Saturday, October 10, 2015

Mock Time That Flies

Earlier this week we celebrated National Poetry Week, and while I missed out, here, belatedly, is my contribution: Dame Edith Sitwell intoning her hypnotic "Through Gilded Trellises" against Sir William Waton's evocative, spare music from Facade.

To me this evokes the languor of hot weather (and believe me, after that many years in the Sandlands, around here we know from hot weather) better than almost anything I know.  Reading this poem without knowing Dame Edith's own particular rhythm and diction (DO-lo-rees, particularly) strips it of much of its impact, but once heard, it's almost impossible to think of in any other terms.

I feel like it's been a while since I mentioned the once-vexing question of my health, and I'm happy to say that on that front, all is very well indeed.  I'm now down nearly seventy (!) pounds and still enjoying - to an extent I would once have found inconceivable - my new way of eating and living. I see Kevin-My-Trainer weekly every Sunday morning, and every day I walk to the station* (a brisk mile and a half) and somedays even home, too. Some lingering discomfort and a tendency to tire quickly aside, I can say I've not felt better in a very long time.  So that's something to celebrate this holiday weekend, whatever we think of that pesky Genoan.

It's been a busy few days - hence the radio silence hereabouts - but I can't say toward any particular purpose; even so, I'm luxuriating in a thoroughly lazy three-day weekend, although whether in honor of Sig. Colombo or his indigenous discoveries victims, I'd rather not consider.  Sadly, Mr. Muscato is working, but that does mean I can indulge myself in various solitary pursuits (get your mind out of the gutter - at this stage in my life, all that means is polishing silver and watching Kay Francis movies), as well as take long walks with the dogs and, if I get ambitious, do some cooking.

Any big doings in your part of the world?

* Never without the phrase "with her suitcase / In her ha-a-a-a-nd" popping to mind, thereby ensuring that particular ear worm sticks with me, often until I've reached my desk downtown.


  1. Apart from an adventure with a transsexual prostitute, drinks and literature with Jackie Collins' natural successor - and a visit to Britain's biggest pumpkin to boot, nah. Nothing, really.


    PS glad to hear your weight-loss regime is going so well; you'll be Shelley Duvall before you know it!

    PPS Dame Edith Sitwell! They broke the mould when she was born...

  2. I've been carrying around a record of that suite most of my adult life. Bought it, I think, in about 1968 (?). Nobody ever spoke or declaimed English like Dame Edith. And the combination of her gnomic poetry with Walton's inventive music is oddly satisfying to listen to, like an old-fashioned banquet with seventeen courses, each no more than two bites, and Port.

  3. Piet - never in my life have I heard so apt a description as yours of declamatory style. I first heard her when I was about 13 and it's stuck with me ever since - like savory food with port indeed. Bravo.

    1. Thank you! Now I'm blushing.

  4. thank you for this! I really enjoyed it. I've been aware of her singular appearance from Beaton photos, etc but didn't realize her voice was just as unique.