Category Archives: Bath

Bath

Rose

By mickyates | Published January 20, 2013

Rose

Tall and straight with vestal eye.
Sunset embodied in life eternal,
Golden charm of folded petal.
Coloured scarlet with flaming torch.
Virgin purity of snowy white,
Or rainbow hues of any in nature.

Short and bushy in green confusion.
Often chosen with ecstatic movement,
Showing love, cherished enchantment,
But creature of death to people fallen.
This we ask of a solitary flower
Which we ourselves can never reach.

Written Summer 1967

It’s snowing out there. And, this being the UK, a national disaster is being declared. We read that 11 inches of snow fell on Moscow last night, and almost 200 people have died in that country because of extreme cold. “Snowpocalypse” the Moscow press are calling it.

Yet the M4 gets closed down with an inch of snow. People pretend they can’t get to work, and show themselves in snowball fights on Facebook. And then they wonder why their management get annoyed.

Some years back, I took a picture of a Rose, ignoring the odds and poking its tongue out at the heaviest frost of the year.

It became one of my most viewed images on flickr.

Here’s the original:

In 1967 I also wrote a poem about a rose. Looking back, it’s too complex and wordy – but it is a poem of its time. It’s how I felt, and it was of course heavily influenced by the sights, sounds and social upheaval of the “Summer of Love”.

It was the year that the Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, the Who and many other bands tried to out-innovate the Beatles.

Which was an impossible task.

John, Paul, George and Ringo were demonstrating what a “high performance team” is. Extraordinary achievements followed with quickening momentum, and every member of the band contributed in a unique way – the smoke and the acid flowed like water untroubled by small pebbles. They were leaving the others behind.

“High Performance Team: A small group of people so committed to something larger than themselves that they will not be denied”

Katzenbach, J and Smith, D (1993), The Wisdom of Teams: Creating the high-performance organization.

“I am a Walrus”, sang the man in that high-performance team.

“Sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don’t come, you get a tan
From standing in the english rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob goo goo g’joob”.

Was the Rose sitting in the garden, waiting for the sun? Or was the Rose in a team with the rain?

The Rose was both part of the whole and yet totally alone.

The picture doesn’t work without the background, and the Rose could not survive without the help of the sun, piercing the frost. Yet the Rose was standing tall, doing what it does best. It was not just surviving – it prospered.

And it made the garden and its world a happier place.

By being together alone.

“We could feel alone when we were together, alone against the others”.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

Also posted in iPhoneography, Painterly, Photography, Poetry, Prose, Russia, United Kingdom, Writing | Tagged Alone, Beatles, frost, Hemingway, High Performance Team, Rose, snow, Together | Leave a comment

On The Pond’s Edge

By mickyates | Published January 2, 2013

On The Edge Part 1

Listen to the speed with which things stay the same,
listen to the silence.

Share the edge
Share the win
Share the loss

There is a shine to the depth
which can reveal its limits
whilst refusing to notice its blackness.

There is a word to be said which lightens the load
whilst it hastens the gathering changes.

The seer once noted the multiple futures
and offered the newspaper jacket.

The headlines he wrote
and the instant response
just meant he delayed the stories.

Tell me old man what is the correctness
of edge, and sorrow, and joy.

Tell me the difference so I can reply
with edge, and pain, and politeness.

Share the edge
Share the win
Share the loss

Written 1999

It’s the New Year

Time for resolutions, reflections and predictions.

Too many times I have tried making resolutions, and failed. mainly because the resolution was just unreasonable, or was too much of a change in habit or action.

If a resolution is going to stick, it seems to me that it needs to be both realistic and to be shared with others. Of course I have read all those motivational books – “do it for yourself”. But so often resolutions involve other people – be kinder, listen better, don’t get angry.

There’s a classic philosophical question which fits. “When branch fall in the forest. if there is no one there to hear them fall, do they make a noise?”

And, there is another story. Hui-neng, a well-respected Buddhist monk who later became known as the founder of the Zen school, one day happened to be passing by two monks.

“Two monks were arguing about the temple flag waving in the wind. One said, ‘The flag moves.’ The other said, ‘The wind moves.’ They argued back and forth but could not agree.

Hui-neng said ‘Gentlemen! It is not the wind that moves; it is not the flag that moves; it is your mind that moves.’

The two monks were struck with awe.”

Then I remembered a poem I wrote a while back, about being “On The Edge”. Yes, it was about being different, changing, edgy. But when I read it properly I realised it was also about things being the same.

Listen to the speed with which things stay the same,
listen to the silence.

And the poem talked about “multiple futures”, which seems to be appropriate for New Year choices.

On New Year’s Eve, it was raining heavily, and the pond had a brooding and black presence. The last day of the Old Year, so it seemed to fit the mood and the moment.

Then, New Year’s Day, it was bright, sunny and full of joy.

The same pond. The same plants. the same fish. Just different illumination. The plants and fish hadn’t changed, but their context had. The scene was completely different.

When we move through life we can’t control everything. Contexts change. Realisations occur. Things get illuminated. And shit happens.

So what we can do is think about multiple futures, and try to anticipate. The pond doesn’t change. But the way we look at it does.

But will you really “see” if you don’t share? First, of course, you must “see” for yourself, to reflect and wonder.

And, second, you should share with others, to describe, discuss – even argue – but then delight in the unfolding changes.

Happy New Year – and may your resolutions come true!

Share the edge
Share the win
Share the loss

Also posted in iPhoneography, Photography, Prose, United Kingdom, Writing | Tagged iPhone, iPhoneography, New Year, rain, sun | Leave a comment

Coffee, whisky and reflecting icons

By mickyates | Published October 26, 2012

Way to go, way to go, isn’t it?

What happens to the pond when the stone falls into disrepute?
And what happens to the stone when the water turns to vapour?
Is an Icon real or is reality an Icon?

People meet by chance and the diversity sits heavily on their shoulders, but placed by others.
People meet to discover their reality and truth by their own hands, but touched by others.
People meet to stare and concede the dark necessity of their contact, but hidden from others.

Is an Icon true or truth an Icon?
Way to go, way to go, isn’t it?

Extract from a poem written in March 1999

It happens all of the time. Everywhere on earth, the “catch up” meeting is a ritual. Let’s have coffee, outside, somewhere so daily work does not intrude. Much is practical – what’s going on, what should we share, what can we learn? We have work to do, and the rules get in the way. But much is about Icons.

There were many bars in Japan. There were evenings of peace. Evenings of excitement. Evenings of pain. Yet every time, the rules changed. Tatamae became Honne, expected opinion and public facade became truth and personal fact. Whisky fuelled the conversion. Arguments ensued, and laughter became tears. Painful futures were hammered out across the table, hostesses supplying the fuel. It went on into the small hours, until the last train called.

Hardly a catch-up. More a catch you. More a catch them.

London might not be Tokyo. New York is not Moscow. And how do you translate from Japanese?

The Icon realises the one consistent truth. Catch Up. Honne. Tatamae. It’s all about staying connected with Icons. It’s circular.

“Smoke needs a chimney to go up” Michael said, many years before. And he is still right. Icons are chimneys for smoke. Icons are respected, feared, looked at with awe and also dismay. Icons provide context and focus. Icons can create. Inspire.

Yet Icons can also be destroyed. The stones of Tatamae can be brushed aside by the flows of truth. Honne can turn the water to smoke and vapour. Icons are moved around like flotsam on the tide. Some recover, some crumble. They navigate as best they can around the stones, across the waves.

In the early morning, on the train, the mind changed. What was said was then. Today is now. Today is always Tatamae.

The Icon is still safe, then. Intact, no change visible from the outside. But inside, it’s different. The smoke has been absorbed into the chimney.

People expect you to know what you are doing. Not surprising, really. And they make you an Icon of truth, of practicality, of ideas.

But if you are a poet, or a musician, people don’t want to “touch base”? Yet you are still an Icon. Artists are Icons to admire, to copy, to learn from, to compare, and to hold in your mind.

To inspire.

Did any of them ever have “catch up” meetings? No. Yet are they smoke or chimney?

They are both.

Picasso said

“I am only a public entertainer who understands his time.”

And Warhol noted

“In the future everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.”

Both are icons. Beacons of ideas and inspiration. Definers of new truth. Pathways to the soul. The Honne of art set against the Tatamae of daily life. And their chimney made them into smoke.

Rothko is an Icon. Turner. Proust. Tolstoy. Icons are of the moment. Diana. Lennon. Gandhi. Mao. Yet Icons stand forever.

Richard the Lionheart. Saladin. On opposite sides yet their histories stand intertwined. Icons defined by each other. Both noble and chivalrous, enemies yet respectful. Defined by reflection.

Constant yet ever changing. Smoke and Chimney. Tatamae and Honne.

Icons. Respected.

Reflecting.

…………………………….

Wikipedia:

Honne refers to a person’s true feelings and desires. These may be contrary to what is expected by society or what is required according to one’s position and circumstances, and they are often kept hidden, except with one’s closest friends.

Tatemae, literally “façade,” is the behavior and opinions one displays in public. Tatemae is what is expected by society and required according to one’s position and circumstances, and these may or may not match one’s honne.

Also posted in iPhoneography, Japan, London, Photography, Prose, United Kingdom | Tagged Bath, catch-up, coffee, honne, icon, iPhone, Japan, prose, reflecting, respect, tatamae, truth, whisky | Leave a comment

The artist, the photographer and the rain

By mickyates | Published October 17, 2012

I, The Painter

I paint with the magic brush of a new vision
My work is such, as the world has never seen
I attempt to capture life’s meaning with solid colour
But really I can never crave fame nor loathe it
I simply paint those pictures that I see

July 1970

There was rain everywhere. And it went from last Sunday to this day. The photographer knows that the light after the rain is the best … deepening colours, accentuating shadows, brightening the contrast. The technology always gets in the way, but the eye can still see. The photographer loves the rain.

Yet the artist can’t manage. It’s so fleeting and ephemeral, yet so persistent. A brush paints a stroke, and when it’s finished the moment has moved on. No instant. No instance. The rain stops the enjoyment, makes him focus on it and not getting wet, rather than celebrate the moment and capturing the view.

Rouen kept Monet busy for so long. He kept coming back to see the shades, the colours, the nuance of light. He helped found an entire genre of art. But did he ever catch the rain? No, he saw through it, ignored it, focused on the subject. The rain was an irritation, not an addition.

Everyone tried to ignore the rain.

Rain, rain, rain.

The wipers tried to control it all, and the tempers frayed. Cars moved along at frightening speed, no one thinking that the “two second rule” might actually be applied, never mind extended. But the rain ignored everything, and just did what it does best.

It rained.

The town was full of people. It couldn’t have been locals, as the car park had no queue, and, after all, we all knew where to go. Restaurants pretended that the inside was sunny. Shops offered space for umbrellas, yet the supermarket struggled to deal with it all – where were the batteries, anyway? Everyone was trying to adapt. The locals nonchalantly ignored the tourists, and everyone ignored the rain. Or at least they tried to. Scarves got wet, hair got wet, everything got wet.

Rain.

People were taking pictures of buskers with no tune. There was a very odd couple. One was a guitarist with a bluesey tone, probably in his thirties. And there was his partner who looked like he escaped from Hippie heaven, playing percussionist spoons. People walked past.

Even time seemed to shrug things off, as the rain continued.

The stalls showed their art, with much creativity hidden by the awnings protecting against the wetness. The market was replete with vinyl. How many carpets can you buy, and where did all those old hats come from? Victorian glasses, anyone? And every face, every feather, every coat suggested that Sergeant Pepper lived in Bath.

Yet the rain had no mercy.

It cared not for history. Beatles 50 year celebration? Maybe, as the boys did write a song called Rain.

When the Rain comes down.
Everything’s the same.
When the Rain comes down.
I can show you, I can show you.
Rain, I don’t mind.
Shine, the world looks fine.
Can you hear me, that when it rains and shines,
When it Rains and shines.
It’s just a state of mind?
When it rains and shines.
Can you hear me, can you hear me?

It rained.

And then. It stopped. From one moment to another. Like someone turned a really big on-off switch. The rain evaporated to its home in the sky, where it belonged.

The sun won – and the crowd regained the advantage. Even the pampas grass decided it was time. Stand proud, stand tall. And stand for the moment. Embrace the sun and shake off the rain.

The artist was pleased. Now he could do something of interest. He could capture the light, capture people, imagine life, and show his true colours. The artist now had a chance, at least to create an impression.

The photographer, though? How many times can he use the same f-stop? Where’s the challenge in that? Nothing moves, the light is even, the image looks as it did a month ago, a year ago.

The photographer wants the challenge of the rain to start again. He wants to struggle, to perservere and to win.

“Life’s not about waiting for the storms to pass … It’s about learning to dance in the rain.“

Vivian Greene