Reading etc.

“This sculpture was conceived by the artist as a stage scene.  By opposition of edges and colours she suggests the multiple horixons of the singer, being a private man as well as a show man.”

Is this rubbish or have I got a closed mind?

I’m looking for a CD of someone singing Percy French songs. Not hard you might think. Surely, it should be easy to find someone singing the work of the man who wrote such classics as the following:

You may talk of Columbus’s sailing
Across the Atlantical Sea
But he never tried to go railing
From Ennis as far as Kilkee
You run for the train in the morning,
The excursion train starting at eight
You’re there when the clock gives the warnin’
And there for an hour you’ll wait
And as you’re waiting in the train,
You’ll hear the guard sing this refrain-

Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right?
Do you think that we’ll be there before the night?
Ye’ve been so long in startin’,
That ye couldn’t say for startin’
Still ye might now, Michael,
So ye might!

They find out where the engine’s been hiding,
And it drags you to Sweet Corofin;
Says the guard, Back her down on the siding
There’s the goods from Kilrush comin’ in.
Perhaps it comes in two hours,
Perhaps it breaks down on the way;
If it does, says the guard, be the powers,
We’re here for the rest of the day!

Spoken:
And while you sit and curse your luck
The train backs down into a truck.

Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right?
Have ye got the parcel there for Mrs. White?
Ye haven’t, oh begorra,
Say it’s comin’ down tomorra –
And well it might now, Michael,
So it might.

At Lahinch the sea shines like a jewel,
With joy you are ready to shout,
When the stoker cries out, There’s no fuel,
And the fire’s taytotally out.
But hand up that bit of log there –
I’ll soon have ye out of the fix;
There’s fine clamp of turf in the bog there.
And the rest go a-gatherin’ sticks.

Spoken:
And while you’re breakin’ bits of tree,
You hear some wise remarks like these –

Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right?
Do ye think that you can get the fire to light?
Oh an hour you’ll require,
For the turf it might be drier –
Well it might now, Michael,
So it might.

Well, devil a bit as my mother would say. The ignorant young people in the record shops in Dublin asked whether he was a solo artist or in a band. When I explained that he was a long dead lyricist (but very famous, truly), they looked at me blankly. I had discovered from my internet searches that he was also an inspector of drains but I didn’t go into this. I even went into the Irish music shop on Nassau street and the girl there had never heard of him but she summoned a more experienced man from the back of the shop. He was familiar with the great man’s works (we are not talking obscure here, everyone in Ireland must know the tunes, even the people who had never heard of him) but said that I would find it impossible to get them on CD. He was right. Even Amazon have failed me. OK a couple of websites do seem to offer PF CDs but only in exchange for your firstborn child and all your bank details. I hesitate.

Have read a volume from Ms. Hustvedt’s back catalogue.  The publishing exec gave me a present of “The Blindfold”.  It’s the kind of thing I don’t normally approve of – more or less plotless, three short stories tenuously linked by each other and a fourth chapter drafted to tie up loose ends, but I loved it.  Except for chapter 4 which was weak.  Am going to move on to “The Enchantment of Lily Dahl” as soon as the pub exec snaffles it for me.  Having a sister-in-law in publishing has made me curiously unwilling to go down the traditional route of paying for my books.
And in other book news, the pub exec read my copy of the latest Marion Keyes which is set in the publishing world and felt a) somebody should tell her that Burberry is no longer cool, v. Essex apparently b) there weren’t enough lunches and c) editors not agents should be the heros.  But aside from that she said it was reasonably accurate.

Have started “Blindness” by Jose Saramago.  The heart surgeon recommended it.  The heart surgeon is a bit of an overachiever (she can’t help it, she’s still very nice) in reading as in other things and I am a bit unnerved.  She loved it.  But she’s the kind of girl who only reads great literature and feels other stuff is really a waste of time.  For example, I can pretty much bet that she didn’t spend last weekend rereading Georgette Heyer’s “Charity Girl” for the umpteenth time.  So far I am on page 2 but I am a little daunted.

Got the new Jasper Fforde book on tape and in hard copy – thank you pub exec. Working my way through the tape.  It’s a bit confusing to be honest even to someone who’s read vols 1-3 of the series.  Maybe it’s overabridged but I must say, based on the tape, I am experiencing no enthusiasm to attempt the book.  This man’s imagination is out of control.  Heard him interviewed on the radio the other day and had this impression entirely confirmed.

Still stuck on chapter 1 of “The Bridge over the Drina”.  Must try harder.  Summer holidays beckon.  Will achieve much am sure.

Today’s selection:

“Summer school for domestics. Rare opportunity to theorise and practise skills in a domestic setting, including some paperwork and gardening, for women with good ploughing abilities. Instructor disciplined and will impart dust-removal techniques and tumbleweed formation. It’s a wrap. Box 13/01.”

I note that a crowd called “Lonesome Oxbridge Blues” advertise in the LRB. They run a website for “bringing Oxbridge people together”. Forgive me, but I think that this could only happen in England. The English are odd, there’s no two ways about it.

Last week, I think I read the most pretentious article ever. And remember I’ve been reading this publication for a while now. The author covered a full page showing off how much he knew about everything before he even mentioned the book he was reviewing.