Mrs Robinson Juergen ghebrezgiabiher

This is the BBC from London
It is with the greatest sorrow
that we make
the following announcement:

London Bridge is down

The first plans for London Bridge date back to the 1960s, before being refined in detail at the turn of the century. Since then, there have been meetings two or three times a year for the various actors involved (around a dozen government departments, the police, army, broadcasters and the Royal Parks) in Church House, Westminster, the Palace, or elsewhere in Whitehall. Participants described them to me as deeply civil and methodical. “Everyone around the world is looking to us to do this again perfectly,” said one, “and we will.” Plans are updated and old versions are destroyed. Arcane and highly specific knowledge is shared. It takes 28 minutes at a slow march from the doors of St James’s to the entrance of Westminster Hall. The coffin must have a false lid, to hold the crown jewels, with a rim at least three inches high.

The Conspiracy of Good Taste.Stefan Szczelkun

This is a redrafted edition of Stefan’s tirade against classism. The life and activity of three leading mediators of working class culture are considered in separate chapters. These are William Morris, Cecil Sharp and Clough Williams-Ellis. A theory of oppression that may be new to some readers is given before tracing the philosophical justifications of good taste as a signifier of social class in Britain and Germany. This is brought into the C20th with a review of Pierre Bourdieu’s sociological critique of good taste: ‘Distinction’. 

You can buy the ebook on iTunes or Kindle!

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-conspiracy-of-good-taste/id1093196109?mt=11

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01CYL35MW?%2AVersion%2A=1&%2Aentries%2A=0

Sue Lukes. My Family and Other Bad Migrants

Neoavanguardia 69 montata 14′

Some kind of Italy: Mario, Jacopo and the cherry tree.

fratyricon

Inclined as I am to a chronic indolence, I should enjoy those Italian moments, by my own, by my parents-in-law, by the shadowy side of the green, while I am eating cherries.
And I do enjoy them (moments ans cherries), with a sort of intimate delay (should I say I did?), writing down disorderly sketches of my Italian journey.

A different inclination, more courageous, endured the cherry tree since 1994, when a tremendous lightning – out of a memorable storm – hit its log.

Grandpa Mario planted the cherry tree when Cristiana, first of his six grandchildren, was born. Mario, ninety years old, gently and slowly is now heading to his tree, to me and Jacopo, his great-grandchild.

Walked by his daughter, with the aid of a cane, a bit stooped and with humid blue eyes, Mario is looking at Jacopo, somehow lost in his thoughts… thoughts, we can only guess.

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BLU paints new controversial mural in Chiomonte, Italy

HIriaeth, Se ti dico Italia. Paolo Viel

The bank / The names. Stefano Gugliemin

 where the names start you dig

still in the lungs of god

blind from too much light

open to a mortal tongue

gaping at the margins of sound

like Debussy or the voice

that hangs abandoned in the air

as it is being born

Heavy Metal Islam

Spamstein

There is a substantial Heavy Metal scene in the Middle East. To me that isn’t a surprise, as metal fans can be found all over the globe. On the other hand, US soldiers used Heavy Metal to annoy people they held captive in the Middle East, which must have given the music a bit of a bad reputation. The fact that Heavy Metal represents the voice of an alternative to the mainstream, both musically and politically, will make sure that more and more Metal bands will get popular. I have a lot of clips, so I will just offer clips and links:

Melechesh:

The book “Heavy Metal Islam” is probably the most important book written about this subject:
http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2008/07/rock_the_mullahs.html

First clip, Aliaj from Iran:

Melechesh (Formed in jerusalem in 1993 consisting of Assyrians and Armenians):

Al-Namrood, “Heen Yadhar Al Ghasq (see Guardian link for an explanation about the difficulties of…

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London poems. Stefano Guglielmin

London poems

 

Sad is his face like the face of a poet

a poet without a song 

Virginia Woolf

 

°

 

The foxes are howling in the yard

while the barbarian shreds the tablecloth;

Mrs Dalloway finds her voice and says:

“Doesn’t life seem incredible?”

 

 

°°

 

There is no song, I know. But the body

sometimes talks on its own, likes mud

more than light and wiping out traces

makes it sick…

 

 

 

°°°

 

Poetry means, here, stand still on the carousel,

bring yourself peace as your ship goes down.

 

 

 

°°°°

 

She asks if I like laughing

if dying young is worse.

 

She repeats the sentences twice

so laughing and dying

become just verbs for me to learn

 

 

 

°°°°°

 

She says so many things in English;

sticking out her tongue, unraveling it:

her sex wouldn’t do any better.

 

 

 

°°°°°°

 

She lays down something that sounds

like the breathing of a sick heart;

she seems happy to have followers

in this enterprise.