I was telling Jurgis last night that his bats had arrived again to eat the figs. I said:
‘Your friends have been coming again, the other night, while I was on the terrace, with their floppy wings.’ And he:
‘… airing their arm pits …’ We laughed.
Their wings in the night about the tree, heavy dark cloth flowing through the air, dropping, closing in, gathering themselves …
After dinner we walked through the garden to the sea. Night. The sky full of stars, the Milky Way, past the sea wall the hills full of lighted houses, the sound of a motor, the sea moving silently, waves that advanced as if made of silk, retreating, coming back. A tree that looked like one in Tuscany on postcards, and in the middle of the dark park this lonely telephone booth… lighted up… golden in the night.
Before me longing
and behind me fate
Umar ibu al Farid 1181-1245
More mines in the North. The land viewed from a helicopter, this beautiful, warm red brown expanse that they are hacking at, the skin of the earth that they are constantly cutting away, taking no notice of people, animals, vegetation. But what about the Aboriginal people whose land it would have been. What do the elders around the area think, they probably die of desperation and in silence, only the noise of the miners is heard everywhere, constantly demanding.
On television they were discussing AUGMENTED REALITY. They must have discovered the means to do it.
We went to hear Hilik speaking at the SQUAT, the young were cooking, some came with cooked food, all these squatters – young, vulnerable looking, some amazing hairdos, partly shaven heads, rings through their lips, tattoos.
Squatting upstairs and in some other houses nearby. Some of them artists, radio people, some wanting to be writers. A friendly atmosphere of broken down chairs, cedar staircases painted black, all trying to escape into a freer world.
During Hilik’s talk about sculpture, his sculptures, at one point, near the kitchen some talk, the level rather high, and the young man who had introduced Hilik, calling out:
‘Silence please. An artist is speaking.’
A. rather liked that.
An interview in the Sydney Morning Herald with Bob Gould, of the famous bookshop. He hopes to live till 80. He is 74 now. Quoting him:
‘I am hoping to last for a considerably longer period by the use of considerable ingenuity.’
Maybe we too can use our ingenuity to that effect.
The Birmingham Orchestra conducted by Simon Rattle, a disk of 20th Century music. John Adams’ HARMONIUM – a massive composition with a large orchestra and massive choirs, on a poem by Dickinson:
Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be our luxury!
Roaming in Eden
Ah! The Sea
Might I but moor – Tonight –
in Thee
Women’s voices from the garden next door and above them a crow putting its spin on the discussion.
