Art is a way of giving to the world what one holds most precious John Sebastian Bach had good reason to be grumpy. There was scant appreciation for his enormous efforts. He didn't get paid for writing music. In those days there was a system of patronage. He'd be engaged by a city council or… Continue reading Art as Generosity
Carbon Footprint
From Bryan White In my last post, I gave a few examples of song lyrics that I claimed "created a piece of common ground." For the sake of giving a more complete picture, I figured that I should also try to give an example of poetry or lyrics that, in my opinion, fail in this… Continue reading Carbon Footprint
A Way with Words
From Bryan White My daughter writes poetry sometimes, and a few weeks ago, as I was drifting off to sleep, I was thinking about some advice that I gave her years back regarding poetry writing, and I was expanding on it in my head. I find that my thoughts are often addressed to someone I… Continue reading A Way with Words
Writing Style
"One book you should read is the non-political “Impossible Owls,” a book of essays. It is great writing." This was a comment on the latest post of a blog I've been following for a while. I'm always drawn to "great writing". Thus I discovered Brian Phillips, a "gonzo journalist". You can see an extract from… Continue reading Writing Style
Just like that
This is an impromptu rant, just to get things started. Perhaps meaningless and incoherent. From someone who used to support the #metoo movement—not any more.
Sittism or Maybe Whateverism
From Bryan White The other day I was telling Vincent that I almost wish the Buddha story ended with him just literally sitting under a tree, and that was it. The more I think about it, the more I kind of like it. That might be the one sort of religion I could get behind.… Continue reading Sittism or Maybe Whateverism
Wittgenstein on imagination
And if that thing itself ends up being disappointing? All the more reason to try to return to the thing as you were imaging it beforehand. Obviously a space exists for it, the space that the thing you wanted to find defaulted on occupying. From Philosophical Investigations: If I say I did not dream last… Continue reading Wittgenstein on imagination
An Outsider’s Perspective
Alone in the house the other morning, I used this retreat to think aloud, as a place where some echoes might be heard, or simply absorbed by the walls for later, Not the house walls, this place. For it is a sounding-board. Images and ideas can get amplified, the harmonics of other minds can pitch… Continue reading An Outsider’s Perspective
Jordan Peterson & Susan Blackmore
following on and in response to Bryan's piece "Something Meaningful". Here are some notes I wrote while watching this debate. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syP-OtdCIho “Peterson is a hard man to categorize” – he frowns at the very idea! “The new atheists have a problem with establishing an ethic” “Measuring well-being” – right Harris & meditation (Blackmore does it… Continue reading Jordan Peterson & Susan Blackmore
Something Meaningful
From Bryan White On YouTube, I've been watching a number of different debates (more conversations, really) between Dr. Jordan Peterson and various prominent atheists and secular scholars. I'm not sure at this point who does or doesn't know who Jordan Peterson is. I've followed his ascent with interest though a few different waves of noteriety,… Continue reading Something Meaningful
Here in October
From Bryan White Greetings! Summer has ended here in Phoenix, and I have to say, the weather has been beautiful. It's been cool and pleasant enough to open the windows -- and it's always the sweetest air that comes through open windows. We had a genuine rainy day (a couple of them actually) last week,… Continue reading Here in October
Happenstance
In my last, I mentioned “happenstance”. Is it in the OED? Certainly, and supported as always by illustrative quotations, one of which reads as follows: 1990 T. McEwen McX (1991) iii. 105 Here is music, written bold in your system by fence crows. Only a happenstance but proof that music comes and goes. So I looked up Todd McEwen. He’s quoted… Continue reading Happenstance
The Poetic
From Bryan White For a long time, I was divided between two possible directions that I wanted go with my writing. On the one hand, I felt like I wanted to write something "intellectual" for lack of a better word, something that was like a complicated machine with all kinds of ideas and moving parts,… Continue reading The Poetic
Bless my soul
Bless My Soul I know why the blackbird sings his strange and mournful song on a summer’s night ’n’ I know why the spirit brings us back into this world until we get it right ’n’ I’m on a roll and I begin to see the light bless my soul I’ve been around so many… Continue reading Bless my soul
The late V S Naipaul
The other day I briefly published a piece on the late V S Naipaul. It was a synopsis of a lecture he gave in 1990, which he called “Our Universal Civilization”(1). After 24 hours, with vague misgivings, I took it down again.(2) It was fun to revive an old skill, the one they used to… Continue reading The late V S Naipaul
“Who the …”
... mulling on the meaning of words. "Who the fuck are you lol. Cool website." Never was a message more timely. It came through six days ago on my contact form. Confronting but not hostile. I replied that the site exists to answer that very question. Though I write here publicly, I'd like to think… Continue reading “Who the …”
The Wretched
© Anup Roy 2018, edited by Vincent. The story was originally drafted in December 2008, inspiring my piece "Ghetu Files a New Story". I started an edit in Jan ’09. It didn't get very far, but Ghetu provided some edits of his own, amounting to a partial rewrite. We didn't pick it up again till… Continue reading The Wretched
About the Magdalene
Click for Wikipedia article Obtainable from Amazon etc. but beware: the alleged Kindle version is a different translation that might not contain the above chapter.
Life-story part 2
I looked again at this post today, it's not good enough, nobody will follow its intricacies, & nobody but I will care. Will try to make it more readable. Consider it as under refurbishment. "My father died in the war," I used to say, "so I never met him." It wasn't true but I wasn't… Continue reading Life-story part 2
Life-story, part 1
I want to tell the story of my entire life up to the present: the bare-bones series of events, with no fanciful embroidery. Let it be like a series of chess moves without the expert commentary. Let it be like a dispassionate ship's log. Let the facts tell their own story. As far as possible,… Continue reading Life-story, part 1
Jamaica, April 2018
We had a ten-day window free, so we seized it, took a plane to Jamaica. It was partly a surprise visit to see Karleen's granddaughter on her 21st birthday; but also to catch up with many old friends. It was too long since we'd last seen that extraordinary island, Karleen's home for more than fifty… Continue reading Jamaica, April 2018
The Moment, and the Rainbow
(post first drafted on 5th Feb) These days, I find little impulse to write. The process of dusting off more than a decade of posts for reissue, especially classifying them by topic, keeps reminding me that I don’t have anything new to say: only the same in different ways. A single set of themes can… Continue reading The Moment, and the Rainbow
Sail Away
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCRGrnhdNQE I can’t remember the train of thought, or musical musing, which led me from Laurie Anderson to Randy Newman. It may have gone in the other direction. I ordered “Sail Away” on the 10th of Jan., then posted the piece about Laurie (O Superman) 2 days later. They patently have much in common, being… Continue reading Sail Away
O Superman
O Superman. O judge. O Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad. O Superman. O judge. O Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad. Hi. I'm not home right now. But if you want to leave a message, just start talking at the sound of the tone. Hello? This is your Mother. Are you there? Are you… Continue reading O Superman
Jotted psalm
We cannot own love, only glimpse, feel it touch us, pass through, dwell in us. We are more or less feeble receivers, picking up signals from an unnown transmitter. Science is a petty thing before love, for it wants to know, grasp, possess, dismantle to fragments harness, claim, proclaim. Yet science is a thing: wonderful,… Continue reading Jotted psalm
Adaptation
I wasted some time crafting a graphic: a virtual keyboard for mouse or touch-screen, fingertip-ready for the curious adventurer. The idea was to provide a console, like an array of organ-stops—or a dashboard, in current IT jargon. In this way, I would offer the reader the choice of themes running through this blog like the… Continue reading Adaptation
When the Past Haunts the Night
Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night ... I find myself surprised to discover that the boarding school* I was so glad to leave in 1954 is actually still open for business, run by the same headmaster and his… Continue reading When the Past Haunts the Night
Remembrance
We just got back from the Remembrance Day Parade in town. There was a biting wind. In previous years we've attended the church service, but today it was enough to watch the march-past, the saluting of and by the senior officers; to see the Mayor, aldermen, bigwigs, old soldiers and uniformed youth. We were dressed… Continue reading Remembrance
An Air for Cello and Soprano
Öffne dich, mein ganzes Herze Open up, my whole heart Click here to open the sound file in a new tab From J. S. Bach, Cantata for the first Sunday in Advent, Nun Komm, der Heiden Heiland (BWV61). John Eliot Gardner with the English Baroque Soloists at St Maria im Kapital, Köln, December 3rd, 2000.… Continue reading An Air for Cello and Soprano
BWV 140, a Church Cantata of J.S. Bach
Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme (Awake, calls the voice to us) Ton Koopman’s version, with lovely trills and such expressive faces on the video. Koopman is a Dutch conductor, organist and harpsichordist. Like John Eliot Gardner, he completed a project to perform all the sacred cantatas, I can't remember how many there are. I… Continue reading BWV 140, a Church Cantata of J.S. Bach
How we got here, where we go next
I had pretty much done with A Wayfarer’s Notes, actually, didn’t feel loyalty to it any more, only a certain nostalgia, as when you pass a house where you once lived. You see it now owned by someone else, and realize that the fabric of the building, the bricks and mortar, are not what made… Continue reading How we got here, where we go next
Tall Stories
A Wayfarer’s Notes has “upped and went”; which is not to say that it won’t ever complete a round trip and return*. Vincent is Australian-born. Those fellows go walkabout, perhaps for decades. When I left Perth in 1946, the father I never knew remained there. Now I’ve discovered he’s still there, hale and hearty, aged 95.… Continue reading Tall Stories
There’s a Grand Scheme of Things
Is there a grand scheme of things? Yes, this is something I do believe. As to what it is, I cannot directly say: only circumstantially, in reference to what we can see with our own eyes. As I said in my last, politics and public discourse are toxic these days. After hearing what passes as… Continue reading There’s a Grand Scheme of Things
The Idea of Perfection
Perfection certainly doesn’t exist in the seen world. I conclude it must lie in the beholder's eye*. To see only perfection is surely a knack worth having. How we use words is our own business, for such is language; and how they help us understand one another is a great wonder. For some, perfection is… Continue reading The Idea of Perfection
Friendly White Sheep
Karleen & I were crossing this meadow on Christmas day, it being a mild winter and the grass still growing enough to be cropped by a flock of sheep. They mostly minded their own business and kept at a distance, except for this one. We thought at first she wanted something from us, perhaps some… Continue reading Friendly White Sheep
Friendly black sheep
Loving What Is
I came to know about Byron Katie through her husband Stephen Mitchell whom I encountered through his translations of Gilgamesh and the Tao Te Ching. Her work, as expressed in books, videos, website and notably workshops staged in many countries, fits easily into the “self-help” genre, especially that aspect which focuses on human relationships and… Continue reading Loving What Is
English literature’s first terrorist
From the Introduction to John Carey's new book: Honour and empire, with revenge enlarged, By conquering this new world, compels me now To do what else though damned I should abhor. (Paradise Lost, Book 4: 390-92) “This is a terrorist’s logic, and the Satan of Paradise Lost is English literature’s first terrorist. Terrorism—the destruction of… Continue reading English literature’s first terrorist
How to quell terrorists
Disclaimer: Vincent does not know how to quell terrorists, religious or Communist, and has no opinion on any methods for doing so, past, present or future. My title is deliberately provocative and refers to methods used in 1954 in Malaya. When Burr Deming, in “Fair and Unbalanced” (see Pingback at bottom of comments below), says… Continue reading How to quell terrorists
Travelling on Foot
A Wayfarer’s Notes has changed its motto again. Farewell “not-doing”; back to Werner Herzog and his dictum: “The world reveals itself to those who travel on foot.” To be sure what he means, I check context. Patrick House: You once walked from Munich to Paris to visit your dying friend, and in your film “Wheel… Continue reading Travelling on Foot
Like a letter with my address on it
It’s not easy to get anything done at present. My doctor suggests I blame the treatment, not the condition itself, and not to expect the return of normal health till December. So I’ll try and tie up a loose end or two, in the meantime. For example, I quoted a tag at the end of… Continue reading Like a letter with my address on it
Clouds and simple things . . .
I like clouds, trees and grass. They help reconnect with my primitive self, which has no care for fashion, technology or politics. So we went to Saunderton Lee, where I photographed flat-bottomed clouds, the sort you get on a day of sunshine and rain, and which first struck me as worthy of note one August… Continue reading Clouds and simple things . . .
Like a letter . . . (2)
following on from previous post Stephen Mitchell, adventurous translator of classic texts, attempts to explain wei wu wei, or “not-doing”, using words like these: It’s when the game plays the game; the poem writes the poem; we can’t tell the dancer from the dance. Bryan voices an objection: But with the dancer or the athlete, there have… Continue reading Like a letter . . . (2)
Julian of Norwich
. . . all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. The Web is riddled with orphaned "quotes": mangled versions of what someone—the author or one of his characters—may or may not have said. We use them for our own purposes, with no regard for the… Continue reading Julian of Norwich
“There is No Other Doer but He”
As journals, blogs are like life: open-ended. You finish one piece, you've no idea what the next will say, or whether there'll be a next one. After ending my last with a quote from Julian of Norwich, to round the thing off as I thought, I never expected to encounter her again so soon. A… Continue reading “There is No Other Doer but He”
Seeing a Pattern
It's definitely time for another post. Ideally, some inner process would prompt me into bursting forth, some natural impulse like buds and blossoms in Spring. For something had been going on while the trees were still bare in winter; a preparation, invisible to the untrained eye. But this morning I'm starting from cold. My conscious… Continue reading Seeing a Pattern
The Rules of the Tribes
Like Paul on the road to Damascus, I know exactly when my eyes were opened. It was Monday April 3rd, on a trip to town for two significant appointments. One was to see my specialist nurse, to arrange details for my stay at Stoke Mandeville Hospital. It didn't happen then. The other was to collect… Continue reading The Rules of the Tribes
Tethered to a Robo-goat
the privacy curtains in all the local hospitals have a landscape of red kites soaring above the Chilterns, with venerable buildings such as Church of St Lawrence with its Golden Ball visible for miles on a hill in West Wycombe, and the Guildhall in the High Street pastel done from life. I climbed up the… Continue reading Tethered to a Robo-goat
Eleventh Child
I woke in the night after a dream, went downstairs to jot it down in the great leatherbound book from Margaret in Canada; then went back to bed and slept again. On awakening once more in the morning, I jotted down another dream. I tried to polish up the drafts into something coherent, but it… Continue reading Eleventh Child
The Exchange of Gifts
As Dr Johnson put it: Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully. Even a personal health scare, when you don’t really know what’s going on, does concentrate the mind to an extent, till you decide that it’s going to be all… Continue reading The Exchange of Gifts
Owen Glendower
Written in 2002 for La Lettre Powysienne, a periodical edited by Jacqueline Peltier I don’t know of any novel to compare it with, unless you feel able to imagine that Sir Walter Scott, whom Powys admired, had like Coleridge experimented with drugs and rewritten his Quentin Durward under the influence of peyote or LSD, and… Continue reading Owen Glendower
How everything fits together
Things fit together, said I. That’s what they are supposed to do, said Karleen. If only we have faith, said I—in the right things, of course. We were having our morning tea in bed while doing the cryptic crossword, where things always fit together, if you puzzle over them enough. The clues fit the answers… Continue reading How everything fits together
John o’Saturn meets women from Earth
Written in 2002 for La Lettre Powysienne, a periodical edited by Jacqueline Peltier How many autobiographies have been written in which the author fails to mention his own mother? One at least: and in this instance he goes further and omits from his narrative any reference to his five sisters and two wives. If I… Continue reading John o’Saturn meets women from Earth
A Glastonbury Romance
Here's another essay written for Jacqueline Peltier's Lettre Powysienne, a little magazine in two languages for a list of subscribers. On her website you can only find her French translation, but I've fortunately kept the English original, written in 2005. When I mentioned "Amazon" in my first paragraph, she asked me to explain what it… Continue reading A Glastonbury Romance
Peg, a minor character
In the last couple of days I've been horrified to discover myself becoming a hapless patient, lacking the means or strength to act in the world and thus demonstrate personhood, that prerequisite for the continued will to live. It was like being a ghost. It did not even occur to me to pray or give… Continue reading Peg, a minor character
Kindness (audio podcast)
click to to access the podcast transcript … I don’t know why, but the pain and the weariness started first thing Sunday morning, February 5th and here it is today, on the 23rd. I don’t even know what. At first, when I was told it was diverticulitis, I took the antibiotic and thought it was… Continue reading Kindness (audio podcast)
“All actual life is encounter”
We went to the Island for a long weekend with a couple of friends, staying at Mimosa Lodge, where I took a photo at dawn across the Solent from our bedroom window. Outside it was chilly and neither of us got to take photos, especially as we were acting as guides to our friends, to… Continue reading “All actual life is encounter”
When I Gave Trump a Chance
I discovered this old post today, (March 17th 2026) never published before. I give everyone a chance, it's my weakness. Like making friends with Jamie, a homeless young man, who's now been jailed. I found myself nervous and a little tense waiting for the new President to take the oath and deliver his inaugural speech.… Continue reading When I Gave Trump a Chance
The gift of literacy
When she was ten days old, Karleen was placed in the care of her grandparents, leaving her mother free to come to England, get properly settled, then call for her daughter to join her. But when she began to talk, her great-grandmother took her and brought her home to the country parish of Westmoreland, where… Continue reading The gift of literacy
Escaping One’s Enemy
From a still-slight acquaintance, I learn that Martin Buber was activated by people more than ideas. My last post, which got chewed up by an impatient mistake, had a long quote from his book I and Thou, ending with the words, "All actual life is encounter". For that is the meaning of his I-You. Where… Continue reading Escaping One’s Enemy
Taking the Bull by the Horns
I’m writing this post in pen and ink† while my computer’s still at the mender’s, being restored from the wrecking job I did on its data. An ignorant computer user could never have ruined it so thoroughly, but I’ve proved the old adage, that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. The more you know,… Continue reading Taking the Bull by the Horns
Breaking Wild
From John o’Donohue: A house can become a little self-enclosed world. Sheltered there, we learn to forget the wild, magnificent universe in which we live. When we domesticate our minds and hearts, we reduce our lives. We disinherit ourselves as children of the universe. Almost without knowing it, we slip inside ready-made roles and routines… Continue reading Breaking Wild
Merry Christmas, Messrs Deming
This post is dedicated with thanks to the late W. Edwards Deming, also his living namesakes Burr & Raymond, who may be related in some way, or might see in themselves some family resemblance to him. It’s intended as a quick stocking-stuffer or stopgap—the post I planned refuses to come. Even when I have nothing… Continue reading Merry Christmas, Messrs Deming
Who am I?
Based on jotted ideas recorded while out walking on a winter's day December 20th, 2016 I've been thinking all week about hate, without feeling any hate myself. And also about slogans—how they brainwash us, not into believing what they want us to believe, but by reducing the subtlety of our ideas, preventing us from listening… Continue reading Who am I?
Talking the Walk
Transcribed from an ad-hoc recording made on December 14th between 12:30 and 13:50, while walking the above route. To hear the audio please click here. It will be played in a new window. There are problems with politics [referring to words rather than deeds]: when it’s diminished to binary options, with clichés replacing awareness when… Continue reading Talking the Walk
Eye-Witness
There’s a particular spot in town where I’ve seen a few distressing incidents. I don’t why they happen there, at the entrance to a large supermarket. Usually it’s some altercation, even a clan feud with vicious words and gestures that might detonate a fight at any moment. Sometimes there’s bitterness and tears between a man… Continue reading Eye-Witness
The girl who rocked the Government
We met on a summer afternoon in ’59, two 17-year-olds, Pisces born within days of each other. We discovered we had much in common. Both from fatherless backgrounds, lacking any proper home. Each had been granted a single talent, you might say, in compensation for the lack. As her father-figure Stephen Ward said, she had… Continue reading The girl who rocked the Government
Pastures New
I posted this when I decided to transfer from Blogger to WordPress on 15th November 2015
From the gone past
By definition the past is lost. We can’t live there any more; only in memory, imagination and books. To my simple mind, a progressive is one who’s excited by plans for the future, whereas a conservative takes inspiration from aspects of the past. In my own case, I concur with Robbie Burns that the best-laid… Continue reading From the gone past
The legend of honey
We find ourselves drawn to joy, truth, harmony, security, beauty, thrills, fulfilment, meaning, ecstasy. We don’t want to be stuck in some pointless, shitty situation. Such is our yearning for the pure wild honey of imagination, that we’re willing to risk being stung as we trace the sweet comb to some nest high up in… Continue reading The legend of honey
University dreams
Continued from "How I came to inhabit this body". I’d been accepted for some Civil Service or academic post, it wasn’t clear which or what. A colleague from a different department invited me for a chat, a sort of all-day induction. He was such good company that I felt guilty to be getting paid for… Continue reading University dreams
The Sellout
The last time I read a Booker Prize-winning novel was when Midnight’s Children came out in paperback. It wasn’t the best reading fun—or the most edifying, come to that. This time it’s happened by accident, when I heard the author interviewed on Radio 4. If this is the man, I thought, I may like his… Continue reading The Sellout
Loitering
Words have a power of their own. Poets especially like to play with this power, like perfumiers combining ingredients. I often find myself brooding on a word or phrase, perhaps from what someone says, or a book, or as spoken to my inward ear. In my last piece, self-mocking at the time, I conveyed an… Continue reading Loitering
Just pix
impromptu pose
Four Weddings and a Funeral
We managed to make it to his last show yesterday, but not to any of his weddings. That’s him on the left when he came to ours. We didn’t know him well but his acts of kindness were unforgettable. Often it’s the way of things that you don’t find out what a person is till… Continue reading Four Weddings and a Funeral
In the Mirror
imes I have to look in the mirror to be reminded of who I am. Not a deliberate act but incidental, while shaving. It recalls to me who I am now, what I have become. At other times, perhaps in the night, I may lie awake when anticipating some event of uncertain outcome, some issue… Continue reading In the Mirror
Eternal life on the Desborough Road
After the questionnaire, and further Skype-messaging with the lad (a good way to preserve the minutes of our meetings), it was time to meet Karleen for lunch in the pub. As usual on a Friday, I took along the 2-wheel trolley (“cart” in American). Karleen had already paid for our breadfruit, mangoes, yams & plantains… Continue reading Eternal life on the Desborough Road
finnegans wake on the desborough road
with the sun shines on all of desborough road you could say heaven smiles the chillier the climate the more i like the sun on my back if i were in jamaica or malaysia now the sun could be cruel only the shade would be merciful so why do the english like jamaica for its… Continue reading finnegans wake on the desborough road
Lysistrata
Originally performed in classical Athens in 411 BC, it is a comic account of one woman’s extraordinary mission to end the Peloponnesian War. Lysistrata persuades the women of Greece to wiRthhold sexual privileges from their husbands and lovers as a means of forcing the men to negotiate peace—a strategy, however, that inflames the battle between… Continue reading Lysistrata
Theology of the Body
It’s a month since I wrote Living in a Body. I’ve been wrestling with a sequel ever since. One was briefly published, and Bryan added some cogent comments, but it was no good, for myriad reasons. Let this post dispose of the matter, the better to move on. As for Not-Doing, whereby, according to Lao-Tzu,… Continue reading Theology of the Body
Passion and Society
>The present train of thought started 54 years ago with a red book. Technically it was shoplifting but I thought of it as using the campus bookshop as a lending library. In mitigation of the offence, I returned it stealthily to the original shelf ten days later. That was the hard part, very scary. I’ve… Continue reading Passion and Society
Black Books
In reality I don’t have a front garden, just a concreted area big enough to hold four bins, for the separated recyclables, and a few plant pots. It also serves to provide a seven-foot gap between our front door and the sidewalk. There’s no separation from our neighbours’ concreted front area, and their front door… Continue reading Black Books
If I had stayed in Cowes
We took a short day-trip to The Island. I went to live there aged 12 and left at 18, so it speaks to me in tones of a golden hue, of all that I did there—and didn’t. Especially in Cowes, East and West, where I lived first. It remains much as it was sixty years… Continue reading If I had stayed in Cowes
Living in a body
In my last I described how a stranger’s eyes met mine in the street. I imagined that his glance said “My soul soars, but I’m stuck in this body.” I don’t claim the power to discern a person’s thought from his silent face. More likely, the thought had lain dormant in me for a while,… Continue reading Living in a body
a wayfarer’s notes 