A True Friend

I am not lonely living here in Thailand.In fact I have already found a really true friend.

He is rather shy,so he doesn’t like to be around much during the day,but as soon as it gets dark,which is about sixish he visits me.

I call him Alexander.

He doesn’t dare to come into my apartment,but enjoys being on the balcony,and I let him stay there, because at the moment he doesn’t seem to have any other friends.

Alexander is a 5cm long black beetle.

My first thought was to get out the spray that gets rid of things that creep,and fly around in the night. i did aim it around the edges of the balcony,and thought that would deter Alexander,but it didn’t.

Now,if I am home I rather look forward to his visits.

He reminds of a poem by A.A Milne,that I read as a child,and later read to my children.

We all loved it,and that is why I keep Alexander.

” I found a little beetle,so that beetle was his name.

And i called him Alexander,and he answered to the same.

I put him in a matchbox,and kept him all the day,

And Nanny let my beetle out,

yes Nanny let my beetle out,and beetle ran away.

She said she didn’t mean it,and I never said she did,

She said she wanted matches,and just took off the lid.

She said she was sorry,but it’s difficult to catch,

An excited sort of beetle you’ve mistaken for a match…………………

From the poem “Forgiven” by A.A Milne

Kris

I lost my heart again last night.

He stood,just a few feet in front of me,dressed in black,plucked his guitar and said, rather than sang in a voice that left no woman doubting that this was a real man;

“Take the ribbon from your hair”

Kris Kristofferson,the All American Rebel,sang at the Zürich Summer Festival,”Live at Sunset” last night and I was lucky enough to be able to sit in the middle of the front row.

It was as though he was singing just for me.

He was 72 last month,and he is still looking for freedom.

After “Me and Bobby Mc Gee” the world knew who he was,and he is still there.

Many have coveted his songs,but the chords, and the stanza are so well knitted that the songs are more difficult to interpret than they seem.

Maybe his voice hasn’t got the fullness that it used to have,and his guitar playing didn’t stick to the rules,but then one of the fingers of his right hand was bleeding enough for us to see just after the interval.

He passed off the weaknesses ,with his old charm and humour.Even stated ,when he repeatedly had to pick up a handkerchief, that he thought we were paying a lot of money “To watch an old fart blow his nose”

 

But he can still write songs,maybe I should say he can still write poems for the simple man, poetry that gets his message across. He should be able to,he won a Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford University and studied Literature at Merton College. During his time with the US Airforce they wanted him to teach the subject at West Point Military Academy.But Kris is the pacifist son of a General and it was 1965.

And yesterday evening, so many years after Janis Joplin sang “Me and Bobby McGee” his followers in Zürich still love him.

He says he wants to compose and sing until they shovel dirt on his coffin.

He also knows what words he wants chiseled on his grave stone,- from colleague Leonard Cohen,

” Like a bird on a wire,

 like a drunk in a midnight choir,

 I have tried in my way to be free”

My Life With The Sea

” Break,break,break,
On thy cold grey stones.
Oh Sea! And I would that
my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me”

Alfred,Lord Tennyson. 1809-1892.

I suppose it is because I was born under Pisces that I have an affinity with the sea. I do in fact compare my life to it.
The ups and downs of it are really like waves of unfathomable depth,they bring and they take away.They can sparkle and they can spit,and they throw you up on lifes hard shore.

There are seas and there are oceans,mine is definetely the Atlantic.No smooth millpond for me.
Aegaeus and Aeolus have paid their respects,and Poseidon looked on.
But he sent me Aphrodite,and beautiful Halcyon days,and for those I must be thankful,when the south westerlys rage.

Picture thanks to Andrew Miller,Artist,Devon,UK

Hands

Hands clutching at last piece of driftwood,
Nerves alive in a rigid body,
Waiting for the ultimate wave.

Managed to get a piece of poetry written to befit my mood,but darned if I can get an image posted with the new system.
At the moment I hate WordPress.

St Patricks Day is on the Seventeenth

Soon it will be time to wear “The Green” again.

And as usual tears will come to my ears when I hear this song;

Oh, Danny boy,the pipes,the pipes are calling,

From glen to glen and down the mountain side.

The summers gone,and all the flowers are dying,

Tis you,Tis you must go and I must bide

But come you back when summers in the meadow,

And when the valley is hushed and white with snow.

Tis I’ll be there in sunshine or in shadow,

Oh, Danny boy,oh danny boy I love you so

And if you come when all the flowers are dying.

And I am dead as dead I well may be,

You’ll come and find the place where I am lying.

And kneel,and say an Ave there for me.

And I shall hear though soft you tread above me,

And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be,

If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me,

I simply sleep in peace until you come to me

Frederic Weatherly-1848-1929. Words to the tune of Londonderry Air.

I wish my Irish friends far and wide   Slàinte, May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest of your past.

The Birthday Oracle

I have an old book that belonged to my Grandmother.

To Dearest Grace with Best Wishes from A.B.

It is called The Birthday Oracle or Whom shall I Marry . Guesses at the character or appearance of your future husband or wife. Arranged for every Day in the Year with Extracts to suit both sexes.

In it my Grandmother noted the names of family or friends opposite the date and the Birthday Oracle to the words of a well known writer.
Yesterday, March 12, my name had been entered in now faded ink and that of an 81 year old Uncle.

“He is more than six feet high,

And fortunate and wise ;

He has a voice of melody,

And beautiful black eyes. -Praed

How true that was about my Uncle.

Tell me a thing she cannot dress, _

Soups,hashes pickles and pies;

Nought comes amiss, she is so wise. -Lloyd

Me? Maybe.

For April 16, The Birthday of my eldest Daughter

Her dress was like the lillies,

And thy heart as pure as they.-Longfellow

How true

May 27. My youngest daughter.

I think there has rarely been a more admirable woman.- O.W.Holmes

And that of a very good friend

His face is fair as heaven,

When Springtime buds unfold.- Blake.

Mmm, probably.

May 3, my Son in Law.

He cannot even essay to walk sedate,

But in his very gait,one sees a jest,

That is ready to break out in spite of all his seeming.-Knowles.

August 14. My Father.

The proudest now is but my peer.

The highest not more high;

Today of all the weary year ,

A King of men am I. -Whittier

Oh,how true.

December31.My Husband.

My own ideal Knight,

Who reverenced his conscience as a King;

Whose glory was redressing human wrongs.- Tennyson.

You may smile,but for me the oracle rings true.

Circle of Friends

I began the week feeling miserable and depressed although I had no grounds for it.

It wasn’t the lack of sun, central and northern Europe have been enjoying an exceptionally sunny February,but I felt nasty and was being nasty to those around me.

Then I heard within twenty four hours from three friends that I don’t see often.

A woman that I met on a beach in Thailand and found that we had so much in common .

A person far away that has influenced me and who I love so much it hurts.

And someone else who over the years has become more and more a friend to me.

I am so thankful.

This morning a note of paper with this printed on it fell out of a telephone book while I was looking for a number.Someone had sent it to me, I don’t know when with the message; ” It would be great to see you again”.

I’d like to share it with you,

The Circle

A ball is a circle,

No beginning, no end.

It keeps us together

Like our circle of Friends

But the treasure inside

For you to see

Is the treasure of friendship

You ‘ve granted me.

How could I have felt so miserable.

Call a friend.

Hera

Hera is calling, and we will return,

Bound with her twine, long faded by Aegean light.

Where blue meets blue she stands and beckons us home.

Two kindred souls,

Mortals yearning for her ethereal world.

Not daunted by passing time

In foreign lands both grey and cold .

The echo of her laughter is heard by fools.

Club of Rome

The Club of Rome has indeed been rather quiet lately, they have been reshuffling ideas and goals, one of which I hope is to speak up a bit.They would also like to transfer their headquarters from Hamburg in Germany to Zürich.

On the 24th of February,we now have a referendum in Zürich as to whether the people want to give the Club of Rome 1,82 Million Francs and allow them to move here. The money would be used as a financial help until 2012. Who is paying the rent for the partial use of one of the historic buildings of the city direct on the Limmat River I do not know, it doesn’t really matter anyway 1,82 Million seems like peanuts to me for the possible prestige it could bring us. Think of Davos.!

Naturally they would be profiting from us too; our University with its renowned Environmental Science Department, our Banks, just down the road if they needed a little more support of that kind. An Airport that is an international hub and such a good public transport system so they could say they didn’t need their Mercedes.

On paper the work that the Club of Rome does reads very nicely. I hope that as an International think tank they will have success in Zürich.

I am going to vote yes,and I hope we hear more of them.

“Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new ”

John Milton,1638.

My Little Friend Kobi

Yesterday was Kobis’ Birthday. No that’s not quite true, his Birthday was actually on Monday the 19th, but he celebrated it yesterday because his Agenda was already full.

It was a special Birthday for him and we felt honoured to be invited. You see Kobi is our neighbour and he is now one year old.

Kobi isn’t his proper name of course,his name is Jakob, but somehow it doesn’t fit into these times and he now answers to Kobi for short, or Kobili, as the Swiss like to put li on the end of words to form the diminutive.

Other friends had been invited of his own age group,the youngest was six monthes old and twice as heavy.But it seemed Kobi preferred older friends who would pick his little toys up when he threw them down. He always rewarded them with a joyous squeak,and the smile of a heartbreaker in the making.

It took me back a good thirty years to when Kobis’ Mother and Uncle were sat on the floor at our house picking things up and eating some of our first one year olds’ Birthday Cake.

How time goes by, it seemed like yesterday.

What will the future hold for Kobi.?

Alas,regardless of their doom,

The little victims play!

No sense have they of ills to come,

No care beyond today.

Thomas Gray; 1716-71 -Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eaton College (1747)