New Year's Resolution [poem]

New Year's Resolution

your brother was there

but you were nowhere

to be seen

the hour of nine

your usual arrival time

long anticipated

came and went

my heart sank

yet my hopes

were soaring high

quarter past

half past

and still no sign

I didn't see you enter

I just looked up later

and you were there

in the flesh

though pale and gaunt

eyes rimmed

as if with violet eye-shadow

the deep bruising

of sleep deprivation

or alcohol abuse

sitting on a stool

at the edge of the circle

of friends

more like acquaintances

they made no attempt to

draw you into

their conversation

their laughter

I noticed you smiled wanly

laughed once or twice

half-heartedly

lost and alone

like so many urbanites

in crowded places

I wanted to come over

and give you a hug

tell you that you're loved

but ever conscious of your

fragile machismo

the barrier to my

soothing your ego

I remained at a distance

one of these days

I will make you happy

or at least I would try

if you'd let me

*

I have made no resolutions for 2017: my declining cognitive abilities combined with physical atrophying militates against expectations of much more than attempting to survive with a smile upon my visage.

My annual tradition, however, is that the first blog-post of each year is a poem. I could see no reason not to continue with same. I considered posting a poem about partying. However, given the past year, I considered that something a tad more subdued to be appropriate.

Wishing all my readers, occasional or returning, the very best in all your endeavours in the year ahead; happy New Year one & all!

Death in Valencia

Thrillers are not usually my cup of coffee - unless they are the camp, hammy Agatha Christie variety where one is nestled in a morally polar fantasy-world  and the bad guys and/or gals invariably get their just desserts. So it was with much trepidation that I turned the front cover of Jason Webster’s A Death in Valencia. I was not to be disappointed. Even cameos are brought to life and one feels their pains, one hurts when they do and one laments their departures.

To be honest, the title is a total misnomer. I suspect the publishers just did not want the nomenclature, “Death in Valencia” for fear the novel would be confused with or just might draw comparisons with Thomas Mann’s “Death in Venice”. Though really, there is a genuine commonality - both are literary, each with a mystery at their heart.

So why is the book’s name inaccurate? Well, there are a number of “deaths” depending on one’s moral perspective. I do not think I should beat about the bush. One of the themes of the book is abortion. So, in some sense, if one is anti-abortionist the tally of referenced deaths would be in the hundreds. Pro-abortionists will count at least a handful of deaths, not necessarily linked or committed by the same person(s) - but I am not going to give the game away! There is also allusion to petite mort, little death, or orgasm; the decline and fall of old Valencia; as well as the moral, emotional and spiritual atrophy of the main protagonist. One is left questioning just what is murder.

Another leitmotif is the lore of Valencian paella. I did not know that locals categorise this platter with one of three labels, “Bò, rebò and mèl” [p.108] - ‘good’, ‘very good’ and ‘honey’. There is a higher rank, but I shall leave the reader to discover said label for themself. However, you may ask [p.110]:

‘So what’s below bò, then? What happens if it’s a bad paella?’

Torres scowled.

‘No such thing,’ he said.

The reader will also discover what is so special about socarraet and why aficionados of paella fight over it [pp.107/8].

Death. Life. Great themes, beautifully introduced and handled by the author. Twice during my reading I was in floods of tears and once almost inconsolably so. I was quite literally mourning for a wee while the final demise of one of the characters. The tale fully inveigled me, so that I was unaware of the author’s voice in the well crafted writing of this skilled novelist. I so enjoyed the book that I quite deliberately only read a few chapters at a time in order to prolong the exquisite pleasure of my perusal. I hope you will be as gratified as I with this literary mystery.