Tag Archives: Hopis

I’m Larfin at the woild’s great jest.(Shorter version)

The long and the short of it. This is the short version of this blart* for the long version go to:

https://apulhed.wordpress.com/2014/11/02/larfin-at-the-woilds-great-jest/

*What’s a blart? It’s my bl…Art. my blog, my blathering on, my blaggart.

 

I stayed at home all day which gave me time to think, to mend a bolt on a gate, chop some wood, scythe some weeds and wash some dishes, twice, and look at some autumn leaves then notice the new thin crescent moon. I did not go for my regular swim, gym, yoga or ought like it but I forgave myself saying you can mend a bolt and all that stuff.

bolt sm

My blArt don’t get millions, neither thousands* nor hundreds o ‘views’ but tens is quite fine by me. 25 views yesterday and several folk wished me an ‘appy Day on my 64th. *Actually my 97 blArts have had 4352 views (average 45 per post) now in about 13 months! TANKS A BUNCH We do have to make the most of all our days cos we never know when the finger will beckon or as Lennon once put it, ‘we move from one car into another’, as he moved from his bullet riddled old vehicle into his new disguise. Of course I ‘get’ that Buddhist ting about acceptance and letting go but am not really into their idea about not leaving a mark as a result of our endeavour. Shakyamuni (Buddha’s tribal title) left a considerable mark and his influence is impacting on my thoughts 2500 years after he released from his human frame. Of course I would like my traces to be predominantly positive and full of humour, laughing, like Chesterton said, at the world’s great jest. So, here’s a little ting in which I am going to appropriate some more famous folks’ words and after Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’ I’m calling this, an appropriation* poem:

See my previous blart- https://apulhed.wordpress.com/2014/04/19/i-wanted-to-be-an-artist-but-im-alright-right-now-right-what-is-original-what-is-quality-part-2/

Song To My Self

 

‘Old man, look at my life

I’m a lot like you were’

A song about an old man Neil Young

sang that when I were young

 

back in 197young

forever young

I sang it to myself

screeching just like Neil

 

it sounds different now

no longer I am

wow

forever young,

 

‘Young man, look at my life

I’m a lot like you, how

I wanna live

I wanna give

I kept on searchin for that heart of gold

Now am getting old.

 

I bin done my life

You go do your life

We’re both still searching

For the blArt of gold.’

 

I may be getting …old

Buttam not giving up

Still

Amidst all the dissolution

Creating my contribution

A trail of distribution

With much convolution

 

Leaving a Trace.

DW not playin in Young's band

Neil Young guesting in DW’s band not playing my ‘Song To My Self’

I was scouring the shelves in the Saison Poetry library at Southbank and came across a poet man called John Peck, and I wish for you to see some of Peck’s words in his poem about existence ‘Anasazi, Ancient Enemies’

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/181150

I think Peck is talking about the eternal links that exist throughout all time and all things and maybe the need for mutual care and consideration.

anasazi dancers

Hopi kachinas at Mesa Verda

http://www.cliffdwellingsmuseum.com/anasazi/digging-deeper-into-the-anasazi/major-anasazi-region-and-sites The reference to Anasazis recalls the mysterious people who built those cliff dwellings in Arizona. Peck is harking about how many things are interlocked even though we are unaware of the interconnectedness. He more importantly talks of the mystery of life. ‘One needs to feel the tug of the draft [or waft?] on skin, the drag of process utterly anciently itself… streaming through us, ageless winds’. Here is he referring to the timeless, or eternal, passage of ‘existence’ which goes back to the Big Bang and maybe beyond? And ‘streaming through us, ageless winds’ like neutrinos stream thru you as you sit NOW this minute, time, or rather the process of existence, streams on thru us, we are inextricably linked into EXISTENCE, that and maybe that alone is the miracle. We are here. You are there, wherever you are, some of you who read this are in India, Kazakstan, Japan. We are where we are, we are part of it. Namaste.

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Larfin at the woild’s great jest.

A note frae the Big Blogger Bloke about The long and the short of it.

 This is the long version of this blart* for the short version go to:   https://apulhed.wordpress.com/2014/11/02/im-larfin-at-the-woilds-great-jest-shorter-version/

*What’s a blart? It’s my bl…Art. my blog, my blathering on, my blaggart.

bolt sm

 I stayed at home all day which gave me time to think, to mend a bolt on a gate, chop some wood,

log

the logs wat I chops

(by hand, NOT I uses wedges and sledges and well honestly, brute farce)

scythe some weeds and wash some dishes, twice, and look at some autumn leaves then notice the new thin crescent moon. I did not go for my regular swim, gym , yoga or ought like it but I forgave misen saying you can mend a bolt on a gate, chop some wood, scythe some weeds and wash some dishes and all that stuff.

My blArt don’t get millions, neither thousands* nor hundreds o ‘views’ but tens is quite fine by me. 25 views yesterday and several folk wished me an ‘appy Day on my 64th. *Actually my 97 blArts have had 4352 views (average 45 per post) now in about 13 months! TANKS A BUNCH We do have to make the most of all our days cos we never know when the finger will beckon or as Lennon once put it, ‘we move from one car into another’, as he moved from his bullet riddled old vehicle into his new disguise. Of course I ‘get’ that Buddhist ting about acceptance and letting go but am not really into their idea about not leaving a mark as a result of our endeavour. Shakyamuni (Buddha’s tribal title) left a considerable mark and his influence is impacting on my thoughts 2500 years after he released from his human frame. Of course I would like my traces to be predominantly positive and full of humour, laughing, like Chesterton said, at the world’s great jest. So, here’s a little ting in which I am going to appropriate some more famous folks’ words and after Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’ I’m calling this, an appropriation* poem:

See my previous blart- https://apulhed.wordpress.com/2014/04/19/i-wanted-to-be-an-artist-but-im-alright-right-now-right-what-is-original-what-is-quality-part-2/

Song To My Self

 

‘Old man, look at my life

I’m a lot like you were’

A song about an old man Neil Young

sang that when I were young

 

back in 197young

forever young

I sang it to myself

screeching just like Neil

 

it sounds different now

no longer I am

wow

forever young,

 

‘Young man, look at my life

I’m a lot like you, how

I wanna live

I wanna give

I kept on searchin for that heart of gold

Now am getting old.

 

I bin done my life

You go do your life

We’re both still searching

For the blArt of gold.’

 

I may be getting …old

Buttam not giving up

Still

Amidst all the dissolution

Creating my contribution

A trail of distribution

With much convolution

 

Leaving a Trace.

 DW not playin in Young's band

Neil Young not playing in DW’s band not singing my ‘Song To My Self’.

I was scouring the shelves in the Saison Poetry library at Southbank and came across a poet man called John Peck, (he trained as an analyst at the C.G. Jung Institute),  http://www.lrb.co.uk/v22/n12/clive-wilmer/on-the-turn  and I wish for you to see some of Peck’s words in his poem about existence http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/181150

 

‘Anasazi, Ancient Enemies’

 

in dream or flapping images of the gone

or the soon-to-be-going or the tremblingly poised

that catch like undertow

the foot in tide-rip toeing

 

down the singing or remembered beach

we study populations in the forests,

we hold the paper flat,

mark, note, warn—the dictated

 

prophecies do their work, we do some work—

cut horn from rhinos so they won’t be poached.

but, to go on from there,

one needs to stand in the doorway

 

some evening and feel the air as if it were fire

pulling illusionlessly, letting the draw

of one fact heat its chain

of links, such as, Japan

 

clear-cutting forests in Siberia

where tigers not already harvested

lope their dwindling range,

two hundred as the hinge

 

for their growled arc of existence, bones of the others

ground to powders for old men’s potencies.

One needs to feel the tug

of the draft on skin, the drag

 

of process utterly anciently itself.

Faster, now, the pull is from birth through dwelling through

dissolution, along lines

streaming through us, ageless winds.

© John Peck

 

I think Peck is talking about the eternal links that exist throughout all time and all things and maybe the need for mutual care and consideration. He blasts the killing of rare species to gain bones to be ground down to nebulously aid ‘old men’s potencies’. (Have they not heard of Viagra? It’s cheap as chips compared with the tragedy of making a species extinct.)

anasazi dancers

http://www.cliffdwellingsmuseum.com/anasazi/digging-deeper-into-the-anasazi/major-anasazi-region-and-sites The reference to Anasazis recalls the mysterious people who built those cliff dwellings in Arizona and who probably were the antecedants of the Hopis and Zunis my two favourite peoples of North America. I have been inspired and fascinated since the mid 1970’s by the Hopis and those characters standing on my drawing of the mesa are Hopi Kachinas what I drew too. He refers to the many cultures that have been and gone in the history of planet Earth, many of which we (normally) know little about. But really Peck is harking about how we do not fully understand the significance of many aspects of our existence, how many things are interlocked even though we are unaware of the interconnect. So, RESPECT is the call he is sending out, respect the mysteries. He more importantly talks of the mystery of life. ‘One needs to feel the tug of the draft [or waft?] on skin, the drag of process utterly anciently itself… streaming through us, ageless winds’. Here is he referring to the timeless, or eternal, passage of ‘existence’ which goes back to the Big Bang and maybe beyond? And ‘streaming through us, ageless winds’ like neutrinos stream thru you as you sit NOW this minute, time, or rather the process of existence, streams on thru us, we are inextricably linked into EXISTENCE, that and maybe that alone is the miracle. We are here. You are there, wherever you are, some of you who read this are in India, Kazakstan, Japan. We are where we are, we are part of it. Namaste.

The Metamorphosis of Duncan Walker – Releasing the Spirit

No. 1 in a series of the work of pete kennedy, artistwriter bloke, b.1950

Painting by Pete Kennedy

With notes by PK & DW

So, I am starting the offering up of my images from 1968 to now for y’all to see. I shan’t be so mundane as to put them in chronological order. There’s so many of them and the quality is not dependent on age, neither mine nor the works. Some of my best work was done in the first few years of my life after I made a conscious decision that making my art in my own way, or so I thought. My output was often then and still is now really effected by my circumstances. So, the availability or lack of availability of resources would temper my technique. Time has been a big element in my output, for all the reasons you may imagine. (If you click on the images they will pop up bigger so you can peruse them better.)

Duncan and the cosmic egg

This portrait was created at the height of my ability, it is undoubtedly one of the best. The sitter, Duncan Walker, I had known since we were thrown together in the first team in the first week at our secondary school. We had drifted in and out of each others lives. This was me deliberately creating something which held all my values and skills in one image. It’s a triple portrait. A photo which I took and developed and printed, an oil in my style which had taken several years to reach and a ‘squidgerat’, one of my weird creations which were often an insight into a sitter’s deep essence. There is also an appropriation of a Dali egg cos I knew DW had in one stage of his development really loved Dali’s work but more importantly it signified the crack in the cosmic egg, something which we would have discussed during our alcohol filled ‘discussions’. That search for meaning behind life’s charade had been going on for both of us in separate ways and this was a coming together.

 dw paintd

 The figure on the left is Duncan in intense meditation, looking inward, considering and knowing the other stages in his life. (I sometimes see light hitting my images and adding more to them than I had put in to them in the first place. One day I shall incorporate light into finished works physically.

 dw foto sm

The figure in the middle is Duncan enjoying worldly delights, with a mischievous, knowing smile about his inner self. (Note the notes in handwriting collaged onto the image!)

 Dw squid

The figure on the right is Duncan’s inner self, achieving a crack in the cosmic egg of worldly reality, at the point when his spirit is flying out at the top of his head from a lifeless shell.

This is the story of releasing the spirit through a dual life of the meditative inner self and the electric worldly extravaganza of his outer being.

dj hopi cava

And about the same time as I did that portrait I wrote and published my little book, The Dull Jodrell. This was an account of some of the writers who had impressed me like Gurdjeff and Hesse. It had quite a bit about ken Campbell in too and accounts of my stays with DW in his ‘London’ house. The cover is a remake of my illystration of Hopi peoples dressed in their kachina outfits standing on the rock dwellings at Mesa Verde. In the book I talk a lot about the ideas of the pre-colombian populations of the Americas. The character in the centre at front of the cover is ‘Lighteyes’

lite eyes sm(this is the original sketch)

one of my squidgerats who I drew before I came across the Hopis who in fact have a character in their kachinas with almost identical stance to my man, uncanny! The Hopi kachina which is so similar to my Lite-Eyes was a human gifted with god-like characteristics whose previous human status is represented by him having cross-legs. The round thing on the Hopi character’s head is repeated almost identically in the round thing on the head of my Liteyes. I drew him prior to seeing any Hopi images, ever. It is truly uncanny to me. The strange head gear, which again, was drawn with no reference to Hopi, I had not yet heard of them, also bears a remarkable resemblance to some other Hopi headresses.

dj squigs in dj

The book also had some squidgerats drawings in as well as some I did of Ken Campbell.

ken campbell sm

This book and the image of Duncan show how my progress thru life has been accompanied by my ‘researches’ into real life characters and thru readings of books on Hopis and Gurdjeff which still continues today and indeed my recent work with the Jug poems is only a different way of trying to present my discoveries to a wider audience. Below is my new image of Duncansquidgespirit zooming across the lake next to a slow swan.

a duncan twa

Thank you DW for instigating this first of many(?) reports on my images & artefacts, and tanks fer the fotos of the work.

Footnote:My previous blArt aboot Oxferd toon got SIX ‘likes’, unprecedented in the history of this blaggArt! It sure signals up that some folks are getting someting frae the werds & images of this clown. Also you know if you press ‘follow’ you’ll get notified (not certified) of all my future blArty bits. Tread carefully won’t you. It appears 34 folks out there follow this  heap o’ thorts. Tank yez all, makes me feel good too. Makes me feel that all the effort what goes into doing this weekly blarting is getting thru, at least to 34 folks in this wide wonderous werld.

And finally, nobody, yet no-one, ever ‘comments’. I can only assume that everyone agrees with all I say OR, more likely, all who dip into the blArty Bloke unexpectingly are numbed into a somnambulant state and then wake up several hours later wondering what hit them?

D H Lawrence and my dreams (part 1).

Reaching out for ‘recognition’/back-patting is vainglorious. Just do whatever you do do well. Fact is- the ability to do anyting at all is an achievement.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGE4dnrPPZQ

No need to worry or fret, just do it. And if that reaches out to others fine. Stop chasing, calm down, have some cheese I told myself recently. I had been ‘doing’ too much, buzzing around like a blue assed fly. I forgot, I am way down the merry way and I need to rest awhile and better enjoy the view and the memories my journey has provoked. I have had a wonderful life. My endeavours did take me places & people where others didn’t get and I have chronicled the trip now the trick is to bring some order to the journal, Kennedy’s Chronicles or maybe The Despatches Of O’Dorke?

Image

 there’s more to O’Dork than meets the eye

Image

My new mantra is: ‘Pressure’s Off. Calm Doon. Relax & Enjoy It All’.

I believed I was one of my Nonogon Nomads (Nonogonomads), Knewt Hoboken Orion*, on a Silver Steed Surfin The Solar System.

 Image

But really I was ^Rhody O’Dorke, an Idiot abroad.

(*Symbolism in that name; Knewt=Scandinavian leader Knut & amphibian stage of evolutionary chain/water dragon. Hoboken= Wanderer, my surname- Kennedy the Hobo. Orion= the cosmos, Orion was a star /constellation which the ancient Egyptians focussed a ‘peephole’ from the great pyramid on, an African tribe knew of its existence long before the modern telescope.

^Rhody is the Irish version of my Grandad, Roger’s name, O’ is cos he’s Oirisht, Dork cos he’s an Idjet, but do not forget Gurdjeff & the Sufis believe the Idiot is the Wisest.)

Yet there is a Poet

Calling from the inside

Reminding me of

A young lad named

Maurice Saul

Mr and Mrs Saul had two sons

One of em called Maurice

He wer a proper Boris

T’other wer called Dennis

I don’t need to tell yer

Of course he wer a Menace

To keep a long story

Short

I can see him now

Doing handstands down the steps

Sadly I remember his brother

Because of his untimely death

He had contracted two diseases

On a school trip to Spain

That they could ill afford

It wer the combination killed him

Mrs Saul was a sweet soul

Prima gravida I believe

She continued her life of grief

Still remaining very kind

Her husband sadly

Took it rather badly

And every night

Came home drunk in tears

I used to see him

From my bedroom window

As he staggered up the avenue

And looked up the steep incline of mud

In front of his missing son’s home

He would take a run

And half way up

Would stumble back to the start

Only to try again in vain

Beaten he would walk

The long way round

Up the steps

Along the pavement

Bless the souls

Of all the Sauls

I loved them all

And still do today.

Talking of my working class background methinks of D H Lawrence who hailed from a Nottingham colliery home. I am not so interested in whatever social & sexual taboos he may have impacted upon with his work, more on his travels and the places he chose to go to. In particular he went to live near to and observe the Hopi people whose artefacts I (and others like Maxt Ernst) have been fascinated with since the early 1970’s. Also, I discover, DHL stayed in Tuscany seeking out the Etruscan legacy. Of all the places I wish to visit before stepping off this mortal coil two at the top are Arizona & Tuscany.

It seems to me that affinity comes thru time & ether to entice me/us/you on to see important human endeavours. It’s like plugging in. also, sometimes I feel like a finger or a small group watching over me beckons, leads me on to clues, clues to what I am still unsure. What I do know if I follow my hunches, or their fingers, I find new stuff, new pastures in which I can run around and even better, rest, and take a look, see if I can see what it is I am searching for?

Recently I have been ‘tidying up’ my tut, the 50 years of piles of stuff what I accumerlated often tinking, ‘One day, I shall find a use for that’ or, ‘Can’t let that go cos as you know you always need it as soon as you lerrit gu’. (I don’t need correc spellin nor gwamma wennam squaking to misen! Sod off) It took so long to make it, the heap, I need to sort it as fast as you can, as the stones say, ‘You’d better Move On’. Doing it not only gives me the feng shui satisfaction of tidying up and finding tings I also get ‘ideas’ and sometimes I even makes new ‘art’. Trick is not to be curtailed nor constrained by one’s previous predilictions nor prejudices. ‘I CAN DO’ is the mantra. I can do anyting. Do not let previous limits falter me. Open up your wings and fly.

ps The Jimmy Cliff song at the top of this blaat is amazing not only cos it’s about a man’s determination but also cos , I never knew this, he did it at Muscle Shoals*, before Bob Marley made it ‘big’. (And hey! I too saw Bob Marley before Bob Marley made it ‘big’ at Rolle College Exmarth) there is a wonderful Storyville doc on Muscle Shoals on iplayer shown last nicht, wow, I saw some of my most loved singers on it AND, the Stones did Sticky Fingers there. pps whereas I love Susan Boyle but she should not have tried to do ‘wild horses’!

*Rick Hall was the task master at Muscle Shoals and his mantra was to fight on regardless, ‘My life was based on rejection. I wanted to prove to the world it was wrong, that rejection all passes with time, things change’. onwerds and upvards.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b03x3vb9/Storyville_20132014_Muscle_Shoals_The_Greatest_Recording_Studio_in_the_World/

watch out for the nex part o dis blatch nex week