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Barbie MacLaurin Sixty Today
18 Sunday Feb 2024
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in18 Sunday Feb 2024
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in28 Friday Jul 2023
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inKieron Jones
* 13th July 1976
† 11th July 2023
I came across your name by chance
and landed on your star.
It was a joy to see you dance
close-up and from afar.
Kieron Jones. Like Winston Smith (1984), he was both spectacular and ordinary. Your regular guy, with a spark of genius. The mix was charming. He had a brilliant mind, a sharp wit (a scathing sense of humour), and yet a down-to-earth temperament that made him accessible to all. A Shakespearian actor who had turned to teaching, he was also a gifted storyteller and singer/songwriter.
Over the last 15 years Kieron came to the schools I taught at in Denmark to do Shakespeare workshops. He stayed with me on many occasions, and we became great mates. I’m from Scotland myself, and Kieron was quintessentially English. He told me I was the only Scottish friend he had, and I sensed that he was glad to have a friend from Scotland. My name is Duncan, which no doubt had a special resonance for him, what with the Scottish play. The last time I was with him, just this February, I explained to the company that the Scots and the English have a love-hate relationship. “Yes,” said Kieron, “we love to hate you.”
Kieron was such great fun to be with. He made work seem like play. He was the envy of me and my colleagues as he held the students in the palm of his hand. Easy-going by nature, he had developed a gritty, no-nonsense attitude that made him a force to be reckoned with. And the students loved him because he made them feel special. He had a talent for assessing people and invariably chose the right students to play significant roles in his workshops. He was, no doubt, the best teacher I have ever known, and I’ve known a fair few.
Kieron was a star. He knew this. Otherwise, he would have been unable to perform as he did. He gave and gave of himself in the sure knowledge that what he gave would be given to him in return, and this was what sustained him throughout his workshop marathons. A miracle at work every time.
Thank you, Kieron.
15 Tuesday Feb 2022
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inI’ve long been a huge fan of Ronnie O’Sullivan. A living legend. GOAT, as they say.
He’s so cool when he’s sitting there in between points, yet so emotional in his reactions – which are facial mostly – and when he’s being interviewed. A complex character indeed.
His way of being is an inspiration.
It’s not that I play any snooker myself, but whether I’m teaching, playing chess, writing poetry, or singing my songs, this man is an example of how to perform. He’s very strong when he’s got his tail up, but he’s also the fiercest of contenders when he’s on the back foot. Despite his volatile emotions, he manages to concentrate on the job at hand. He radiates the message, “I’m a man of ice.” This gives him a huge psychological advantage over his opponents. No one can quite match his indomitable spirit.
He can be a bit loose at times. but he has this x-factor. Even his most workmanlike opponent is at a loss when things get out of hand. He excels in the rough and tumble. He doesn’t always win, of course. But he’s the comeback kid if ever there was one, never someone to crumble under pressure.
I’ve just watched him being beaten in the Championships League by my fellow countryman, John Higgins, who’s been in fine form of late. Playing at his very best, Higgins punished the maestro at almost every opportunity. There were a couple of browns that Higgins missed in the third frame, leading to the suspicion that we might see him start to wobble. But it was O’Sullivan that slipped up subsequently on both occasions, and Higgins won 3-0.
Nevertheless, surely anyone can see it’s O’Sullivan who has raised the level of the game.
14 Thursday Oct 2021
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inMost of my poems and songs are hard-earned. A few, however, fall out of the sky like gentle rain in high summer. Unexpected gifts. One of these is my song for George Mackay Brown. I’d been teaching his poems and short stories for over a decade when one May I was doodling words out on the west coast of Jutland and suddenly found myself completely elsewhere.
I’d been to Stromness. I was 15 and on a school army camp. Being part of the Combined Cadet Force (CCF) was compulsory at the school I went to, as was a trip with it. I was afraid of both heights and water, so the army was an easy choice. And I just went on the trip that was offered generally. It was there I learnt to smoke. There wasn’t much else to do.
George Mackay Brown wasn’t on my radar back then. But after I’d moved to Denmark, I found out that he was a great writer of both poetry and prose, and not too difficult for my students either.
I recorded my song in 2012, and there’s a video on YouTube of me playing it for my students shortly afterwards. There’s also a recording of it a couple of months later in Edinburgh (at 47.45).
I’ve tweaked both lyrics and music since:
The Bard That Sang Stromness
One afternoon in May I’ve booked my passage on a boat
from Scrabster to the shelter of the place you lived and wrote.
The town is looking pretty in its light-green springtime dress.
The skies are blue in tribute to the bard that sang Stromness.
That’s a very nice wee plaque they’ve pegged up on your old abode.
And not that wee, in fact, as I can read it from the road.
It’s funny they’re allowed to post an accolade like that
for someone who retreated to an unpretentious flat.
The owl’s inclined to hoot before it flies,
the dog intent on barking till it dies,
the bell designed for ringing.
As bows are meant to shoot a thrilling rain,
and arrows find their mark or fall in vain,
so truth is bent on singing.
There’s mist around the hilltops now, a drizzle in the town.
I kid myself I sense your ghost, George Mackay Brown.
You take me down the pier to watch the seagulls wheeling free
then lead me through their yammer to the chuckles of the sea.
The owl’s inclined to hoot before it flies,
the dog intent on barking till it dies,
the bell designed for ringing.
As bows are meant to shoot a thrilling rain,
and arrows find their mark or fall in vain,
so truth is bent on singing.
I’m off to Stromness tomorrow to pay homage to the great writer on the centenary of his birth on Sunday.
14 Thursday Oct 2021
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I’ve had five poems published in the second anthology in the “extreme” series:
“Naucrate and the Partridge”, “A Giraffe among Jackals”, “Bags of Time”, “On Sören Jessen’s Sand” & “The Real Pity”
There are 37 poets in the anthology, 32 from the USA, and five from the UK. There are 152 poems in all.
17 Wednesday Dec 2014
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inI wrote this sonnet on the first day of my summer holidays in 2010. I was out walking through the woods close to the sea in beautiful weather, and, inspired by nature and a sense of freedom, I composed a couple of lines of iambic pentameter. Then I got home and saw the photo of Lisa on the front page of a local newspaper. It made me very happy. Unreasonably so. My unconscious mind must have already made the connection to my musings. But it was only later, after I’d begun to work a bit on the lines I’d written, that I consciously realised I now had something concrete to work with.
The sonnet was soon posted on Esbjerg Gymnasium’s home page, and the recording was added in due course. Unfortunately, the sonnet was removed in a revamp of the home page at the end of 2013. I appealed to the Principal on several occasions, but he hasn’t responded. Which is a bit weird. But anyway, I’m putting it up here now and updating the various links to it on this site.
Lisa Leaving
for Lisa Lind Dunbar
For me at least, you’ll always be the child
who hated school; now never to return.
No longer need you struggle in your seat;
you’re free to go; you’ll soon be running wild,
down to the sea, the sand beneath your feet,
no morons shouting: “Won’t you ever learn?”
I’ll miss your Scottish accent, miss your face,
miss your independent, plucky grace.
I yell: “Hey, Lisa! Leaving us for good?
You made it through! I always knew you would!
God tur! Have fun! Take care!” Defying care,
you climb King Christian’s horse on Esbjerg Square,
broad-grin at all the others fading fast,
then ride like hell into the distant past.
25 Saturday Jan 2014
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inI’ve never been a huge fan of the way Robert Burns’ birthday is traditionally celebrated. So here’s an alternative tribute:
The Quirks of Sæby
i) Langebroen (Long Bridge)
It’s long by name
but not by nature;
sixty metres is all.
The point is though
the river below
is only very small.
ii) Gedebjerget (Goat Mountain)
Legend has it that Gedebjerget is named after the Viking chieftain, Gjede, a pirate who used the “mountain” as a lookout post for likely ships to attack.
Where I come from
eighty-five metres
does not a mountain make.
I doubt that sheep
would find it too steep.
There must be some mistake.
iii) Syvsten (Seven Stones)
No one knows why
these stones were set here,
thirty-five miles from Skagen.
The story’s lost,
but not what it cost.
The seven stones remain.
31 Monday Dec 2012
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inAt the end of my first calendar year of blogging here’s a brief round-up of significant things I did in it.
13th March
I wrote my first song in Danish. It’s called “En stalkers klage” (“Stalker’s Lament”). My intention is to get a couple of colleagues to sing/play it in 2013.
16th May
I celebrated my silver wedding anniversary with my wife, Ann Bilde.
6th, 8th 10th, 12th, 13th, 23rd August
I performed seven concerts at The Festival of Spirituality and Peace in St. John’s Church in Edinburgh, four of them ticketed.
18th-25th August
I attended a course in Edinburgh in conjunction with The International Book Festival.
16th-23rd September
I visited Galway (for the first time) and Dublin with a class.
6th-12th November
I visited Paris along with a large number of my colleagues.
My poetry publications
“Futures Unknown” in Snakeskin #185, March 2012
“A Giraffe Among Jackals” and “The Real Pity” in Angle Issue 1, 2012
“The Bad Dancer” in Snakeskin #187, July 2012
“On Papsie’s 89th Birthday” in Snakeskin #188, August 2012
“The Whisperings Within” in Angle Issue 2, 2012
Spotlighted at The HyperTexts
Breaking news
My poetry collection From Moonrise till Dawn – a cycle of 128 poems that I have been working on for the past 25 years – is going to be published as an e-book by NordOsten Books.
20 Wednesday Jun 2012
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The programme for the Festival of Spirituality and Peace is now online.
And you can now buy tickets for my concerts on 6/8, 8/8, 10/8 & 12/8 at 4p.m.
01 Wednesday Feb 2012
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Inspired by Deshoda’s list of “100 Most beautiful words in the English language”, I have compiled my own list. The words I have chosen are more common than Deshoda’s so I haven’t defined them.
Perhaps someone should point out to Deshoda that there are 103 words on their list. Three for luck perhaps. I did choose one of them for my own list, viz.“serendipity”, and then I decided to delete it on account of the title I came up with. 19 words begin with the letter ‘c’ and 22 with the letter ‘s’.
100 more beautiful words
amber
anchor
ancient
arc
arrow
beauty
bezique
bliss
blue
bridge
cello
chameleon
charcoal
charisma
chess
choir
clandestine
clover
clown
coin
copper
crazy
crescendo
crescent
crisp
crush
curious
cusp
cypress
destiny
diamond
dream
eclipse
eleven
evergreen
freedom
fringe
generous
genius
gist
gold
gorgeous
grace
guitar
gypsy
honey
irony
justice
kiss
laughter
lavender
legend
lemon
loch
lunacy
magic
mercury
moon
music
night
oasis
ocean
poetry
promise
psalm
quagmire
quiver
rain
red
robin
russet
sailor
sanctuary
scimitar
scintillate
secret
shelter
silk
silver
sinister
sleep
snow
solipsist
somersault
sorrow
soul
sparrow
spell
spine
splinter
squirrel
star
storm
threshold
tinker
trance
turquoise
vesper
whisper
wild
willow
winter
zest
See also Deshoda’s list of 100 whimsical words.