The Light Though Far Grows Stronger

The Light, though far, grows stronger as Christmas approaches.

Today is AA's Birthday

Today is AA's Birthday.

He would be ninety-nine

Had the notes still played

In testament to the ryhme

Where only silence has a say

Instead of plinking sounds

Plinking-plonking every day 

In strides doing the rounds.

Now only the hushed place

Between each voiceless note;

Now only the fading face

Once imprinted by rote

Are silently heard inside

This weary, wistful head

That says he died;

But longs instead

To hear old AA 

On his birthday

Play,

Just play.

Christmas Dinner Party

The Last Farewell

This photograph taken last July inspired my abstract expressionist painting The Last Farewell, which is not finished and, therefore, not ready to be exhibited, or indeed shown here (or anywhere else). I nonetheless feel compelled to talk about the work because of intelligence received three days ago.

I had already decided back in July to title the photograph The Last Farewell. I cannot explain why, but this is what came to me when I first viewed it. The subject matter is all that is found in the image. 

The figure walking and waving at the end of the paved path has been a friend of mine for almost half a century. He was due to visit tomorrow to attend a Christmas dinner party. Three days ago he telephoned to cancel owing to acute pains which prevented him sleeping, and obliged a visit to the doctor. We had all expected to see him on the 'morrow. Clearly the picture was aptly named, as it is now the last photograph I took of him. He already knew of its title, and the irony is not lost on him.

It translates to a large canvas well, and contains symbolism redolent to what we recognise to be significant. There are the three horizontal stripes of light produced by the sun in the west. Then there are the three verticals. Two of these are lamp posts. One is a telegraph pole. There are three people. Two visible in the image. The third is the photographer/artist, namely myself, who is creating the work. The digitally taken photograph (above) shows three verticals broken by some unseen energy.

Or entity.

The distant woman walks eastward. The man, my friend, walks southward, but will turn westward soon after this photograph was taken. His right foot is lifting to continue on the Right-hand Path.

The paved pathway with its double yellow lines provide three verticals starting to converge.

Three in one, as the lone figure swivels 180° for the last time before vanishing around the corner.

Yet before he does, he smiles and waves. The hand is high; the wave hearty. 

This is the last farewell.

Warm November Sun With Sharp Arctic Winds

Drummer Hodge

They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest

Uncoffined — just as found:

His landmark is a kopje-crest

That breaks the veldt around:

And foreign constellations west

Each night above his mound.

Young Hodge the drummer never knew —

Fresh from his Wessex home —

The meaning of the broad Karoo,

The Bush, the dusty loam,

And why uprose to nightly view

Strange stars amid the gloam.

Yet portion of that unknown plain

Will Hodge for ever be;

His homely Northern breast and brain

Grow up some Southern tree,

And strange-eyed constellations reign

His stars eternally.

(Thomas Hardy)

A Time to Pray for Departed Souls

A time to pray for departed souls

Whom we sometimes see, if at all,

Amid moonlit mist-laden rolls

Of memory's toll of those who fall

Away to somewhere not here,

And somewhere not above,

Nor below; nowhere to fear.

Yet pray for those you love.