A Love Poem

I

My Dear One,

I come before you not as a beggar, to plead for your favour,

But as a wealthy man who, though born with very little, worked tirelessly to cultivate his riches, 

if only to know the pleasure of sharing that which he had never known.

My treasures, of course, are not material in nature, 

but they are as true, and more valuable, in my humble estimation, 

than those material things.

II

My own,

I offer you my virtue,

I offer you my strength, and even in doing so my vulnerability, 

(a small part of my courage, which you are also entitled to the entirety of.)

I offer you my honour, and also my desire.

I offer you all the kindness, warmth, 

and empathy of a heart that beats only to know love and to love.

I offer you that love, and that heart, 

with passion, and all the tenacity you have seen me show.

I offer you, of myself, all that I have to give,

In all my worthiness, and all my shortcoming,

And pledge to bring with it all the excitement and creativity 

which you have expressed your appreciation for so far.

III

You may not always find such qualities easy to come by,

And where they are found, offered with so little reservation,

But please do not be intimidated if I seem unreasonably brazen,

I credit this fact, 

that all you have to bring will always be shown to have at least as great a value as the eye that cares to look is keen, and never any less. 

(And as you are aware, I have regarded you with rather a keen eye ;) )

Wherefore? But on the account that there is so much to look to! 

In my sight, it would appear we have much to offer one another.

IV

What I ask of you in this respect, 

Is not to give, but only to share 

with me that which you already have in abundance,

Your own passion,

Your integrity,

Your sentiments and feelings,

                Opinions and insights,

                Thoughts and emotions,

Your curiosity, and sense of humour,

Your tenderness, and also your fortitude,

As much honesty as you can muster, 

                as and when you are ready to offer it,

All those qualities you have long since known I love and admire in you,

And adore you for.

To give of yourself, as and when is pleases you,

Whatsoever it pleases you to give,

In whatever measure it pleases you to give it,

And show me who you are,

In all your worthiness, and all your shortcoming.

V

Should you be willing to attempt this exchange,

As you know I am most certain that you should,

I will not give you reason to regret it,

Not for a single day,

Not even for a moment if I can help it,

Do not reject such a ‘wholesome’ offer lightly,

Such opportunities are rare to find, and rarer still are they ever realised,

Let us inspire ourselves with what could be possible,

Forever at your service,

Forever in your awe,

With love, and the deepest of affection,

Antoine. 

I know that's Free Will

They say we don't choose who we love
They say our trains are set on mechanistic lines.
They say that we're all bound to die
Spare no thought for if we've ever truly lived...

Because they split the atom!
Put a man on the moon
Wrote symphonies and...
if that's really true

I know the stars need not shine
I know the earth could stand still
I know we choose who we love...
...I know that's free will!

And it makes no sense at all
But we decide and we fall
And here we are standing still...
... I know that's free will.

I know that's free will!

My First Sonnet - Your Joy

It seemed as though all of your joy had died

The way you shut me out and built a wall

You seemed so pained I had to wonder why

I only caught a glimpse but that was all

Still I can tell you're hurt, what do you hide?

That's something I don't think I'll ever know

What do you feel? What do you keep inside?

Who are you underneath the front you show?

The only thing I found in you was me

And all I thought you were was but a dream

A ghost, a silhouette, a fantasy

You were a shadow cast upon a screen

Although I'm not sure what I sought in you

It seems somehow that I have fought for you

Close and Faraway music update and other things.

My new hobby is sitting outside,
Coffee in one hand,
Smoke in the other,
And a book of poetry,
In my lap.

Today's favourites:
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
If by Rudyard Kipling
Snake by D. H. Lawrence

I went to open mic at The Free Hetherington yesterday and read some out and the we had a massive jam session it was really fun.

Today I've mostly been playing piano and composing for Close and Faraway.

The Bollero is sounding freaking awesome and really enjoying playing an arrangement for piano, it's got a tricky cross rhythm running through it which looks a bit like this:

So it's a bit tricky to play at first on the piano, but you get used to it!



I'm also very happy with how the (perhaps provisionally titled) "Omega's Theme" is going, the harmony in it is very sophisticated an I've learned a lot about making strange chord sequences work doing it so I'm delighted.


I was speaking to Rowan (our oboe player) about the music on fb and sent her some midi, she's been very encouraging. A clarinet has been added to the ensemble thanks to my friend Linzi, at first I was reluctant (more instruments = more work) but it's actually really helping me along I'm finding it really useful.

Stewart also broke some news about funding and venues for previews but I'm not sure how much I'm at liberty to blog yet :-)

Sweet dreams,

Antony

My First Memory (in three forms)

Free form
The sun shone in through the windown pane in the kitchen, gleaming in my eyes. It's warmth basked me in a light that penetrated my closed eyelids with a glowing red, cradling me as I repose on the kitchen floor, leaning back upon my hands.

I was a alive, it dawned upon me like the day, thriling, warm.

Before that moment it seemed I had no past and the future was a mysterious delight that stretched into endless days of summer.

I was alive.

Poem
The sun shone in through my window
Brilliant in my eyes
The kitchen

Basken in light
Glowing red
Penertrated, through shaded eyelids

Gently cradled,
Repose upon the floor
Leaning back upon my hands

I was alive

It dawned upone me like the day
Thrilling, warm
Before that moment I had no past

The future
Mysterious
A deight that stretched
Into endless days of summer

I was alive

Haiku
Baskin in the light
Shining through my window pane
Yes, I was alive

Daring yet to dream
Into endless summer days
Seems I had no past

My Child by Mike Bartlett and One Good Beating by Linda McLean - Rekindle Theatre Review

Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
  They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
  And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
  By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
  And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
  It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
  And don't have any kids yourself.

(above supplied in the program note)

            Rekindle theatre invite us to some existential musing on the product of power dynamics within family relationships in two psychological works of drama directed by Bill Wright.

            The first, My Child by Mike Bartlett, presents us with the mild-mannered, kind-natured “nice guy” (played by John C. Gilmour) striving for a meaningful relationship with his son, and his rather cruel ex-partner (played by Sarah McComish) who has paired with a high-powered, cynical, go-getter who has more to offer her both financially and in terms of emotional edification for herself and her child. The play, which was critically acclaimed when it premiered in 2007 at the Royal Court Theatre, ultimately asks us to consider whether those values taught as morally correct (turning the cheek and putting others first) are really the way to get ahead or even find happiness in life. Aristotle believed that every virtue was a midway point between to vices (such as courage between cowardice and foolhardiness) and Buddhist teachings also speak of a middle path. My Child leads us in the search for that golden mean between the mercenary life and that of the self-sacrificing victim.

The second play, One Good Beating, by Linda Mclean, is a bizarre black comedy about a pair of grown up children taking revenge on their sociopathic father for the way he raised them by locking him in a coal shed. The children, one of them softened and the other hardened by his abuse, fail to teach him a lesson as he talks around them in eloquent rings, forcing them to examine the short comings of their own psyches. The most poignant and skilled element of Linda McLean’s writing is that one can easily see how the personalities of these children could have been moulded as the product of their father Robert’s parenting. Again we are lead to look at two extremes of personality and seek a middle path between the calloused and soft-skinned. This piece was the highlight of the evening, with perceptively distinguished performances by Eric Robertson as the nonchalant, piercingly dismissive and truly mendacious father, Michelle Gallacher as his headstrong and countenanced daughter, and Scott Cadenhead as his soft-natured and less than self-assured son.