Psychogeographic Review’s Recommendations – December 2013

 

This past month Psychogeographic Review has been reading:

 

Lunch PoemsFrank O’Hara – ‘Lunch Poems’ (1986)

Frank O’Hara was a leading figure in the New York School of poetry of the early 1960s.  Like other members of the school, his poetry is deeply influenced by jazz and abstract expressionist painting.  This collection of poems were, as the title implies, composed as he walked the city streets on his lunch break from his job as a gallery curator.  it includes the sublime The Day Lady Died.

 

 

HeavenJack Kerouac – ‘Heaven and Other Poems’ (2001)

Jack Kerouac is best known for his fictionalised accounts of his life as a drifter and his chronicling of the Beat generation.  This intriguing collection of lesser-known works includes poems, letters and Jack’s thoughts on writing:

No pause to think of proper word but the infantile pileup of scatological buildup words  till satisfaction is gained, which will turn out to be a great appending rhythm to a thought  and be in accordance with Great Law of timing.”

 

FishEmily Hinshelwood – ‘On Becoming a Fish’ (2012)

Emily Hinshelwood takes her inspiration for this volume of poems from a series of walks on the 186-mile Pembrokeshire coastal path.  She is a fresh, new voice rooted in a timeless landscape:

“At times words need helping out,                                                not savagely, with forceps,                                                         but cut carefully, for they are primeval

(Psychogeographic Review will feature an extended review of this volume in the near future)

MeadowArchie Hill – ‘The Second Meadow’ (1982)

To satisfy a wager, Archie Hill sets out to live alone in the woods for three months with only the most basic tools.  The result is this deeply personal reflection on nature and humanity.  Hill recounts his life: an impoverished childhood, army, prison, alcoholism and a failing marriage.  Observing the life of the creatures of his patch of countryside, he concludes that, like them, most of us choose to confine ourselves to ‘the first meadow’.  Only the brave and the reckless venture into ‘the second meadow’ and beyond.

 

MarshlandGareth Rees – ‘Marshland: Dreams and Nightmares on the Edge of London’ (2013)

Gareth Rees walks the marshes of his East London home with his dog, Hendrix.  The result is an accomplished meditation on a landscape and its people.  (See elsewhere in this blog for an extended review).

 

 

 

Meanwhile, we were listening to:

CargoNeil McSweeney – ‘Cargo’ (2013)

Meanwhile, in Sheffield, Neil McSweeney ploughs his lonesome furrow of alt-country and folk.  His songs can sometimes lurch into sorrow and pain, but Cargo crackles with a life-affirming melodic force:

“Night draw near, quietness come
For the dark and what awaits us there”

VenusBardo Pond – ‘Peace on Venus’ (2013)

From Philadelphia, with love.  Bardo Pond’s latest album is another slice of spaced-out psychedelia with droning guitars, reverb and ambient noise.  Topping that lot off are Isobel Sollenberger’s soaring voice and her tasty dabs of flute and violin.

 

USAUnited States of America – ‘United States of America’ (1968)

United States of America only ever recorded one studio album.  But what an album.  The overall sound is very trippy, 1960s American psychedelic rock.  But this is a bravely experimental album.  The band had no guitarist and made use of early synthesisers.  They are cited as a major influence by many later electronic doodlers.

China CrisisChina Crisis – ‘Difficult Shapes and Passive Rhythms’ (1982)

This album reminds me of Liverpool in the late 70s and early 80s: a scene revolving around Eric’s, Left Bank Bistro, Probe Records and News from Nowhere, together with bands like Wah! Heat, Cook da Books and the Wild Swans.  China Crisis were two Kirkby lads whose talent and creativity transcended the synth-pop genre.

And watching:

Leather Boys‘The Leather Boys’ – Sidney J. Furie (1964)

Despite the poor quality print of the DVD currently available, this film looks amazing: the bikes and the racing gear are beautiful and Furie makes good use of  location footage from the iconic Ace Café and racing on the A1 in the early 1960s.  Essentially, this is a gritty, kitchen-sink drama, with bikes.  Newly-wed Reggie and Dot fall out and Reggie finds companionship with his closet-gay fellow biker, Pete.  But it is a young Rita Tushingham who illuminates the screen whenever she is in shot.

 

Blow Up‘Blow Up’ – Michelangelo Antonioni (1967)

Antonioni’s first English-language feature is a journey into the ‘swinging’ London of the 1960s and is, without doubt, one of my favourite films of that era.  He suggests that the city’s much-vaunted glamour,  fuelled by sex, drugs and music, is an illusory veneer.  Beneath that veneer  there remains a cold heart of cruelty, casual violence and the exploitation  of women.  David Hemmings and Vanessa Redgrave are excellent as the two leads, but the star of this film is the visual image: the harder one looks, the less one understands.

Rimmer‘The Rise and Rise of Michael Rimmer’ – Kevin Billington (1970)

Written by and starring Peter Cook, this film satirises the political class of late-sixties Britain and, in particular, highlights the rise to power of the PR agency and the spin doctor.  Despite a cast which includes comic giants such as John Cleese, Graham Chapman and Arthur Lowe, The Rise and Rise of Michael Rimmer provides very few belly laughs.  Instead it offers acid wit and sharp political insight.

 

Robinson Ruins‘Robinson in Ruins’ – Patrick Keiller (2010)

London and Robinson in Space were, in my opinion, two of the most important films of the 1990s.  Charting the City of London’s tightening grip on power under the Thatcher regime, both films consist of long, static shots with narration by Paul Schofield. Thirteen years later Keiller returns with a third film to add to the Robinson trilogy.  Stylistically similar to the previous two, Robinson in Ruins focuses on changes to land use in Britain’s towns and countryside.  Vanessa Redgrave provides the voice of Robinson’s unnamed companion and narrator.

Darkest Day‘The Darkest Day’ – Chris Crow (2013)

A young monk is pursued across Britain by blood-thirsty Vikings as he seeks to deliver the Lindisfarne Gospels from Northumbria into safekeeping at Iona.  Despite the constant threat of violence, there is very little sword-fighting action in Chris Crow’s film.  Our protagonist’s constant battle, on the other hand, is with the landscape, which is presented as unrelentingly cold, wet and inhospitable.  Shot in Wales, the film’s muted tones successfully add to its sombre atmosphere.

 

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Looking for May

Mary Amelia St. Clair, known as May Sinclair, was born in Rock Ferry, Wirral in 1863.  Her family lived in a house called Thorncote in the prosperous Rock Park suburb and she spent the first seven years of her life at this address.

May Sinclair was a feminist, a successful author and a key figure in the early modernist movement.  There has been something of a resurgence of interest in her work in the last few years but she is perhaps still best known for coining the phrase ‘stream of consciousness writing’ when reviewing the work of her friend, Dorothy Richardson.

May Sinclair

The concept that a mind’s ebb and flow of thoughts and feelings could be represented on the page is one of the lasting achievements of modernism.  In applying the idea of stream of consciousness to such prose, May Sinclair gave us a compass to help find our way through writing which, at first glance, might appear to be a meaningless jumble of unrelated sentences and phrases.  But Sinclair gave us far more than a catchy phrase; her body of work, her novels, poetry and criticism, forms an important strand of British literary modernism.  The Life and Death of Harriett Frean is, perhaps, Sinclair’s most accomplished work.  Harriett Frean is a modest, obedient woman who does everything that is expected of her throughout her life but, towards the end, realises the futility of a life barely lived.

 

Harriet Frean

Other than a passing mention of it as her birthplace, Rock Ferry receives very little attention in any of the biographies of May Sinclair.  Yet, it is a fascinating place.  I visited Rock Park earlier this year as part of the collaborative project I did with my buddy, Charlie Swain of Travin Record Systems (read about the project here).

 

 

 

 

 

Rock Park is a strange area with an odd atmosphere; it is a place of resonance and memory, and a sense that there is far more going on below the surface than is immediately apparent to the eye.  Charlie Swain sensed this oddness from 3,000 miles away in Baltimore just from the handful of Rock Park pictures I sent him.  The result was his draft of a somewhat sinister, decidedly odd film script.  I’d love to see that film produced.

Rock Park 030

Rock Park 021

Rock Park 067

Rock Park 027

Rock Park is a Victorian development on the banks of the Mersey built between 1837 and 1850. These large, substantial houses were constructed with local sandstone and housed wealthy merchants and brokers who traded across the river in Liverpool. Until 1939 there was a ferry to the city.  May Sinclair’s father was the part-owner of a shipping firm and took the ferry to Liverpool each day.  The picture below shows the derelict landing stage at Rock Park with the Liverpool skyline across the river.

Rock Park 034

The Sinclair family lived in a large house with an extensive garden and were attended by a number of servants.  Due to a series of unwise investments, May Sinclair’s father lost most of his money and the family were forced to leave Rock Park.  May was seven-years old at the time.

We know that the Sinclairs, as respectable, middle-class Victorians, were regular worshippers at their local parish church: St Peter’s, Rock Park.  The church and its churchyard are shown below.  Indeed, one tangible link between the later writer and her seven-year old self living in Rock Park seems to be in the name she gives to her protagonist in The Romantic.  Charlotte Redhead seems to echo the name of the curate at St. Peter’s during that time, the Reverand Thomas Fisher Redhead 

Rock Park 005

Rock Park 004

 

Thorncote – I had the name of the Sinclair house from Suzanne Raitt’s book, but I could find very little else about May Sinclair’s time in Rock Park. The house wasn’t marked on a 1945 map I studied and the local library couldn’t help either. There was nothing for it but to walk the streets, which is what I had wanted to do all along.

The Church of St Peter is near to the centre of Rock Ferry, on the other side of the by-pass from Rock Park. It is still a working church, though it was closed on the day I visited. To get to Rock Park I took a footpath which passed under the by-pass and downhill through a council estate. At the bottom of the hill the road opened out onto a wide embankment and, below that, was the River Mersey. Mudflats stretched out to the north and south and, to the east, across the silver thread of the river, was the grey, familiar skyline of Liverpool: the Three Graces and two cathedrals.

Rock Park 036

To my left, across a scrubby green, I noticed a road-sign: Rock Park Road. I had arrived. Rock Park seemed to be one long, curving road. The houses backed onto trees and, beyond these, the by-pass on one side while, on the other, the dwellings overlooked the river. Tantalising glimpses of the Mersey were visible between these houses.

Rock Park 032 

Rock Park 046

One or two of the houses were still quite grand, but most were a little care-worn. Many had been divided into flats, as indicated by the tell-tale switchboard of bells at the front door. A very friendly man walking his dog told me more about the neighbourhood and how it had ‘gone downhill’ since the by-pass slashed through the area. At the far end of Rock Park Road was a pub, The Refreshment Rooms and, across the road, the stump of the old ferry pier, all but smothered by the expansion of Tranmere oil terminal.

Rock Park 039

Rock Park 029

I turned left and found a path through the trees and saw before me the reason for the blight of Rock Park: the A41 New Ferry by-pass. Four lanes of 1960s concrete rolled-out through some of Wirral’s finest Victorian architecture; homes and gardens all swept away. What I hadn’t realised until I crossed the A41, a little further north than my starting point, was that there was a small, residual corner of Rock Park marooned on this far side of the by-pass.

Rock Park 056

True, many of the houses had lost their gardens, and other houses were reduced to nothing more than the stumps of gate-posts, like so many rotten teeth. But this shadow of a street was still clinging-on as an outpost of Rock Park. One of the stumps I found was Hawthorne House, once the residence of the writer, Nathaniel Hawthorne.  He was US Consul in Liverpool for a time and lived at Hawthorne House, 26 Rock Park. No plaque or memorial for the writer of The Scarlet Letter, just a grass verge and a weathered gate-post.  Of May Sinclair’s house there was no sign at all. 

Rock Park 066                                     

 

Following William Sinclair’s bankruptcy, the family led a nomadic existence, moving from one part of the country to another.  He struggled with money worries and alcoholism and the family were constantly on the brink of ruin.  May spent a year at Cheltenham Ladies’ College and then returned home to care for her ailing brother.  Tragedy seemed to haunt the family and two of May’s brothers died young within three years of each other due to congenital mitral valve failure.

May Sinclair worked as a jobbing writer and was active in the women’s suffrage movement.  Gradually, her work found acceptance and she enjoyed a sustained period of success and productivity in the early years of the twentieth-century.  With the onset of Parkinson’s disease, Sinclair wrote very little in her final decades.  She died in 1946.

Sinclair was always very reluctant to give biographers any details about her early life, particularly her Rock Park years and her father’s bankruptcy and alcohol abuse.  But May’s early life story slips out, piecemeal, in a number of her novels.  In The Life and Death of Harriett Frean, Harriett’s father, echoing the experience of May Sinclair’s family, loses all of his money in a speculative investment:

Eighteen seventy-nine: it was the year her father lost his money.  Harriett was nearly thirty-five.  She remembered the day, late in November, when they heard him coming home from the office early.  Her mother raised her head and said, ‘That’s your father, Harriett.  He must be ill.’  She always thought of seventy-nine as one continuous November.

Clearly, May was marked by this history.  But unlike her hapless protagonist, Harriett Frean, who slips into genteel penury and loneliness following her father’s ruin, May Sinclair chose to challenge the paternalistic norm and use her talents to make a living from writing and to go on to play a significant role in one of the twentieth-century’s key literary movements.

 

 

Illustrations

May Sinclair picture accessed through Creative Commons.  All other images by the author

 

Reference Works

Suzanne Raitt, May Sinclair: A Modern Victorian (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 2000)

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One Year – Week 10

Project Description

One Year is a project through which I intend to construct a daily photographic record of a single view: the view from my study window at around 8.00a.m. each day when I sit down to work.  One Year will annotate each picture with a note of the weather for that morning and the morning’s main news headline from the BBC News site.  In addition, there will be a note taking a key sentence or two from my daily journal.

For full details and artist’s statement go to Week 1 here

22 November 2013

November 22nd 2013

  • Sunny intervals
  • Former Co-op Bank boss Flowers held
  • Feet remember a way mind cannot recall

 

 

23 November 2013
November 23rd 2013

  • Sunny
  • Ministers set for Iran nuclear talks
  • At horizon’s line a ladder of cloud: backlit pink, rungs of grey and indigo

 

24 November 2013
November 24th 2013

  • Light cloud
  • Iran agrees to curb nuclear activity
  • Entering a world furnished with the sound of colour and the taste of light

 

25 November 2013

November 25th 2013

  • Sunny intervals
  • New law to cap payday loan interest
  • ‘twas the face that launched a thousand sheds

 

26 November 2013

November 26th 2013

  • Sunny intervals
  • SNP to reveal independence case
  • But can we fit all of that onto one side of A4?

 

27 November 2013
November 27th 2013

  • Light cloud
  • Plan to curb ‘benefit tourism’
  • Anorexic pruning – / a painful birth / revealing flowers / of such unexpected beauty

28 November 2013

November 28th 2013

  • Light cloud
  • New look at plain cigarette packets
  • …make a list of the major towns and cities in Britain that you’ve never visited
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Wild London

Gareth E. Rees, with illustrations by Ada Jusic, Marshland: Dreams and Nightmares on the Edge of London (London, Influx Press, 2013)

 

In the lower Lea Valley the river carves a border between the modern boroughs of Hackney, Leyton and Waltham Forest, and the historical counties of Middlesex and Essex.

I’ve followed Gareth Rees’s work for a couple years now, both on Twitter and through that wonderful compendium of a blog he has created, the Marshman Chronicles.  Combining topographical observations, fiction, myth, local history, music and the downright weird, Marshman Chronicles all but defies definition.

So I thought I knew what to expect with Gareth’s new book, Marshland: Dreams and Nightmares on the Edge of London.  It would be a stretched-out version of the blog, right?  Or perhaps something akin to another volume from the Iain Sinclair oeuvre, the two of them stalk the same East London manor, after all.

Marshland cover

Well, just thirty-odd pages into this reassuringly fat volume, I realised I was wrong.  Gareth Rees is no copyist of Sinclair, Papadimitriou, Self nor any of the other usual suspects of British psychogeography.  He has his own unique style and his work has the assured flow of someone who was born to write.

Yes, Marshland does feature many of the elements Gareth has already explored in his blog.  But the scale is bigger, the scope is broader and a whole new world of possibilities is introduced.  A world that stretches out from the few hundred acres of Hackney Marsh in East London, into an infinite universe of myth and imagination.

 

Marshland is a rich tapestry of themes, styles and voices. Gareth Rees draws the reader in with what initially seems to be a straightforward and comfortable walking guide through the marshes of East London.  Then, suddenly, he whisks us away on a magic carpet ride of myth, fiction, poetry, natural history and archaeology.  There is found fiction here in its most profound form: Gareth finds people, stories, detritus, graffiti and brings them to life before our eyes:

We enter woodland where an uprooted tree trunk lies on its side. Fag butts and cans littering the crater it exposes.  Broken concrete slabs are piled in a heap.  Rubber tubing snakes from the heap and vanishes under a wire fence.  One of the trees is wrapped with frayed rope, a wooden stick dangling menacingly from the end.  Is this a warning sign?  An occult symbol?  An asphyxiation tool?  Embedded in the moss on the ground is a bottle of DESPERADOS.  Tequila mixed with beer.  As if beer isn’t enough.  As if tequila needed something else.

Gareth’s prose is clear and simple; he is not given to exploring the outer margins of literary experimentation.  But perhaps it’s just as well that he keeps the language straightforward, because much of his content is snatched from the more disturbing liminal zones of the city, and I guess even I accept there is such a thing as too much oddness.

A word of appreciation also for Marshland’s illustrator, Ada Jusic.  Her striking pen and ink drawings add to the power of the text, rather than detract from it.

Gareth Rees wanders the marsh with his dog, Hendrix; a kind of Johnson and Boswell double-act, though I’m not sure which is which.  He takes us along rivers, around filter beds, past abandoned factories and across ancient grazing land.  Much of this area has remained unchanged for centuries and, at times, all thoughts of London seem to belong to another world.  But, from every direction, development is encroaching.  Marshland, then, is not just a celebration by Rees of his own backyard, it is an advocate’s plea for its future.

Emily Dickinson once declared that: ‘I dwell in Possibility’.  On the strength of this book, so does Gareth Rees.

 

Marshland: Dreams and Nightmares on the Edge of London is available from Inpress and good booksellers

 

 

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One Year – Week 9

Project Description

One Year is a project through which I intend to construct a daily photographic record of a single view: the view from my study window at around 8.00a.m. each day when I sit down to work.  One Year will annotate each picture with a note of the weather for that morning and the morning’s main news headline from the BBC News site.  In addition, there will be a note taking a key sentence or two from my daily journal.

For full details and artist’s statement go to Week 1 here

 

15 November 2013

November 15th 2013

  • Light cloud
  • Spain’s Gibraltar checks lawful – EU
  • I pledge elegance / two thief rag

 

 

16 November 2013

  • November 16th 2013
  • Light cloud
  • PM urges Sri Lanka to act on rights
  • … and in my dream it was my last day in a workplace where, apparently, I’d worked for years.  It was an imagined place, but I still woke up with a feeling of loss and sadness for the imagined job and the imagined people I was leaving behind.

17 November 2013

November 17th 2013

  • Light cloud
  • PM ‘will not lower age of consent’
  • What would be interesting would be if, while sticking within the bounds of the genre, he could nonetheless pull off something daring and experimental.

18 November 2013

November 18th 2013

  • Heavy rain
  • Search engines to block abuse images
  • To Gresford in search of the grave of Harold, May Sinclair’s brother

 

19 November 2013

November 19th 2013

Sunny intervals                                                                    Hospitals to publish staffing levels                                  Listening to a reading in English by Caroline Bergvall and her soothing, but slightly disorientating, French/Norwegian tones

 

20 November 2013

November 20th 2013

  • Heavy rain shower
  • Call to end Troubles prosecutions
  • No sign of that comet in the sky this morning.  Stand easy, Bruce Willis.

 

21 November 2013

November 21st 2013

  • Light cloud
  • Army unit ‘killed unarmed civilians’
  • In his wine shop in Whitechapel, Mr Trotosky presides over the cabinets with his glassy smile and polished head.  ‘O?’, I say.
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Baudelaire, Benjamin and the Birth of the Flâneur

 

On voit un chiffonnier qui vient, hochant la tête,
Butant, et se cognant aux murs comme un poète,
Et, sans prendre souci des mouchards, ses sujets,
Epanche tout son coeur en glorieux projets.

Charles Baudelaire: ‘Le Vin de Chiffonniers’ (‘The Ragpicker’s Wine’)

Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire

The concept of the flâneur, the casual wanderer, observer and reporter of street-life in the modern city, was first explored, at length, in the writings of Baudelaire.  Baudelaire’s flâneur, an aesthete and dandy, wandered the streets and arcades of nineteenth-century Paris looking at and listening to the kaleidoscopic manifestations of the life of a modern city.  The flâneur’s method and the meaning of his activities were bound together, one with the other.  Indeed, Christopher Butler suggests the flâneur is trying to achieve a form of transcendence:

 

 

the city’s modernity is most particularly defined for him by the activities of the flâneur observer, whose aim is to derive ‘l’éternel du transitoire’ (‘the eternal from the transitory’) and to see the poétique dans l’historique’(‘the poetic in the historic’).

Christopher Butler, ‘Early Modernism: Literature, Music and Painting in Europe 1900 – 1916’

 

In the twentieth-century Walter Benjamin returned to the concept of the flâneur in his seminal work, The Arcades Project.  This weighty, but uncompleted, study used Baudelaire’s flâneur as a starting point for an exploration of the impact of modern city life upon the human psyche.  Anne Friedberg emphasises the centrality of the influence of Baudelaire’s work on that of Benjamin: 

Baudelaire’s collection of poems, Les fleurs du mal (Flowers of Evil), is the cornerstone of Benjamin’s massive work on modernity, an uncompleted study of the Paris arcades.  For Benjamin, the poems record the ambulatory gaze that the flâneur directs on Paris.

Anne Friedberg, ‘Les Flâneurs du Mal(l): Cinema and the Postmodern Condition’

That the arcades of Paris were long past their heyday was of no concern to Benjamin; in fact it was a key aspect of his world view that all manifestations of successive civilisations were transitory phenomena.  As a consequence of this view, Benjamin saw modernity as transient too.  Kirsten Seale describes Benjamin’s approach as follows:

The flâneur’s movement creates anachrony: he travels urban space, the space of modernity, but is forever looking to the past. He reverts to his memory of the city and rejects the self-enunciative authority of any technically reproduced image. The photographer’s engagement with visual technology is similarly ambivalent. The photographer reiterates the trajectory of technological advance through his or her acculturation to new technologies, yet the authority of this trajectory is challenged by photography’s product: the photograph, a material memory which is only understood by looking away from the future, by reading retrospectively.

 Kirsten Seale, ‘Eye-swiping London: Iain Sinclair, Photography and the Flâneur’

 

Walter Benjamin

Walter Benjamin

The Arcades Project is, above all else, the history of a city – Paris, the capital of the nineteenth-century, whose system of streets is a vascular network of imagination.

Peter Buse, Ken Hirschkop, Scott McCracken and Bernard Taithe, ‘Benjamin’s Arcades: An Unguided Tour’

 

In The Arcades Project, Benjamin puts forward two complementary concepts to explain our human response to modern city life.  Erlebnis can be characterised as the shock-induced anaesthesia brought about by the overwhelming sensory bombardment of life in a modern city, somewhat akin to the alienated subjectivity experienced by a worker bound to his regime of labour.  Erfahrung is a more positive response and refers to the mobility, wandering or cruising of the flâneur; the unmediated experience of the wealth of sights, sounds and smells the city has to offer.  Benjamin was interested in the dialectic between these two concepts and cited Baudelaure’s poetry as a successful medium for turning erlebnis into erfahrung.  As Benjamin wrote in his section of Illuminations entitled On Some Motifs in Baudelaire:

The greater the share of the shock factor in particular impressions, the more constantly consciousness has to be alert as a screen against stimuli; the more efficiently it does so, the less do these impressions enter experience (Erfahrung), tending to remain in the sphere of a certain hour in one’s life (Erlebnis).

Walter Benjamin, ‘Illuminations’

For Benjamin, the environment of the city, in particular the arcades of Paris, provided the means to provoke lost memories of times past:

it is the material culture of the city, rather than the psyche, that provides the shared collective spaces where consciousness and the unconscious, past and present, meet.

Susan Buck-Morss, ‘The Flâneur, the Sandwichman and the Whore: The Politics of Loitering’

 

The Arcades ProjectRue Hautefeuille 1869-1870

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not all critics accept the veracity of Benjamin’s analysis.  Martina Lauster, for instance, feels that Benjamin’s flâneur device gives too much importance to only one aspect of Baudelaire’s work and ignores the significance of other nineteenth-century writers such as Poe.  She suggests that Benjamin’s idea of the flâneur is not only of limited value for an understanding of the twentieth-century urban experience, but can be seen positively to hamper it. This negative effect, she argues, comes about from Benjamin’s mistaken application of the modernist aesthetic concept of self-loss. As a result, instead of informing urban modernism about itself, Benjamin’s work serves only to obscure it.

However, Lauster does accept the importance of The Arcades Project in assembling excerpts from nineteenth-century sources dealing with the phenomena of novelty – in particular the arcades and department stores, panoramas, exhibitions, fashion, and gaslight.  In accepting the importance of these observations, Lauster seems to concede the relevance of their source – the strolling spectator who collects mental notes taken on leisurely city walks and transcribes them into written form; in other words, the flâneur:

In short, they resemble observations of a flaneur, the viewer who takes pleasure in abandoning himself to the artificial world of high capitalist civilization. One could describe this figure as the viewing-device through which Benjamin formulates his own theoretical assumptions concerning modernity, converging in a Marxist critique of commodity fetishism.

Martina Lauster, ‘Walter Benjamin’s Myth of the Flâneur’

 

What we can be clear about is that Benjamin does not just write about the flâneur but, in The Arcades Project, he writes as a flâneur.  As noted earlier, he metaphorises his textual practice into ragpicking, unearthing ‘the rags, the refuse’ from his extensive reading, his cutting and pasting from all manner of sources, into the text of this, his best known work.  The origins of The Arcades Project are in the textual detritus of Benjamin’s research; a method that echoes Baudelaire’s ragpicker and which he refers to when he writes that:

poets find the refuse of society on their street and derive their heroic subject from this very refuse. This means that a common type is, as it were, superimposed upon their illustrious type. … Ragpicker or poet — the refuse concerns both.

Walter Benjamin, ‘Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism’

The ragpicker is recurring motif in Benjamin’s writing and offers a useful metaphor for his textual methodology.  Benjamin focuses on the margins of the modern city, scavenging amongst the texts and oral histories that have been omitted or neglected. Literary ragpicking resurrects discarded texts, forming them into new texts.  Benjamin was interested not just in what is, but in what was and what might be.  He is looking for where the imagined city meets the material one. 

 

Paris Passage de Choiseul
Paris – Passage de Choiseul

 

In his exploration of the ‘imagined city’, Benjamin assigns particular importance to thresholds. Ancient peoples had access to numerous rites of passage, transition points and triggers for being jolted from one state of consciousness to another; from reason to myth.  Modern people have grown poorer in this regard, but Benjamin saw the perambulations of the flâneur as a contemporary equivalent; the practice of flânerie, in other words, can facilitate a way through significant psychological and spiritual thresholds.  In the same regard, Benjamin also referred to the power of advertising and its dreamlike quality; its capacity to link commodities with the human imagination.  Thus, in entering the world created by advertising, one passes through a threshold, thereby achieving a form of transcendence:

Modern idlers attempt a kind of partial transcendence – imitating the gods – that temporarily overcomes the shock experience of modernity.

Peter Buse, Ken Hirschkop, Scott McCracken and Bernard Taithe, ‘Benjamin’s Arcades: An Unguided Tour’

In The Arcades Project and his exploration of Paris’s arcades, Benjamin writes of outside spaces that mirror the inside of buildings and vice versa.  Hence his belief in the importance of the arcades; he believed they were able to bring together all manner of consumer commodities in an environment of mixed interiors and exteriors. As a result, Benjamin enjoyed posing questions such as whether the tables outside a café in an arcade were indoors or outdoors.  He was concerned with the spatial, suggesting that the flâneur experiences the streets as an interior.  This interior unites all epochs, all parts of the world and all phenomena of contemporary society.  The flâneur, Benjamin argues, can be intoxicated by one glance, which stimulates his very being and results in a physical internalisation of the material world of commodities.

Cafes, cinemas and shops in which one is invited to browse, such as bookshops, all have in common that they can be seen as an extension of the street.  Benjamin enjoyed such ambiguity.  He applauded the development of new ‘dream spaces’, such as leisure parks, wax museums, and department stores and saw them all as products of a new commodity culture and as places that beckoned the flâneur. 

Taking the concept of ‘dream space’ one step further, Benjamin argues that gambling has a key psychological role to play in this new commodity culture.  On the one hand it is clearly a short-sighted and self-destructive occupation.  But on the other, it gives the promise and anticipation of a utopian dream with many options and possibilities, and an aura pregnant with notions of superstition and fate.

 

Leeds - County Arcade

Leeds – County Arcade

 

For Benjamin, the flâneur is the primary tool for interpreting modern culture.  He is the observer, the witness, the stroller of the commodity-obsessed marketplace.  He synchronises himself with the shock experience of modern life.  He does not, however, challenge that system.  The point of the flâneur, argues Benjamin, is to lead us toward an ‘awakening’ – the moment at which the past and present recognise each other; to erfahrung.  His tool for achieving this is einfühlung – empathy:

Empathy with the commodity is fundamentally empathy with the exchange value itself.  The flâneur is the virtuoso of this empathy.

Walter Benjamin, ‘The Arcades Project’

As noted earlier, Benjamin believed that one of the main tasks of his writing was to rescue the cultural heritage of the past in order to understand the present; not just the cultural treasures of the past, but the detritus and other discarded objects:

Benjamin the surrealist collects together the images of the city that the flâneur presents to him, to be left with a vast array of past objects, buildings and spaces that he then attempts to reassemble into illuminating order.

Deborah Parsons, ‘Streetwalking the Metropolis: Women, the City and Modernity’

Thus, we create a history which is not just that of the victor.  He posits the flâneur as a key motif for urban modernist writing.  Benjamin’s writings are peopled by two types of flâneur – the bourgeois wanderer of the arcades and his vagrant counterpart, the rag-picker.  These are used, asserts Deborah Parsons, as vehicles for his speculations on urban modernity:

Both are itinerant metaphors that register the city as a text to be inscribed, read, rewritten and reread. The flâneur walks idly through the city, listening to its narrative.  The rag-picker too moves across the urban landscape, but as a scavenger, collecting, rereading and rewriting its history.

Deborah Parsons, ‘Streetwalking the Metropolis: Women, the City and Modernity’

Flânerie was not without its ideological opponents: authoritarian regimes in particular objected to any expression of loitering or idleness, seeing it as a manifestation of subversion; Hitler, for example, banned both prostitutes and vagrants from the streets. The loiterer refuses to submit to thee social controls of modern industry:

Boredom in the production process originates with its speed-up (through machines).The flaneur with his ostentatious composure protests against the production process.

Walter Benjamin, ‘The Arcades Project’

Flâneurs ignore the rush hour; rather than hurrying off somewhere, they hang around. Their very being ‘is a demonstration against the division of labour.’ They demonstrate the resistance of the daydreamer to the rise of industry and commerce.

The early manifestation of flânerie was brief, being concurrent with the time when the arcades where at their height of fashion. Benjamin was, however, not concerned with nostalgia for the past, but with developing the critical knowledge necessary for a revolutionary break from history’s most recent configuration.  He claimed the past was illuminated only when ‘lit by the present’, and the converse was equally true: “Every present is determined by those [past] images which are synchronic with it” (ibid. p. 458)

 

Map of Paris, 1900

Map of Paris, 1900


By describing the flâneur’s vision of the city as phantasmagoric, Benjamin seems to suggest that it is a dream-like vision akin to that provided in theatrical entertainment. He also reminds us of Marx’s metaphorical description of the commodity as having the power of a religious fetish; an item that owes its magical status to the imaginative power of the human brain which confers magical powers upon it, at the same time as venerating the fetish, as an autonomous object. Phantasmagoric experiences, therefore, are created by humans, but have the appearance of seeming to possess a life of their own.  This, suggests Benjamin, as exactly the same as Marx’s theory of the commodity coming to acquire the appearance of an independent life of its own as a result of the nature of social relationships that produce it.

But the approach of the flâneur is not overtly political.  Whilst Engels, in his The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844, maps out Manchester, street by street, hovel by hovel, with forensic detail, Baudelaire’s peregrinations around Paris are conducted in a much more abstract, poetic fashion. The flâneur exists in that space between the physical and the imaginary.  However, as Guy Debord shows in the post-war period, some of the methodology of the flâneur can be very political.   The flâneur’s defining characteristics are evident not in the expression, but the desire. The flâneur is undirected and motiveless, in that his or her motivation is simply the desire to wander.  The flâneur can be said to represent both decadence and impoverishment.

And whilst Baudelaire’s Paris was destroyed in the mid nineteenth-century by Haussmann’s massive programme of urban renewal, it is still Paris, more than any other city, that is associated with flânerie.  The flâneur’s role, one can argue, is symbolic. Physical wandering has parallels in intellectual exploration and, it can be said, the spirit of the flâneur is present in the intellectual curiosity of the bohemian; the bohemian-flâneur takes advantage of comparative affluence to explore different ideas and lifestyles.  In twentieth century Paris, the bars and cafés of the Left Bank were the haunt of bohemians and flâneurs 

It is, therefore, clear that Baudelaire established a tradition that moved through the early modernists, to the Surrealists and on to the Situationists.  As part of the latter movement, Guy Debord developed the notions of the dérive and the ‘spectacle’.  A dérive (in English ‘drift’) is the means by which ‘psycho-geographies’ are achieved.  A drift is an unplanned walk, usually through a city or marginal area, and a psycho-geography involves the walker creating a mental map of the city which:

depends on the walker ‘seeing’ and being drawn into events, situations and images by an abandonment to wholly unanticipated attraction.

Chris Jenks (ed), ‘Visual Culture’

Contemporary British writers, such as Iain Sinclair, have used this methodology to write about London.  Sinclair continues the tradition of the flâneur and writes about his dérives across the East End and elsewhere in a style which owes much to the influence of Benjamin and the French situationists.  His walks map out what he refers to as an ‘alternative cartography’, a process for which the situationists used the word psychogeography.  In London Orbital, Sinclair introduces the notion of ‘eye-swiping’ – scanning the urban landscape for creative material. The term suggests the avaricious sweep of the flâneur’s eye, scooping up material for later transcription.  

Sinclair’s walks suggest that the flâneur may have survived beyond the death-knell that Benjamin sounded for its practitioner.  The flâneur has clearly adapted to conditions in the contemporary city, and absorbed developments in visual technology. Sinclair, in the tradition of the Baudelairean flâneur, has assimilated into his method new means of collecting and cataloguing information from the everyday.  Such projects may, in fact, be easier than they were for previous generations of flaneur; the modern subject is comfortable with the presence and the use of photographic equipment. The camera is no longer exotic; it belongs to the sphere of the familiar.

Guy Debord, seeking to bring together Marxism, psychology and an analysis of the impact of rapid technological advance, all interlaced with Benjamin’s ideas, describes this process as being about:

This society which eliminates geographical distance reproduces distance internally as spectacular separation.

Guy Debord, ‘Society of the Spectacle’

But whilst Benjamin’s flâneur, the idle wanderer of the arcades or the ragpicker combing the liminal spaces of the city, may have disappeared, Susan Buck-Morss insists that the flâneur’s spirit lives on:

If the flaneur has disappeared as a specific figure, it is because the perceptive attitude which he embodied saturates modern existence, specifically, the society of mass consumption (and is the source of its illusions). The same can be argued for all of Benjamin’s historical figures. In commodity society all of us are prostitutes, selling ourselves to strangers; all of us are collectors of things.

Susan Buck-Morss, ‘The Flâneur, the Sandwichman and the Whore: The Politics of Loitering’

 

Images

Leeds image by the author, all others sourced under Creative Commons

Bibliography

Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project (Cambridge, Mass and London, Belknap Harvard, 1999)

Walter Benjamin, Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism (New York and London, Verso Books, 1997)

Walter Benjamin, Illuminations (London, Pimlico, 1999)

Walter Benjamin, The Writer of Modern Life: Essays on Charles Baudelaire (Cambridge, Mass and London, Belknap Harvard, 2006)

Peter Brooker, Modernity and Metropolis: Writing, Film and Urban Formations (Basingstoke and New York, Palgrave, 2002)

Peter Buse, Ken Hirschkop, Scott McCracken and Bernard Taithe, Benjamin’s Arcades: An Unguided Tour (Manchester University Press, Manchester and New York, 2005)

Guy Debord, Society of the Spectacle (Detroit, Black & Red, 1977)

Chris Jenks (ed), Visual Culture (London and New York, Routledge, 1995)

Ian Munro, The Figure of the Crowd in early Modern London: The City and its Double (New York, Palgrave MacMillan, 2005)

Deborah Parsons, Streetwalking the Metropolis: Women, the City and Modernity (Oxford and New York, Oxford University Press, 2000)

Raymond Williams, The Country and the City (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1973)

Journal Articles

Susan Buck-Morss, ‘The Flâneur, the Sandwichman and the Whore: The Politics of Loitering’, New German Critique, No. 39, Second Special Issue on Walter Benjamin (Autumn, 1986), pp. 99-140

Paul Castro, ‘Flânerie and Writing the City in Iain Sinclair’s Lights Out for the Territory, Edmund White’s The Flâneur, and José Cardoso Pires’s Lisboa: Livro de Bordo’, Darwin College Research Report, Cambridge (October 2003)

Deborah Epstein Nord, ‘The Urban Peripatetic: Spectator, Streetwalker, Woman Writer’, Nineteenth-Century Literature, University of California Press,Vol. 46, No. 3, Dec., 1991, pp. 351-375

Anne Friedberg, ‘Les Flâneurs du Mal(l): Cinema and the Postmodern Condition’, PMLA, Vol. 106, No. 3 (May, 1991), pp. 419-431

Martina Lauster, ‘Walter Benjamin’s Myth of the Flâneur’ The Modern Language Review, Vol. 102, No. 1 (Jan., 2007), pp. 139-156

Frank Mort and Miles Ogborn, ‘Transforming Metropolitan London, 1750–1960’ The Journal of British Studies, University of Chicago, Vol. 43, No. 1 (January 2004), pp. 1-14

Janice Mouton, ‘From Feminine Masquerade to Flâneuse: Agnès Varda’s Cléo in the City’, Cinema Journal, University of Texas Press, Vol. 40, No. 2, Winter, 2001, pp. 3-16

Elizabeth Munson, ‘Walking on the Periphery: Gender and the Discourse of Modernization’ Journal of Social History, Vol. 36, No. 1 (Autumn, 2002), pp. 63-75

Wendy Parkins, ‘Moving Dangerously: Mobility and the Modern Woman’, Tulsa Studies in Women’s Literature, University of Tulsa, Vol. 20, No. 1 (Spring, 2001), pp. 77-92

Kirsten Seale, ‘Eye-swiping London: Iain Sinclair, Photography and the Flâneur’, Literary London: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Representation of London, Vol. 3, No. 2 (September 2005)

Janet Wolff, ‘The Invisible Flâneuse: Women and the Literature of Modernity’, Theory, Culture and Society, vol. 2, no. 3, 1985, pp. 37–46

 

 

 

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One Year – Week 8

Project Description

One Year is a project through which the artist intends to construct a daily photographic record of a single view: the view from his study window at around 8.00a.m. each day when he sits down to work.  One Year will annotate each picture with a note of the weather for that morning and the morning’s main news headline from the BBC News site.  In addition, there will be a note taking a key sentence or two from the artist’s daily journal.

For full details and artist’s statement go to Week 1 here

 

November 8th 2013

8 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Light cloud
  • Monster storm roars in Philippines
  • Baby’s body moves through time and space; with the illusion of language, he describes that journey

 

November 9th 2013

9 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

  • Light cloud
  • Philippines storm toll ‘tops 100’
  • Is there an element of tedium in the One Year process?  Of course there is, tedium is an inescapable fact of the human condition.  Perhaps even a necessary fact; the plain black cloth against which the precious jewel can be displayed.

 

November 10th 2013

10 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Sunny
  • Fears of 10,000 dead after typhoon
  • Make a list of the people you have lost.  Honour them with your tears.

 

November 11th 2013

11 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Light rain
  • Philippines devastation is ‘bedlam’
  • The trouble with typing up a poem is that it makes it feel ‘finished’; it discourages further revision when revision is usually what that poem desperately needs

 

November 12th 2013

12 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Sunny
  • Race to save typhoon survivors
  • …reading BART poem out loud, his voice conveys the gathering momentum of the train.

 

November 13th 2013

13 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Sunny
  • Storm survivors ‘desperate for aid’
  • Weird dream – news that a chicken was infected with a computer virus

 

November 14th 2013

14 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Light rain shower
  • US carrier to boost typhoon effort
  • .. and when the memory holder dies, what happens to the memory?
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A Psychogeographic Collaboration by Charles Swain and Bobby Seal

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…the darkness does not lift but becomes yet heavier as I think how little we can hold in mind, how everything is constantly lapsing into oblivion with every extinguished life, how the world is, as it were, draining itself, in that the history of countless places and objects which themselves have no power or memory is never heard, never described or passed on.

W.G. Sebald, Austerlitz

There is nothing like unemployment for educating oneself

 A.L . Lloyd

 

Jointly Presented by Travin Systems and the Pyschogeographic Review

Rock Park words by Charles Swain Photography by Bobby Seal Fort Wetherill words by Bobby Seal Photography by Charles Swain Design By Charles Swain at The Travin Press

 

 

 A Psychogeographic  Collaboration

This project came about as a result of a growing mutual appreciation of the other’s work by Charles Swain, Head Honcho at Travin Record Systems,  and Bobby Seal, copywriting gun for hire and psychogeographer-in-chief at Psychogeographic Review. Although originally from the UK, Charles is currently based in Baltimore and Bobby lives on the Welsh borders. It seemed natural, then, that the project should embrace this geographical disconnect and come up with an idea that spans two continents.

 

Our Starting Point

We agreed to exchange six to ten photographs of a place we thought was interesting; somewhere that, to mangle Emily Dickinson’s phrase, dwelt in possibility.  Other than the pictures, we agreed to disclose only the barest facts to each other about our chosen location.  We would then each produce a creative response to the pictures: it could be prose, poetry, music – anything. But we could only work from the pictures, not with any further research on the location.

Bobby Seal: The place I chose for Charlie is Rock Park, a rundown Victorian suburb in Rock Ferry, near Birkenhead.  I chose Rock Park because I’ve often passed by, but never explored it.  Its main fascination for me was that it was the birthplace of May Sinclair, a writer for whom I have a great admiration.

Rock Park was built on the banks of the Mersey between 1837 and 1850. The large, substantial houses were constructed with local sandstone and housed wealthy merchants and brokers who traded across the river in Liverpool.  Until 1939 there was a ferry to Liverpool.

Rock Park has declined in recent decades: the wealthy have moved away and many of the houses have been divided into flats.  In the 1960s a new by-pass cut a swathe through  Rock Park and many  of the houses were demolished. I didn’t find May Sinclair’s house, but I did find the house once  lived in by Nathaniel Hawthorne, the American writer.  He was US Consul in Liverpool for a time and lived at Hawthorne House, 26 Rock Park.  Unfortunately, all that is left is one gate-post.

 

Charles Swain: When we came up with the initial concept for the project I had a number of places that I had previously visited that I could have chosen to present to Bob. The setting had to be in the USA, so that ruled out a lot of locations from back home in the UK. I was originally going to write a piece on Fort Wetherill myself for Travin Systems but it struck me as having the potential to work really well in this project.

 

 

Why This Collaboration, or What the Fuck Were You Thinking Of?

 

We’d both agreed a while ago that it would be a good idea to work on some kind of collaboration, but the basic idea for this particular project came from Charlie. Although we’re working in different fields, there  seems to be some commonality in the themes we each explore: place, history, memory, the stories wrapped up within a landscape.

 

The project came about through thinking of alternate ways to present places. Places that are a wellspring of emotion and curiosity via the depth of their history, their physical appearance and the singular atmosphere that is present when visiting them at a certain moment in time. This multiplication of variation sifts through your emotional state at the time to create an impression and that is what I try to put down via words, photography or music. We are both extremely interested in these ideas and to allow each other to interoperate each’s visits seemed natural. It was also thoroughly enjoyable.

 

Practically speaking it made sense to accept that I am based in the UK and Charlie in the US, so any collaboration would of necessity be predicated on an electronic dialogue.  But actually, that’s what gives the project its cutting edge; we chose delib- erately to restrict ourselves to writing about a landscape we had never visited using as inspiration just the handful of photo- graphs provided by the other person.  In other words, we would each try to create a new reality from, to use Eliot’s words, nothing more than ‘a heap of broken images’.

 

By presenting someone just photos and a brief outline of the location, which is what we did in this piece, you effectively ab- stract them in two ways. From the physical location itself and your own or others’ impressions of that place. Then you ask them to mentally transcend the 3000 miles or so to write about it.

 

In restricting what one’s collaborator sees to a handful of pictures, one’s imagination is freed  to go beyond the confines of the lens. The human brain has a unique talent for constructing images and patterns, even where none exist in an objective sense. This is the story of a half-blind stumbling towards discovering some kind of meaning from a set of photographs.

 

This is What We Thought

 

I’ve never explored the east coast of the USA, though I have a vague idea of the location of Rhode Island.  From the sparse factual details provided, I was aware that Fort Wetherill had been a military strongpoint since colonial times and was last used during the Second World War.  Having been abandoned for many years, it was adopted as a State Park in 1972.  We had already agreed that we would do no further research on the location in the pictures provided by the other.  Sorry Wikipedia!

The first thing that struck when I saw the Rock Park pictures was the houses. I have lived in a house similar to some of those pictured, back in Matlock. With their elegiac gardens and surroundings held in a kind of semi-status. That and those books stacked against that bay window.

 

Charlie’s pictures are redolent to me of a place built up out of layers laid down over several centuries of history. A place haunted by ghosts; a landscape of echoes and shadows. Concrete and rock.  Litter and graffiti.  Yesterday and today.

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I actually stumbled across the place on a short visit to Rhode Island towards the end of winter. To go into my own thoughts on the place would be at odds with this project but I do remember a relative of mine hauling himself onto the vast concrete fields that make up the roof a week or so before a scheduled hip replacement.

 

I kept thinking about the fort, seeing beyond the present-day beer  cans and graffiti. Perhaps this place  was a garrison in the American Civil War, guarding the Union shipping lanes from Confederate marauders. Or maybe a staging post from where soldiers were shipped out to join the battles further south. Thousands of men and boys sent into the slaughter.  Cannon fodder. As I contemplated Charlie’s pictures, it seemed to me that poem was the best way to express my thoughts; to conjure up the odd tale that insinuated its way into my mind, a kind of ghost story in reverse.

 

I wanted to do something a little different than the usual essay format that I usually present. I like the idea of” fiction” with a firm basis in a realistic  rendering of a place-be it objective  or subjective. But also to capture those transient wisps of thought.  One’s psychological reaction. In a lot of my prose I am trying to conjure and evoke a very tangible impression of the physical shrouded in the incorporeality of the supernatural or the bizarre. Building an image that you can sort of leap into but still be a little wary. So a film script (or any script or screenplay) really gives you the means to add yet another layer of visual direction.

 

A story formed in my head of a couple of soldiers from the American Civil War who were stationed at the fort, a young conscript and an old drill sergeant. They continue to patrol the fort unaware, or perhaps reluctant to accept, that the war ended a long time ago and that their corporeal selves died in the conflict.  They exist in this location  in one of many  layers  of ‘then’ which are all overlaid by a ‘now’.

My first thought  was a short story, but I soon  dropped that idea and wrote a narrative poem:  Fort Wetherill 1.  Dissatisfied with that, I wrote Fort Wetherill 2. This is shorter, less wordy, more condensed, but with an attempt to give a greater density of meaning to each word, phrase and space.  I’ve also reverted to making the fort the main character – the entity that remains in situ while humans, and even their ghosts, come and go.

Am I satisfied with my second effort?  No, but then  I’m never completely satisfied with any poem  I’ve ever  written.  As Paul Valéry said: ‘a poem  is never  finished,  only abandoned.’

 

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Rock Park by

Charles Swain

 

Final Shooting  Script

 1.                                     Ext.  Day

 

The scene opens on a backdrop of thick, heavy ,intertwined verdure bright leaden curtain of foliage draped over a gnarled wooden framework.

In the foreground stands a pillar of dull ivory stone with a name carved in relief near its top. From behind  this the shape of a man  appears-his outline becoming more defined  as he steps out from the cool recesses of the living curtain. He wears mourning dress, a stiff collar and a bright gold watch chain. At first we see hem  only in silhouette but as he steps into the light his features become clear, vivid intelligent eyes, an aquiline nose and full, slightly parted lips. His hair is longish and parted to one side.

We follow him as he starts along a curving, unmarked road of grey tarmac. Along one side are low privet hedges broken occasionally by tall Iron gates. Some of these gates have swung heavily to one side, their hinges rusty and stiff. The man enters through a particularly ornate set but hesitates on the threshold of the property as if their openness belies a malevolent intent. Shrugging he moves up the spacious drive. He kicks bits of masonry into the prolific tangle  of undergrowth that has  replaced the front lawn.

Going up to the door of the large house he pulls a large key from him pocket and tries it in the lock. The door does not yield so he pushes his shoulder against it while turning the heavy knob.

[Camera zooms out to a long shot encompassing the man and the house from the open gate]

He takes a step back from the door and raps sharply one the door with the heavy black knocker. A ships horn blares from some distance away and a pair of cats scramble through a hole in a nearby fence.

[Camera zooms in tight over man’s shoulder]

As he turns away from the door and walks around the corner of the house descending some stone steps that lead to the back.

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2.                                  Ext.  Day

Scene opens on a wide shot of mud flats. In the mid-ground there  is a strip of grey water punctuated here and there by small boats and the occasional neon buoy. In the background a cityscape stretches, uniform in its dirty, dull shades of black, brown and grey. There are low sheds, church spires and the outlines of various masts and cranes. Above this the sky fills out the view as you would fill a  jar containing some soft metal  with oil. Right in the center of the frame, in the middle of the muddy beach stands the man, the wind whipping at the tails of his coat and around his trouser cuffs.

[Close up of the man’s face]

His skin looks pallid and slightly greasy. His bright green eye seeks restlessly along the horizon.  We see a faint reflection  of a cathedral spire in the lens.

[Cut to a shot of the man and the beach from one of the boats]

The man bends and pulls something out of the mud. It’s a small volume containing only one leaf.

[Cut to page in man’s hands-text is readable]

“The neighborhood was a grand one and that made its fall into dilapidation quicker and its impact felt more keenly decay of ash and ivy, of dimly lit interiors glimpsed through bay windows. A decay of rotted books by forgotten brooks their pages spread open into the soil”

The man slides the book back into an inside pocket and we follow him as he walks quickly back up some steps.

 

3.                       Ext.  Day

Scene opens with medium shot of what appear to the back entrances to a row of large Victorian houses. At some points there are sections of wrought iron railings, slightly less grand than their counterparts at the front. There are stone pillars and the dappled grey- white of modern lampposts. Some of the entrances are boarded up with chipboard and cheap planks. A thick cable of ivy runs down the center of one of these shuttled portals, its leaves are of a dark racing green and they give of a rich, bitter scent. The man is centered with his back to the camera, his arms  stretched above his head and his hands flat against the wooden boards.

[From the POV of the man looking down]

He notices a chink in the makeshift timber armor of the door in front of him. Through it can be seen a heart  shaped gate  handle of black iron. He pulls and twists it. The planks  first creak and then begin to tear away from the nails and blue twine that secure them.

[Shot pans 180 and presents a wide-angle of the man emerging onto a pedestrian overpass strung above a busy road]

On one side of the road, just visible is a bank of grass boarded by thick trees. On the other tower the tall red brick houses of Rock Park, there gardens terminating at a sheer wall that drops of into the busy channel below.

The man walks along to the middle of the bridge and stops to lean against the railing. He gazes up the road flinching slightly as large wagons and fast moving cars  speed underneath him.

[Cut to close up of the man’s hands gripping the railing]

We notice that the surface of the rail has been carved with names , initials and symbols. As he lifts his hand  a tiny block of neat  text is reveled, scratched into the flaking steel.  He pulls a leaf of blank paper from his jacket pocket and a slim stick of graphite from his boot. He quickly makes a rubbing of the words and holds the paper up to the watery sun.

“The dual carriageway split the houses from their companions and disembodied their gardens from the mother  fields and meadows. Feet  crackle  on broken  brake  light at the foot of the ribbed concrete face.  You can  throw a lucozade bottle through  the sky light and have it thud heavily onto the bonnet of a rover 25 or puncture itself on a cargo of rubble and coat the powdery  stone in a sticky orange. Drivers looking at the dismal edifices  in the half-light of a cloud blanketed evening see marble  figurines strangled by vegetation. Ornate formality gone to seed under the glow of innumerable sodium lights. Thin sheets of life laid over one another like wrinkled tracing paper.”

 

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Download the PDF version of this collaborative project report here:

Download (PDF, 6.48MB)

 

 

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One Year – Week 7

Project Description

One Year is a project through which the artist intends to construct a daily photographic record of a single view: the view from his study window at around 8.00a.m. each day when he sits down to work.  One Year will annotate each picture with a note of the weather for that morning and the morning’s main news headline from the BBC News site.  In addition, there will be a note taking a key sentence or two from the artist’s daily journal.

For full details and artist’s statement go to Week 1 here

 

November 1st 2013

1 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Light rain shower
  • RBS will not see ‘bad bank’ split
  • Memory is episodic, a series of echoes and impressions.  Placing those memories within a narrative arc is an artificial construct

November 2nd 2013

2 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Heavy rain shower
  • Pakistan tense after Taliban killing
  • Ron Silliman joined a forum discussion I was part of yesterday, which was pretty cool.  Too many of my favourite poets are dead, so it’s good to hear from one who doesn’t have that second crucial date after his name!

November 3rd 2013

3 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Light rain shower
  • ‘Plebgate’ police face fresh inquiry
  • There must be a huge landfill site somewhere in America with all the ‘U’s from colour and favourite, ‘S’s from maths, ‘I’s from aluminium and ‘A’s from aesthetic.

November 4th 2013

4 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Sunny intervals
  • Co-op Bank to cut branch network
  • Fieldgate Mansions was at the centre of the campaign against unscrupulous East End slum landlords in the 1930s.  It was still a tip when I lived there in the 1970s. . .

November 5th 2013

5 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Heavy rain
  • Immigrants make net contribution
  • Blimey O’Reilly, I’m starting to talk like my blooming Dad

November 6th 2013

6 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Light cloud
  • Workers await news on shipyard jobs
  • Interesting use of a John Cage mesostic to write through Frank O’Hara’s ‘The Day Lady Died’

November 7th 2013

7 November 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • Sunny
  • Web inventor criticises spy agencies
  • A big day today – after a lot of work we publish our transatlantic psychogeographic collaboration
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Psychogeographic Review’s Recommendations – November 2013

 

This past month Psychogeographic Review has been reading:

Under AlbanyRon Silliman – Under Albany (2004)

Ron Silliman is one of America’s greatest living poets and a founder of the language poetry school.  His best known poem, Albany, is a hundred-sentence autobiography taking in his family background and political activism.  It is a difficult poem written in a non-linear form which confounds at first reading, but continues to reward with each rereading.  Under Albany is a much later companion volume which provides a close reading of the poem and successfully paints a picture of some its context and back story.

 

Diamond StreetRachel Lichtenstein – Diamond Street: The Hidden World of Hatton Garden (2013)

Rachel Lichtenstein is a writer and artist.  She co-wrote Rodinsky’s Room with Iain Sinclair and is currently part way through a trilogy of London books.  This work explores the diamond trade of London’s Hatton Garden and, as with her other books, her detailed, meticulous research is evident throughout.  However, this is a human story, a story peopled largely by Jewish émigrés escaping persecution in Eastern Europe.  Lichtenstein tells their story with compassion and conviction.

 

Place in the CountryW.G Sebald – A Place in the Country (2013)

Despite his passing in 2001, Sebald’s reputation seems to grow each year.  This new work was assembled from a number of previous pieces newly-translated by Jo Catling.  A Place in the Country comprises several travel pieces and six appreciations of  writers and artists who influenced the author.  Sebald’s writing is unique and idiosyncratic and it is easy to why he is one of the English-speaking world’s favourite European writers.

 

 

Meanwhile, we were listening to:

Graphic as a StarJosephine Foster – Graphic as a Star (2012)

Foster’s 26 songs on this album are based on the poems of Emily Dickinson, which places her firmly in the tradition of very individual female voices.  Her singing voice has an unusual trilling quality, not unlike an early Joni Mitchell, and her acoustic guitar arrangements are subtle and tuneful.  This is not an album one can lift the odd track from; listen to the whole thing to appreciate its full emotional clout.

 

Pilgrim ChantsSharron Kraus – Pilgrim Chants and Pastoral Trails (2013)

Sharron Kraus’s sublime new album is available to download or on limited release from Second Language Music at the moment, but anyone who enjoyed her strong folk voice on previous releases will not be disappointed.  Kraus continues to operate on the edge between folk and experimental music.  This release makes use of field recordings in mid-Wales and the subtle instrumentation gives her songs vitality and depth.

 

And watching:

Sunshine on LeithSunshine on Leith – Dexter Fletcher (2013)

Despite the presence of some fine actors, most notably Jane Horrocks and Peter Mullan, I found the narrative of this film a little too sentimental and superficial for my taste.  However, the real stars are the joyously bitter-sweet songs of The Proclaimers and Fletcher’s vision of the streets of Edinburgh, particularly when filmed by night.

 

 

 

Selfish GiantThe Selfish Giant – Clio Barnard (2013)

Clio Barnard’s new film has has echoes of Kes in its setting: a deprived, working-class community in Yorkshire seen through the eyes of a sensitive child.  But this film deserves to be watched on its own terms.  Barnard succeeds in blending myth and hard reality and the performances she coaxes from the two child leads are extraordinary.

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