Winter calm

Pitt Meadows, B.C., Canada.

© Copyright photograph by Viktoria Iakovleva, February 2009

Sir Francis Drake

Shortly after it first came out, I bought a copy of the hardcover edition of the The Secret Voyage of Sir Francis Drake, 1577–1580 by Samuel Bawlf, published by Douglas & McIntyre, 2003.

I read some passages twice, carefully following the writer’s reasoning, trying to keep an open and critical mind. In my amateur opinion, I buy into Sam Bawlf’s theory. It is a controversial subject. After reading today’s article in The Vancouver Sun, I am even more solidly convinced it is possible that, in fact, Sir Francis Drake was here, well before Captain James Cook, arriving in the New World even before Samuel Champlain.

Sam Bawlf is a former MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly) and cabinet minister in the Social Credit party here in B.C. Read the review that appeared in Geist 53, Summer 2004. Also, visit the website, “The Drake Exploration Society”.

Some renowned historians agree with Bawlf, others do not, and there is even an allegation of plagiarism floating around on the web. In time, others will surely expand on this thesis or attempt to prove it wrong. It is not the last we will hear of this interesting chapter of our West Coast history. I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys explorers and history.

“Der Spinner”

Through the years, when I travel into Hamburg—hitchhiking from Münster the A1 Autobahn and the A7 and it’s Köhlbrandbrücke (bridge) across the Elbe from the south; the ICE train from Berlin or the regional from Wittenberge (my paternal uncle lives across the river in Höhbeck-Brünkendorf, Landkreis Lüchow-Dannenberg, Niedersachsen); the S-Bahn or the U-Bahn—there’s always one particular song that resurfaces in my head. It’s Nina Hagen performing “Der Spinner” from her eponymous 1978 album, Nina Hagen Band.

Ich lauf’n Bahnsteig lang und weiss nich’
Ob ich hier weg fahr’ oder was
Ej, guck mal, da kommt’n Schnellzug und fährt weiter
’N Bulle von der Bahn taucht auf

Ich halt den Brief in meiner Hand fest
Da steht, du fühlst dich tot wie Stein

Und das du dir jetzt’n Wald suchst
Um dir im Mos’n Bett zu bau’n
Dein Riesen Saxophon ist natürlich auch da
Und Flöten, Flöten soll’n auf der Wiese wachsen

Die alte Frau bezahlt mit Kleingeld
Wir warten auf den nächsten Zug

Ich frag die Alte, wo der Wald is’
Sie sagt „Mein Udo is’ schon lange tot”

In meiner Tasche klebt’n Bonbon
Wir steigen in unser’n Zug

Bei Wertheim gab es Salamander
Ich bring dir einen mit ins Moos

Als ich in Hamburg aus’m Zug steig
Lauf ich durch Strassen bis zur Elbe hin
Down To The River

Da seh’ ich dich am Ufer steh’n
Ich fass dich an und so, du hörst nichts
Du sagst, du musst zum andern Ufer
Die Fähre fährt am nächsten Tag

Ich dachte, dass du tief im Wald wohnst
Ich wusste nichts von deinen Ufern

Composed: Herwig Mitteregger, Nina Hagen; Edition Spliff/CBS Songs Musikverlag GmbH

Check out Nina Hagen, “Der Spinner” (Rockpalast, 1978) on YouTube. Rockpalast is a German music television show, broadcasting live since 1974 on the German television station WDR (Westdeutscher Rundfunk).

“You”

You will not wonder
You will never imagine
You will not speak out
You will never create
If you are not true
To yourself and to the world.

You live for the future
If you live in the present
If you remember the past
Only staying or going
At every perfect moment.

For the future you will live
A life that will matter
If in the present
You wonder you imagine
You speak out you create.

If nothing changes
You can only look at yourself
If everything changes
You can look at yourself
Unless you change
You do not change.

Stephan Alexander Scharnberg, March 2003

Life and love

Sunday night I finished a great novel by Erich Maria Remarque, he of the famous novel about World War One, All Quiet on the Western Front. Well, this one I had not heard of previously.

Two weeks ago, on a mental health day off, I was walking the local streets including Fraser between E. 41st and E. 49th in South Vancouver. I stopped in at the MCC (Mennonite Central Committee) thrift store. From time to time I love to browse there. They usually have a revolving stock of German books, and a decent selection of English-language books. The prices are hard to match. In comparison, Value Village has become quite a bit pricier in recent years. Sometimes I manage to find a gem or two in literature, coffee table, and travel books. That’s where I found a copy of Arch of Triumph (third edition published in 1948 by The National Book Association/Hutchinson & Co.), and only 50 cents—can you believe it?! My copy is a little time-worn and slightly dog eared on the simple blue hardcover, but no scribblings or names inked or pencilled inside. I generally don’t like my books to have scribblings in them, unless, of course, it is simply an autograph (without some message) by the author. I know, I’m rather picky with my books.

What a wonderful novel—one of those books you just can’t put down, or with great difficulty and impatiently waiting for the next opportunity to continue. The story is about life in Paris in the two years leading up to World War Two, the refugees living a stateless life in France (no papers, no passports, worried about the police arresting them and sending them off to the Swiss, German, Belgian, or Spanish border), and, most importantly, about love. The main characters are Ravic, a German refugee physician, and Joan Madou, an actress. Ravic is clearly opposed to the Nazis. And there is a host of other characters including Dr. Veber, the head nurse, Dr. Durant, Haake (Gestapo), Marasow, Madame (brothel owner), Rolande, various refugees and hospital patients, and prostitutes, taxi drivers, and those working in and patronizing bars, restaurants, and night clubs.

The novel is very well written, with subtle feeling and understanding, full of emotion, the characters wonderfully described, scene and geographical descriptions that left me imagining as being present in the story, and great dialogue—it’s just as good as his other one I mention above. Too bad it does not appear to be better known. This is possibly because All Quiet on the Western Front seems to have overshadowed anything else he wrote. Remarque complained about this at times.

The German original appeared in 1946, titled Arc de Triomphe. Erich Maria Remarque seems to have lead a rather interesting life. One little sentence really stood out for me—the reason for this post. Let me quote near the bottom of page 149:

“One is old only when one no longer feels. [...] No. When one no longer loves.”

This connects with some of the underlying and somewhat unconscious reasons behind my blog, hence the title “Love of life, life of love.” I did not coin this. Years ago I once read this on a bumper sticker somewhere here in Vancouver.

We all know how love or the lack of love deeply defines our lives. Interwoven with this is that Man is happy if he lives with deep inner conviction, solid as granite; adrift on the ocean of life if he lacks conviction. And, core to love are the people around us, the people in our lives. We know that babies not held in infancy—children deprived of human physical contact—warm, loving, caring—grow up lacking love, possibly unable to give it as deep within their soul they do not know what it feels like, but yet, sensing they are missing some key to their life. Is this the root of sociopathy and psychopathy, or of life-long drug addiction such as crystal meth or crack cocaine, to name the worst? And, what about those who retreat from life as hermits, or possibly the homeless? We are still a long way from being a truly caring society as these problems are rampant and growing in our post-industrial, cold, anti-human world.

Quoting Henry Alonzo Myers:

“[Friends, companions, lovers, are those who treat us in terms of our unlimited worth to ourselves.] They are closest to us who best understand what life means to us, who feel for us as we feel for ourselves, who are bound to us in triumph and disaster, who break the spell of our loneliness.”

Here I am really just barely touching on a vastly complex subject, trying to quickly shine a little light on a few key thoughts and ideas. I could expand on this in much greater detail, at much greater length. May this be a little grist for your mills, for your hearts and minds.

Life decisions

Saturday evening the wife and I went to see the film Revolutionary Road at SilverCity Riverport in Richmond, B.C. This is the movie starring Kate Winslet (!) and the wimp-wuss-whiner Leonardo DiCaprio. People in the business say they work well together, having already paired up in Titanic. I have to agree.

This movie is based on the novel of the same name, Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates in 1961, his first novel.

This was not a movie destined for my top-50 list, but it was quite good (despite Leo). What really spoke to me were the elements and themes present in this story. It is the tale of a married couple in which not all is as it seems—the outer appearances of a good relationship and a good marriage merely a misleading façade. Several thoughts came to mind:

If I deny my dreams, suppress them, it shall be to my own long-term detriment. If I settle too easily for second-best, for a dull life, for a middle-of-the-road existence—am I tired, weary, lacking inner will and drive, scared, fearful of the unknown, not knowing what I want, having no understanding (even small) of my true self?

Follow your dreams when young, when old, at any age; pursue what stirs the depths of your soul; walk your own path; do not act according to others’ criticisms of your life; do not bend to the shadows of their fears.

If I settle for an unsatisfying career, vocation, or job; if I settle for just something, for just anything, I deny my true self, my higher self, feeding the shadow self, the other, my doppelgänger.

Did I marry someone I do not really love, did not love in the first rendezvous? The spark has to be present already at the very start of two paths crossing, meeting. The first minutes, the first date is telling of all and any of a future with that particular person. Do not form a relationship, do not marry someone, out of pity, out of a pity-filled desire to help that someone obtain something solely for them, or, help them in a compromising or unsatisfactory situation, dilemma, or circumstance, if it is to your own detriment. Do not expect children to fill the void—they need healthy, heartfelt commitment, by healthy, passionate parents. Sometimes I am teetering on the edge of separation and divorce.

The results can be: stagnancy, hopelessness, giving up, selling out, selling your soul, selling yourself, adultery, anger, bitter resentment, depression, unwanted children, trapped in the norms of society. A rupture in personal growth, stuck at some level of immaturity, is conceivable. The growing emptiness, the deep loneliness, could be fuelled and yet also drowned by addictions (alcohol, drugs, smoking, gambling, soulless sex, violence, crime, abuse of power and freedom and responsibility). Population is at an all-time high, yet loneliness is the signature of our times.

Only we can help ourselves. Of course, we can all use the heart-based support and empathy of friends, family, co-workers, strangers. But we do not need co-dependent pity or sympathy. Sympathy is NOT empathy. Antipathy and sympathy are polarities, empathy is the true way, the third path.

I am no exception. I too have lived in those realities, and still do. I have made many mistakes in the realm of relationships; I have settled for the easier choices, ignored and denied my abilities and passions. But I have also had warm, wonderful relationships, seen and experienced much that feeds my soul, builds my spirit. I have also pursued and currently pursue that which gives meaning to my life. Every day I get up willingly, no matter how tired, ready to face the new day, try again, battle forward, reach for the sky, all the while trying to live life to the fullest no matter how much I threaten to stifle myself, deny my true self, suppress who I really am. “Onward, Christian soldier” sings within me. I strive to love life, live a life of love, in my imperfect way.

Go to Paris! Go to Patagonia, India, Vietnam! Leave that job that feeds the bank account but leaves you empty inside. Do not rush headlong into a relationship until you have cultivated a friendship first. You need to allow time for the seed to become the rich green and the bright, scented flower; to discover some hint, some essence of the other. Then you can seek a deeper commitment if you desire.

We left the movie, two young women behind us. One said to the other: “Now I’m a little scared of getting married. I’m a little frightened.” She sounded serious.

Beautiful black women

There are a few black women I admire for their beauty and talent. I already mentioned Mia Amber Davis and Measha Brueggergosman previously, but also:

Nina Simone was a talented, exotic black American beauty. Jill Scott is big and beautiful. Her honeyed voice is enough to melt me like gelato in the heat of summer. And, Oleta Adams is another beauty with a golden voice (with the 1980s group Tears for Fears, and as solo artist in her own right, especially on her critically acclaimed album Circle of One).

Britannia Writers Group

As my peer writer and blogger already posted on her blog, Karyn’s View, Saturday we had our three-year anniversary of the founding of the Britannia Writers Group. We were all present. After reading several short stories and contest entries, and productively critiquing these, we enjoyed a delicious potluck lunch, fine white and red wine, coffee, tea, and laughter at Karyn’s apartment. She has an awesome view of downtown Vancouver and the North Shore mountains.

To repeat more or less what was already said on the other blog: We are not only creative writers, but we inspire each other, and encourage one another to write. Some of us have submitted to various writing contests, newspapers, magazines, and Stuart McLean’s Vinyl Cafe on CBC Radio. One of us has had a submission printed in The Globe and Mail. Between the seven of us, we have our pens and fingers in oral story telling, short stories, poetry, articles, novels, travel writing, and blogs. Some of us are aiming at getting published. But we all write because we enjoy it for what it is.

Our journey together started when we participated in an eight-week creative writing course, September to December 2005, offered through the Vancouver School Board. We had a wonderful teacher, Anne Rayvals.

© Copyright photograph by Britannia Writers Group, January 2009