Aquileia a Capella – Knots in a Mosaic

A draft recording of the short opera I wrote the libretto for – with music by Robert Stuckey.

There are five songs, one for each singer. Each has its own melody which nevertheless dovetails with each of the other melodies. Each song is written to be sung from the first line to the last or from the last line to the first. All possible configurations of solo, duet, trio, quartet and quintet are explored by the libretto.

Anthony Howell (Writer): A few years ago, Alessandro Cortello introduced me to the colossal church at Aquileia with its stunning early Christian mosaics. Only a few houses remain in what was once a city second only to Rome. Willows and cypresses adorn the countryside. The walls of the great church are lined with images of martyrs from Nero’s holocaust. Its tower scrapes the blue Italian sky. I became fascinated by the mosaic and by the patterns of the knots that appeared on the floor at intervals, often separating one image from another. Some of these knots were two-stranded, sometimes four-stranded. I imagined these as walking patterns, and envisaged 5 singers, one acting as a metronome as the others traced the knot-patterns, each pursuing a melody of their own, accompanied only by the occasional sound of a bell and the smell of incense – a tower, a knot, a willow, a cypress, a martyr – drama as landscape: a fusion of opera and performance art. I conceived the piece as similar to a medieval mystery play – created with contemporary means, perhaps to be performed in churches such as the Round Chapel in Bow, and at Aquileia itself. It has proved too complicated for the singers to perform this knot-walking as well as sing the complex libretto, so we now envisage this as a concert performance with an audio-visual accompaniment.

Robert Stuckey (Composer): Rather unusually for music in the 21st century there are no sharps or flats, only white notes. Yet each white note has a unique position and creates a unique scale when it becomes the viewpoint from which the others notes are heard. Each of the five characters from a different note creates a scale that resonates with its mood, a mode for a mood. The five characters are thus in competition with each other creating a distinctive grammar of harmony: who will win? A cappella means without accompaniment, no orchestra, no piano, and the singers must fend for themselves: only the tolling of the Cypress’ bell is sometimes heard.

Alessandro Cortello (Tenor): To me, a classical-trained opera singer accustomed to deal with music written by long-gone composers, this new work represents the uncommon chance to see an artwork coming to life under my eyes. The opportunity of working so close to the creators and taking an active part in the genesis of a new composition is priceless. The poet and the composer took an original approach to the traditional idea of ‘opera’ and its characters, combining it with the polyphonic Renaissance madrigal, the ancient ‘modes’ and the modern concept of performance art, in a fascinating distillation of different traditions and different classical vocal styles. Moreover, I am very pleased to see how the town of Aquileia, a place so dear to me just a few miles from my birthplace, can still inspire artists’ work as it did in its multi-millennial history.

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The Undersea Soviets

Thanks to Dilys Bidewell for sending me this link to Soviet statues now submerged

The monuments sit in 12-15 meters of water, around 100 meters off the coast of Cape Tarkhankut.

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State of Affairs

Chaos
Destruction
Flattened City
Murder
Radiation Bombs
Yugoslavia 1958

The last image was painted during a camping trip to Yugoslavia when I was thirteen.

See also ANGER.

Click the small magnifying glass in the top right-hand corner and type in ANGER for more.

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Lost Children

A thousand and a thousand more again,

These little waves roll in along the shore,

And constantly appear and disappear

While mothers tear their useless hair.

Calling, calling one more time:

Each vanishment abruptly noticed

With a sick chill, either when

A pater familias heads for a car-park too soon

Or when Akela stoops to examine

A traction belt too long at the steam fair.

Awful to end up so far ahead of the others

At the Pitch ’n’ Putt, only to discover

Your chums have already abandoned the game;

Worse to be left behind at the toboggan run.

And so one calls and calls in vain

Where knee-high marram hides a kink in a track

Up through the dunes where the wartime

Pill-box daubed with obscene requests

Pronounces them bludgeoned or,

No, not yet, they must turn up,

Blistered merely by the Wild Parsnip,

At the Lifeguard Service Point, not under sand –

And then the odd one, the simply forgotten,

Missing, but not missed, ekes out an existence

Trawling for bottles on deserted beaches.

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An early poem of mine, first published in the TLS. Peter Pan is of course the archetype of the lost child, and I am reading J.M. Barrie’s “Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens” which, though published later, must surely have preceded the West End popular play featuring Wendy, Captain Hook and Neverland. This earlier version is a surreal masterpiece, tragic, and hauntingly written, and with the strangest of all Arthur Rackham’s illustrations to accompany the writing. I plan to write an essay on it soon.

Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens

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A Dim View

We are witnessing a phenomenon: a process that magnifies space.

Whatever enters its zone will enlarge – as did Alice

After she ate that very small cake, on which the words

“EAT ME” were marked in currants. However, in this case,

There’s nothing to drink that could make things diminish. Everything

Simply gets bigger. A midge becomes a mammoth. A spat an open war.

A minor irritation an upset that threatens your life.

An underage girl an ogre’s wife. You walk into it

And there is just no way of getting out of it: the exits

Are too small. Worst of all, that which has grown

Continues to grow: malign as a cancer – and certain to end

In a big cloud that will radiate annihilation soon.

So what’s to be done? Well, nothing. So far as the situation

Is concerned. Though, like Voltaire, you can tend your own garden,

In your imagination – a garden where the flowers shrink,

And the blown rose grows ever so pink

And becomes a bud, then less than that, and age is reversed

So Armageddon never actually gets reached.

Of course this is all a figment. We must prepare for the worst,

But what’s to prepare, Amigo? Our defences have been breached.

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GREY SUIT ARTS MENTORING SERVICE

I am currently offering mentoring in Writing (prose and poetry), Art, Time-Based Studies (including film, video and installation), Performance Art and Art History.

Contact: open gmail and then send a message via editorial@greysuiteditions.co.uk

This mentoring can be at The Room – https://the-room.org.uk/ or online via WhatsApp –

There is the possibility of showing performances at The Room – but an extra charge of £15 an hour will be applied for hire of the space.

My fee will be negotiable, depending on the needs of the person requiring feedback. That is, if you want me to crit your poem I will do it for less than I will charge for reading your novel.

Tango Tuition is also offered.

Fees may be waived in exchange for gardening services or transport help.

For more details see General Enquiries on the Room website contact page.

Biographical information here

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The Meaning of Nowhere

It started out as such a nice day

But then a cloud crept up and the day grew overcast.

Your spirit clouded over too. But ‘nowhen’, we don’t say.

Perhaps we should. It’s best to hit upon a process

Rather than a plot. It’s not a matter of cause and effect.

Nowhere – the space that time forgot.

It’s the elephant in the room leaving no room

For us others. Objects lost in dreams get stored there for eternity.

But why make such a fuss out of not being able to locate it?

Some wade in until they are out of their depth.

Others are just dropped into the deep to flail about.

Maybe they flail in a landward direction. Then again, maybe not.

As for nowhere, many poems get there

Lickety-split, without a clue to its meaning.

Plato hated poets and devised philosophy

To counter Homer’s lies. He would be appalled, I’m sure,

By today’s cos-play homilies tarted up as verse

Whose freedom’s a curse contaminated by some petty simile.

I don’t feel that this poem’s getting anywhere.

It is not a painting of night, not a cloud above a wood.

Not a woman looking back at the sunken boat of her virginity.

It can accumulate line after line,

But is it any closer to being understood?

It should have been written by John Ashbery.

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Another Kiev engineered False Flag!

Christ! I get so angry with the ignorance that wrings its hands while accusing Russia of attacking that Lavra cathedral in Kiev. It is complete and absolute bullshit that Russia bombed this cathedral. Russia is the defender of the Orthodox faith. Everyone with any knowledge of what is going on knows this. The Fascist tyrant Zelensky has committed a false flag blaming Russia of course, but he has been harrrassing priests and kicking out monks and destroying sacred spaces since 2014. Russia began the SMO to protect Russian speakers from the tyranny which begun with the US/UK orchestrated coup in Kiev in 2014 – guided by Victoria Nuland and her PNAC Nazi organisation. After that Zelensky banned Russian from being spoken and attacked the orthodox religion supplanting it with an artificial and false religious alternative. If World War three begins by us defending Kiev Nazis and Globalist power from the BRICS multi-polar world which is inevitably taking over from the European Colonialist bandits who profit from arms sales and dead Ukrainians, then we will be fighting on newly armed Germany’s side, and we will be on the wrong side of the war and of history. We have a nostalgia for World wars in the UK because we feel we won the last two. This nostalgia is misplaced. In the last war it was the Russians who beat the Germans and the Russians who suffered the greatest number of casualties. Only the banks and the billionaires want war, and use the media they own to lie about what is actually happening; and they are the only ones who will gain from it.

Another piece of evidence of Zelensky’s guilt in the supposed “shelling” of the Lavra is that there are photographed preparations for the staging. The camera tripod and preparations for filming were carried out BEFORE THE LAVRA WAS “SHELLED”. Photos show there is no external debris either, so rather than a shell, it was a device detonated INSIDE the building.

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Paintings and Drawings of Paris

Gare du Nord

Gargoyles

Musee d’Orsay
Notre Dame
Paris Seine
Place des Vosges
Relaxing by the Seine
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Over 100,000 views!

Very pleased that my journal has now had well over 100,000 views and over 65,000 visitors. Thank you everybody. This encourages me to continue evading niches. Most views were for my poetry, then for my art and then for my politics. So it is proof that you don’t have to restrict yourself to one box.

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