Page 1

RBW Online ISSUE 239

Words Exercises Assignments Fiction Projects Events Workshops Thoughts Your Pages Poetry News Items

Date: 1st June 2012

Thoughts & Quotes ... Anonymous ramblings One of the best things in life is seeing a smile on someone's face and knowing you put it there. When my cats aren't happy, I'm not happy. Not because I care about their moods, but I know they're just sitting there thinking up ways to get even. (Percy Bysshe Shelley) New ventures go through three stages: 1. It's impossible 2. It's probably possible but not worth doing 3. I knew it was a good idea. No matter how many plans you make, or how much in control you try to be, life is mostly winging it. (Carroll Bryant)

On failing a driving test. Examiner: 'What do you do at a red light?' Learner: 'Usually I respond to texts and check my Facebook page.' Half the work done in the world is there to deceive. Happiness is being married to your best friend. He that fights and runs away may live to fight another day. (17th Century?) He who is silent speaks volumes. He who laughs last laughs longest. He who laughs last thinks slowest. He who listens is he who truly speaks. Hire the best, keep the best. History is just one thing after another. History shows that life is the cheapest commodity. History is written by the victors. History is like your Social Security number. long, useless, but needed. History is not about who's right. It's about who's left. Home is where you make it. Home is where the heart is. Home is where your hat is. Honesty is the best policy. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. Issue 239 Page 2

Wikipedia some source material & image.

eyrie n A bird of prey's nest e.g. eagle Any high and remote but commanding place. consonant adj Characterized by harmony or agreement. bestride v To be astride something, to sit on with legs on either side, especially to sit on a horse. vexatious adj Causing vexation, annoyance, trouble, or the like; teasing; annoying; troublesome. Full of trouble or disquiet; harassed; distressed; annoyed; vexed. nulla pœna sine lege phrase (law) The principle that a person shall receive no punishment unless he has committed an offence as explicitly defined in a law. overawe v (transitive) To restrain, subdue, or control by awe; to cow. debauch v (transitive) To morally corrupt (someone); to seduce. (transitive) To debase (something); to lower the value of (something).

LIFE OBSERVATIONS From our Facebook Friends: The next generation of children should be told they are responsible for their own lives. True friends don’t sugar coat anything for you — they tell it like it is. Marriage is like a pack of cards — you start with two hearts and a diamond and end hoping for a club and a spade. Truly, I could give up chocolate — but I’m not a quitter! The wise speak when they have something to say — fools speak because they have to say something. Sometimes you have to not only close a door, but brace it and walk far away. Life is like a roller-coaster: you choose: scream at every bump or throw your arms up in the air and enjoy the ride. Those who say ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels’ have obviously never tried a bacon butty. It’s remarkable how just a couple of days of warm, sunny weather can lift the human spirit.

Issue 239 Page 3

A couple of squirts of WD40 put my upvc French door locks right when they seized up in the heat wave ... Blessings heaped upon the kind soul who uploaded said tip onto the internet. Aren’t search engines wonderful ...

Random words YW The Queen had two new racehorses and needed to name them, unfortunately she couldn't come up with a suitable title for either. Every sycophant in the palace assured her that each suggestion was entirely appropriate. But the Queen didn't trust them and eventually, when visiting the sanctuary of the palace library, a brilliant idea came into her mind. Shutting her eyes, she ran a royal hand along one shelf and pulled out two books. These would be the names of the new horses. Unfortunately, this system came up with, 'Bleeding Grass' and 'Flocking Fury'; leaving the staff whispering among themselves, afraid to point out that not everyone's pronunciation was as clear as her own. 28th JUNE to 8th JULY 2012

The 2012 Manchester Children’s book festival will be eleven days of fun, events, projects and activities for children and adults. Hosted by the Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy and the Manchester Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University, the 2012 festival follows on from the successful 2010 event.


The festival is being organised and run by Manchester Metropolitan University’s Writing School — to include storytelling, drama workshops and sessions with many authors including Philip Pullman.

Random words: Close, gale, special. darkness, protest, cushion, Sunday, minute, rainbow, sugar, unnatural, diamond

Assignment: Steph’s FREE poetry e-chapbook is now published on and on RBW main site The chapbook is illustrated by some of her original artwork. She is a member of Stafford Art Group and has exhibited some pieces locally.

CLIVE’s three free e-books NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu Issue 239 Page 4

When I‟m cleaning windows (1936) Now I go cleanin' windows to earn an honest bob For a nosy parker it's an interestin' job Now it's a job that just suits me A window cleaner you would be If you can see what I can see When I'm cleanin' windows Honeymoonin' couples too You should see them bill 'n coo You'd be surprised at things they do When I'm cleanin' windows In my profession I'll work hard But I'll never stop I'll climb this blinkin' ladder Till I get right to the top The blushin' bride, she looks divine The bridegroom he is doin' fine I'd rather have his job than mine When I'm cleanin' windows The chambermaids' sweet names I call It's a wonder I don't fall My mind's not on my work at all When I'm cleanin' windows I know a fella, such a swell He has a thirst, that's plain to tell I've seen him drink his bath as well When I'm cleanin' windows Oh, in my profession I'll work hard But I'll never stop I'll climb this blinkin' ladder Till I get right to the top Pyjamas lyin' side by side Ladies nighties I have spied I've often seen what goes inside When I'm cleanin' windows ------ banjo -----Now there's a famous talkie queen She looks a flapper on the screen She's more like eighty than eighteen When I'm cleanin' windows She pulls her hair all down behind Then pulls down her... never mind And after that pulls down the blind When I'm cleanin' windows In my profession I'll work hard But I'll never stop I'll climb this blinkin' ladder Till I get right to the top An old maid walks around the floor She's so fed up, one day I'm sure She'll drag me in and lock the door When I'm cleanin' windows Issue 239 Page 5

(Fred Cliff, Harry Gifford, George Formby From the film, Keep Your Seats Please)

Turned out nice again ... Eee, ain’t it grand? How could you have an assignment about “Windows” without mentioning the comic genius of the great George Formby? ... George Formby, OBE (26 May 1904 – 6 March 1961), born George Hoy Booth,. Born in Wigan, George was a comedy actor, singer-songwriter, and comedian. He sang comical songs, accompanying himself on the banjo ukulele or banjolele. He was a major star of stage and screen in the 1930s and 1940s. Many of his cheeky song performances can now be found on You Tube and his biography on Wiki.    

"Chinese Laundry Blues" (1932) "The Isle of Man" (1932) "With My Little Ukulele in My Hand" (1933) "The Window Cleaner"/"When I'm Cleaning Windows" (1936)  "Leaning on a Lamppost" (1937)  "Hi Tiddly Hi Ti Island" (1937)  "The Lancashire Toreador" (1937)  "With My Little Stick of Blackpool Rock" (1937)  "They Can't Fool Me" (1938)  "Mother, What'll I do Now?" (1938)  "Our Sergeant Major" (1938)  "It's Turned Out Nice Again" (1939)  "Mr Wu's a Window Cleaner Now" (1939)  "My Grandad's Flannelette Nightshirt" (1939)  "Count Your Blessings And Smile" (1940)  "Auntie Maggie's Remedy" (1941)  "Mr Wu's is Now an Air Raid Warden" (1942)  "You Don't Need A Licence For That" (1946)  "Happy Go Lucky Me" (1960)

"Time and Tide waits for no man".


As they say "Time and Tide waits for no man". Time is ticking by, time that will not be repeated, were not living life as a rehearsal, we live life now, this minute, this hour, this day, this week, this month, this year. Time is one of those things that when it is passed, it is gone for ever, then, it becomes history. There are people who think they can look into the future and make predictions on what is to come, but decision are often made reflecting on past performance and hope to improve and expand on that. New inventions alter the way things are done, but no one can invent extra time. The seasons stay the same, and in the same order, plants are geared to the annual germination, growth, flower and seed cycle, as are many of the animals of our planet. A lifetime is pulled down to years, and years to seasons and months, months to weeks, weeks to days, days to hours , hours to minutes, right down to the ticking of the hall clock, and once it's passed, it's gone. Land is the same, no one can expand the land in this world, the more land that is put under concrete, and the less land there is to sustain the livestock and people of the world. Food is the balancing factor that, when it is in short supply it automatically culls those that rely on it, be it garden birds surviving the winter, or the human population not able to feed itself. No food, equals no life. It has always been the same over millions of years, the world and everyone on it has to be in balance, and we as humans now have the ability to upset that balance. The leaders of the countries around the world all end up sooner or later getting things out of balance, be it war or the economy or even wage levels of those who produce nothing to help sustain, or maintain the health or wealth of the world. Each generation has its own go at getting thing right, and each generation starts from what they were brought up to expect. Each generation likes to think they can improve on the life they had as youngsters, but many do not know how to use land and what it's primarily for, and here it's getting into an almighty imbalance. The day will come and not in my lifetime, where food will again become important enough to be appreciated. Fewer and fewer people alive now will have lived through the last war, with all the rationing that followed for years afterwards. So we must learn from history, and take note of what sustains life. Time is ticking by, time that will not be repeated, were not living life as a rehearsal, we live life now, this minute, this hour, this day, this week, this month, this year. Make the most of it, as time passes you by more quickly than you realise. Then you turn round and look back and wonder where all that time has gone. As they say "Time and Tide waits for no man". Time is measured in portions Time goes by for ever, to history that we can't reset, Minuets made up of seconds, sixty seconds every minute, And hours are made up of minutes, sixty minutes show, Days made up of hours, twenty four in a row, Week made up of seven days Monday to Sunday peaks, A month is one of twelve, in which it has four weeks, Spring summer autumn winter, winter has the snow, A year it follows the seasons, four seasons in a row, A decade that is ten years, for knowledge to acquire, A score of years is twenty, at three score five retire, A century seems a long time, for humans to cavort, Time is measured in portions, sometimes long or short, A lifetimes usually shorter, but it varies quite a lot, Time on earth it tests you, before you hit your plot. Countryman (Owd Fred) Issue 239 Page 6

Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save Will Rogers (1879 - 1935)

Random Words, May 24th


Elizabeth used the silver tongs to pick up a sugar cube and drop it into her china teacup. Today, Sunday, was a special day, even for someone whose life would seem extraordinary and unnatural for any other woman her age. She was privileged, she knew, and had no call to protest. It had been a stormy night, with teeming rain and a howling gale, but now the darkness was lifting, the sun was beginning to break through, and a rainbow promised a better day to come. Having finished her cuppa, Elizabeth took a close look at herself in the mirror. Every minute detail must be perfect. Everything would be noticed today. The diamond tiara waited on a velvet cushion alongside. “Ah well,” she thought, “better get on with this Jubilee thing. People expect a good show. Tomorrow, I can maybe get back to watching the racing from Ascot in peace!”

Assignment, Windows. PMW Oh how I love my computer. I never dreamt it would be so, But to have to live without it Would be a most serious blow. In eighteen hundred and fifty six Charles Babbage came up with a plan To make a machine like the human brain, Which could calculate quicker than man. And so it was that the idea took hold And the first machines came to be. The start of a revolution. Sign of the century. BUT-

To create a simple programme Was the techno-boffins’ aim. So Microsoft it came to pass,Bill Gates the author’s name.

The clever men at Microsoft Came up with Windows 1,An easy access to the web. The revolution had begun. Seven Windows programmes followed In the years to come. Each one was better than the last More functional and some

Now every woman and her dog Can connect with anywhere. They were far too hard to understand And thanks to the Windows programme, For a simple soul like me, With no grasp of science, electronics and maths,- There’s a whole world to share. No degree in technology. We of this generation Have witnessed a brand new dawn. They filled a room, those first machines, We’re children of the internetSo wide and high were they. When PC World was born Not practical for personal use. They had to find a way To make them user-friendly So all of us could buy. Small and cheap and portable.Our needs they would supply. They were far too large to lug round, No use to me and you. But the silicon chip it solved all that And made the dream come true.

Issue 239 Page 7

Windows YW A Nissen hut has four windows, two in either end of the breezeblock walls that support the long tubular structure. This week‟s assignment word immediately brought back childhood memories of two particular windows; both concerned the lady who lived in the hut next to ours. Her name was Megan O‟Hara, a Welsh lady with a lovely singing voice who became my mother‟s friend. When we first met Megan, she was married to an Irish man called Patrick O‟Hara. They had two young sons, Michael and Richard and it could be argued that a window was involved in Megan O‟Hara and Patrick's divorce and her marriage to a Polish airman called, Steve. This is what happened; Megan was sitting beside the round iron stove in the centre of her dirty home, nursing a kitten. Patrick came home and was so angry that he lifted the lid of the stove and thrust the kitten into the fire. Megan was beside herself and picked up the saucepan of porridge that she was keeping warm and threw it at Patrick. The porridge missed and so she chased after him with the saucepan. He fled and never returned. The porridge landed on the window and stayed there for months, to the childish delight of my sister and I. But soon Megan met a fastidious airman and needed to clean her hut. She asked my mother to help her and this transformed Megan and soon she and Steve were married. The second window involved Megan and me as a ten-year-old child. Megan came to find me one afternoon and told me to come with her, as she needed to break into the hut next door. She had heard a baby crying and the hut was locked up. We went to the scrubland behind the hut and Megan broke one window and undid the catch. She then lifted me up and told me to go inside and open the front door for her. The condition inside the hut was beyond belief. It‟s enough to say that Megan was livid and threw the baby‟s urine soaked cot mattress through the broken back window and went stomping off to give the mother a piece of her mind.

Issue 239 Page 8

Editor’s note: Although these traumatic childhood memories are truthful recollections of the post-war period the writer has carefully substituted fictitious names so that any still living, innocent victims of these events cannot be recognised.

Dragons and Windows assignment CMW George was disgruntled, he was never what you might call gruntled anyway so it was nothing different to normal. “It has to be the climate you know. Dragons just don‟t grow to the size they should around here. We‟ll just have to move and go somewhere south.” Moodily he set his coffee cup; it was the two-pint size, down on a handy anvil. “George what are you on about?” Asked Eve, his better half – maybe three quarters, as there was a lot of her. “The family tradition of course Eve. I mean what do they call me around here? George the Small Ones! That‟s what! I mean you read that last letter from Cousin Fred didn‟t you? A three yarder at the first pop and then a ten-metre shortly after.” “Oh yes, George. I know all about your cousin Fred, even if she is Frederica in hiding in different armour „cos she gets paid better that way. And why is she mixing up the sizes? I mean yards are yards and metres are metres and never the twain shall meet. Which reminds me, where‟s your „Twain got to now-a-days?” So saying, working on the idea that you should never let a useful skill go rusty, she started to practice juggling with three, 10 pound, sledgehammers. Even if the cascade was a bit dodgy because of the low ceiling, she was pretty good at it. “Moved on hasn‟t she. Said that she was fed up with the family tradition and was going to find something more fulfilling to do. Something about being a laveuse devitres or something.” “What‟s that then, George?” “Don‟t know Eve. Sounds exciting though. I can just see her galloping through some foreign country somewhere, charging at a new outbreak of devitres and laveuse-ing the lot in short order.” “You could be right George. Should taste okay I would think. Would have to be with garlic of course, well you know these foreign cooks. If it‟s not got a ton of butter, two kilo‟s of sugar, a pound of salt and seventeen garlic bulbs it‟s in it they can‟t cook it.” “Well there‟s always that hairy bloke at the pub. He doesn‟t use all of them ingredients, does he? “No, he uses ginger as well. Marinated in it they are. Here!” She commanded as she threw the sledgehammers at him. “Get some practice in with these. If we‟re going on the road again you‟ll need to be able to earn a few quid juggling. I‟m not having you „dragon‟ thing down!”

NB: Laveuse devitres, the Gallic equivalent of the English term „Window Cleaner‟. Issue 239 Page 9

Wikipedia image

(New Writer) Sir Lionel Bluddschott had an eye for a pretty girl. He knew Miss Tiffany Topliss by reputation and was not happy that the housekeeper had sent such an adorable creature to the back door of the Manor before showing her into his plush office. He apologised profusely, regretting that she hadn't been received with the respect due to an important and talented reporter, taking the opportunity to prolong his handshake while looking into her pretty blue eyes. "You're interested in the missing scarab, I understand," he said, still holding her hand and staring into her eyes. Miss Tiffany smiled back, thinking, I know what you're interested in Sir Lionel and it certainly isn't helping me to write an article about a missing scarab. "Come and sit down, my dear," said the Colonel, leading her by the arm to a comfortable leather sofa. Tiffany thanked him, sat down gracefully, crossed her legs and took out her notepad and pencil. "There is a rumour going round that your aunt, the Dowager Lady Lucinda, once owned this item of jewellery, a broach that has gone missing after being sent to one of the town's charity shops," she said with a sweet smile. "I wonder if you remember seeing such a piece." "Well," said the Colonel, eyeing the reporter's short mini skirt, "I'm not the sort of man who takes much notice of what people are wearing. Why all the interest in an old broach?" "Professor Toogood, who as you know does valuable volunteer work at the Puss-in-Boots charity shop, is an expert of ancient Egypt and when the broach was described to him, he became ecstatic. Unfortunately, staff at the shop searched high and low for this object, but it had mysteriously disappeared. I thought that if it had once been in Lady Lucinda's possession, you might remember seeing it. My editor is anxious to help the police by publishing a description in the local paper. Hopefully, this will help in tracing it." The Colonel knew exactly what the broach looked like, but wanting to see Miss Tiffany again, he told her he would think about it overnight and invited her back to the Manor at 10 o'clock the next day. Then he absolutely insisted that she had a sherry with him before leaving, saying it helped his memory and he never liked to drink alone. Tiffany accepted the drink, emptying it into a plant pot a few minutes later when the Colonel turned his back to refill his glass. "I really have to go now," Tiffany said, sweetly. "I have an appointment with Evadne... She's always in and out of the Puss-in -Boots and she might be able to help us. I really have to get something for my editor." "That Evadne woman is senile," said the Colonel. "Smokes like a trooper and drinks like a fish. I don't think you'll get any sense out of her. I'll tell you what, instead of coming back here tomorrow, why don't we have dinner tonight? I'm sure I'll have remembered something by them." Wikipedia images

Randolph grinned as his size tens hammered up Barry‟s stairs to his lair under the eaves in the attic space. Barry had long outgrown his bedroom and taken over the loft. His mother had wanted to have it properly converted, but Barry was adamant. He wanted the grunge look to stay, so apart from some boards slung between the joints, and jerry rigged electrics for the bank of PCs, the loft was still pretty much a loft. Barry had consented with reluctance to having a Velux window installed but that was not for the health and safety reasons stressed by his dear mother. Oh no! „Bit radical, old mate,‟ said Randolph on his first daylight visit to the sanctuary of the Vulongarian Overlord, pointing to the roof light. „What‟s that?‟ his interest piqued by a glint of shiny metal. Barry had the decency to flush with embarrassment. „Nothing, bro. Shall we get on? What „ave you got for me?‟ Randolph ignored the „bro‟, Barry was rushing their „best mates‟ relationship, but if he thought this business arrangement had a social element then all the better. He tossed the scarab to Barry. „It‟s for ...‟ „Princess Angelikka,‟ breathed Barry reaching for his stylus and drawing pad. As the portraiture artist in Barry surfaced, and it had a long way to come, Randolph rummaged beneath an old crocheted baby blanket to discover Barry‟s secret shiny. „Wow! Barry you dog!‟ explained Randolph exposing the telescope and screwing his eyeball into the eye-piece. „Whoa ... who is that?‟ Randolph had discovered Barry‟s source. The zoom lens was focused on a rooftop extension in Princes‟ Avenue. On a loft level bedroom in Princes‟ Avenue. On the rooftop extension to number 11, Princes‟ Avenue. A figure entered the room, Randolph gasped. The Goth girl wandering around in nothing but her tats, nose rings and hair extensions totally oblivious to Barry‟s all seeing eye was his next-door neighbour, Sharlene Mountjoy. As she turned an enormous dragon tattoo breathed fired over her naked shoulder ... Randolph jumped away from the telescope. „Can‟t you tell?‟ said Barry somewhat affronted. „It‟s ...‟ „Princess Angelikka,‟ said Randolph totally overcome by a wave of emotions. „Didn‟t I tell you? I always work from a model.‟

Debut Dagger 2012 Competition: 22nd October 2011 – 21st January 2012 Bulletin No. 8 – The Short-list The Short-listed entries for this year’s competition are: Beached by Sandy Gingras (USA) Broken-Winged Bird by Renata Hill (Canada) Chasing Shadows by Lesley McLaren (France) Death by Glasgow by Jon Breakfield (UK) Death Knell by Rob Lowe (UK) Easy to Die by Sean Carpenter (UK) Message from Panama by Britt Vasarhelyi (Panama) One Man Army by Bram E. Gieben (UK) Port of Spain by Elizabeth Wells (Canada) The Watchers by Karen Catalona (USA) The Wrong Domino by Simon Miller (UK) Trick by Sean Hancock (UK) Once again the list contains a fascinating mix of genres and shows some fantastic imaginations at work. This year we have police procedural, under-cover agent, private eyes, international intrigue, historicals, supernatural, and women in peril battling it out for the Debut Dagger. If you’d like further information on the stories and authors you can head over to the CWA website and check out the Debut Dagger pages where the information is (or shortly will be) posted. The overall winner will be announced at the CWA Awards Event in London on 5 July (more details about that on the CWA website too). Previous bulletins: Don’t forget that you can find the previous bulletins at:

There’s a brand new 2 hour mix of material in The Loop on Radio Wildfire – AND DON'T FORGET to join us for Listening to Leamington on Saturday 2nd June 10am - 4pm (see website for details). Now playing 24/7 a completely new selection of stories, satires, poetry, spoken word, music and interview @ - another two hours of live literature and chat. In this edition ... The Loop brings you - A Tribute to the late Geoff Stevens by fellow poet and collaborator Brendan Hawthorne. The Loop brings you Jonathan Davidson talking about Being Human the stage show he is producing in collaboration with Bloodaxe Books and Coventry's Belgrade Theatre, ahead of its national tour. The Loop brings you new work from cds: Bananas From The Heart by Heather Wastie; From The Bunny 'ill t' Puddin' Rock by Billy & Lozz; and Larry Stanley's The Rain, from ...Like A Diamond In The Sky. The Loop brings you tracks uploaded to the Radio Wildfire 'Submit' page: the story of The Ghost of Charnes Hall from Stephen Harvey; Michael W.Thomas goes country with Cheryl's Been A Mess (since you went away); Matthew Clegg's field recording of his poem Chalk; and Mark Goodwin with the sound poem Growls and Miaows, and the wonderfully titled Open Mic as Cellar Door. The Loop brings you the latest part of Mal Dewhirst's series The Lost Poets. Episode 4: John Taylor, the water poet. PLUS: Irons In The Fire: Jan Watts' Laureate's Diary - the monthly diary from Birmingham's Poet Laureate AND there's Gary Longden's Listings - check it out your gig might just be featured! So join us and listen by going to and clicking on The Loop The Loop is curated by Vaughn Reeves and will play online continuously for the next month, except during our Outside Broadcast Listening To Leamington on Saturday 2nd June from 10.00am and duringour live broadcast on Monday 4th June starting at 8.00pm UK time with a full programme of pre-recorded tracks, live studio guests and conversation.

Issue 239 Page 12

WHAT IS RADIO WILDFIRE? Radio Wildfire is an independent online radio station which blends spoken word, poetry, performance literature, comedy, storytelling, short stories and more with a novel selection of word/music fusion and an eclectic mix of musical styles. currently broadcasts live 8.00-10.00pm (UK time) on the first Monday of every month. Listen to Radio Wildfire at where The Loop plays 24 hours a day.

Workers’ Playtime Project RBW are delighted to announce the free e-book of this project has been uploaded on to the RBW main website, profile page and our Facebook page Control/CLICK the picture The project’s book is crammed with colour pictures and recorded memories. The actual manuscript is currently with the printer and will be released shortly. Copies of the book will be donated to local libraries and to all the participating groups. The main website also contains MP3 tracks of the memories for those who prefer to listen to accounts of oral social history. Very shortly the distribution round of workshops will begin when those taking part will see their memories in print for the first time and be able to hear the memories of people from other groups taking part. A Power Point Presentation has also been prepared for their enjoyment.

Issue 239 Page 14

DONKA - A Letter to Chekhov WRITTEN & DIRECTED BY DANIELE FINZI PASCA Saturday 2 - Friday 8 June Queen Elizabeth Hall Inspired by Anton Chekhov's plays and diaries, and featuring one of the world's most talented troupes of clowns, acrobats and musicians, Donka comes to the UK for the first time with its dazzling aerial acrobatics, multi-media illusion and circus magic. Having captivated audiences and critics around the world, Donka celebrates the great Russian writer's delight in the serious play and illusion of theatre, taking us into a spellbinding world of breathtaking beauty. Created by the award-winning Daniele Finzi Pasca, who wrote and directed Cirque du Soleil's acclaimed Corteo as well the Broadway hit Rain, Donka offers an intoxicating marriage of wit and wonder, surrealism and pure escapism. 'A journey of visual and choreographic elegance and playful humour' (Irish Times) 'Pure joy and wonderment' (The Gazette, Canada) 'There are times in the exquisite Donka when you can feel your heart literally rise in your chest' (The West Australian) Recommended for ages 12 and over. The performance on Wednesday 6 June at 7.30pm is an Audio described performance, provided by Vocal Eyes. Book tickets / Watch trailer The Poetry Library

Issue 239 Page 15

Although I can see him still— The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies— It's long since I began To call up to the eyes This wise and simple man. All day I'd looked in the face What I had hoped it would be To write for my own race And the reality: The living men that I hate, The dead man that I loved, The craven man in his seat, The insolent unreproved— And no knave brought to book Who has won a drunken cheer— The witty man and his joke Aimed at the commonest ear, The clever man who cries The catch cries of the clown, The beating down of the wise And great Art beaten down. Maybe a twelve-month since Suddenly I began, In scorn of this audience, Imagining a man, And his sun-freckled face And grey Connemara cloth, Climbing up to a place Where stone is dark with froth, And the down turn of his wrist When the flies drop in the stream— A man who does not exist, A man who is but a dream; And cried, “Before I am old I shall have written him one Poem maybe as cold And passionate as the dawn.” Issue 239 Page 16

This poem originally appeared in the February 1916 issue of Poetry magazine.

Metal Detector Alone. A figure on a dark shore. Solitary. A shadow man, stark against the sea’s sparkling brilliance and the tar-black sand. Arm swings, out and back. Arm swings, out and back. Stops. Listens. Arm swings in tight circle near feet. Bends to a crouch, Uses trowel to dig in pebble-strewn shore. Throws something away. No luck. Tin can lid. Bottle top. Back straightens, arm swings, out and back, out and back. One foot forward, out and back, tide turns, foam lapping around troughs of blackened groynes. One foot forward, arm swings, out and back. Silhouette grows smaller and smaller, vanishes towards the cliffs.

SMS 2012

If you are a subscribing email recipient to leave RBW Online is easy just email and say ‘unsubscribe’ and you will be immediately removed from the list. If you have any suggestions for improvement to this service please let us know. You don't have to take an active part to receive this workshop bulletin you can just sit back and enjoy the ride, but if you could send back KUDOS feedback it is greatly appreciated. RBW Privacy Promise: A few simple contact details are all that are required and they will only be used for this bulletin service. RBW promise to:  Only send you details via the newsletter.  To never pass on your details to anyone else.  To always allow recipients to opt-out and unsubscribe at any time. To contact RBW please use the website contact box.

PATRON Ian McMillan Memberships and funders.

Rising Brook Writers strives to be compliant with the requirements of the Data Protection Act. RBW strives for accuracy and fairness, however, can take no responsibility for any error, misinterpretation or inaccuracy in any message sent by this mode of publishing. The opinions expressed are not necessarily in accordance with the policy of the charity. E-mails and attachments sent out by RBW are believed to be free from viruses which might affect computer systems into which they are received or opened but it is the responsibility of the recipient to ensure that they are virus free. Rising Brook Writers accepts no responsibility for any loss or damage arising in any way from their receipt, opening or use. Environment/ Recycling: Please consider carefully if you need to print out any part or all of this message. To the best of our knowledge and belief all the material included in this publication is free to use in the public domain, or has been reproduced with permission, and/or source acknowledgement. RBW have researched rights where possible, if anyone’s copyright is accidentally breached please inform us and we will remove the item with apologies. RBW is a community organisation, whose aims are purely educational, and is entirely non-profit making. If using material from this collection for educational purposes please be so kind as to acknowledge RBW as the source. Contributors retain the copyright to their own work. Fiction: names, characters, places and incidents are imaginary or are being used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental. This bulletin is produced by volunteers.

© Rising Brook Writers 2012 — RCN 1117227 A voluntary charitable trust.

Issue 239 RBW Online  

Issue 239 RBW Online weekly magazine