Powysian walking #2

Walking Dorset’s Purbeck Hills was a commonplace activity for the Powys family, just part of the ordinary daily routines for those who lived in that part of the countryside and their visitors. Powys essays and diaries are filled with reminiscences of recreational jaunts over fields to the cliffs, following narrow fox-paths over dewy meadows in the mornings, the soaring flights of sea-birds that greeted them; the nights they would climb hills to make a moonlight vigil over a frosty landscape.

For anyone who’s walked the coastal paths between Lulworth Cove and Weymouth, or taken any of the routes inland across the ridges of hills into East Chaldon, there’s something’s remarkable missing from these accounts. Many of these ancient pathways are vertiginous, and to follow any of them for any real distance takes a monstrous effort. At any time of the year there will be lean athletic types jogging their way from one peak to the next, sometimes squaddies set a yomping challenge – but for the average walker it can be brutal. Summer or winter the challenge is the same. 

There’s nothing disingenuous about the family accounts of epic walks over the Purbecks, not an iota of false modesty. John Cowper Powys was open about his dislike for the attitudes among competitive, health-fad walkers of the 1920s and 30s. The point is that John and his brothers and sisters were perhaps a different physical breed to ourselves, more accepting of physical discomfort, more weather-stained, more robust. We’re used to easy comforts and instant treats, a modern ability to avoid the petty inconveniences of the material world. The resilience to the Purbecks – something earthy, salt-crusted and blistered – is translated, I think, into John’s writing, and into a simple principle that Powys readers know very well. Substantial effort, even angst, is repaid by what’s seen and experienced over the course of the journey.

A New Year

Tuesday 1 January 1935 (written while living in the top floor of a house on Dorchester’s High Street):

“Up at 8. Lit fires took tea to the T.T. Found her in splendid Good Spirits telling of how she put head out of window and saw…young people in evening dress & heard them bid each other Happy New Year in such crystal-clear voices…And she came & opened the Attic window so that I could hear the Fordington Bells that except for Maiden Castle thrill me most of all things in this town. And so I heard them, ringing wild & free out of the darkness…At 4.30 the Black & I got his licence at the Post Office & set out to within half a mile of Maiden Castle. We both walked on air – we were both so thrilled. Why does Maiden Castle thrill me so?”

[From Petrushka and the Dancer: The Diaries of John Cowper Powys 1929-1939]

 

Wisdom from the couch

Tuesday 25 December 1934:

“As I lay on my couch yesterday before tea watching the T.T. hang up her Wreaths & Major Stanley’s Holly she said she wondered why I looked on without helping in this task & why I had helped her so little over all her Xmas activities! This question nonplussed me totally. It is odd how little we know! But I suppose I behave as my Father used to do at Montacute – watching all our activities with benevolent but detached interest.”

Endlessly fascinating author. No use whatsoever around the house at Christmas.

Keith’s Companions

Powys’s modus operandi was wild and woolly. He was blown this way and that by inspiration, quirks and curiosities, able to dip into some seemingly bottomless pockets of literary knowledge, including Biblical learning and Classical works. 

W. J. Keith’s Reader’s Companions offer something of a port in a storm. To the eccentric world of Powysland he brought a clear head and a willingness to pay attention to fine detail, to explicate each obscure reference, old-fashioned phrasings, Welsh mythology and Latin terms. 

The latest Powys Society Newsletter includes tributes to Bill Keith (1934-2018) who sadly died in the summer. It’s another much-valued champion lost – not just in terms of the Companions, the introductory guides to Glastonbury Romance and Owen Glendower, but also his unerringly thoughtful and readable contributions to the Society’s Journal.

Keith’s Companions for A Glastonbury Romance, Owen Glendower, Porius and Autobiography are available in pdf format, or to order bound, printed copies via the excellent bilingual La Lettre Powysienne site.  

The Family Christmas

John’s brother Llewelyn’s descriptions of the Powys family Christmas can be magical: old traditions lit with a fireside glow; the contrast with the austere rural landscape.

“The celebrations had their beginning on Christmas Eve with the decorating of the horns in the hall and the pictures in the dining room. All the day long my brother and I [not John, who was 12 years older than Llewelyn, but Bertie] would have been busy collecting in two large baker’s baskets, moss and fir branches for the church and holly and mistletoe for our own home…

“At midnight, with the appearance of the carol singers, the real Christmas celebrations would begin. The men – masons, farm labourers, quarrymen and gardeners – would stand with their lanterns outside the front door to sing ‘Joy to the World’…At the first notes of the concertina, flute and harmonium sounding along the dark rambling passage, we children would hasten to the dining room, and collecting on the sofa, wrapped in dressing gowns and blankets, would peer out into the darkness…How strange it was to look out upon the drive, with the tennis lawn obscurely visible beyond the wicker-work fence, and to hear the ancient strains redolent of man’s desperate hopes, rise up from the secure Victorian garden into the sky, into eternity!”

(Christmas Lore and Legend, Yuletide Essays by Llewelyn Powys)

Encountering Powys #1

Powys really does confound the literary critics. Which box do you place him in? Memorably described as a “leviathan who laughs at the critics modest rod and line”, Powys hits you with his ability to evoke the coarse and the sublime, the mystical and the mundane. He can change the way you look at an ancient stone or a sweeping landscape, a blade of grass or a blackbird. He can stop you in your tracks. I love the guy. He can be as close to bad and good and over the top as every human being. He writhes about in prose that can seem clotted and then transparent. He is often intensely ‘wonder-full’. He has a grasp of human frailties that makes Tolstoy’s preachings seem superficial.

He erupted into my life with a huge impact; I was in a London bookshop, in 1964, and there was a new Penguin Modern Classic, Wolf Solent, with a splendid cover painting by Paul Nash. I began reading it in the shop and I have never been so instantly grabbed. Powys has never left me since that man on the Waterloo steps, and the solo journey he makes in the railway carriage to Dorset. A fly walks across a railway picture; this evokes another layer of memory. Yes, compartments on trains had pictures to look at, under glass. They might be photographs or paintings. And that Wolf Solent journey took me to Glastonbury Romance, Maiden Castle, Porius, Rodmoor, Weymouth Sands, Wood And Stone and Owen Glendower. He is truly enigmatic, almost other worldly rather than un-worldly. From a grain of sand to the Milky Way, the reader can look over this man’s shoulder and sense what he is writing and where his imagination will take us. Porius is essential; it is a fairytale with a profound message for anyone who catches on. Is it his masterpiece? I don’t care. But it is the best illustration of that historical essence; the idea that before we existed was a stream of consciousness that occupied the same forest that we now walk through. And it’s every bit as muddled as it ever was.

While acknowledging he is a such a loveable obsessive nutcase, I am entirely willing to take him on completely; although I’m talking about his books, rather than the ‘first cause’ spiritual stuff. A Glastonbury Romance is a classic example of the ‘flawed masterpiece’. It is strung out to the point, almost, of irritation; it has elements of mumbo-jumbo in the Johnny Geard character, but that same Johnny is wonderfully convincing and believable. Certainly it drags this reader on because it is peppered with wild and wonderful passages of inspiration and imagination, of the celebration of language. Love him or hate him, all his novels contain rich, complex characters and glorious writing. And I certainly do love him, with his whole heart, his acceptance of human life in the spirit of ‘absolutely undogmatic ignorance’. That’s his philosophy in brief form. Wolf Solent might well be my favourite single entertainment of Powys, but Glastonbury Romance is damn close to being my number one as well. It is just a bit too huge and untidy a sprawl compared to Wolf. 

Physicist Alan Lightman wrote: “From all the physical and sociological evidence, the world appears to run not on absolutes but on relatives, context, change, impermanence, and multiplicity. Nothing is fixed. All is in flux.” I go along with that; ‘nature’ is beyond all understanding. The closer we get to an absolute final clear answer we are confronted with a further complication. Organised religion appeals to some people because it offers a graspable answer to the mystery of life. But to me that is to cauterise further attempts to find that elusive ‘First Cause’ as John Cowper Powys puts it.

Porius the Cat

“Kevin Jeys, 62, who rode out the Camp Fire in his home, fighting off surrounding flames with a garden hose in Paradise, Calif., Nov. 20, 2018. Jeys stayed behind because he couldn’t get one of his three cats, named Por, into a carrier.”

New York Times

 

 

Powysians can be a resilient lot. The cat in question, who prompted Kevin Jeys to face the chaos and terror of a raging Californian wildfire while the rest of his town was evacuated, was named after Porius from the Powys novel. There can’t be many pets on the planet named after obscure Powys characters, can there?

The life behind the life

In 2008 I began composing and recording a series of short pieces inspired by writers who interested me. These pieces eventually coalesced into a song sequence on an album called The Continuing Adventures Of The Strange Sound Association, released by Second Language under the artist name Ghostwriter in 2010. John Cowper Powys was one of the featured writers, along with Georges Simenon, David Jones, Ivor Gurney and others.

The idea was not so much to write music about the writers. Rather, I was trying to capture something of the atmosphere of their writing – or at least, the atmosphere as I perceived it when reading them. In John Cowper Powys’s case I was after that juxtaposition of down to earth detail and a vivid sense of place, with a perpetual sense of something else, intangible, always just out of reach of comprehension, yet very definitely there.

The composition ended up combining field recordings with more obviously musical elements. Sound designer Raz Ullah and pianist Thomas Seabrook helped out with the recording.

Here are the liner notes from the original release, not all of which are rooted in fact:

‘The Life Behind The Life (Fragments for John Cowper Powys)’ – Brend/Ullah

“Although the paths to immortality appeared permanently blocked, his life remained a succession of profoundly-felt impulses to which he ascribed the characteristics of eternity.”

Mark Brend: prepared piano, toy piano, field recordings*
Raz Ullah: sound collage
Thomas Seabrook: piano

*Field recording no. 1 copied from a wax cylinder in the John Geard Archive. The date and location of the recording are unknown, but scholars believe it was made at a country fair somewhere in England in the earlier part of the 20th century. Used with permission.
Field recording no. 2. Footbridge at Brampford Speke. 10.15am, 8th May 2009.

Less than perfectly groomed

Some corners of Powysland have become very hot property, as explained by this piece in the New York Times. The Palisades was where John Cowper’s sister Marian chose to retire following her remarkable career as a world-leading expert in lace-making in New York.

It sounds perfectly Powysian: “Hilly, leaf-encrusted and less than perfectly groomed, the Landing, as locals call it, incorporates about 100 houses with the informal, romantic aspect of books in an antiquarian shop.”

Once an unfashionable backwater, the crustiness has taken on a sheen of bohemian chic. 

“Last month, Scarlett Johansson closed on a $4 million, ivy-covered colonial on Washington Spring Road, up the hill from Jerry Hall and Rupert Murdoch. Jane Pauley and Garry Trudeau are reportedly building a house in the woods. The presence of these and other giants (Bill Murray, Mikhail Baryshnikov, Al Pacino — it’s like a land-bound episode from a rebooted “Love Boat”) brings disproportionate press attention and sets the eyes of less prominent locals rolling when you ask about it.”

Marian lived in an “unpainted, ramshackle house across from the Palisades Presbyterian Church” until she died (aged 89) in 1972. The article includes a memory from a local resident who recalls how the elderly English lady would invite neighbour’s children around for tea and cake:

“She wasn’t fastidious about washing things up. We were always afraid that the kids would catch something terrible.”

Very Powysland. Lots of old-world charm and character – but is it always hygienic or wholesome enough by modern standards?

“Every new thought is a return to a spring that has been choked up”

The world’s newest ‘guru’ is Yuval Noah Hurari. An Israeli historian, each of his three books has been a global bestseller. Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind was a surprise popular hit for the publisher, leading to follow-ups Homus Dei: A  Brief History of Tomorrow and now 21 Lessons for the 21st Century. Within Hurari’s position is a Powysian core in terms of some concerns and conclusions.

Hurari is worried about the long-term implications of technology and our psychological and emotional ability to cope with an immersion in a digital environment run by Artificial Intelligence and networks of autonomous tech where we may no longer need to work in the same way, associate with people the same way, even think the same way (if at all). Equipped with brains and bodies designed principally for hunting, gathering and singing songs around a fireside, we are struggling to adjust to the barrage of technological change. And that presents a host of problems. As he asks at one point: “How do you live in an age of bewilderment, when the old stories have collapsed, and no new story has yet emerged to replace them?” 

Hurari points to the ever-increasing importance of self-awareness in the preservation of human life and of our essential humanity, who we are and how we relate to the real world. We need to cultivate our personal culture, our life-illusion in order to defy the insidious perils of the modern world – so exactly what Powys was calling for, again and again, in the novels and books of popular philosophy a hundred years ago. 

This is the point where Powys and Hurari part ways. The 21st century historian is a modern man who is reputed to rely on two hours of meditation each day, along with annual ‘retreats’ for the sake of mindfulness. It all sounds a bit like our modern idea of ‘me time’ and the need for pampering. Powys, I’d say, wasn’t so much interested in being perfectly healthy. There was too much to enjoy from the full gamut of human sensations, not all of them so serene.