She curiously inclines herself to look
to search
to seek.
She’s prettied herself right up tonight
to find
to clutch
to keep.
But her face it tells of tears just fresh
that she hides beneath a blush.
And her eyes they tell of painful things
she’ll never to you entrust!
©TheHairyTeacher2014
I’m eating her away with the filth of my mind:
at once consuming and consumed.
I relish in the torrent of her flow, from a height,
her head, cascading.
I wonder at the slight valley,
which runs between neck and shoulder socket,
almost broad, almost muscular, always sensual.
I wonder as I drink the unblessed blood of Christ,
the draught that would still water be without Him –
it is not the best till last, but nearly,
it is not the end because the sulking lady’s skinny.
I am devouring the room with my ego,
and the room smiles, stretches, and…
once more enslaves me
©TheHairyTeacher2014
The poisoned mind of online clutter, the shift from art to emptiness.
The bells, the lights of bar room games, at least a numbing quality.
Instead in this, a pernicious plot, slowly eroding reason.
And when the anger finally takes hold, I’m still responsible for my actions.
The inner fizz, the steam pipe hiss, the gas leak rising staunchly-
to ruin the air, the fettered mind, alone in the conclusion.
©TheHairyTeacher2014
Calgary…this is not my first time.
Herein seduced by the piano
Now all atumble with bits and bobs
But isn’t this whole place?
And so-
I wonder-
If maybe at a twirl, speakeasily,
Everything may be different.
From out of the radio the music spells freedom:
Hungarian, gypsy? –
Inflected with a francophilia.
It sways into a kind of opulence
Before surrendering to the density of the heart
Only to be released by the furious incline
Of a violin, a fiddle,
Turned demented – Chagallian –
Dancing o’er the notions of a childish nightmare.
And then a kind of swing kicks in –
In defiance of work, or the mundane,
And yet in celebration of life, of love.
And then the beer protests
“No words are more important”
As the hands and mind become distracted.
Again the calls repeat more loudly,
More vociferously
“No words were ever so important”
But the pen moves on
The gas keeps rising
And so the battle has begun
Between the poet and (the) drink
Sober and drunk
And somewhere amidst this selfish incline-
A battle suffused on the shores of otherness –
A hint, a notion, of other things.
A charge, a brigade
In the light they falter fall, but forever rise again.
For unlike men this is family,
For unlike duty this is love,
But for unlike freedom,
This is responsibility.
The thing that tears at each rebel’s heart.
“They would topple a government and so too a family in favour of a freedom that can never be won – a dream, however, that is the fuel of life.”
©TheHairyTeacher2014
In response to this indulgence I question all who view the path,
too riddled with obstacles before ever being approached.
A man’s entitled to imagination but if the path was clear before –
then still it is the same.
The passengers you bring are side by side with you
Not up ahead vying to be mowed down by you
and so in early morning eloquence
I share my thoughts that music brings.
Aside a street, a pavement tucked inside a cafe/bar:
the beer a tortured parody
non-alcoholic – as I’ve been trying to be.
The spring outside is heating up but forecasts tell of cold to come.
All obstacles are in the mind for if snow arrives then one last time,
I’ll build a snowman, pull a sledge,
and when it’s melted,
and blossoms instead shall fill with fragrant epitaphs
the death of Old Man snow at last,
then I’ll embrace like I do now –
The present moment,
The here and now.
©TheHairyTeacher2014
The violence rendered on his face spoke volumes.
He didn’t seem content enough to just stare me down.
He seemed to be growling just under the metre.
He seemed to be grinning just beneath the frown.
There seemed to be no joy in his presence
and yet his t-shirt proclaimed him Mr. Happy.
Was it some kind of joke, and did the others get it.
Well, they did seem to be laughing quite a lot.
But this guy remained solid, mimicking my discomfort.
There was malice in his soul brimming over into his eyes.
But he held a composure, a measure, almost a reserve.
I snorted as false bravado, he returned it venomous.
I held his eyes for as long as he held mine.
The church bells rang and I looked up, away.
Did he do so? I could not tell, but he was watching me
when I returned to watching him…
and then he was gone, swinging out of my vision and a couple stood there
till invited to the bar whereupon the sniggers returned.
And then he was back, looking at me looking at him.
I scratched my head,as did he. Coughed and convulsed in unison…
Every night…a voice whispered from the bar
Poor thing…God how I hated pity.
Doesn’t anybody tell him?
Why?
It’s cruel…
I get up to leave and as always I brave the leering fool and as ever he steps aside as I pull open the door…and then the steps drag me up into the street, and home.
©TheHairyTeacher2013
Now there is a fine line between impatience and over-tolerance and whereas I’m prone to the latter my decision to walk out 25 mins after ordering a bundáskenyér/french toast was certainly not, as far as I was concerned, an undue criticism of Anker (Anker köz ).
The problem with student staffed places is that the attitude can align itself with the service while professionalism falls by the wayside. It takes a good manager to strike the right balance but Anker is just not up to scratch.
Walking out took effort as I was hungry and, mid-morning, running between classes. On an empty stomach I alighted onto the street and while I could have dwelled on my misfortune I chose to steal a silver lining: at least I’d be early for my lesson- no rushing necessary. That I popped into Tesco for a sausage roll and subsequently food poisoning may be utterly unrelated but I smell voodoo, the karma of non- pacificists!
(See previous review: http://thehairyteacher.com/to-pin-it-down/ )
©TheHairyTeacher2013
Cafe Five, Kolossy tér, lunchtime.
A busy affair.
They mean business.
And these days even early evenings have their appeal.
Landing this side of town it’s definitely a recommendation.
Friendly staff, who speak English, and a bevy of buses, a tram line running by the window, and the urban railway (HÉV) a two minute walk away, makes this is not only comfortable but convenient.
(As for starters: http://thehairyteacher.com/cafe5/ )
©TheHairyTeacher2013
When I first arrived in Budapest the Budapest Jazz Club was situated on Múzeum utca in the popular university area which spans the 5th, 8th, maybe even 9th districts of the city. It was near that area where an Irish pub consisted of putting the word Irish before it and the streets had yet to be pedestrianised. Now that the area is looking good the Budapest Jazz Club has upped pegs and shifted residence to the 13th. It’s still up and coming Hollán Ernő street style but somehow this district, this part at least, and my favourite, is more becoming of Jazz Club mystic post smoking ban.
In the place where once the Odeon, an arthouse cinema stood, it has changed little albeit better music emanates from the speakers mid morning.
It still retains the arthouse feel and along with the other arthouse cinemas that have fallen foul of progress, or other conspiracy theories, imagination has been employed in order to maintain quality, at least the quality of difference.
With regular concerts and an early morning, 10am, opening this serves to be as much a library as a theatre. It’s a cool place to hang out, literally during the almost unbearable summer’s days and it serves to enhance the spirit for those more musically curious.
And for those who’ve just popped in for a coffee you are in a good neighbourhood for some good quick eats if things turn peckish.
Disfruta la!
©TheHairyTeacher2013
If in Cork and in need of a dose of craft beers then why not try the PorterHouse, Sheare’s Street. Set in the Mardyke complex a little off dead centre it’s still on the run in from UCC and other noteworthy sights to see. A selection of food bits plus more a hungry soul will not find oneself abandoned, and for all those of the thirst quenching persuasion, even if craft isn’t your style, this is still a pub with all and sundry behind the bar.
For further details: http://www.porterhousebrewco.com/bars-cork-sheares.php
©TheHairyTeacher2013
