The Tang dynasty: 唐朝, or Tang Empire, was an imperial dynasty of China that ruled from 618 to 907, with an interregnum between 690 and 705. It was preceded by the Sui dynasty and followed by the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period. Historians generally regard the Tang as a high point in Chinese civilization, and a golden age of cosmopolitan culture. Tang territory, acquired through the military campaigns of its early rulers, rivalled that of the Han dynasty. (Wiki)
I also came across the fantastic Tang era murals in the tomb of Yongtai
Yongtai and her brother were murdered by their grandmother, the Empress Wu, for saying deprecating things about her. Wu Zetian was the only female Empress in Chinese history, and though ruthless she presided over a golden age – rather like our Elizabeth 1.
I know I’m a fan of one word poem titles & it’s not for everyone, but there really are…a lot…of poems with titles like “Six Years After My Husband Left Me, My Daughter Comes Home From School & Asks Me About Walruses”.
So tweeted Clarissa Aykroyd – who gave me permission to use her exemplary title.
SIX YEARS AFTER MY HUSBAND LEFT ME, MY DAUGHTER COMES HOME FROM SCHOOL AND ASKS ME ABOUT WALRUSES
x
I am not doing the dishes. I don’t believe in it.
That’s what I pay the housekeeper for. I have my practice
To keep abreast of. My daughter is very independently-minded.
At eight, she is already proud of her eccentricity.
Why is she asking? And how exactly did she put it?
I was only half listening as I was watching some programme
About a pogrom – which somehow seemed more urgent –
A pogrom against owners of bitcoin. She repeats it:
Mum, what do you think about walruses?
Now is that Walruses with a capital W? A brand maybe.
Mums have to be so cool these days. Some species
Of footwear? Perhaps she wants to keep one as a pet.
That would in all likelihood prove expensive,
You’d have to build a pool for it. And though I provide
For us comfortably enough with my practice,
Since Ken buggared off, put it this way, I’m mindful.
That’s why in the evenings I like to relax by listening to
Financial views and familiarising myself with
Such phrases as the Gulag Casino. I wouldn’t want to have
Anything to do with them, I respond grumpily.
Why can’t she ever ask me about something more
Educational, more stature building, more
Up my street, like Thomas Jefferson? At her age
I knew all about him. I could seriously expand
If she came and said, Mum what do you think about
Thomas Jefferson? And I could round it off by saying
Three New Poems here at the Fortnightly Review. And it was great to see another extract from one of my Songs of Realisation on Tottenham Trees. Click the link: Epping
See also Consciousness (withMutilation),from Odd Volumes. This has poems embedded in its text. The book (a non-fiction novel) was published mid-February 2019.
As we move into the age of Aquarius – who is Ganymede the water-bearer of the Gods – it is interesting to read this well-researched take on classical astrology
It’s a pretty gloomy prognosis: velvet fascism and private paedophilia. And it is worth reading parts 1 and 2 of this fascinating essay.
x
AQUARIUS
x
Ganymede is held in iron claws
His girlish flesh a boon to bogus feathers.
Sirius barks from below,
Leaping up at the water-boy.
It’s only for the gods that pitcher spouts ambrosia.
The wavy lines rearrange themselves. Now they form a swastika.
Our state will be policed, our peccadillos virtual
Now that the fish are gone.
Now for an aeon of bile, ushering in the dreams of Henry Darger,
For water can be dark, darker than air, darker than the clouds
That mask volcano fire, darker than the green earth.
A time for treading water,
Out of our depths. A flooded time whose beauty will be dark
And deadly as a stolen Porsche.
Ariadna’s frock clings to her hips, as black as jet.
We are imprisoned in the space we grow into
And the time we grow up in.
Will there be ambrosia? Not yet.
This age must flow through time as a deep black river
Flows from its source to its estuary, opening onto eternity:
A river of dark matter
With a microchip in the mind, a lord’s will potent in that microchip.
Water-colour and sometimes gouache white, developed from the sheets of cartridge I kept beside me when painting figurative water-colours for testing colour, marks etc. Completed June 2020.
Paintings created from drips and dribbles of uncoloured water distributed onto the paper via a salt-cellar – then subsequently coloured. Completed October 2020