To thine own self be true

“Draw” by grandson, 2 years, 2 months. Given what sells these days, likely worth millions at auction.

The old Hollywood is passing. There are fewer and fewer of the old guard left. With Mickey Rooney’s passing yesterday at 93, who is still alive and well?

(with their birth-years)

1916–Olivia de Havilland (Gone with the Wind), the legendary Kirk Douglas

1924–Doris Day (happily long-retired with all her dogs), Lauren Bacall (Bogie’s actress-widow)

1925–Angela Lansbury (aka Jessica Fletcher)

1926–director Roger Corman (who did all the Vincent Price Poe films at American International and helped Nicholson, Coppola, and others to start their careers), Mel Brooks, Canadian director Norman Jewison (who directed In the Heat of the Night, Moonstruck, Cincinatti Kid, Fiddler on the Roof)

1927–Sidney Poitier (who made the earliest, ’50s and ’60s run of significant breakthrough films for a black actor)

1929–Bob Newhart (was never wittier than in The Bob Newhart Show)

1930–the likable Gene Hackman, the busy Clint Eastwood, Joanne Woodward (Paul Newman’s actress-widow)

1931–the beautiful Claire Bloom

1932–the fantastically versatile Michael Caine, director Richard Lester (A Hard Day’s Night)

1934–3 great character actors: Shirley Maclaine, Alan Arkin, Maggie Smith

1935–Woody Allen (best comedy actor-director of the past half-century; Chaplin’s successor)

1936–Burt Reynolds (who once posed nude for Cosmopolitan magazine, the great actor-director Robert Redford, Glenda Jackson (the hot ’70s British actress, now a U.K. M.P.), the steadily-working Albert Finney

1937–the deep Anthony Hopkins, the crazy Jack Nicholson, the busy Jane Fonda, the versatile Dustin Hoffman, the intense Vanessa Redgrave

1938–the funny Elliott Gould, Jon Voight

1940–Peter Fonda, James Caan, the legendary Al Pacino

1941–rough Nick Nolte

1942–Martin Scorcese (one of the major directors of all time–worked with Corman, too)

1943–smiling Robert de Niro

(A Polaroid of Cohen signing copies of Book of Longing with a female companion in 2006. It came with my signed copy–above– as an extra. His companion is stamping the red Order of the Unified Heart as he signs.)

A relaxing weekend with a Sunday night dream about spending some time with Leonard Cohen. A concert was taking place in a large civic centre, no seating–just sit-on-the-floor or mill-about-standing a la ’60s. My friend Bob and I were about 2 hrs. early and  sitting on the floor close to the stage when Cohen himself with a male handler plopped themselves down in front of us. Cohen, looking less gaunt–more as he did in the ’80s and early ’90s, had a big floppy hat and tinted glasses so he was mostly unrecognizable.

I asked him why he was out here and he replied that, on a whim, he wanted to see the stage from the audience’s point-of-view. I asked him how his health was and he answered “Better”. I asked him if he had written any more poetry and he said that a new collection was coming out soon. I decided to ask him about prose; he hadn’t done any novels since the ’60s. He smiled, pleased by the question, and said that he hadn’t thought of that for a while, but No, there was nothing longer forthcoming.

Glancing about, I remarked the crowd looked peaceful, laid-back. He shot a glance behind us and quipped “Changeable”. Perhaps he was thinking of how the audience might change when he began to perform and they would become more lively.

He and I got up and went out of the building, ending up at the nearby Westin. I opened the door for him and a female companion, and got to the elevator before them. Inside, they pressed the 5th top floor button. The door opened onto a large reception room with many female civic workers who were to have the privilege of a pre-concert meet-and-greet with the great poet-performer. A brash woman hosted and while she talked, I walked around the cluster of workers to a table, which interestingly enough, had various upscale Bombay-style merchandise for the home or household, and nothing pertaining to Cohen.

I left then and made my way back to the hall and my friend who asked if I got anything signed by Cohen. “No, I already have some things signed by him. I just wanted to talk to him and find out what was new, something I did when I first talked to him.”

At that moment the concert began and the drapes opened as Cohen’s band began to play “Dance Me to the End of Love.”He walked out to applause, waved appreciatively and began to sing.

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Note: My dreams and imagination continue to be active past the waking hours. I feel privileged to have met a number of other famous musicians before in my dreams–including Gordon Lightfoot, Neil Young, and Bob Dylan. Cohen was very pleasant, friendly, and at ease, pretty much what most fans would expect.  

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Basically, what life’s about–those transitory, ephemeral possibilities which an individual chooses or passes on. Very seldom does the same opportunity knock twice. The riskiest and most alive feelings and experiences are those which occur when one accepts and makes the positive choice rather than hemming and hawing, second-guessing oneself, or just plain being lazy or cowardly. (And, thus, life sweeps by and often with it the best that might be or could have been.)

As quoted earlier in this blog, there is nothing quite so real as the things that one has actually done and the pleasurable self-actualizing choices one has made. In the end, we are most responsible for the scripts of our lives and our own personal happiness. True, attitude plays a big role, but so does the readiness for making things happen, and for choosing possibilities that bring pleasure or which may enhance one`s quality of inner life.

There will always be regrets and missed opportunities along the road anyway, but life process boils down to the choices and actions we did choose which made our lives what they are and have been.

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“What a man essentially is is revealed by the record of what he has done, and by what he is trying to make of himself at any given moment.”–Northrop Frye, “Myth I”

(photo of my Woodstock Chimes’ Pipedream)

A new instrument I’ve added to my bag. It is very much a chi/flow instrument. As one strikes the pipes with the sticks, inner-resonating sounds occur. The Pipedream creates ad-lib melodies and atmospheres which are an extension of one’s inner self and mood. Quite a different experience from, say, playing guitar; much more akin to New Age solo piano tones and moods. Very relaxing and soul-satisfying to engage with. No two pieces ever the same.

“Her flowers are fading now
She keeps her pride somehow
That’s all she has protecting her from pain
And as the years go by
She will grow old and die
The roses in her garden fade away
Not one left for her grave
Not a rose for Emily.”
–Rod Argent (of The Zombies; album Odessey and Oracle)

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“Few people die of love. But many of lovelessness.”–Jose Narosky

(The ending of Timebends, Arthur Miller’s autobiography. He concludes with an image of wolves on his Connecticut rural property.)

“In the darkness out there they see my light and pause, muzzles lifted, wondering who I am and what I am doing here in this cabin under my light. I am a mystery to them until they tire of it and move on, but the truth, the first truth, probably, is that we are all connected, watching one another. Even the trees.”

Indeed, if you have ever been to a party, a concert, a meeting, or some other social gathering, then you know the truth of Miller’s words. We are for a brief time, in the same space and potentially, ephemerally connected. And everyone observes and watches everyone else. And imagines and draws their various impressions and conclusions.

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Interesting book. He felt his tragic wife was truly talented, but not understood or appreciated by the masses and the media. His conclusion about her/metaphor for her:

“…she was poet on a street corner trying to recite to a crowd pulling at her clothes.”

I had been teaching successfully for five years, recently moved back to Edmonton from the cultural outback of Grand Centre-Cold Lake, Alberta. I had new teacher friends, was flexing my musical muscles with teacher-student groups I had started, and directing Edward Albee’s “The Sandbox”.

My wife and I had started a family with a daughter, 2, and we were doing a fair bit of school-related socializing. I was jogging daily and had joined GASP (the local Group Against Social Pollution) which drew the ire of staff smokers at staff meetings and in department rooms. I had nearly taught Burgess’s novella A Clockwork Orange, being counselled to do otherwise by my principal.

I had returned to U of A taking summer and evening courses moving toward two diplomas beyond my BA. I had just encountered Northrop Frye’s work, notably The Educated Imagination, and had heard professor Raymond McMaster’s talk on the value of literature. Both experiences changed the direction of my teaching and led me into working with Glen Kirkland with whom I subsequently co-did some 50 titles/projects including four chapbooks (one on Alberta teacher-poets: They Also Write Who Stand and Teach). Little did I know then I was about to become a father again, an author, and poet by 30, and that my life would gain much more focus, direction, meaning, and purpose. The Word was poised to take over…

Warning: Contains Words about Life!

This blog is, unremittingly, about me, my daily life process, imagination, creativity, writing, the individual, arts culture, lifestyles, and often, underlying core life topics. It is Read-Only (though you’re welcome to contact me), and it occasionally covers difficult, challenging, or unconventional topics upon which we might disagree. It is, however, an ongoing work of personal freedom and creative expression–boring-ass though this might be. Most of all, one should not construe this trigger warning to be an apology or compromise on any level.

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Inspired by the ongoing (lately, academic institution) caving-in and kow-towing to the hallowed bugbear of political correctness currently running irrationally amok in our society.

“Movies have now gone past the phase of prose narrative and are coming nearer and nearer to poetry.”–Federico Fellini

Federico Fellini’s film was released in 1959 and instantly became a bona-fide classic. I finally cracked my DVD box set to partake of a film which once generated massive controversy just as the post-war Italian economy was taking off. The opening scene is one of the most famous in cinematic history. A statue of Jesus being flown over the Eternal City by helicopter as another helicopter containing paparazzi try to get the phone numbers of swimming pool girls.

There are many memorable fine scenes. The paparazzi swarming Sylvia at the airport and later Steiner’s wife after the family tragedy. The Trevi fountain episode with the sexpot actress Sylvia jumping in it. The crazy religious frenzy scene in a rainstorm as two children who have faked a Madonna sighting run about creating crowd chaos. The party and suicide-murder scenes at the house of Marcello’s friend’s Steiner. The scenes with Marcello’s genial father. The pointless bizarre decadent parties in which the well-to-dos reveal their moral corruption and spiritual vacancies. The final scene on the beach with an unknown monster fish–itself a symbolic malignancy of the partygoers–and the failure of a now-dissolute Marcello to connect with the beautiful young woman of the outdoor cafe.

In short, many good scenes, and strong performances throughout–Mastroianni was never more confused, sympathetic, likable, and pitiable at once in any of his best performances. Marcello’s (same name for actor and character) father’s performance was scene-stealing and very truthful in getting at the emotional distances between fathers and sons. The actor who played Steiner was also wonderful in creating a deep, soul-searching charismatic friend. Likewise, the performances of the actresses playing Emma–Marcello’s depressed girlfriend, and Maddelena–the wealthy daughter who lives for sexual pleasure.

There are many truths and much resonance in this film, especially for people today unhappy with their own lives and contemporary Western values. The craziness of crowds, religion, celebrity, the paparazzi, the pursuits of frivolousness and decadence, the agendas, the destructiveness and self-destructiveness, the boredom and depression, and the empty interiors of so many Western men and women–all remain sadly relevant.