Vincent

[Intended for publication on July 29th]. On July 29th...1890...Vincent Willem van Gogh...painter...born on March 30th...1853...
in Groot-Zundert...Netherlands...died...in Auvers-sur-Oise...France. One hundred and fifteen years on...I remember how his
pictures connected with me...when I first saw them...many years ago. In them I saw...darkness and madness...and the
suffering of human beings...but I also saw the beauty and the life force...rising above that. His paintings had gotten through
to me before I knew anything about his life. Later...I found out that he had sold one painting in his life time...and that at
the age of thirty-seven...he had taken his own life. Through my own difficult times as an artist...he bacame a source of
inspiration...reminding me about how the ability to manipulate the media...or to create a phoney public persona...or to
cultivate people who will help to further your career...is not really what being an artist is about`...although these things have
been known to happen. Vincent...became an on-going reminder to me...of what it is to be an artist. I am not impressed by
the millions his pictures have sold for since his passing on... I know that is not about artist's work...I am instead...inspired by the pictures themselves...and how he kept his focus on making them...throughout his short life...surrounded by a sea of indifference...delivering on the one thing that makes someone an artist...and that is...doing artist's work...................Quester.

Poem: No Worries

When I start getting
worried about life...
I remind myself...
that jelly fish
has go no back bone...
crab's got his skeleton
wrapped around
his real self...
and walks sideways...
and they're not worried...
so why should I be..........?

Bicycle Riding Again!

As a teenager on the sometimes sweltering...always crowded streets of Georgetown...Guyana...it was an old three speed
"ticker" bicycle...that saved me from imploding from the reslessness I often felt. "Ticker"...because it made a ticking sound as you pedalled. If I remember correctly...the slow tick when you were in the highest of the gears...was supposed to be a mating call being sent out...but then again...there were many things that had that kind of significance...in that time of blazing
hormones. One of the most important trophies a bicycle bound male could muster...was having a lovely young woman
ensconsed sideways on the bar between saddle and handle...as you pushed relentlessly forward...destination unknown...
but available to be spotted by your peers...and looked upon as someone who finally seemed to be making hay. But I really
digress...these memories have been churned up by my having slipped out of the grey jaws of inertia...a little while ago...to
head out on my first ride on two wheels of the year. Despite all the daily exercise I do...I had fallen out of my bicycle riding
momentum and the months had flown by. It was a golden evening as I rode by...gardens with pink and red roses...daisies...
white...and the black eyed susan member of that clan...gorse...even deeper yellow in the evening light...grape vines and fig
trees in their prime...trees with coppery leaves that turned to dark flames when the sun was shining through them...and
many other manifestations of the "as good as it gets" part of the year on the West Coast. I'm happy to report that...despite my lack of practice...I was able to complete my ride...without once having to dismount when I hit one or two middling slopes...returning home...my legs and lungs well worked...a sweat on my brow...and memories of my teenage years...dancing in my head.................Quester.

Poem: Pacific

Ocean...
contradiction...
magnet to my soul...
Ocean and me...
we go back a long ways...
though never was on it
until I was thirteen...
was from it a bit before that...
Yes...somebody was right...
never mind the gobbled ships
of England and Spain...
and the Haida canoes
bottom up in mid-straight...
Pacific...you are my contradiction...
my salty healer...
my returning place...
Despite all the evidence
to the contrary...
I feel your peaceful heart...............

Wisdom On The Hoof

I remember telling a friend once that I didn't feel I had "wisdom on the hoof". My friend smiled. Don't know if it was in agreement...I would like to think it was the "quaintness of the phrase" that may have brought the smile. I mean by that
expression...quaint or not...that in the heat of any situation I'm in...it is often difficult for me to come up with a well thought
out response to what is being asked of me. Years ago...after singing at a benefit concert...I was asked to do another one for
the same cause...within a day or two...but twelve hundred miles away. Without reflecting on what it would entail...I agreed.
The next day I started my long journey there...by train...at my own expense. The experience turned out not to be a pleasant
one....all around. After that trip...I resolved...never to be caught like that again...making promises...without hesitation...to
sudden requests. Since then...any requests for my services of that kind or any other...have been met with a polite "I'll let you know in a day or two"...allowing me time to consult my "Inner Sage"...who is usually not available...when I'm caught reaching for..."Wisdom on the Hoof"...........................Quester.

"I Am A Sincere Man"

The song "Guantanamera",,,has a line that when translated from its original Spanish says..."I am a sincere man". Those are
words...as simple as they are...that have been like a beacon light for me in a world where there is ...too much insincerity...
hypocrisy,,,opportunism disguised as pleasantness...people manipulating others on their way up their ladder...posturing...
and down-right phoney-ness. Some people...in the name of "honesty"...go around hurting others with their words. That is not what I am advocating. I think...instead..negotiating this area of life with grace...with the feelings of others in mind...is preferable. I think we are likely to be forgiven...for any white lies we tell...to protect others. I think living as a sincere man or woman...reaches far beyond such situations...to a way of life where you mean what you say...live with "one face"...not two or more...using whichever one will bring you material gain or status...and over-all... in a way that comes from your authentic...rather than your false self. These are some of the ways lived...while actknowledging your imperfections...that can allow you to say to the world..."I am a sincere man...or woman"........................Quester.

Poem: Maraka-kore

Maraka-kore...
shakes his spell no more...
or sings of the Land above the Sky...
Guyana...they call you Land of Many Waters...
but Land of many Splinters and Shadows...
you'll always be to me...
For I have heard tell of Manarowa walking tall
and Amalwaca's hand writing high on the wide rock...
and all the schemes and plans for tomorrow...
and all the shiny highways
through the heart of the Land of my Fathers...
will not make me forget how things were...
before the assassin set foot on your green shores...
and turned your slowly spinning wheel
of Earth and Sky...
into a broken thing...
beside the brown Atlantic............

Poetry Festival...Choices

Read at the Summer Dream Reading Festival last night. Choosing what I was going to read...was...as it always is...the most
difficult part of the process...the reading itself...I usually find easy. You may have a library of material you have created...but
when you're doing one or two poems...all of that is not relevant...and you begin to feel what you choose to read...has got to be something that represents you well...and is likely to connect with your audience. Because of this...you feel at first...you
have to choose material you know has worked in the past. When you do that...of course...you are likely to choose the same
material...year in... year out...as you appear at readings. When I am doing a concert... singing...I have two security blankets
with me on stage...my guitar...and my singing. When I am reading...I don't have that to lean on...which tends to add
pressure to the choices you make about what you are going to read...to be ones that don't leave you in the lurch. Last night
the considerations just mentioned were processed. Where I came out...as I have before...was to tell myself that one or two
poems...when you've written many...will never define what you do...so don't put that burden on what you choose. Don't
become intense as you read...as if that will somehow improve the quality of the writing...and don't read in a way that is not
natural to you...either. With this councel in mind...I went up to the microphone...avoiding a preamble that might get me
bogged down...and started reading a poem about the first snow fall I ever experienced in Canada or anywhere. It worked.
Instead of trying to "knock them dead"...I had kept myself alive...one more time..................Quester.

Two Approaches To Time Passing

"In our culture...
we recommend hobbies and entertainments...
as what our older citizens should do...
bingo...knitting...lawn bowling...and the rest...
to keep them from brooding about what lies ahead.
The old artist...never retiring...
shakes off such limiting chains.
As always...what he is interested in...
is not the shallow killing of time...
before time kills you...
but the penetration of the veil of candy floss...
we place over existence...
even if it leads to...
looking into the muzzle...
of what is to come..........."
............................Quester.

Reminders From Journal Eleven

Today...I am glad that I started daily journalling at the same time I started making pictures...in earnest. Was just looking through Daily Journal 11 and it pointed up another important benefit of daily journalling...i.e. how years later...you can return
to one of your journals...and even at times...be blown away by evidence on its pages you had forgotten about...of an artist
with his mind on fire with creative ideas. Today...I needed to be exposed to this artist...who was me...eleven years ago...
reminding me of where I have been on my artist's journey...and where I still can go. The pages of journal 11...are bursting with sketches of...other worldly or earthy faces...shapes that swerve...dance...and inter-twine...with each other...what I
used to call "crypto-humanoid" entities...and archetypes from deep in my being...telling me about those who went before in
my lineage. There are names that I coined to describe different aspects of my picture making process or what I thought of
different schools of art...coming out of my self taught voyage...which used no manuals by past painters...to supply it with
terms and assessments...or approaches to picture making...for that matter. Terms like..."Clear Liners", "Splotchers", "Essence
Faces", "A Taut Equilibrium", "Painting Inside/Out", "Propaganda Art", "Power Flowers", Symmetry Boss", "Supportive
Complexity", "Dynamism In Secondary Areas", "Gristing", and "Hoax Art"...are some of the top of the page headings...for what I have to say on the pages below about various newly minted...approaches or descriptions...that have sign posted my painting journey. My mind has been much on writing...the last few months...accompanied by an amnesia about my other creative idioms. Today...I am thankful for the large reminder I have been given...about the places deep in me I have visited...and brought back souvenirs of my travels from. Today...I am thankful...that Journal 11 lives!......................Quester.

Remember

"Don't let the nasty things...
someone may say to you...or about you...
define you...
Remember...serene people
do not have any need...
to attack anyone...
and wish the one
who assaults you this way...
soon finds...his or her path...
to serenity.............."
................Quester.

Ears To Hear...Eyes To See

One night I was at a poetry gathering. Along with some of my poems...there were prints of some of my digital pictures before me. A woman poet sat down at my table and we started to chat. At one point I mentioned that the prints on the table were
of some of my digital pictures. The "fellow artist" glanced at them for about two seconds...then said..."Let me know if you
ever have an exhibition of them". As she said that...she didn't seem to realize that there was an exhibition of my pictures
right in front of her. What she said crystallized for me...something I'd been reflecting on. It is about how some people seem to confuse...an artist's created work...with an artist's appearances in places that feature artist's work...or how heavily an
"artist" is hyped. Over the years I've observed what seems to be a dependence...on cultural or commercial validation of
creations...for some to decide...what it is they like. We all have the potential to assess music and art that comes before us.
Sometimes... it seems...this potential remains unused...as people wait for commercial or other interests...to tell them whether
an artist's work is good or not...and whether they should see or hear it...having from lack of use...lost the ability...to make up
their own minds...about what they like or dislike. I am always appreciative...of the people who have on hearing my music...
asked for cd's...without having to wait for the top of the pop charts...or frenetic dj's...to tell them this is what they should do.
Apart from the personal encouragement it gives me...it also tells me...that some people have not given away their power to
outside forces...to tell them that they should by-pass what their ears and eyes tell them. For this...I am thankful...in a world
where hype and huckstering...tend to rule.....................Quester.

Poem: One Man's Cup Of Coffee

"El Conquistador"....
the large letters catch my eye
on a sign in front of the coffee place...
where the restless and the affluent go.
500 years after he did his thing...
bringing destruction in his wake...
and actually discovering nothing...
the man's picture with words...
gets prominent exposure
on a Vancouver sidewalk...
along with some words of appreciation...
"We thank Christopher Columbus
for discovering Costa Rica.
That's where our coffee buyers
discovered El Conquistador.
Subtly sweet with excellent body!"...
I walk on my way thinking how...
one man's conquistador...
is another man's cup of coffee..........

What You Bring To The Party

It would be easy to write about the weather today...summer having finally arrived on the weekend...with this morning blue
skied and warm...but enough. Although I had paid for a second day at the folk festival yesterday...I heeded a "nudge from the deep"...and didn't go. There may have been reasons like...having to face crowdedness...line ups...and a bit of "but I've heard
this stuff before"...but I think there was something else at work...that made me not return. I have often told the story of
forty people...at a party...who are all waiting for the "life of the party" to arrive...but are giving nothing to make the gathering come alive...and telling each other what a boring party it is. Yesterday...I felt that I might be like one of those
"party goers"...if I'd gone to the festival...for whatever reasons...in a lethargic mood...with not much vitalizing energy to give
to being there. That being the case...I felt I'd be better off...keeping my own company...until I gradually found my way back
to being an active contributor to "things festive". Tonight...I'm going to sing by the ocean...on what promises to be a lovely
summer evening. By then...I think...I should be ready again to give something to the situation I find myself in...and...in doing
so...become part of...an uplifting experience............................Quester.

Saturday At The Festival

The inter-play of wind...leaves...and sun light above me...dapple the green grass around me. Perhaps it is a commentary on my frame of mind...that I've actively sought shade...rather than singers at the local folk festival...up to now. I also find myself looking at the milky blue mountains across from Jericho Beach...rather than at the thousands around me...as I reach for a centering. I am...so far...experiencing a bit of "been there...heard that"...still not ignited by anything I've heard so far. Have met one familiar friendly face...to this point. Sometimes I think this is one of the main reasons why I come...to an event like this...i.e. to meet again ...people I haven't seen for a while...that...and people gathering peacefully under the sun to co-mingle. Although my ears exposed to much music over the years...do not catch fire easily...and I hear so much of what I've heard before...at these events...I know that all it will take to make me feel my little safari here was worthwhile...is to hear one singer...singing one song...that takes me flying off to places...where subtlety..fire...and beauty...reign. That...and the appearance before me of another familiar...funky or beautiful face...or two...will lift me out of...the "same old...same old" forest...threatening to enshroud me...on a lyrical West Coast afternoon...................Quester.

Don't Fool Yourself

I've been studying for a long time...the thoughtless things people say...that do not promote good communication. I know
someone who has the unfortunate habit...of often prefacing whatever else she is going to say...with the phrase..."Don't fool
yourself". Knowing her...I'm sure an intent to injure does not lie behind these words...but this phrase still qualifies as one of those counter-productive things people habitually say...not realizing the negative impact their little chestnut may have on others. You don't have to be a master of the English language or paranoid...to see that the phrase "Don't fool yourself"...
suggests strongly...that that's what the person being spoken to...or should I say "at"...has been doing...i.e.living life
dedicated to "fooling" him or her self. In addition to inferring that the "self fooler" is stupid...this misguided phrase suggests
that the dumbo in question...is about to receive a "bolt of illumination"...from the generous knower of what mere fools don't
know. All in all...this is one of the disastrous sets of words...that people have been known to say to others. The world would
be a better place without this phrase..."Don't fool yourself!"......................Quester.

When Skin And Sun Commune

[Today...the grey and the rain is back...so I'll post this...written yesterday...while the memory of the sun is still fresh].
I sit on the balcony on my floor...surrounded by oleander pink and hydranga mauve...with the sun beating down on my bare arms...as I try to collect my thoughts...and put some of them down. Sun on my skin...takes me back to my tropical
beginnings...where if there was a hole in the ozone layer... then...no-one knew about it...oleander and frangipani were never far away...and the sun fiercely coming down on me...as I walked to school...caused heat and innocence to combine...to
produce fantasies of distant places to the north...where it could never be as hot as where I found myself. In time...these day
dreams propelled me northwards...to the dark freezing depths and choking stagnant heat of Ontario...in different seasons...
then to the capricious comings and goings of the rain on the West Coast...which has made the coming of the sun a cause for
celebration. There is a special liberation that comes...when after having been in hiding under copious layers of clothing...for
a long time...your hungry skin is finally exposed...to meet the late blooming sun. Today...with the silver orb above me
unconcealed by clouds...sending its rays directly down on me...I am in communion with the sun...as I haven't been for a while
...and shoulders and bare arms exult in their direct contact with the bringer of light. But now...in the time it's taken to write this..my twenty minutes of grace from the dangeroud effects of ultra violet rays...has been used up..so...I'll just step back into my cucoon...indoors...knowing that the days of unlimited and worry free play...under the vitalizing and dream inducing...rays of the sun...are now...a golden...distant...memory....................Quester.

Poem: Nothing Whatever To Say

My question was a novel
and the man said "no"...
My question was an epic
and the man said "yes"...
My questions went on and on...
getting shorter and shorter
as time went by...
and the "no's" and the "yes's"
were wefted with the occasional "maybe"...
Being eager of mouth
and quick of tongue myself...
I marvelled at the man's self control
and envied him his dignity...
it never struck me until now...
That maybe...the man...
just had nothing whatever to say.....!

At Home In The Silence

I've often noticed...over the years...how some people...when they are around other people who are not saying anything...feel
compelled to fill the air with words. It is as if the silence has unsettled them...and they are trying to calm themselves with
the uttering of words...whether they make sense or are in some way appropriate to the occasion. Of course...the silence of
others in your presence...can sometimes be used as a weapon. I remember my high school head master...doing just that...as
I appeared in his office to receive my dose of corporal punishment via the dreaded "ferula"...which was... if I remember correctly...a thin piece of flexible steel sandwiched between two thick pieces of leather. He would hear me arriving...but would keep his head down...as he scribbled on a pad...for what felt to me like the longest time...before he looked up sternly to actknowledge that I had arrived. The tenseness of the situation was added to by his punishing silence...and it was all I could do not to be triggered...as he remained quiet...into launching into a confession of a litany of real or imagined misdeeds...other than the one I was about to be physically punished for. That was probably one of the first times...when I had to discipline myself to be silent...when words were welling up in me...pressing me to vocalize them. Years after this school boy experience...it was in the company of my Native brothers and sisters of Canada...who knew how to "keep the silence" when they had nothing to say...that my education about not uttering unnecessary words because others around me were quiet...was rounded out. From that era...my education in this area of my life continued...and these days I know...that in the company of others...when there is nothing to say...if I am located at my centre...I too can be..."at home in the silence"...........Quester.

No Regrets.........?

Years ago...I remember listening to Edith Piaff sing a song... which was saying "I regret nothing"...referring to the way the writer of the song had lived life. Even back then...when I didn't know what I know now about how unlikely it is...for an imperfect human being to deliver on living life perfectly...this notion of "no regrets" from a life lived...tweaked my interest. What lies behind a statement like that...by someone who has already lived much of his or her life?. Perhaps...it might be the putting forward of a cavalier image of one's self...as someone who has lived life "to the hilt"...which may not necessarily jibe with...how that person really feels...lying awake at three in the morning. Perhaps...it is a statement of defiance...in the face of the curves life can throw at you...or the messes you can make for yourself. Perhaps...it comes from a total acceptance of human imperfection...including your own...and all the judgement calls you made in dealing with the pressures and temptations of daily life. Perhaps...some...or all of the preceeding...and more...is what the "Little Sparrow" meant...when she stood...unbowed...and sang to the world..."I regret nothing"......................Quester.

Time Writes Upon Your Hopeful Face

A line from a song of mine says..."And time writes upon your hopeful face...peace be with you". The song was about our common ground as human beings...and our vulnerabilities as "born to dance then die" creatures. When I see people again...
I haven't seen for a while...I am often struck by how time has written on their faces. The other day I had occasion to look at
some videos of myself singing...in different eras. I don't often look at videos of myself singing...as I know where it can take me. When you look at yourself singing in your present era...you are likely to be hyper-critical...or occasionally...get an ego
boost from it...but the feelings don't tend to go beyond that. When you are looking at yourself in long gone days...it can at times...become painful...as you recognise...without going to look in the mirror...that time has certainly written on your own
face...and that...in some ways...this is a different person you're looking at...from the present one...that is you. You remember people who were in your life...then ...who are no longer around. You look at yourself too...as this being who was oblivious then...of what you know now...was to follow. Yes...there are a lot of feelings that flicker through you at a time like this...some nostalgic...some regretful. You let them move through you...then remind yourself...yes...time has certainly written on your face...and more...but despite all that...you are still standing.......................Quester.

An Artist's Freedom

The other day I was reading a poem I'd written years ago...that listed many situations in life...where "political correctness"
did not come to my aid. Among the examples listed...was being sleepless at three in the morning...and having to find some way of enduring through it...without people who you marched or sang in solidarity with...coming to your rescue. The over-all
point of the poem was that so much of life happens...without the benefit...or sometimes...imprisonment of political
correctness. Years ago...I made a song album that was hard edged and touched on different areas of people being oppressed. This album was embraced by a lot of "progressive" people. A year or two later...I made an album about human
beings...in general...and not specifically tied to the causes represented on the previous album. One of the "progressives" who
had applauded the hard edged album...was critical of my gentler songs in the follow-up record. He...not being an
artist himself...did not realize...that I was not a propagandist...doomed to write about the same slice of being human...
predictably...over and over again...and that I was simply following the nudges of my authentic self...to probe as many aspects
of being human...in my work as an artist...outside of past or present prisons...even the one of always having to be
"politically correct"...while I left the larger story of what it is to be human...alone............................Quester.

Siwash Rock

In Vancouver, if you walk along the sea wall path, by the shores of English Bay, past Third Beach, you will come close to a
tall, uneven edged pillar of rock, rising out of the water, called Siwash Rock. The other day, I went with a much travelled
visiting friend, with this intriguing natural formation, as the outer destination of our afternoon walk. I paused when we were
about thirty meters away, to show her how this rock, from that distance. looks like a Native elder, with a blanket over his
or her shoulders, looking out towards the sea, with even the subtle touch of a small rounded tree, growing out of the back
of his or her hair, like a tuft of decorative or ceremonial feathers. Closer, we looked at the plaque on the sea wall, across from this mysterious rock. It mentioned how Skalsh, a Squawmish hero, was turned to Siwash Rock, as a reward for his
great unselfishness, in the service of his people. I mentioned to my friend, how being transformed into stone, is regarded as
a high honour in the stories of the Squawmish people, and how it was diametrically opposite to the European concept, where
being turned into stone, was a punishment and not an honouring. You can make what you will of this difference in outlook,
but one thing I do see about the Squawmish way, is that it makes utter natural sense, on this Earth, where flora, fauna and
flesh and blood folk, live their short lives then disappear. It is memorials, carved out of stone, either mysteriously or by
human effort, that go on and on, standing through the relentless forward flowing, of the unforgiving River of Time...............
Quester.

Rainy Day Response

Today...the grey cloud cover is low and close...removing the mountains and water from my view. My windows are pock
marked with rain drops. This kind of day does not lift spirits the way a sunny and blue skied day can...as everybody knows.
Over the years I've tried to turn negatives in my life into positives. These grey, wet days, have continued to be a challenge,
and although I love the West Coast, I have to admit there are a lot of them, out here, even sometimes in July. Still...there
is good to be found in rainy days...if you want to find it. I have found that the sun shining in a clear blue sky...can sometimes
become a pied piper to me...leading me away from projects I had meant to work on...until it happened to show its cheerful
face. Grey days...however...remove any such calls...to go forth and fritter away the day. They are days that are perfect for
"digging into" your work...with nothing nudging you to desert what you were meaning to do. Today...even though it's never
easy...that's the notion I'm going to hang on to...rather than let the grey engulf me...as it easily could. Starting with this
posting...I will do what I have to do...reminding myself that right now the sun is still shining...only...it happens to be doing so
...on the other side of the rain clouds hovering thick above my head...and that...sooner or later...they too will vanish.............
Quester.

A Measure Of Freedom

We human beings long for freedom...freedom from...freedom to...the hankering persists. Of course, we can never be totally
free to do whatever we please, given there are others to consider...and this at times...will curtail our own wishes. As a young
adult I set out to liberate myself...from whatever chains...colonial or otherwise...were put upon me as a defenceless child. It
has been a long journey and it is still going on...as I have reached for my piece of freedom...in this life. It is in my creative
work...that I've carved for myself...a place where I am free...not allowing market forces...the artist stereotype others may
want me to maintain to suit their tastes...or notions abroad in the land about what an artist should create...to influence my
creations. Those limitations do not belong in this "territory of freedom". And so...having reclaimed the proprietorship of my
mind from its early prisons...my songs, poems, pictures, and pieces of prose...continue...marking out one of the central
places...where I have won for myself...a "measure of freedom".........................Quester.

Poem: Somewhere In My Distances

Somewhere in my distances...
equatorial waters lull me
as I reach for an icicle point
to write on the grey sky...
My soul hangs diffuse...
over the temporarily pink trees
... charcoal and cocoa coloured roof tops...
Mind girding I grope
for the spark in the grey
I have said for so long
is always available...
My sunny day words
ripple around my shrouded head
reminding me how like quick silver
we dreamers are...
running here then there
when the sun shines...
but saving nothing...
for a rainy day............

Reading Poetry

I am fortunate to be able to read poetry, at some performances, and sing, accompanying myself on the guitar, at others, or
on some occasions, combining the two. Doing poetry readings I've found to be the easiest of these choices. I don't have to lug a guitar, to the venue involved, and most of all, I don't have to "get myself up" to read. All I need to do is to take some material with me, and just before I go on stage, make a final choice of what I'm going to read. After a few years of "reading" poetry, you hopefully learn to naturally interpret your material, as you read it. My personal preference, in the reading of others, providing the material is any good, is being "given the straight goods" by the reader. That is to say, being read to in a way that does not over dramatise the material, but allows it to "speak for itself", with some "natural" interpretation and force behind it. I've often heard other approaches to reading poetry, that I'm not crazy about, like hearing people go "Shakespearean", syrupy, pompous, or rave as they read. I think if the material is well written, and has something to say, that is what you go with, rather than with an over blown interpretation, push to give it, what it does not naturally possess. After singing and accompanying myself, for years, I find reading poetry or prose, to be a much easier proposition. With reading, there is much less that can go wrong. With singing, there is more that you have to sustain. You have to make sure you voice doesn't break, as you hit high or low notes...you have to play the right chords on the guitar and remember the song words...and be warmed up so that your voice is working, when you get on stage. Something that may escape the notice of
those who do not themselves sing...is that when you sing, on stage, you can't allow yourself to cough...when you read poetry...you can...then excuse yourself...and go on...just like all those people in audiences...who have a habit of coughing...when you sing.....................Quester.

Morning Calypso

There is low, grey, cloud cover over Vancouver, this morning in July. Sparrow sings a calypso on the speaker above my head,
in the morning coffee place. As a teenager in Georgetown, Guyana, I did my share of "jumping up", to calypsonian and band
rollicking their way through some sassy song. No question, calypsos were part of my roots music. These songs were usually topical... often humourous and bawdy... and no doubt... still are. Above all..their "take no prisoners" beat...propelled me and my mates...to jump to our feet and move. Despite my enthusiasm for this music...back then...and the occasional
calypso-like song I have written...I always knew..."man doesn't live on calypso alone". It was the languorous and poignant Latin American songs...with their sinuous rythms...I heard as a youngster...that I was and still am most deeply rooted in. For me...they penetrated to a deeper layer of our human condition...than calypsos ever could...to where loss...regret...and all of the tributaries that flow out of...the "born to dance then die" aspect of being human...were to be found. On my journey as a
song-writer and student of life...it is those layers I find myself returning to...to probe...again and again. However...for a few
moments this morning...Sparrow took me back...to a time when rythm and insouciance ruled...and took away...the thick...
grey clouds...pressing down on me...as if I have never known...what it is...to dance in the sun.................Quester.

Moon View

"In 1969...I saw a picture...like no other picture
I had ever seen...the view of "Earth Rise"...
taken from the moon.
It moved me deeply...
as it must have...
millions of other people.
I think this view of Earth...
and the understanding
of our fragility and common ground...
it should hopefully bring...
should require all of our leaders...
to go to the moon..........."
Quester.

Overcoming Inertia

I sit at my glass table, pen in hand and blank page before me, waiting to write about something still unknown. The piles of
previous writing on the table before me, stacks of note books and shelves of daily journals, boxes of cassette tapes of my songs, the paintings hanging on my walls and stacked in another room, tell me that somehow, I've broken the spell of inertia,
many times before. Today, all of that, does not produce my next posting or poem. I am on my own each time I return to the
poised pen and blank page place. Every time I see a beautiful painting, or hear an inspiring song, by an artist other that myself, I think of how close he or she may have come, to going to the pub instead, or escaping in some way, from having to face the blank canvas or page before him or her. Inertia does not work in mysterious ways...it simply tells you every time you are about to create something...leave this alone...its too much trouble...have a nap or a walk...or anything other than what you were hoping to do. The other day I met a painter who I hadn't seen for a long time. I know that in the past he painted beautifully...but for some years now...it seems he has had difficulty motivating himself to paint again. I told him about my battles with inertia...and how sometimes I just start in...not knowing where it will lead...not attempting to create a masterpiece...but doing the equivalent of turning on a tap that hasn't been used for a while...and accepting that water full of rust will likely come out at first...but how...with a little luck the exercise might eventually get you out of being stalled in doing your thing. Writing this piece today...has proven once again that...that approach can work...if you stay in front of your page or canvas long enough...to find a way... to simply "start in".......................Quester.

A Maker Of Walking Sticks

Last night I worked to remove a grey residue, on part of a walking stick, that I had made out of a fallen branch, found
between First and Second Beach, on the shores of English Bay. I am happy to say, this stick is now streamlined, with only the
rich dark brown colour of its bark...purposely left on...showing...and its grey vanished at last. I like the way this stick feels
in my hand...not too light...not too heavy...not too short...not too long...but just right. You want a walking stick to look good...but how it feels in your hand...that for me is central to what makes a good one. Carrying such a stick in my hand...
became a habit...as I became an avid walker...when I moved to the West Coast...with its many walking trails...some by
beautiful vistas of ocean and mountains. Carrying a walking stick...has nothing to do with my sporting a handle bar
moustache or a bowler hat...for me...it is something organic and ancient...a human being out walking with a stick...as if it were a natural extension of his hand. Far from the halls of fashion...millions across the world...from tribesman to villager
have done so... through the ages...following a kind of tactile and kinesthetic logic...as their sticks twirl in the air or touch the
ground...while their feet keep walking. For me... carrying a walking stick in my hand...gives me a purposeful feeling...and
helps me to celebrate my frequent walks. When I became a walker...I was already a maker of songs and poems...never
dreaming that my walking would take me to one of its natural progressions...which was to become...a maker of walking
sticks.....................Quester.