Hello and welcome! I am Colin Bell, a novelist and poet, previously a TV producer-director of arts programmes, also known as the blogger Wolfie Wolfgang. My novel Stephen Dearsley's Summer Of Love was published in 2013, my next novel Blue Notes, Still Frames will be published in October 2016 - check them out on Amazon. I hope you find something here among my daily blogs. I write about anything that interests me - I hope it interests you too. Let me know.
I've had a mini-run on poetry publication over the weekend. I've just received a copy of a new poetry anthology, Tic Toc, published by the American company Kind Of Hurricane Press and including my poem Over Time. All the poems are, in different ways, "time tunnels" and I'm proud to be included. It was a good weekend because I also heard that I have a new Fibonacci poem, The Kiss, in #18 of the specialist Fibonacci poetry journal, The Fib Review published by another American publisher, Musepie Press. I'm especially proud of being there because it continues my relationship with this pioneering venture, the World's premier Fibonacci publisher. I have had my Fib poems included in every issue since #5 so this is my lucky thirteenth appearance. It's great when I'm so involved in my novel writing that poetry keeps encouraging me to keep the poems coming too. Here's the link:
I spent a week in the Portuguese capital, Lisbon, recently. It was my first time in this interesting country, the only Western European state that I hadn't visited before. I wasn't really there on holiday, enjoyable though it was, I was doing a week-long poetry workshop with the British poet, Ruth O' Callaghan in the small post-industrial town of Barreiro, on the other side of the vast River Tagus.
Barreiro may not have Lisbon's architectural splendours but it was pure Portugal - far from the tourist crowds - and a good place to immerse oneself in poetry.
We were a group of four working with Ruth O' Callaghan and it was truly absorbing - especially when we studied and responded to the work of the great 20th Century Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa.
Fernando Pessoa (1888 - 1935)
We spent half a day at the Fernando Pessoa House, in the centre of Lisbon where we could access books and visual material on the poet.
This was after we given given an introduction to Pessoa by Pessoa expert, the exuberant and erudite Ricardo de Morais.
Ricardo de Morais
Back at our base in Barreiro, we proceeded to write a series of Pessoa related poems of our own having to produced first drafts within a strictly observed time limit - 40 minutes was a long time for some projects but sometimes the clock was set for 20 minutes. It was always surprizing how much we could get done within these constraints. I think everyone there went away with a bundle of poems which we can carry on polishing back in the UK.
There was time to socialise too when the writing was over for the day. There were opportunities to go off on our own into Lisbon or just to hang around outside our apartment in Barreiro's pleasant town square. Fellow poet, Chris and I failed to look very Portuguese, I suspect, but our new friend, Ben could almost have been taken for a Barriero native. Especially after that 10 Euro note 'miraculously' appeared inside his fruity croissant's paper bag.
We had time to talk about the poetry too and to discuss how it was going - here Chris and I are discussing something deeply poetic (perhaps) over coffee and tea with Annie, the fourth poet in our group, accompanied by one of Portugal's wonderful custard tarts.
Over the River Tagus in Lisbon itself, there was time enough for relaxation and to enjoy some excellent Portuguese wine.
I also had the very best King prawns that I have ever tasted - it was served in a typically unpretentious restaurant that felt no need to glamourise what was already world-class cuisine.
I used my weekend off wisely, I think, taking in some of Lisbon's cultural history. This archaeological site was a rediscovered street with Roman and Medieval Islamic urban remains.
I spent Sunday at the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum (see my previous blog) enjoying the magnificent collection assembled by the Anglo-American oil magnate, Calouste Gulbenkian (1869 - 1955) who settled in Portugal and bequeathed his art collection to the Portuguese state where it is now housed in a splendid modernist museum.
I also spent time in Lisbon's impressive Gothic Cathedral, mostly free from all those sinister images of bleeding crucifixions and saintly martyrdoms that tend to dominate dark Iberian peninsular churches. I particularly loved the atmospheric cloisters - fortunately undamaged by Lisbon's catastrophic 18th Century earthquake and subsequent tsunami.
Medieval Lisbon monks don't seem to have locked themselves away from the world as the cloisters here have elegant windows looking over the city and beyond. I like the idea of a church with a view.
My mornings, in Portugal on this trip always began with an opportunity to go into the little park in front of our living quarters for an hour of martial arts practice. Here under the trees, I could watch the rising sun and put my mind in order for the day ahead.
The citizens of Barriero, on their way to work, remained unphased by my activities and I stopped being embarrassed by such things a long time ago.
My White Crane Kungfu style puts great emphasis on earthing your body and, wherever on my travels I do these patterns, no matter how imperfectly, I feel that the small plot of ground beneath my feet becomes a part of myself and I like to think I take a bit of all these places away with me. It is of course a form of meditation.
There was also time for another kind of poetry while I was in Lisbon and some of us were able to sneak away to a restaurant in the enjoyably bohemian Alfama district, the traditional birthplace of the famous Portuguese music called Fado. Here's a taste - I was enthralled by the virtuosity and artistry of the musicians performing this seductive mixture of art song, folk music and, as some people claim, the blues.
One of my greatest pleasures in travelling is visiting different towns and exploring their art galleries. It was no different on my recent trip to Sète in the south of France and I soon found myself climbing the long hill that leads to Le musée Paul Valéry, an interestingly modernist art gallery built in 1970 that mostly holds paintings by regional artists like Alexandre Cabanel (1823 – 1889), François Desnoyer (1894 – 1972), Joseph Nöel Sylvestre (1847 – 1926), Herve di Rosa (b. 1957) and Robert Combas (b. 1957) with a small collection of masterworks by internationally renowned artists such as Gustave Courbet (1819 – 1877) and Raoul Duffy (1877 - 1953). That was reason enough to make the climb but as the gallery's name implies, there is also a permanent collection of manuscripts by the great Sète-born symbolist poet and artist, Paul Valéry (1871 - 1945). That seemed more than enough to while away an arty afternoon.
Paul Valéry (1871 - 1945) - Self-Portrait
In fact, it was a pleasure merely inhabiting the splendid space with its wonderful use of both natural and artificial light.
There were many paintings by artists unknown to me from traditional and not always lovely history paintings, to landscapes not always as striking as this wonderfully tranquil painting by Courbet, an artist I had not associated with such Zen-like calm.
Mer calme à Palavas by Gustave Courbet (1819 – 1877)
Cabanal's Young Roman is justly famous for its emotional gravitas and it was marvellous to be able to get up close to admire his meticulous brushwork.
Young Roman by Alexandre Cabanel (1823 – 1889)
I was also delighted to make the acquaintance of the joyfully extrovert and shamelessly garish Sète artist Herve de Rosa.
Concentré Sétois (1987) by Herve di Rosa (b. 1957)
Another Sète artist, and di Rosa's exact contemporary, is also brightly unshockable and not at all worried about raising a few blushes from those who find some of his imagery a little too direct for delicate constitutions.
Fernande by Robert Combas (b. 1957)
Visiting Sète in mid-March, it was good too to see another Sète artist, François Desnoyer, whose scorchingly hot landscape paintings of his native town showed me just what might await any of us who decided to visit in high summer.
La porte de Sète by François Desnoyer (1894 – 1972)
Then there was a room of 19th Century academic history paintings which, to be honest, didn't really hold my attention but I did find Sylvestre's painting of the Sack of Rome sufficiently 'Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer' for me to admire its kitsch energy. He could've cast Charlton Heston as the young Vandal.
Le sac de Rome (1896) by Joseph Nöel Sylvestre (1847 – 1926)
The gallery had been advertising its new exhibition all over town but I have to confess that I didn't know exactly what this Fata Morgana exhibition was going to be about. It was only when I got to the gallery that I realised that Fata Morgana is the name of a small but exclusive Montpellier publisher that for fifty years has been publishing beautiful fine art books of collaborations between artists and poets.
There were fifteen rooms full of these sensational publications and wall displays of some of the original artwork.
For someone like me who had come out for the afternoon to see the paintings, the day had soon turned into an event about poetry and art in partnership and there were so many riches on offer, I was soon worried that I would not have enough time even to skim these amazing works.
Pierre Alechinsky and André Breton
Michel Butor and Joël Leick
Paul Valéry
So after getting to the end of the Fata Morgana show, it was much later than I'd anticipated when I finally got to the room at the top of the gallery that was specifically built to house an extensive collection of Paul Valéry manuscripts. No matter how engaging the rest of the exhibits had been, the
Paul Valéry room on its own was worth the visit to the gallery. I don't have the space here to say much about this fascinating man, poet, artist, philosopher and anti-Fascist patriot who is Sète's most famous son. The room makes great play on one of his most admired poems which also happens to have a strong Sète connection. The poem is Le cimetière marin (The graveyard by the sea) which was inspired by the marine cemetery that lies immediately in front of the gallery looking over the Mediterranean - possibly one of the most beautifully situated cemeteries in the world. The windows at one end of the room allow you to see it from Paul Valéry's viewpoint and I, for one, will never read the poem the same way again after placing it into this context. It was this poem that led General De Gaulle to call for the poet to be buried here after his death shortly before the end of the Second World War.
from Le cimetière marin
(The graveyard by the sea)
by Paul Valéry
(translated by C. Day Lewis)
This quiet roof, where dove-sails saunter by,
Between the pines, the tombs, throbs visibly.
Impartial noon patterns the sea in flame --
That sea forever starting and re-starting.
When thought has had its hour, oh how rewarding
Are the long vistas of celestial calm!
Ce toit tranquille, où marchent des colombes,
Entre les pins palpite, entre les tombes;
Midi le juste y compose de feux
La mer, la mer, toujours recommencee
O récompense après une pensée
Qu'un long regard sur le calme des dieux!
The wind is rising! . . . We must try to live!
The huge air opens and shuts my book: the wave
Dares to explode out of the rocks in reeking
Spray. Fly away, my sun-bewildered pages!
Break, waves! Break up with your rejoicing surges
This quiet roof where sails like doves were pecking.
Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!
Envolez-vous, pages tout éblouies!
Rompez, vagues! Rompez d'eaux rejouies
Ce toit tranquille où picoraient des focs!
My day of looking at paintings turned out to be much more about poetry so it was no surprise to discover that that day was to see a poetry demonstration in the town centre in the afternoon. The so-called canons de paix pour 3 millions de poèmes (guns of peace for 3 million poems) that meant quite literally what the title suggests.
Those guns for peace certainly scattered their poems efficiently, benign litter on the streets of Sète that made a strong impact on everyone who passed by - including the men employed to sweep up the remains.
Each piece of coloured paper is printed with a French poem, there for the taking.
It was a lovely idea and I was glad to finish my day of poetry picking up five poems at random, pleased to find that one of them was by Le Sylphe by Paul Valéry. I plan to make a poem out of some of the lines in these five poems as a souvenir of my trip to the excellent town of Sète where there is poetry in its very DNA.
