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Thursday, December 25
Two haibun for Christmas
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 25 Dec 2008 10:54 AM GMT
Shimmering in gold, two little angels – halos askew – frolic on a petrol station forecourt. It must be school nativity play time again. That, or the start of the Second Coming. deer moving cautiously in my garden – their bones remember the wolves ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Caught in the car headlights, an old man and his chubby dog out walking on a snowy Boxing Day afternoon. Over his shoulder, the old man carries a log. For the rest of the drive home, I keep a look out for King Wenceslas and his page. raucous cries in a twilit sky – rooks heading home to roost Tuesday, December 23
It's all about me, me, me
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 23 Dec 2008 06:15 PM GMT
 Charles Christian? Who he? That's me. I'm a poet, publisher, photographer and performer who is building up a growing audience for my prose poetry, storytelling and rambling, self-indulgent, irreverent, semi-autobiographical anecdotes and narrative monologues. Yes, it really is all about me. As well as my local area of East Anglia, I'm also now giving performances farther afield, including a gig in Greenwich Village in New York City. My own writing has won prizes in competitions and been published in magazines and anthologies however I now spend a lot of my time running the highly popular and widely read Ink Sweat & Tears poetry and prose webzine, which has also expanded into podcasting and chapbook publishing. www.ink-sweat-and-tears.com For my day job I'm a technology journalist and editor – which is why the inner geek frequently creeps into my work. I've also been a barrister – with a serial killer for a client, a PR consultant, a Reuters correspondent, a sci-fi TV reviewer and, most recently, an art school drop-out. I live on a farm, far from civilisation, surrounded by mud, muck and horses. (PS: the photos are by another East Anglian poet Michael Figura.) Here are a some recent reviews... "This is Spalding Gray meets Joyce Grenfell territory – altho without the latter's songs!" "His work walks a narrow edge that could crumble into cleverness." ...Obsessed with Pipework "The other poet who stood out for us was a geezer called Charles Christian. His observations were sharp and telling and spiced with a fine touch of humour." ...Clueless Collective "Very glad to have the chance to hear you in action. I really enjoyed your heartening dry wit." ...Michael Laskey 
All about this blog
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 23 Dec 2008 04:25 PM GMT
After two – or maybe it is three – previous attempts to get my personal blog sorted out, I am now about to go live & start loading up material. So, what is the big idea?
As you will see from my biographical details, for my day job I already publish a couple of blogs – including one that publishes other people's poetry & prose. This blog – which you can access via either www.wordsandvision.com or www.charles-christian.com – is my own personal blog to highlight my writing (the 'words' bit), my photography and digital haiga (the 'vision' bit) and my live literature/spoken word performance activities. If you click on the main category headings, you will see a set of sub categories (verse poetry, prose poetry etc) encompassing the different genre I'm currently working in. The 'stuff you need to know' category is for all that stuff that doesn't fit into one of those neat categories – and includes general info about the blog, news, events plus a full biog of yours sincerely. And, 'the Digital Slow Lane' – which is also this blog's subtitle – is designed to hold an ongoing series of semi-autobiographical, mini-monologues (or prose narratives) about me – and life – and me – as I've finally come out of the closet and recognised my inner geek. I do hope all that makes sense – and that you enjoy visiting this blog as much as I think I'm going to enjoy writing and developing it. ...Charles Christian
Five haiga
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 23 Dec 2008 04:20 PM GMT
I'm also interested in the concept of digital haiga – an illustration + a haiku but using digital photography rather than traditional Japanese ink brush techniques. All these have previously been published elsewhere...
    
Pedal to the Metal
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 23 Dec 2008 04:05 PM GMT
This began life as a calligram but then I thought Hey, let's try a little animation – I know, back to the drawing board...
 Here's the link to the animation
Three dimensional haiku
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 23 Dec 2008 03:51 PM GMT
This can best be described as a three-dimensional haiku. The text reads:
for one brief moment we brightly burn – then darkness falls 
Still Life at the 11th Street Diner
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 23 Dec 2008 03:44 PM GMT
This is another relic from my art school days – I was attempting to create with photography and words the 21st century equivalent of those Flemish 16th/17th century vanitas paintings...
 STILL LIFE AT THE 11th STREET DINER At the 1950’s style, chromium-sheathed 11th Street Diner, on the corner of Washington Avenue in downtown Miami Beach, the short-order cook looks like Samuel L. Jackson would look, if he were playing a short-order cook in a 1950’s style, chromium-sheathed diner in downtown Miami Beach. Except the white’s of this cook’s eyes are permanently bloodshot and inflamed, from the long hours spent working in the hot fat and steam-filled atmosphere of the diner’s kitchen. The 11th Street Diner is just around the corner from the Wolfsonian Foundation, the home of Miami Beach’s biggest collection of Art Deco. On a slack Saturday lunchtime in April, there are still more people in the diner than there are in the museum. Perhaps the people here prefer to live out their heritage in realtime, rather than view it through the toughened glass of museum exhibit cases. As I eat, I hear the short-order cook speaking into his mobile phone, he is interceding on behalf of one of his customers, remonstrating with her boyfriend that he is not paying the mother of his child the respect she deserves. On the diner’s sound system American Woman by The Guess Who is playing.
It's ekphrasis time !
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 23 Dec 2008 03:25 PM GMT
During my recent – and very short – studies on an MA course at a local art school (I think I would be described as an immature mature student) one of the topics I was encouraged to look at was the concept of ekphrasis – the relationship between words and images. Here are three pictures and the words they inspired...
 SALVATOR ROSA Salvator Rosa, Salvator Rosa, with your hippy hat and your insolent stare. Looking like Lennon, looking like Jesus. Acting like Guevara. Talking like Buddha. Salvator Rosa, Salvator Rosa. Client of cardinals. Befriender of brigands. Street-fighting satirist man. Seventeenth century, saturnine cool.  CHAGALL: FIDDLING WHILE ZION BURNS Your uncle, the village butcher, used to whisper soothing words in the ears of the cattle, before he slit their throats. But when the storm-troopers and the commissars come knocking at the doors of Vitebsk, they won’t be so considerate. Then, all the cherubim of the Tanakh will never bring the chassidim back again. The wandering fiddler still plays but his violin will soon know only one tune – a kaddish – a funeral dirge that will be played six million times and more. It’s playing now but you cannot hear it. You are far away, dreaming of cockerels. And candlesticks. And snow white virgins, with snow white breasts.  LENKA: SHE KNOWS This is not the idealised Chinese Girl, the submissive Green Lady whose face used to glance down from a million suburban living-room walls. This the real woman. This is the woman who knows you will betray her love. This is the woman who stares out from your own living-room wall, whose eyes watch every screaming-til-you-are-red-in-the-face argument you have with the wife you went back to. This is the woman whose portrait you dare not sell for fear of guna-guna. If you’d stayed with this woman, you would have become a great artist. But you followed the money. This is how Jesus looked, when he gazed upon Judas at The Last Supper. (Lenka was the mistress of the artist Tretchikoff during the Second World War.) Monday, December 22
Haiku and senryu
by
Charles Christian
on Mon 22 Dec 2008 08:17 PM GMT
The traditional distinction is between haiku – usually serious and/or with a seasonal tone – and senryu – lighter subject matter usually commenting on the foibles of mankind. I've just lumped them all together, life's too short to lose sleep over the distinction. Incidentally, some purists may object to some of my haiku (which in this batch also includes some sci-faiku) – that makes us equal as I object to some purists.
dusk at the office – even the computers are falling asleep sick, I work from home no sympathy – with email no one can hear you sneeze Published in Blithe Spirit (14/4) - December 2004 middle of the road – a very dangerous place to be Published in Other - The BHS Members Anthology 2004 growing old – more hair sprouting from my ears than on my head Published in Blithe Spirit (14/4) - December 2004 as I fondle, she watches over my shoulder – for her last bus home Published in Blithe Spirit (15/2) - June 2005 everything is work in progress – including life Sunday afternoon my garden chair is calling – for a coat of paint The rainbow – nature’s way of saying sorry for an April shower Autumn at the mall – we turn away from the Christmas displays empty fields, green lanes cycling back a butterfly – races me for home footprints in the snow going their separate ways – leaving a party Published in Blithe Spirit (15/1) - March 2005 Boxing Day morning we go hunting – for batteries not included Published in Blithe Spirit (15/1) - March 2005 hoglets staggering drunk on fermented flesh – of fallen plums Family Christmas goodwill evaporates – like brandy on a pudding On the train home my How to Haiku guide stays open – unlike my eyes Published in Blithe Spirit (15/1) - March 2005 my ego is ok but my karma – just ran over my dogma Published in Blithe Spirit (15/2) - June 2005 Burgandy in winter red wine – Beaune cold the inspirational speaker inspires me – to go home early Published in Blithe Spirit (15/3) - September 2005 Goodwill to all men - we even laugh at the jokes we've heard before Published in Blithe Spirit (16/1) - March 2006 Suddenly the swifts have all flown No farewells, no goodbyes September Burgandy at dawn – lazy frog hops and plops into a stone lavoir Published in Blithe Spirit (16/1) - March 2006 after a hard week I look in the mirror – and see my father staring back the road sign says ‘cats eyes removed’ – is that a threat or a promise? carrying her harp to music school she wishes she’d studied the flute Published in Blithe Spirit (16/2) - June 2006 middle age calling designer jeans out stretchy waistbands in she’s getting old now she mainly sees her friends – at funerals Published in Blithe Spirit (16/2) - June 2006 a late spring the daffodils do not open till the clocks go forward Published in Blithe Spirit (16/2) - June 2006 back for a class reunion the only face I recognise – is mine Published in Blithe Spirit (16/2) - June 2006 its exotic scent belies the primitive looks of the sweet brier rose Published in Blithe Spirit (16/3) - September 2006 An English summer – drought orders signed the deluge begins Wimbledon, Henley – and Big Brother Summer is only a gameshow time travel – seeing tomorrow today and yesterday tomorrow Published in Ultraverse (3/5) - September 2006 space time dilation – when I return the only face I know is mine Published in Ultraverse (3/5) - September 2006 13th JULY 2006 black smoke over Haifa – this summer katyushas arrive with the dawn white con trails against the blue – tumbling bombs glitter in the Beirut sun in Gaza life ebbs from a fallen phone one message waiting – unread Ari – are you ok? me and the cats and dogs are waiting for you The Oracle at Delphi – Sun so bright we squint to see the ruins Published in Other - The BHS Members Anthology 2006 ripening brambles powder blue sloes – children drag their heels to school Published in Blithe Spirit (16/4) - December 2006 con trails against the blue tumbling bombs glitter in the Beirut sun Published in Blithe Spirit (16/4) - December 2006 dry at last the winter’s clippings burn in an early evening sun Published in Blithe Spirit (17/2) - June 2007 beneath opening blossom two buskers exchange mobile phone numbers Published in Blithe Spirit (18/2) - June 2008 gone jogging – gathering footprints before dawn Published in Blithe Spirit (17/3) - September 2007 Las Vegas in June – the hissing of sprinklers on astro turf Published in Blithe Spirit (17/3) - September 2007 St Martin's summer butterflies still flittering over poppy wreaths Published on Ink Sweat & Tears - November 2007 Halloween sunset – sky the colour of ripe pumpkin Published in Blithe Spirit (17/4) - December 2007 sky-racked oak 500 years history – gone in one night Published in BHS Members Anthology Storm - 2007 Birdstrike – falling like snow across the highway so many feathers Published in Blithe Spirit (17/4) - December 2007 passing the old house blinds pulled down – Ornette Colemen playing Published in Blithe Spirit (18/1) - March 2008 rain dripping into a bowl – ticking off time til it overflows Published in Blithe Spirit (18/1) - March 2008 after the gale – the old garden bench on its back, bleached frame skywards Published in Blithe Spirit (18/1) - March 2008 like a moth I’m drawn to your flame – an ember on the wing last niece married – only funerals to bring us together now Published in Blithe Spirit (18/3) - September 2008 shirt off, cross-legged a brickie takes a break – the buddha of the frogs Published in BHS Members Anthology Building - 2008
Haibun - where prose meets haiku
by
Charles Christian
on Mon 22 Dec 2008 07:53 PM GMT
One of my favourite poetry genre – much under-rated and with huge potential – more people should try them...
THEY DON’T TELL YOU THIS They always tell you Las Vegas is the wedding capital of the United States. As I’m waiting for a cab to the airport, I get talking to the couple in the queue next to me. They’ve been in Vegas to get married at one of the big casino hotels and took a honeymoon suite with 1800 square feet of floor-space. “That’s bigger than many homes in the UK,” I say. “That’s bigger than many homes in the United States,” they reply. Honeymoon in Vegas – in a bridal suite bigger than the home they’ll share On the flight home, I get talking to a professional gambler returning from a poker tournament. He says you can make a living out of poker – as long as you understand the math. “Every hand gives you a slight edge or slight disadvantage. Professional players always take an edge in their favour and shy away from hands where the numbers are against them. It’s not about luck – but I do like playing against people who think it’s all about luck, as that gives me an edge.” The King, Queen and Jack show no favours – they are all slaves to the laws of probability What they don’t tell you in the guide books is that along with being the centre of the gambling universe, Las Vegas is also the suicide capital of the United States. In the casinos, there is no day or night – just unlimited hope and unrealisable expectations I LOVE VEGAS It may be kitsch. It may be ersatz. It may be open to criticism on grounds of bad taste and of being one enormous well oiled, ruthlessly efficient money extraction machine. But it is executed with such style such audacity, such panache and on a truly awesome scale that you just have to admire it. No, you have to love it. Las Vegas in June – the hissing of sprinklers on astro turf Published in Gift (Gatehouse Press) 2007 TRUE CALLING At a stripped-pine table, in a French-style cafe near to Oxford Circus in the West End of London, sits an elderly Buddhist monk in crimson robes – I think he may be Tibetan. Taking advantage of the free wi-fi internet access available in this cafe, as he sips hot drinking chocolate from a large bowl, he surfs the web on an old Apple Mac laptop computer. he’s in cyberspace searching for enlightenment – on Google FLYING TO VIENNA Flying to Vienna. Out today and back tomorrow. Check-in, customs and security. No creams, no blades, no liquids, no gels, no toothpaste. Shoes off, belts off, phones off, take off. Viewed from above, the wind-teased cloud tops are the same colour and consistency as the froth on the cappuccino I drank in the departure lounge. at thirty-six thousand feet the sky is always blue Sachertorte, einspanner coffee, sturm, schnitzel and strudel. On the journey home, the only excess baggage I’m carrying is around my waist. Along with German MTV, ads for chocolate cake and dubbed episodes of Mr Bean, the in-flight entertainment video monitors display our location, our altitude, our speed and the outside temperature. framed against the curvature of the Earth the plane’s wing rimed with frost Published in Blithe Spirit (17/1) - March 2007 Published in Haibun Today - April 2008 |
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