A rainy day unlike any other

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Have you ever met a taxi driver who writes poetry? Or a poet who drives a taxi for a living? Obviously not, because there aren’t any, right?

Well, it was raining that day. I was on my way to work in the centre of Athens, and I had to be there by 14.30. I go there by train, and then change for the bus; when I went to the bus stop the rain was pouring, and there were delays because of the increased traffic. As the time was already 14.20, my only alternative was to stop a taxi. This is something I rarely do, but as I was fairly close to my destination it would only be a short and inexpensive ride.

I was sitting in the back seat going through my lecture notes one last time, when the taxi driver, a middle-aged working class man, asked for my opinion on the economic crisis. A year has passed since then and when I look back I realise that this was the most interesting discussion I’ve ever had on the matter. We were both so absorbed in it that we almost passed the point I was supposed to get off.

And as I was getting off, the driver suddenly asked me if I read poetry. It wasn’t exactly a question though; it sounded more like a statement of his impression of me, waiting for verification.

I said yes. And then he offered me a copy of his collection of poems as a present. Apparently he is a self-published poet, and a rather good one I must say. I wish I had a way to contact him and ask him if he would like me to post some of his work online. I can only hope that I will do so next time I run late on a rainy day; maybe this is the very beauty of such unexpected occasions. But still, there is something I think he would enjoy – it is the concluding part of Hollow Men, by T. S. Eliot:

        Here we go round the prickly pear

        Prickly pear prickly pear

        Here we go round the prickly pear

        At five o’clock in the morning.

        Between the idea

        And the reality

        Between the motion

        And the act

        Falls the Shadow

                                        For Thine is the Kingdom

        Between the conception

        And the creation

        Between the emotion

        And the response

        Falls the Shadow

                                        Life is very long

        Between the desire

        And the spasm

        Between the potency

        And the existence

        Between the essence

        And the descent

        Falls the Shadow

                                        For Thine is the Kingdom

        For Thine is

        Life is

        For Thine is the

        This is the way the world ends

        This is the way the world ends

        This is the way the world ends

        Not with a bang but a whimper.

P.S.

And speaking of bangs and whimpers, the following links may be of interest:

It isn’t just the Euro. Europe’s democracy itself is at stake

Amartya Sen, The Guardian

The path not taken 

Paul Krugman, The New York Times

Banks come first in a Greek Rescue plan

Floyd Norris, The New York Times 

 

Greece and the return of the economic ‘death spiral’

David Blanchflower, The Guardian

The Greek Vise
Paul Krugman, The New York Times

Meeting the ‘new homeless’ in Greece’s freezing streets

Marc Lowen, BBC News

Sauvons le peuple Grec de ses sauveurs!
Libération

Save the Greek people from their saviours!
Éditions Lignes

Call for the defense of society and democracy in Greece

For the Defense of Society and Democracy

Greece shows us how to protest against a failed system

John Holloway, The Guardian

Lessons from Iceland: the people can have the power

Birgitta Jónsdóttir, The Guardian

Break up with your bank, fall in love with the 99%! 
OccupyWallStreet 

After all, it was Thomas Jefferson who wrote that “banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies,” in his letter to John Taylor, 28 May 1816, available at the Library of Congress. And if one was to put what the crisis is about in a nutshell, this phrase seems to me as a fine choice of words.

Film quotes #1 Mr Magorium's Wonder Emporium

movieposterdb.com

Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium is a warm and enjoyable film written and directed by Zach Helm; it also includes one of the best film quotes of all time. Mr. Magorium (Dustin Hoffman) is a 243 year-old owner of a magic toy store, and a father figure to the store manager Molly Mahoney (Natalie Portman), to whom he wants to leave his business after he dies. In this scene, he tells her that it is time to say goodbye. There have been many narratives addressing the loss of a loved one, and the struggle of the ones who are left behind to restructure their lives; but rarely have such issues been addressed with such a gentle edge.

Mr. MAGORIUM: When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written?

(MAHONEY nods “no”)

Mr. MAGORIUM: He’s written “he dies.” That’s all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is “he dies.” It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with “he dies.” And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it’s only natural to be sad, but not because of the words “he dies,” but because of the life we saw prior to the words.
 
(Pause. Mr. MAGORIUM walks towards MAHONEY)

Mr. MAGORIUM: I’ve lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I’m only asking that you turn the page, continue reading, and let the next story begin. And, if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple, and modest, “he died.”

MAHONEY: (crying) I love you.

Mr. MAGORIUM: I love you too.
 
(Mr. MAGORIUM helps MAHONEY up, and then sighs)

Mr. MAGORIUM: Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.

Awe

Oscars 2012: a somewhat different view

 

The Academy Awards occasionally include great films and artists in their ranks, but more often than not they come across as the emblem of an industry which understands film as a commodity, rather than an art form. Not that any of this is of interest to the mainstream media, which in this time of the year are packed with articles on the upcoming ceremony. Such publications may be rich in numbers, but they are often poor in terms of diversity; so why don’t we try to make room for something a little bit different for a change?  

TIME LightBox, for instance, has produced a rather unusual set of interviews with actors and actresses; some of them are Oscar nominees and some are not. Τheir interviews are beautifully shot in black and white from different angles, and include occasional close ups of their hands and faces. Content-wise the material is rich and dense, and the end result is a sense of intimacy, very much unlike the conventional interviews actors are often called to do in the context of the promotion of their films. I was particularly impressed by Viola Davis’ articulate exploration of the reason why the image of the maid has been seen as demeaning by the African American community, and the concomitant difficulties involved in playing such a role.

Although the lion’s share of attention goes to films nominated for the most popular awards, rare gems may be discovered in lesser-known categories just as well. The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore, which is nominated for the best animated short award, is a characteristic example. The film is directed by William Joyce and Brandon Oldenburg, and tells the story of Mr. Lessmore, a Buster Keaton-like figure who is taken by a storm resembling Hurricane Katrina to a land where books are alive. Bookworms and animation aficionados of the world unite? Most probably, yes. But above all, The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore is great cinema: highly imaginative, visually stunning, and emotionally sincere. 

Is it prohibited to dream?

Sina St., Athens, 25.10.2006

We can be Heroes just for one day: A Reality Tour by David Bowie

dvd.nl

Although David Bowie’s live album A Reality Tour was released two years ago, I must admit I still can’t get enough of it. It is interesting to note that it was preceded by an official dvd in 2004, as well as by bootleg recordings of concerts from the same 2003-2004 tour. And the obvious question is, what is it that makes this tour so special?  

On the one hand, A Reality Tour was an exception to the rule. As Anthony Kuzminski pointed out in antimusic, it is difficult for musicians to offer a widescreen view of their life’s work in the same way that painters and sculptors are able to do through retrospective exhibitions. However, A Reality Tour put forward the most impressive, representative, and occasionally unpredictable, selection of tracks from a body of work spanning over six decades. 

But there is an even more important reason: David Bowie has always been an exceptional live musician, and it is right there, on stage and in front of the fans, that his music displays its originality and creativity to the fullest. A Reality Tour is not just an aesthetically and conceptually fine album; David Bowie, 56 years old at the time of recording, displays the rare qualities of his ingenuity and experience, combined with the sheer passion and strength of his live performance.

The final dates of the tour were cancelled due to health issues; David Bowie has subsequently made guest appearances, but it remains unclear if and when there will be a new album and tour – still, has he ever seized to surprise us? Until then, “Heroes”: one of the best tracks of all time, in the finest live version I have ever heard. Ben Schumer had actually written in PopMatters that “Bowie belts out ‘I, I will be king / And you, you will be queen’ like his next breathe of life depends on it”. 

My thought exactly – this is the perfect time to turn the volume up:

I, I will be king

 

And you, you will be queen

Though nothing will drive them away

We can be Heroes just for one day

We can be us just for one day

Still I Rise, by Maya Angelou

archives-lepost.huffingtonpost.fr

Still I Rise is one of the best known poems by Maya Angelou; it was the title poem of a collection of hers published in 1978. This is a modern classic celebrating courage, endurance, and hope. In other words, something to treasure, especially in times of despair; because at the end of the day, kindness and a backbone is all that matters. 

 

                                              You may write me down in history
                                              With your bitter, twisted lies,
                                              You may trod me in the very dirt
                                              But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

                                              Does my sassiness upset you?
                                              Why are you beset with gloom?
                                              ’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
                                              Pumping in my living room.

                                              Just like moons and like suns,
                                              With the certainty of tides,
                                              Just like hopes springing high,
                                              Still I’ll rise.

                                              Did you want to see me broken?
                                              Bowed head and lowered eyes?
                                              Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
                                              Weakened by my soulful cries?

                                              Does my haughtiness offend you?
                                              Don't you take it awful hard
                                              ’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
                                              Diggin’ in my own backyard.

                                              You may shoot me with your words,
                                              You may cut me with your eyes,
                                              You may kill me with your hatefulness,
                                              But still, like air, I’ll rise.

                                              Does my sexiness upset you?
                                              Does it come as a surprise
                                              That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
                                              At the meeting of my thighs?

                                              Out of the huts of history’s shame
                                              I rise
                                              Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
                                              I rise
                                              I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
                                              Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

                                              Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
                                              I rise
                                              Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
                                              I rise
                                              Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
                                              I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
                                              I rise
                                              I rise
                                              I rise.