William Boyd

This novel Any Human Heart gives us in the form of the diary of Logan Mountstuart an idea of the last century, better than any history book could. Ideas about war, love, sex, booze, countries, fascism, duty, aging and the modern art scene are found in a fast moving story. Of course we find also the life of a writer and comments on historical figures from that time spicing up the biography with personal insights. Grand.

William Boyd uses, as authors do, the experiences of his life to imagine an other person’s life, projecting hope and fear. His attention to detail is masterly and the dark night of the soul is rendered with caring detachment. (I know it’s an oxymoron, but not really). He provides a good, fast paced, enjoyable read and valuable food for thought about the past century and thus also for our life now and tomorrow which hopefully will remain a riotous mess.

Marcel Van Maele II

Another translation for Carine, his dear companion and Lucienne his good friend and all who miss Marcel and his irreverence and rowdiness:

Times

1.

Strolling through the past I remember

remembering. So this image stands

even when years have gone. What time it is

I don’t know, something between coming and going,

between day and night

midnight for instance.

Space has no plural and time

no number and yes it is good

to know the more the better

to forget.

Summoned to gather

those coming and those going

now too early, then too late,

here all trains stand at the gate.

Death of a poet: Marcel Van Maele

A great Flemish poet passed away July 24th. He was a non conformist, baroque and exuberant in his word-choice, a splendid drunk, a friend of my late husband. To honor Marcel Van Maele a poem translated into English and ok'd by him. His words and artwork will be remembered.

And when he spoke

And when he spoke
it was time and he thought
I'll celebrate the years with water and fire
stalk heaven and earth.

A handful of sounds,
muffled cries, mumbles
of Tartarians and barbarians,
comments of prophets.
Moldered gestures and ten fingers
to see.

Rumble of clouded tongues of fire and we
hardly awaiting our survival
hopefully sit on a dry limb while
the omnipotent magic man dances for rain.

With the crack of thunder all is stilled
a petrified salute
a frozen spring breeze.
The poplars standing there, stare
at the full moo, a green longing
covered with a sheen of seemingness.

Respect Marcel.

The pandemic

The flu is getting public attention in Belgium. This weekend one of the leading newspapers had a rather dismissive article about the flu: the measures taken by the communal authorities were ridiculed as over the top, the tone was ironic and the advise was not to make such a fuss about a little flu. They don't seem to be aware that it might be a mild strain now, but in Sweden the first case of the novel flu has been diagnosed and it does not react to Tamiflu. Also at the birthday party of a poet ( the one listing to the reading of his friends) the flu was a subject. Our host had made a poem titled 'The kiss', for those who dind't want to kiss or hug or shake hands, so that they would have a kiss anyway. Monday, in the same newspaper an oped was published stating that the stack of Tamiflu wouldn't help because it would be kept at the wrong temperature by most people and thus become inefficient. Last year the flu claimed 2000 lives in Belgium. Even at the 7 casualties per day with a period of lets say three month it means 600 people would die and then the regular seasonal flu still has to come. Moreover the virus can get 'evil' any day. Check facts at Coralcross and do join and play the game set up by a group of futurists. Be prepared!

Quatorze Juillet

The 14th of July is the national holiday in France. Military parades, parachutists over Paris, landing just in front of the president and fireworks it is all part and parcel of the festivities. In the European "capital" Strasbourg the fireworks were quiet nice and drew a large international crowd, while people are sleeping rough to the beat of military bands... Heavy rainstorms and hail are expected tonight. The contrasts of life and how to reconcile and solve them.

She went walking

The old lady just upped and left. In a blink of an eye. She went home, or so she thought when she got away. Through the brush and brambles, her legs bleeding from the sticks and stubs she went looking for what she left: her home of 35 plus years. Her man, barely younger than she, always kept her in his sight and still she wandered off out of an enclosed elegiac garden. He looked in the thickets, checked the bushes and brush. Phoned the police. Got in his car, went looking for her. Nowhere is the lady in her dress and and slippers to be seen. Then the call came: She was found wandering towards the busy main road. They took her to the hospital, cleaned her wounds, found out his name. Her's, she had forgotten. She was glad to see him, has no memory of her escapade. He was glad to see her: love reigns supreme.

Fair

From my window , while I sit and work, I can see attractions of the fair: the Ferris wheel, the wildest shakes, shoots, catapults, glides and rides, all lit up and flickering pleasure, happy times. Yet, seeing it from here without the deafening dystopian din is happiness enough for me. Although a Belgian Waffle with whipped creme could be a tantalizing temptation to brazenly brave the crazy crowd.