet ought to be. It is a city that brought a great richness to my life, and will do so to anybody who is prepared to embrace it.

Although I rather feel my time there ended prematurely, I can at least recognise that I was fortunate enough to be there at all. Many never have such a wonderful opportunity as I had, to enjoy the complete and unattached freedom of youth in London. What I must also do my best to understand is that, while for now we are apart, this could in a few years be remedied with some rather had work. Sadly I have always shied away therefrom, and thus my confidence isn't too high. But hopefully this will give me the necessary motivation... Goodness knows it can't hurt.

Monday 14 June 2010

Waiting for (Sir) Ian

Purely by chance I was in the charming company of Sir Ian MacKellan on his birthday. On a tour of the Antipodes with Waiting for Godot, Sir Ian had made the long voyage West from Melbourne. I think he rather regretted bothering, on viewing the measly offering of a Tuesday night in the city. Where a Melbourne, a London, a Paris all remain abuzz in the evenings, Perthshire does not. I came to be there through a journalist friend who had interviewed Sir Ian in the morning. Naturally wanting to celebrate his birthday in some fashion, Sir Ian asked my friend where they ought to go, and my friend offered to provide a semblance of an atmosphere somewhere. At least he had a very useful name to drop.

Besides some very interesting conversation - featuring anecdotes of HM the Queen and Nelson Mandela and even of the fireworks man at the Sydney New Years Eve celebrations - Sir Ian's manager "managed" to arrange us tickets at a much more affordable 1/3 of the actual (and V expensive) price. Thank goodness he did so, because it was just astounding. My memory of the play from English Literature was not terribly favourable. However it is a perfect example of plays being written for performance and not for mere study. It was quite fascinating, and particularly for somebody often lost in introspection it was wonderfully satisfying. Do we exist when nobody else will acknowledge it? And then do other people and our interactions therewith prove that we do indeed exist? Quite marvellous.

I found it quite interesting that the actors used English accents (Sir Ian opted for Yorkshire), most English language productions have been done with Irish accents. There is a scene in which the characters make fun of the word "calm" and it's English pronunciation. However in general it was done quite brilliantly, the quick pace of dialogue punctured by some very clever physical comedy. Naturally MacKellan was the highlight, and he did rather outshine his colleagues, though this should by no means diminish the performances given by the other actors.

As a seventeen year old, it is much harder to appreciate some of the messages of this play. It is a tall order for a teacher to convey its merits convincingly, but now, five years on, I feel that I have a (somewhat) better grasp of the thing. I still don't know that I necessarily like it, but it truly gave me food for thought. Ideas such as our being born astride a grave demonstrate both the joy and curse of humankind. Our knowledge of mortality affords us much dignity, but at the expense of so much. My walk to the train station is a very short ten minutes if I cut through a cemetery (I'm trying to cut down on both fuel expenses and my carbon footprint and also to retain the communal sense I had as a London commuter) and as I wander past so many derelict and forgotten monuments I can't help but think about my own posterity, or lack thereof. Were something to happen to me in the immediate future, KorE? Twitter, Facebook would all still carry on in a dust-gathering form. Do I prefer an ethereal version of myself never to decay, or a humble gravestone or some such physical memorial? Frankly... neither much appeals!

At any rate, I endeavour now to be sure to withhold judgement of any work until I experience it within its proper context. There is a richness to so much that can be rendered invisible and unpalatable by an unfortunate chance of medium. And my over-active prejudices.