Wedding Rondeau

This stubborn world conforms not with my will
and, for the vast majority, goes ill,
or worse than ill, goes catastrophically -
but in your seldom case, the world and I
totally independently fulfil
our almost always warring wishes: he’ll
rejoice, and so will I, when you distil
love from involvement. Love will mollify
this stubborn world.
In tropic-dreams the orchid-birds do thrill
about the warlike head - thornbill, spoonbill -
perplexing song, dazzling frivolity:
bewildered by love’s prodigality,
see, sleeping, like the giant under the hill,
this stubborn world.

The novelist Toby Litt wrote this poem for my husband David and I to celebrate our wedding day. I hope he won't mind me reproducing it here. It meant a lot to me at the time and still does. The opening line of the poem returned to me when I was thinking what I might entitle this blog. It seemed entirely fitting. Like Toby, I'm a novelist. Unlike Toby I've recently started coaching. I've felt a tension lately between my novelist self and my coaching self and I'm hoping I might unravel that tension in this blog. I guess I rebel against the earnestness of my coaching self and I need to reconcile myself to the fact that I don't need to be earnest in order to coach. Here's a place where I can rail against the stubborn world, but more than that, explore it, celebrate it (oh God, does that sound earnest?) Most of all, I want this to be a general arts blog. Though I write fiction, I find myself increasingly drawn towards other art forms and I don't want to limit myself to writing about writing and literature (or coaching for that matter, though doubtless all three will appear on these pages).

I've recently returned from a short trip to Barcelona. Having left the children at home with David I was free to explore the city with a friend who has a wonderful flat at the heart of the Gothic quarter, a stone's throw from the Picasso Museum (oh what friends...) I visited, for the first time, the Miro Museum, on a hill above the city, close to the Olympic village. Never had an angle on Miro before now; just didn't 'get' him. But something about seeing his development - how like Picasso he was an accomplished artist as an eight-year old - observing his progression through impressionism and surrealism, seeing how his development runs parallel to the nation's, indeed to that of Catalonia, I began to gain a sense of who he was and why he was important. As his work became more minimalist, he formed an almost hieroglyphic system of images that I found intensely beautiful even as I failed to fully understand (though I will, I will). There was something hypnotic about the images, especially the huge triptychs. I gained a sense, not only from Miro, but also from Gaudi, of what a 'body of work' means. Have been thinking a lot about the word 'vision', maybe because we use it a lot in coaching, but again I really 'got' what true vision is. What greater vision could there be than the Sagrada Familia? Gaudi was a visionary in the purest sense of the word. To be able to conceive of something that would not be realised in one's own lifetime; that the creation is greater than the man. If Miro's museum was on the hill, Gaudi's museum is the city itself. Is that an earnest thought? Possibly. But I think it's also true.

I bought Gijs van Hensbergen's biography of Gaudi whilst I was there, so hopefully I'll find further enlightenment as I read. I first visited the Sagrada Familia 18 years ago and so much had changed. I was a drama student then, inter-railing my way through Europe. All work had stopped, it was doubtful the project would be completed. It was wonderful to see the work continuing. To see culture and architecture so much at the heart of a city was immensely inspiring. We also visited an exhibition entitled 'Visons of Don Quixote', a display of paintings by Hogarth, Dore, Daumier, Picasso, Dali, Ponc, Matta and Saura. Every artwork was a depiction of a scene from Cervantes' novel. 123 artworks in all, inspired by a single novel. This time a writer who has come to represent a nation.

Great cathedrals inspire awe, make us feel small as human beings. The same could be said of great works of art. At the beginning of the Gaudi biography, van Hensbergen quotes George Bernard Shaw from 'Man and Superman'.

'The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.'

So, I will aim, perhaps, to adapt this stubborn world to myself. Who knows where that might lead me?

In the words of my blogging friend, Amanda Mann:

Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon...

Comments

[Amanda Mann]

Congratulations on your new blog, Jacqui, and Tag!. I'm very envious of your trip. One of my ambitions is to live in a Spanish city for a year, I'm not sure if I'd choose Barcelona or Madrid, haven't been to Madrid. A strange fact about Gaudi that always stays with me for some reason is that he got run over by a tram.

[genevieve]

Jacqui I heard about your life coaching initiative just the other night ( blasted if I can remember where exactly) and commend you for diversifying. You might be interested in the work of Stephanie Dowrick if you are finding you have tension between creative writing and coaching. She's written at least one novel, her tone in her self-help works ( which are numerous) veers clear of earnestness, I believe. Not that I know for a moment exactly HOW she achieves that...!! or that I think others should do it 'just like that'.

www.stephaniedowrick.com

Good luck with all your ventures, regards, Genevieve

[Jacqui Lofthouse]

Genevieve,

Thanks so much for your encouragement and the link to Stephanie Dowrick. Her site and work look fascinating and exactly up my street. At a glimpse, she seems to combine these two strands of work very well without compromising her seriousness, which is hugely inspiring. I look forward to familiarising myself with her site and your blog also. Incidentally it was through your blog that I discovered typepad (as Blogger wouldn't work on my ancient iMac). And I imagine you may have discovered me via Amanda Mann who first put me onto your site?

Not sure of the protocol of replying to comments yet - am I write to post here or should I be posting replies on your blog?

Thanks again, Jacqui

[genevieve]

Hi Jacqui, thanks for dropping by my space! It's really up to you where you choose to reply to people.
I do one of three things, either reply on the original post at my own blog, go to their blog and drop them a line, or email them if I am concerned they won't get the comment or might like to talk more. When I first started commenting on the litblogs I sometimes received emails from bloggers which was special - it's not a bad idea if you have the time and are trying to build traffic ( bit of work though!)

If I've posted comments on other people's blogs I sometimes drop back to see what they thought of it - depends really on how much talking I've been doing!
Some blogs have a 'do you want to receive further comments by email'box to tick (see www.thevalve.org) - that's quite a nifty thing, don't know how I'd manage if all blogs did it however.
Glad you like the sound of Stephanie, she is one of the better self-help writers IMHO.

[genevieve]

PS I meant to say too that Toby's poem is splendid, lucky you.