To thine own self be true

Had my first bike ride today before it snows again!
April 15th would be the latest ever. I’m usually up and rolling in March.

My December 2016 chapbook

(top: me in 1962 receiving a painting on behalf of the school at the 50th anniversary; that painting, incidentally, was nowhere to be found by me or the 2012 principal at the reunion–uh, who piked it?; BTW/ I am standing in the same gym where I later gave my reunion speech in 2012)

(with Hugh Hanson at the reunion, my oldest friend and neighborhood buddy who also went to Bannatyne)

Bannatyne School, my elementary alma mater was built in 1911. In 2012, I went back as the main speaker for the 100th anniversary reunion.

One year later the Titanic sunk–the first major failure of modern technology in the 20th century. The 106th anniversary is being acknowledged today in Halifax where many of the rescued dead are buried in the main cemetery.

Five years later, also in Halifax, the Halifax Explosion–the second major failure of technology in the 20th century occurred.

The connectedness of history and personal lives.

Old friend pianist-composer Andrew Glover was showcasing his new music backed by Mike Lent on bass, Sandro Dominelli, J.F. Picard on saxes, and Bob Tildesley on trumpet. A very funny (thanks to Andrew’s tales of basement décor, basement CD copy techniques, and his 6 for $15 clearance sale) show.
Many fine numbers including a salute to Paul McCartney, his granddaughter, and a “No Worry” featuring the reedmen weirdly harmonizing.
I caught up with Andrew and suggested he and his fine group do a new CD.
A fantastic, entertaining evening in the company of my daughter and companion, too. The vino and popcorn were good as usual and there was a good turnout.

the most beautiful, romantic folk song ever written by Judy Collins (from her 1967 Wildflowers album. Also shown, her soaring follow-up album, Who Knows Where the Time Goes. Both highly recommended.)

“Even now by the gate with your long hair blowing
And the colors of the day that lie along your arms
You must barter your life to make sure you are living
And the crowd that has come
You give them the colors
And the bells and wind and the dream
……………………………………………………………….
Will there never be a prince who rides along the seat and the mountains
Scattering the sand and foam into amethyst fountains
Riding up the hills from the beach in the long summer grass
Holding the sun in his hands and shattering the isinglass
…………………………………………………………………
And in the night the iron wheels rolling through the rain
Down the hills through the long grass to the sea
And in the dark the hard bells ringing with pain
Come away alone
Come away alone…with me”

(Richard Davies)

-its freeing word-play
-its capacity for wit and for expressing ironic, intelligent, heartfelt perspectives in a short space/fewer words
-its ability to express beauty and truth in a boiled-down, direct way
-the necessity of its being read aloud and performed to /shared with an audience ultimately to have its completion and fulfillment
-its depth and range of thought and feeling
-its transformation of thought and ideas into metaphors, the highest form of expression (along with love)

My life has long been mostly sensitive, empathic, romantic, idealistic, and heavily word-based through writing, performing, teaching, reading, music, and literature. That is what I have most/ly been and continue to be. But if there is one word/thing to boil that down to, it would be poetry. The correct phrase to describe and sum me up would be: a poetic sensibility.

Humbolt’s team logo ripped off by various companies without any financial restitution. So much of our daily Western lives is about (making) money (to wit, Trump) and using others (even in times of tragedy) just to make a goddamn almighty buck.

So much of human activity daily remains mere manipulation and exploitation of others at the core. In daily relationships or more broadly, societally and nationally speaking.

of the world is to make non-stop wars everywhere and to attack and kill other people in daily life. Man remains the supremely violent animal on the planet. Whatever gains in civilization and peace, historically, always have to be weighed against that fact.

Like the Syrian dictator waging chemical warfare on his own people, we continue to ‘do it to ourselves’, destroying ourselves and one another without hesitation. Burns’ quote about man’s inhumanity to man making countless thousands–make that millions today–mourn still rings true as the sad ultimate fact about the human race.

“The greatest thing by far is to be a master of metaphor.”
–Aristotle

“A noble metaphor, when it is placed to an advantage, casts a kind of glory around it, and darts a luster through a whole sentence.”
–Joseph Addison

“Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space.”
–Orson Scott Card

“An idea is a feat of association, and the height of it is a good metaphor.”
–Robert Frost

“Metaphor is the energy charge that leaps between images, revealing their connections.”
–Robin Morgan

“The metaphor is probably the most fertile power possessed by man.”
–Jose Ortega Y Gasset

North by Northwest was one of Hitchcock’s best (which I used to teach in grade 10 English); it had that much in it and was that entertaining then, as it still is now. In 1963, a similar serio-comic thriller-romance came along in its wake and was another winner with audiences of the time looking for similar fare. The Prize is about an American Nobel Prize winner for literature (Paul Newman) in Stockholm for the awards who uncovers a Soviet plot to kidnap and substitute a nefarious look-a-like and smuggle the real doctor back to Russia for their own ends. (Edward G. Robinson plays both doctor roles and manages to convincingly portray distinct character differences.)

The Prize has all the ingredients that made its predecessor a hit including: non-stop funny one-liners, duplicitous characters, kidnapping, evil plotting, romance, and suspenseful action scenes. The screenplay was also written by Ernest Lehman with its prerequisite of one-liners, sexy women. and caddish male chauvinsists. (MeTooers will not get too far with Newman’s drunken epigrams, puns, and propositions, but this kind of cheeky humor was quite acceptable back in 1963. In any case, he also has a moral comeuppance and character revision by the finale, which was also typical back then in Hollywood films.)

The music by Jerry Goldsmith is of a similar wide-ranging type to that done by Bernard Herrmann in Hitchcock’s film. It often, effectively, influences how the audience responds to scenes and characters. The movie was also filmed on location and I can only recall maybe two phony backdrops added for ‘coverage’ by the director. You get to see the auditorium where the awards are given and the hotel in which the winners stay along with typical press conferences. Mark Robson’s direction is relatively flawless, no doubt because of the comparisons that would have inevitably been made back then to North by Northwest.

He always manages to make each scene entertaining and gets good performances from Newman, Elke Sommer (the writer’s sexy hostess), Diane Baker (another more shady temptress), Micheline Presle (as an unexpected older woman who wants to use the writer to evoke jealousy in her wandering husband), and Kevin McCarthy (another ‘ugly American’). Everyone is well-cast. But it is Edward G. Robinson who creates the most interest in his two roles every second he is on screen. Hard to believe he was still very active and good in films some 40+ years after his Hollywoods start playing gangsters.

This movie is delightfully entertaining despite its throwback elements and morality. It is suspenseful, intriguing, and very funny in places. On its own terms, The Prize is still a big winner for mainstream entertainment. No, they don’t make ’em like they used to, sad to say.