Days and months are travellers of eternity. So are the years that pass by. Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth till they succumb to the weight of years, spend every minute of their lives travelling. There are a great number of ancients, too, who died on the road. I myself have been tempted for a long time by the cloud-moving wind - filled with a strong desire to wander.
- Bashō, from 'The Narrow Road to the Deep North', his famous travel diary / poetry collection.
Here's a map of the road he took, on foot, in 1689.
Spectators at the Gentse Feesten, frowned upon by an opera house of Statler and Waldorfs...
Rialtoscuro n. disorientation when you step outside a movie theater into unexpected darkness, a twinge of jet lag from two hours of escapist fun which only diverts you from making the sequel to your youth - an old cult classic with wild shifts in tone, dropped subplots, major characters that appear out of nowhere only to vanish without explanation, and an ambiguous ending - but this time, it's personal.
From 'The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows', which contains some spot-on coinages among its baroquely savvy wordplay.
A long time ago, a million years BC
The best things in life were absolutely free
But no one appreciated a sky that was always blue
And no one congratulated a moon that was always new
So it was planned that they would vanish now and then
And you must pay before you get them back again
That's what storms were made for
And you shouldn't be afraid for
Every time it rains it rains
Pennies from heaven
Don't you know each cloud contains
Pennies from heaven
You'll find your fortune falling all over town
Be sure that your umbrella is upside down
Trade them for a package of sunshine and flowers
If you want the things you love
You must have showers
So when you hear it thunder
Don't run under a tree
There'll be pennies from heaven for you and me
- Johnny Burke and Arthur Johnston
The song was immortalized in Dennis Potter's television series 'Pennies from Heaven' (1978), still a highpoint in the history of the small screen, where story (a daring tale of frustrated naivety) and form (Potter's unique brand of musical) fit each other perfectly.
There's a collection of song and dance clips from the series online - great appetizers for (re)watching the whole thing.
In all the World Cup excitement it's easy to forget there is another, parallel tournament going on, with just as much pressure, politics and sportsmanship - that of the referees.
The Belgian documentary 'Kill the Referee' (more soberly titled 'Les Arbitres' in French) offers a fascinating insight into the world of international football referees. The filmmakers had unique behind the scenes and on the field access to Euro 2008, following several referees, including Howard Webb, who was the center of some hotheaded controversy during the tournament but has gone on to be the referee of Sunday's final.
By far the most interesting and suspenseful parts of the documentary take place on the field, where we hear the comments of the referees and linesmen over their headsets. It's football in a way you've never seen before, with three men frantically trying to direct the action of 22 tatooed madmen in the great pressure cooker of a roaring stadium.
Holland Doc had the film online (with Dutch subtitles), but it appears to be gone. Here's the trailer though, and I'm sure you can find the whole thing online too.
God breathed in deeply, looked at the mist around Him and murmured in the hushed tones of someone who has just made an unexpected and curious discovery, It would never have occurred to Me, but this is just like being in the desert. He turned his eyes towards Jesus, paused awhile and then, like someone resigning himself to the inevitable, began speaking, Dissatisfaction, My son, has been put into the heart of men by God who created them, I'm referring to Myself, of course, but this dissatisfaction which like all the other traits which I made in my image and likeness, I Myself pursued in My own heart and rather than diminish with time it has grown stronger, more pressing and insistent.
The scene is God, Jesus and the Devil in a rowboat. The book is 'The Gospel According to Jesus Christ' by the late José Saramago.
(For some reason Saramago did away with all but the most basic punctuation, which makes dialogues hard to follow at times. At the same time, though, it makes the holy capitalization of "I'm referring to Myself, of course" stand out in blasphemic irony.)
God continues:
For the last four thousand years and four years I have been the God of the Jews, a quarrelsome and difficult race by nature, but on the whole, I have got along fairly well with them because they now take Me seriously and are likely to go on doing so for the forseeable future, So, You are satisfied, said Jesus, I am and I'm not, or rather, I would be were it not for this restless heart of mine which is forever telling Me, Well now, a fine destiny You've arranged after four thousand years of trials and tribulations which no amount of sacrifices on the altars will ever be able to recompense, for You continue to be the god of a tiny population which occupies a minute part of this world You created with everything that's in it, so tell Me, My son, if I can derive any satisfaction from this depressing sight which is constantly before My eyes, Never having created a world, I'm in no position to judge, replied Jesus...
After which God lays out his expansionist plan...
Rotterdam getting ready for the Tour de France with some nice Tour lore oneliners...
Above: "De Tour win je in bed" ("You win the Tour in bed")
Below: "Ik reed lek en de rest reed lekker" (Ehm, impossible to translate...)
Oh to be idle loving idleness!
But I am idle all in hate of me;
Ever in action's dream, in the false stress
Of purposed action never set to be.
Like a fierce beast self-penned in a bait-lair,
My will to act binds with excess my action,
Not-acting coils the thought with raged despair,
And acting rage doth paint despair distraction.
Like someone sinking in a treacherous sand,
Each gesture to deliver sinks the more;
The struggle avails not, and to raise no hand,
Though but more slowly useless, we've no power.
Hence live I the dead life each day doth bring,
Repurposed for next day's repurposing.
- Fernando Pessoa, from '35 Sonnets'.
Growing up in South-Africa, Pessoa wrote in English before switching to Portuguese, using heteronyms like Charles Robert Anon and Alexander Search, and composing "ultra-Shakespearian" sonnets. (More on this early "flawed achievement" in 'Fernando Pessoa's other nation'.)
His English work has just been translated into Dutch under the title 'Heimwee naar vereeuwiging', which was presented tonight at Poetry International.
