Manhood

The poem below includes a list of some forty men; but it should not be considered a definitive roll-call of all the menfolk who have made an impression upon me. Certainly I have only included chaps up to my meeting Richard (my partner 2001 - 2012 but still my best friend); so, none of the male friends / acquaintances I have since made appear. Some men about whom I have written specific poems (though not all [yet] published on this blog) have also been excluded, as I did not feel I had something fresh to add. An example, would be the previous poem about musician Paul. Some names [may] have been altered in order to protect individual men or even myself. Inclusion on the list / in this poem should not be read to mean I had a crush on or fell in love with any specific individual; though most I have loved in the philia sense and some verged on bromance! Bear in mind, these are my recollections and reminiscences and, as such, may not be recognised by all parties concerned - especially those not so confident with their own sense of self &/or sexuality.

*Please note part II of this poem contains sexual imagery & language.*

Manhood

“Tu jahan chalega”

I

thanks to all the men

who added to the man

I was

became

and am

to become

each a step

to my manhood

to my self

facets of the father

I should have known

but never would

of the brother

I might have known

but never could

each hand

each smile

each laugh

leading me on

to adulthood

each failed promise

each dashed hope

each broken heart

played its necessary part

taught me loyalty

though no fealty

to anyone

only me

and now

he

II

Red-headed Simon’s lascivious erubescence and vacillation

Inebriate Simon’s bear-hugs and concupiscent indecision

Policeman Michael’s off-duty hunt and lust declaration

Anglo-Pole Czeslaw’s white-undied romps and motorbike erection

Cousin David’s stolidity and (straight) porn collection

Anglo-Greek Nick’s failed dates and not-to-be-put-off determination

Engineer Jeff’s love affirmation and final rejection

Lorry-driver Brian’s unconventionality and accepting reception

Accountant Denis’ acceptance-with-joy and shoulder-to-cry-on

School-mate Ken’s relaxed heterosexuality and hopeless romanticism

Collegiate Simon-Peter’s constant flirtation and Persian exoticism

Neighbour Jed’s humour, gorgeous spouse and offer of troilism

Fireman Keith’s handy wank and sexual dilettantism

Pater Keith’s drunken distance and illogical stance

Polish Peter’s love-will-find-a-way and perseverance

Gay Paul’s writing-creativity and irrisistible self-confidence

Fire-chief David’s musculature and unconditional acceptance

Grandfather Cyril’s active dislike and standoffishness

Brother Tony’s posturing machismo and neediness

Married, electrician Keith’s bisexual pursuit and doggedness

DSS Trevor’s reddening feathers and solicitous kindness

Taxman David’s quiet charm and nestling flesh

Doctor Paul’s eirenic calm and shared little death

Reverend Mike’s egomania and religious hypocrisy

Dairyman Brett’s rain-drenched snog and self-imposed naïveté

Teacher Chris’ radiant smile, nudity and hirsute tactility

GP Mark’s chipper personality and confidence in me

Fellow churchgoer Chris’ late-night chats and car natter

School-chum Harry’s confirmed bachelor dishevelment and clutter

Privileged Guy’s disdain for personal hygiene and love of literature

Taxman Luther’s best man and doting family guy

Austrian Georg’s everlasting smile and infectious chuckle

Pen-pal Christian’s welcoming family and elder-brother mantle

Grandfather Doug’s eye for a beauty and a quality vehicle

Architect Ivan’s firm thighs and slumber snuggle

Grandfather Horace’s sunday walks and salutatory kiss

On the make drug-dealer Chris and his honeyed dick

Psychologist Graeme’s ego-boost selection and stolen kiss

Salop Carl’s Œdipal fear and self-loathing

“I’m straight” Greg’s passionate Paradise embrace and perfect kiss

And the greatest influence thus far

Rico’s love, patience and long-suffering

He

Believe it or not, this is the video that prompted this poem!

[EDIT: the video has been deleted as at 27.01.21. Try this https://youtu.be/SoC_ZjGBmmg]

Dolce Vita, Benalmádena - Review

[Image description the view of Parque de la Paloma from the outside seating at Dolce Vita]

I have just written a fresh review for Tripadvisor of the café-bar Dolce Vita in Benalmádena under the title “New Hands, Just As Fab”. Here’s the text:

It has been a couple of years since last I was at Dolce Vita. It is now in the hands of the capable and affable Elena and Ángel, both of whom will give you a big smile with your beverage &/or food. They will also pass the time of day and have a laugh if you have the time to pause and soak in the Spanish tranquility. Coffees can be made to one's taste and sandwiches are made fresh to order. Try the English breakie (breakfast) with perfect fried eggs - soft yolks in which to dunk one's toast! There is wifi too, a boon to those of us far from home. And a bookcase stacked with tomes to browse. Oh, and some exceedingly clean loos for the fastidious.

The link will also lead one to my original review, “Eat, Drink, Befriend Well”, if one scrolls down.

If on one's travels, one finds oneself in Benalmádena, why not pop into Dolce Vita - you are certain of a warm welcome! %D

Anglo-Swedish-German Entente Cordiale

A couple of evenings ago I was viewing "Inspector Barnaby", the German-language version of "Midsommer Murders". Last night I watched "Potiche" (Trophy Wife) with the stunning Catherine Deneuve and comedic Gérard Depardieu in French.

Yesterday afternoon I had a really interesting conversation in German and English on the merits of sport and travel as means of progressing mutual understanding between different nations and indeed regions within individual countries. My German-Swedish neighbours are returning home tomorrow. I shall miss our conversations across our respective balconies. Mind I did once meet them in the flesh as it were. On Sunday gone, we, along with much of the local and tourist population, were taking a long and leisurely stroll along the esplanade, the paseo marítimo, in the glorious sunshine and comparative warmth, when my companion and I encountered them not far from bar Maracas and near the castillo Bil-Bil. So close-up our neighbours were just as affable. How odd though to conduct conversations in four languages - English, Spanish, Swedish and German. And that was just the four of us! 

Virtually everyone one meets in Spain, or for that matter anywhere in Continental Europe, is a polyglot. It re-inforces how useful languages are and the ignominy that, as a nation, we Brits on the whole fail to live up to the mark of our European counterparts.

[Image description: Rosetta Stone courtesy Wikipedia]

Learning languages, like playing sport and travelling, helps to break down barriers, in that one comes to appreciate other cultures, other literatures, other politics and other ways of thinking and behaving. Communication is good for business and economies; it is good from a socio-cultural perspective; it is also good for peace.

Sushi

Over the past few years when hosting a party I have invariably ordered in sushi from Waitrose Entertaining, excepting one occasion when a guest promised and indeed brought along a tray from Costco which was just as delicious.

Initially I was surprised at Brits chowing down on Nipponese cuisine, but every single occasion the sushi platter has been wiped clean. There has been in England's cities an inexorable rise in Japanese eateries, be it sushi restaurants or noodle bars. (Whilst I am a big fan of Italian pasta, I adore all kinds of Japanese-style noodles - easy to cook and served with a quick broth or just soy sauce.)

The English do not generally like their food raw - it is only in the past few years I discovered I may have my steak bleu or blue which is rarer than rare and absolutely delicious! So what has turned residents of a fishing nation to raw fish and seafood? Perhaps the multitude of cookery programmes (programs) on the television has alerted and educated folk to be more adventurous. Perhaps as British cuisine has ameliorated the more we travel and discover that foodstuffs can be cooked differently and taste so much better, and so our collective palate has altered.

What I do know is that sushi is a perfect finger-food. It can be eaten unadorned in one gulp or garnished with ginger or dipped in sauce or sprinkled with wasabi. Quite simply it can be adapted to a plethora of tastes and thus folk. Of the host, it requires little more than opening and placing on the table. Thus the need to constantly return to the oven to check on those adorable little canapés that burn the instant one turns one's back, interrupting conversations with one's guests, is completely avoided. It reduces stress for the host - a good thing at any party!

Having just given a party large enough to require more than three kilos of sushi (I estimate approximately 100g per guest - some pick, some gorge), I thought I would try to determine which of my regular orders is most popular.

Taiko Traditional Sushi Platter 1.2kg cost £26.00, £2.17/100g

courtesy & © Waitrose

Taiko Sushi Canapé Platter 1kg cost £26.00, £2.60/100g

courtesy & © Waitrose

Taiko Vegetarian Sushi Platter 760g cost £16.00, £2.11/100g

courtesy & © Waitrose

I thought for ease of reference I should place them in the order in which they were devoured - well except the veggie one, the remnants of which were taken away by a couple of guests for their brunch! I consider the second platter the most impressive visually, but oddly enough folk left the edamame beans. However, once a Hong Kong guest demonstrated, I was more than happy to nosh on them. I also got to sample the Arctic [surf] clam (Hokkigai) Nigiri for the first time ever: a tad chewy but delicious!

To my mind - and only sampled on my guests of course - the Taiko Traditional Sushi Platter offered the best value for money, especially given it was the most popular. The veggie option proved to be less popular… But don't take my word, try them out for yourselves! %PPP

little flower-stalk

little flower-stalk


in blue jeans
faded brushed-cotton shirt
once patterned, now grey
crouching in front of electronic gadgetry
on slightly soiled plimsolls
deep brown orbs, passionate
intensely concentrate
listening through state-of-the-art headphones
pressing down silver-streaked, melanic hair
he strokes his hand across heavy growth
beginnings of a Bohemian beard
he speaks in soothing dulcet tones

no formal theology
pursuing spontaneous
impetus
Paul's purist ideology
compels him to spend hours
weeks at a time
seeking new sounds
having developed an encyclopædic
knowledge of these and their respective cryptic
location
on one of several CD's
he can select a sound
from his available palette
no need to search for one to fit a concept
simply tweak for modulation

bringing up the sampler
on the computer
a red wave expands
like some seminal oscillator
finding the exact break-lines
separating individual sounds
up to ninety-nine times
the sample is fed
through a filter
then looped
a new sound created
not as sophisticated
as the board
modifying
tempo
pitch
tone
unacceptable
till perfectly honed

a click of the mouse
and on the computer screen
appears
a virtual Roland/808/909
recreating Acid House
the early rave scene
from back in time

a toilet-break beckons
Paul opens
his sound library
to me
where time is mensurable
in fractions
of seconds
perhaps
milliseconds
I pluck sounds
from the screen
particularly enjoying
thirteen and fourteen
there are spooky notes
ambient
sonorous
evanescent
cold
moody
resonant
noises
beats
harmonious
discordant
phrases

Paul had me listen to tracks
a few of his rare grooves
taken from stacks
of vinyl
rather than compact disk
revolving on the turn-table
at forty-five r.p.m.
on the valued record-player
sounds reminiscent
of 1970's Jean-Michel Jarre
ethereal synthesizers
ecclesiastical organs
journeying to some destination
I do not know
pulling me with them
voyaging with the flow
continuing my induction
an affective impressionism
snatches of Techno
Drum & Bass
House
World
and Jazz
space age
meets aboriginal
in elicited syncretism

in a computer concerto
checking for
cadence
phrasing
sonority
spiritual harmony
the expansion
of musicality
musical form
instrumentation
and technical ability
breath-taking creation
of new worlds
soundscapes
through originality
uniqueness
and perfection
the perpetual leitmotive
though
in the Paulo-post-future
a hemlock or Valerian potion
the suicidal motif
will end
with a fatal coda
Paul's ultimate
Neurotic Symphony
the sublime acme
of contemporary
musical techno-creativity

[Image description: Roland TR-808, courtesy Wikipedia]

A musician friend permitted me to watch him at the creative slog in order that I might write about it. It is my hope that this poem illuminates some of what goes into creating the recorded sounds we all often take so for granted.