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….would have been Peter Gilpin’s birthday: well, it still is. Thinking of you both this morning Gayle.

Spain, 2011


Third Time Lucky

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Finally done. Despite last minute (or early morning) blips and hold-ups) not medical, but bureaucratic and systemic) the surgeon did great work and demonstrated exactly why she’s held in such high regard. My thanks to her, to the two anaestheists and to the other theatre staff. I heard six different European languages used between nursing staff in the recovery ward. Home now I see the unusual sunlight of the past week has brought on my “Apache” Chilli. Val and I thank you for all the messages. I’ll try to get through the e-accumulation after the weekend perhaps.


Never Two Without

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A few moments ago Ken Lansdowne died. He was my oldest friend and, with his wife Pat, family forever. Born in Shoreditch, East London (well before it was polluted by “artists”) on Christmas day 1938; he died this morning in Deal, Kent. The stories are too many and, finally, nobody’s fucking business. This was the last time I saw Ken, he came to visit shortly before I went into hospital, almost two years ago. After that, neither of us could travel. A diamond. With Teddy yesterday, and Ken today, this June is working on being memorable.

Ken’s funeral. July 7th. 2016


And Now

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…. our dear and old friend Ted Greenwald. Love and condolences to Joan and Abby.
The worst week for a long time. This is not the last time I saw Teddy; but it was the last time we sat across a table alone.
Read his books.

Poetry Foundation note



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with Claude Royet-Journoud in Marseille

back in some day

thanks to Michèle Cohen



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Just family stuff: photos and faster.



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Just a few family photos.


Tick Tock

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This centenary weekend my mother has been popping into my mind making me wonder at those moments where she might have been, and doing precisely what, in Dublin that Easter in her fifteenth year. Here she is twenty years later. Not micro-expressions but micro-memories show me facets of all our children and grandchildren in those pixels. God rest her soul, as she would have said.



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A week ago I should have been in Lana (Südtirol) to receive the N.C. Kaser-Lyrikpreis. My life is so changed within the past year that any travel more than the immediately local on foot with stick or by bus or car is impossible. Kindly, Tom Leonard spoke and read for me; and Ulf Stolterfoht read some of his German translations. Sadly I cannot yet put names to the faces of the local poets, musicians, artists (including Maria C. Hilber, Louis Schropp, Gerd Sulzenbacher, Matthias Vieider und Jörg Zemmler) who took part; but I thank them and Tom and Ulf for their generosity, and apologise for being unable to be with them.
Tom Leonard and Ulf Stolterfoht.
Big Brother


19 Years

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Thinking this morning of Lisa: and not forgetting Malcolm X half-a-century ago on the same day.


Constant Presence

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Lisa Nichole Raworth
January 17th. 1961 (London) – February 21st 1996 (Cambridge)

Austin, Texas, 1974
You’ld be proud of Cato, here he is at 26 with Matilda

Bognor Regis, December 2014


Just Family Stuff

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A few photographs from my birthday weekend.


A Dog’s Life

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I prefer cats to dogs and can’t understand anyone who’d follow an animal picking up its shit (even if it warms your hands in the winter); but there are exceptions to any general dislike and Rowan was one of those few (another was Macho, Pio Fontana’s dog, long dead in the TIcino mountains). He was a rescue dog, a greyhound beaten and mistreated because he refused to race. Our daughter-in-law saved him and for more than a decade I never heard him bark — though he did kill his one deer, a sick one of the herd, so he lived a hound’s life. To save him pain he had to be put down last weekend.


Christmas Greetings from 1991

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+click  +click

A letter and enclosure from my friend Barry Hall, then living in the Masai Mara in Kenya. For those who can no longer read handwriting, I transcribe:

23 Nov 91

Dear Tom and Val,

Fucking Christmas again init! How are things? The enclosed picture is a cibachrome print from an Xray – Local Massai(sic) went on a cattle raid to Tanzania was shot in the head, walked over 300ks back in to Kenya to hospital to have the arrow removed. The opperation(sic) was a success he went home a week later – was a bit put out – terrified in fact; by the picture of his head.

Thought you would like a print.

Life’s much the same – few commercials – Fishing lots and painting I’m happy to say – Family’s fine –

Love to you and Val.

Barry + Beth


More Old Photographs

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… added to previous link below


Herefordshire & North Wales

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+click for photos



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I’m putting all the “Camera Test” shots into a set on Flickr here as I do them. Flowers, cattle, sheep, dead rat, dead shrew, black slug, small snail, birds, landscape etc.: so you don’t waste your time.


Anselm Hollo

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Paavo Anselm Aleksis Hollo
poet, translator, teacher and friend
Born Helsinki, Finland, 12 April 1934 – Died Boulder, Colorado USA, 29 January 2013

Obituaries: The Independent 3:AM Magazine Helsingin Sanomat
scan of Independent hard copy
Snippets from correspondence.


Weekend Visits

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Family stuff


Easter Weekend

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Family stuff. Brighton and Lewes


Happy Birthday!

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George Kimball

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George Edward Kimball
A fine writer, newspaperman and friend.

December 20th 1943 Grass Valley, California – July 6th 2011 New York City

First of all condolences to Marge, to Darcy, to Teddy, to all his family. You can read about George here, and in the obituaries in the NY Daily News, The Boston Herald, The Boston Phoenix; and elsewhere. Then you can read his books.. from Only Skin Deep (Olympia Press, Paris, 1968) to Manly Art: They Can Run But They Can’t Hide (McBooks, April 2011).

I saw George in New York last winter, at home with Marge, then at Benn Schulberg’s to watch the Pacquaio/Margarito fight. We walked the several blocks home and the next morning he carried my case downstairs and walked with me to the corner. Final glimpse. He’d been supposed to die of esophageal cancer within six months five years back.

I first met George in Iowa City during a bitter 1970 winter. We rode the Greyhound from there to NYC, on acid. I remember persuading him somewhere in Pennsylvania it was not a good idea to get off and steal everyone’s luggage. George was a solid friend for forty years. Last summer, flying back to the US from Gatwick he had some time to spare so took the train down to Brighton to sit with us by the sea and talk for an hour. Not as easy as it sounds as the cancer and its treatment had affected the strength of his neck and he had to prop his fist under his chin to speak. I’m glad he had a great party on his birthday last December: and sorry I couldn’t be there.

This is one of George’s last messages, earlier this year:

George: Hi Tom, going to KC and Lawrence tomorrow. Hope I’m up to it, as I tire pretty easily now. Voice is pretty shot too so plan to use recorded readings and save it for q&a. Wish i were there. Busy couple of weeks upcoming with book events. G

Professional to the end.

Keep an eye on things, George. I miss you.


Easter 2011

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January 17th. 1961

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Half-a-century ago today Lisa was born and I met Anselm Hollo.



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Dawn this morning was the first time for more than a week I’d been outside. I thought I’d celebrate the few minutes.

NOTE October 5, 2015. Since Apple in its “progress” has made this link unusable, here’s a direct link that I hope will work in your browser.


Cato to UWE

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Funeral Light

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Miriam Brenan

May 21st. 1917 – July 29th. 2010

Wednesday August 18th. 2010
North Chapel, Woodvale Crematorium, Brighton
4.30 p.m.



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Ben, Vic and Florence visit: Gay Pride Parade: Lewes


Miriam Brenan

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….a quite remarkable woman, died an hour or so ago.

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