Spring is Not Only in the Air

Seen growing wild all over Crete, the Sea Squill, or Sea Onion, is a bulb the Greeks hang over their doorways on New Years Eve for good health and luck. Despite being uprooted it will continue to grow and blossom, which made people think it had magical powers. After new year the bulb is take inside and kept it in the house.

Later in the summer it is easily recognised by its distinctive tall stems covered with small white flowers.

Halcyon Days

Chania harbour on a calm January day. 

The Halcyon Days. 

From halcyon, from Latin Alcyone, from Ancient Greek Ἀλκυόνη (Alkuónē), daughter of Aeolus and wife of Ceyx. When her husband died in a shipwreck, Alcyone threw herself into the sea whereupon the gods transformed them both into halcyon birds (kingfishers). When Alcyone made her nest on the beach, waves threatened to destroy it. Aeolus restrained his winds and kept them calm during seven days in each year, so she could lay her eggs. These became known as the "halcyon days," when storms do not occur. 
(WIki)

Favourite T-shirt of the week

A few years back I started photographing people wearing Che Guevara T-shirts. I always asked permission first, and was always pleasantly surprised how readily people agreed to have their photo taken. I put the photos into a blog: https://wearingche.blogspot.com/

I encountered this guy on a recent visit to Cambridge, and he was happy to pose for a photo, though I did have to coax a smile out of him. 

Theatre of Stars

Sultry summer evening, 

Voices from a nearby garden 

The clink of glasses 

Muted laughter

Doves co-cooing in the branches of a tree

Squadrons of swifts performing aerial acrobatics, 

Screeching their commands as they change formation. 

A single engine plane passes

Above all this

My heart beats its steady rhythm 

ba-boom, ba-oom, ba-boom 

The clock ticks the seconds by

tick-tok, tick-tok, tick-tok

Pulses of energy from across the void of space

Until the night is formed

I am surprised to see stars

(after several cloudy days)

And they effortlessly draw me out 

into the cool stillness of the night

In search of total darkness

I find myself in the graveyard,

(having lifted the latch of the lychgate, quietly)

The only place the glare of streetlights does not intrude

The dead having no need of light

I sense no ghosts here, 

but nevertheless 

I feel a shiver down my spine

As I look up into the cosmos

And take my seat beneath the theatre of stars

20 July 19

Island of the Dead

Island of the Dead

Went to the cemetery today
The boat dropped me off at the pier

It was very quiet
Except for the birdsong 
And the gentle gusts of wind in the trees

As you might imagine
There was a lot of marble —
Tombs, crosses, angels, portraits in relief
Plastic flowers, inscriptions
Dates from, and until.
Fading photographs of people with dated hair styles
Grief, stillness, absence 

I liked the Cypress trees though
They had a nice fresh pine smell
Looked so fantastically green against a backdrop of the deepest blue,
And another boat would soon arrive—
To take me back to the mainland. 


Isola di San Michele, Venezia, 22/V/19

Cows

Such wonderful creatures, cows
We all like to see them
Chewing grass, in the fields
Looking at us as if to say —
           funny old life isn’t it . . .

They look so natural
In the landscape of grassy fields and hedges
Their black and white camouflage a bit eccentric 
And entirely useless 
Yellow plastic tabs stapled to their ears
Swishing their tails to keep the flies away
Udders swollen up with milk
For our Cornflakes, muesli, and cappuccinos 
Very pastoral
Seeing cows
In fields

Another year of Photos

Another year of photos...
The weird, the wonderful and the mundane — plenty of art, travel and inspiration. The occasional patches of darkness but a healthy smattering of blue skies. 
Still casting a shadow . . .

Diary of a Madman

Alarm went off at 5:30
Snoozed for twenty minutes or so . . . 
Fading dreams alternating with . . .  
Fuck! Shouldn’t have finished the wine!
M25 is going to be crap.

Stood under the shower until I could open my eyes
Made a cup of tea
Fed the cat
Ate a bowl of cereal
Listened to the news 
Air strikes over an already pulverised city
Somewhere comfortably far enough away
Not to care too much
Unfortunately there was some ‘collateral damage’…
But the pilots made it home safely.

Drove 40 miles to work 
The traffic was terrible
On the radio they said that the traffic was completely SOLID between junctions 11 and 14 on the M25
I should know, I was stuck in it.

During the morning I found it difficult to concentrate on the screen
At one moment I imagined my legs had become tentacles 
Snaking out along the floor, under the desks . . .

At lunchtime I had a couple of pints (4) with Joe from Accounts
Could hardly keep awake during the afternoon
At 3:30 I had a meeting with Baxter
He said I showed great promise. 

Drove home
The traffic was terrible
On the radio they played 'Road to Nowhere' by Talking Heads.

When I finally got home there was a pile of bills on the doormat.
Fed the cat
Sat on the balcony
Had a couple of cold beers.

My neighbours were having a row
Sounds like he’s having an affair.
Stuck a frozen pizza in the oven
Washed it down with half a bottle of Tesco’s Merlot
Watched an interesting documentary on the box,
But fell asleep half way through. 

Woke up at half past midnight
Had a quick swipe through Tinder
Finished the wine
Brushed my teeth
Had a pee
Set the alarm
Climbed into bed

Dreamt I was an octopus who had its own TV show
There was lots of laughter from the audience
Oh God! Surely that can’t be the alarm already!!!?

Whatever the question, Love is the answer...

Whatever the question — Love is the answer...

Earthling

I don't want to go to Mars
Don't want to go into 'space'
Where you have to wear space-suits
and drink your own pee.

I like it here on Earth
It has a great atmosphere 
With the vast blue ocean at my feet
And all these weird and wonderful creatures
Of which I'm one
An Earthling.

Them bones them bones them, dry bones...

photo by C Z

Inside the Capela dos Ossos (Bone Chapel)

This extraordinary building is situated in the courtyard at the rear of the Igreja do Carmo church in Faro Portugal. 

I'd heard about this chapel, but had previously seen no images, so it was a complete surprise to walk through the doors and enter this unique space.

It was made from the exhumed bones of long dead Carmelite monks who had once served the city. It was inaugurated in 1816.

It's made from the bones of over a thousand monks.

Parallel lines of red bricks and even spacing of the skulls forms a strong geometric design.

The chapel is entirely made from bones, skulls and mortar.

Even the arched ceiling...

Macabre on one level, but also fascinating and humbling. There seemed to be little need for the inscription over the entrance: Pára aqui a considerar que a este estado hás-de chegar, which translates as: 'Stop here and consider, that you will reach this state too.'

Welcome to Hiroshima!

Kind of not what I expected to find upon arrival in Hiroshima, and that does not infer that I was not welcome(d). Far from it. 

But the name Hiroshima carries such a weight of history that this very ordinary sightseeing guide didn't seem to fit in with my expectations. 

It immediately struck me as ironic, but that probably says more about me, and my cultural background than anything else. 

But of course things move on, Hiroshima today is just another Japanese city getting on with daily life, as indeed it was when the bomb was dropped. It cannot escape its history of course, but nor should it remain mothballed in post bomb apocalypse.

I was impressed and humbled by the way in which the atom bomb site was managed, and contrary to my jaded expectations, it was not over-run with hawkers trying to make a fast buck out of all the visitors. 
It was very calm, orderly and respectful. Very Japanese.  

Photo: Haruyo Yamashita

My wonderful hosts Yosuke and Haruyo.

Reading Lust

I've read Borges in Buenos Aires
Hemingway in Havana
Maya Angelou in a birdcage
And James Joyce in a Dublin pub

I've read Proust in Paris
Tremain on a train
Llosa in Lima
And Plath in the bath

I've read Defoe on a deserted island
Tolkien in The Eagle and Child
Brontë in a burning building
And Murakami at the bottom of a well

I've read Homer in Hydra
Kafka in a cockroach’s carapace
Marquez in solitude (it took ages)
And Halldór Laxness in a Reykjavik café

I’ve read J.G. Ballard sometime in the future
Kerouac on a Greyhound bus
Mary Shelley in a morgue lit by moonlight
And Calvino in a suit of armour in a hot air balloon

Dante’s Inferno on order… any suggestions?

Aromabet (a personal olfactory journey)

A — is for Amsterdam, Acetone, Autumn, the old Alvis car, and Amma (my Icelandic grandmother)

B — for Burnt-out fireworks, Baked potatoes on the ashes of the Bonfire, Bike shops, Bananas, Basil, and Bluebell woods

C — is for Cigars (preferably Cuban), Cinnamon, Coriander, Chestnuts on the brazier, China Town, Cupboards full of Clothes, and my grandparents’ Cowshed in Fáskrúðsfjörður

D — is Daffodils (that come but once a year), Dijon mustard, Denhay cheddar, the inside of the black writing Desk (sadly no longer accessible), and Dad’s old corduroy jacket

E — is for Earth, Eucalyptus, and Extinguished candles

F — for Flower shops, always such a pleasure

G — is for Gamasio (ground roasted sesame seeds), Geraniums, and Greta’s hair

H — is for Hops, Hay bales in the Hutchins’ barn, and the Honeysuckle in the graveyard in Wormingford

I — is for Incense, Ironing, Icelandic geothermal water, and the interior of my old blue VW

And J can only be for Jasmine

K — is for Kippers

L — for Latex, Linoleum, Lavender and my old petrol Lighter

M — is for Marjorie, Marzipan, Magazines, Mint, Marmite, Mothballs, the old Magic Lantern, and the Paris Metro

N — for Newsprint, and Nivea face cream (mum’s nightly application)

O — is for Oil paint, Old books, Oregano, and Orange blossom

P — is for Primroses, Patchouli, Pancakes, sweet Poplar trees, Peaches, and the Pantry at Papillon Road

Q — is for the Quintessential essence of freshly baked almond croissant (at a good French Patisserie)

R — for Rubber, Resin, Reblochon cheese, Rhubarb, and the summer Rain on warm dry dusty ground

S — for Shellac, Sweet Peas, Saffron, Strawberries, and the Sea

T — is for Thyme, Turpentine, Toast, and Toasted Teacakes

U — is for Ulli, who always smelt good

V — is for the green leather upholstery of the Vauxhall 101

W — for Woodsmoke at dusk, Wild garlic at the Mere in Wormingford, and Dad’s Workshop (an alphabet of smells in its own right)

X — is for xmas day lunch roasting in the oven at Trenowyth (circa 1964)

Y — is for anYthing I've forgotten

And Z is for the Zest of a Cretan orange.

With thanks to my nose – often (nay always) overlooked, but never taken for granted...

This being human is a guest house...

"This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honourably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond."

Rumi. Circa 1240(?)

Valentines Day

© Rob Lee

Ragnheidur Bjorgvinsdottir Lee arrived in the UK on Valentine's Day in 1947

Extreme Weather

The very rare giant blue poppy — only flowers during extreme weather conditions...

Snowflakes

Two snowflakes land side by side on the ledge of a Manhattan skyscraper. In the streets far below the pavements are crowded with people, tiny black shapes moving about like ants.

“Incredible isn't it,” said one snowflake to the other, “from up here they all look the same, but did you know that each one is unique?”

The snow continued to fall, becoming heavier all the time, swirling past the ledge into the void below. For a moment it seemed that the white flakes falling through space, and the black dots on the pavements, were part of the same strange design.

“Yes, I know,” said the second snowflake, “and they are just as fragile as we are.”

iRemember

I remember so well this time of year, when the fields have returned to dark brown earth once more, the furrows polished smooth by the plough blades, and the golden fields of corn, shimmering in late summer breezes, are already a distant memory. The sun rises lazily though hazy mists, which hover over meadows and mingles with the breath of cows, and the cobwebs on the withering blackberries are heavy with dew. 

The sweet chestnut candle flowers, so recently dancing in the sunlight, are now drooping heavy with smooth brown conkers, which fall and remain scattered around the tree trunk, waiting for the little boys who no longer come to pick them up. 

The landscape changes from light to dark and the sky is strangely quiet, until you realise the swifts and swallows have left without saying goodbye, and are probably already chirruping and screaming through the skies over African villages and towns. 

And so the days gradually get shorter, the long descent into the cold and monochrome world of winter. It's time to remember where the sloe trees are.

Oh I do Like to be Beside the Seaside...

© Rob Lee 2016

All this (and much more) was gathered in the space of about fifteen minutes from a small beach in Crete, including a four-pronged 'trident.'