Jozef Imrich, name worthy of Kafka, has his finger on the pulse of any irony of interest and shares his findings to keep you in-the-know with the savviest trend setters and infomaniacs.
''I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center.''
-Kurt Vonnegut
Paul Kelly Profile: Nicholas Parsons: He reached the grand age of 96 in extraordinarily good shape
Nicholas Parsons
He reached the grand age of 96 in extraordinarily good shape, and working very nearly to the end, but the death of Nicholas Parsons still comes as sad news. We certainly shall not see his like again – urbane, gentlemanly, infallibly well mannered, endlessly versatile, equally adept as comic and straight man, a true gentleman in a business where they are few and far between (despite so many more in the biz now being public school and university products). Though he was a professional through and through, and nobody's fool, Parsons' death marks the end of a gentler, more innocent era – and Just a Minute, if it survives, will never be the same again. He was, of course, a frequent presence on this blog, not least as the first in an occasional series of Cravat Heroes, and more than once asBirthday Boy, most recently on his 95th birthday. RIP. “Old punks never die, they become writers.” Paul Kelly said in his talk at the festival about his book How To Make Gravy. Now between you and me, back in London, I’ve been glued to youtube clips of PaulKelly and Kev Carmoody. I love his work and was overjoyed to be asked to support him at a Mudra Swari Saraswati Foundation fundraising event at a new venue in Ubud called Betel Nut. Truth be told, I’m not sure that Paul Kelly fans liked being told to Imagine If You Had To Lick It. My gig however was saved by being joined on stage by Jakarta-born singer Kartika Jahja, we collaborated together on a rendition of a piece of prose about London’s homeless titled Dead Drunk. Afterwards she told the audience she is a boxer and sang a heart-stopping bluesy version of my Boxing Poem. Paul Kelly on Writing
When words fail me
After 40 years writing the soundtrack to Australian life, Paul Kelly’s well was running dry. Now he’s found a new muse.
LOOK OUT THE WINDOW HERE, UPHILL TOWARD THE CELEBRATED COKE SIGN, AND THE WORDS COME RUSHING IN. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN KINGS CROSS / WHEN THE RAIN IS FALLING SOFT? SO MANY WORDS, NEARLY ALL OF THEM MAGIC. AND IF THE RAIN DON’T FALL TOO HARD / EVERYTHING SHINES JUST LIKE A POSTCARD. NAME A PLACE, A TIME, A FEELING, THERE’S A PAUL KELLY LYRIC TO FIT. RED ROOFS AND CRICKET AND THE STARS THAT KEEP ON TURNING AND WISTERIA AND GREAT AUNTS AND GRAVY. SWEEP OVER TO DARLINGHURST NOW AND ANOTHER RUSH OF WORDS, DARKER BUT STILL MAGIC. STANDING ON THE CORNER WITH YOUR DRESS SO HIGH.SLOWING CARS. MEN WITH GLAD HANDS. DARLING IT HURTS.
AUSTRALIANS LEARN THESE LINES BY OSMOSIS. FOR FOUR DECADES, OVER 24 STUDIO ALBUMS AND A REMARKABLE 350-PLUS SONGS, KELLY HAS CAPTURED IN WORDS AN ENTIRE COUNTRY’S TRIUMPHS AND HEARTACHES, ITS SMALL, IMPORTANT MILESTONES. HE’S WRITTEN US INTO BEING. SO WHEN THE MAN WITH ALL THE WORDS SAYS THE WELL’S RUN DRY, YOU STRUGGLE TO BELIEVE HIM. YOU DON’T WANT TO BELIEVE HIM. YET HERE HE IS, SAYING IT: “I THINK I MIGHT BE RUNNING OUT OF WORDS.” HE SAYS IT QUIETLY, LIKE HE SAYS MOST THINGS, TWO HANDS SURROUNDING THE GLASS OF TAP WATER ON THE TABLE BEFORE HIM. OUT THE FOURTH-FLOOR WINDOW OF UNIVERSAL MUSIC’S SYDNEY OFFICE LIES THE SKETCHY URBAN WONDERLAND WHERE, IN THE MID-1980S, HE WROTE AND RECORDED POST, HIS FIRST SOLO ALBUM AND THE ONE THAT WOULD STAKE OUT HIS PLACE AS AUSTRALIA’S FOREMOST ROCK POET. KELLY IS 63 YEARS OLD NOW, SLIGHT OF FRAME IN HIS OLIVE-GREEN SUIT AND VERY STILL. HIS COAL-BLACK EYES ARE APPRAISING AND STEADY.
“I’VE BEEN WRITING SONGS FOR ABOUT 40 YEARS,” HE CONTINUES. “AND WORDS ARE THE HARDEST PART. IT’S ALWAYS PRETTY SCRAPPY; SCROUNGING, STUMBLING AROUND. I GET MELODIES AND MUSIC VERY QUICKLY BUT WORDS WERE ALWAYS THE SLOWEST PART OF WRITING A SONG.” HE POINTS TO HIS SMARTPHONE FOR PROOF. IN THE EARLY DAYS, HE’D JOT DOWN PHRASES, LINES, CRUMBS OF IDEAS ON A SMALL NOTEPAD. NOW HE WRITES THEM IN AN APP ON THE PHONE. ANOTHER APP IS FOR BURSTS OF MUSICAL INSPIRATION. “IT’S ALL ON THE PHONE NOW,” HE SAYS, “BUT THERE ARE A WHOLE LOT MORE MELODIES THAN THERE ARE WORDS.”
PAUL KELLY AND THE DOTS, 1981. PICTURE: SUPPLIED
AN AMBIVALENT RELATIONSHIP WITH WORDS IS NOTHING NEW: YOU CAN LOVE THEM WITH A FERVOUR AND STILL HAVE THEM KICK YOUR ARSE. KELLY’S LOVED THEM SINCE HE WAS A SKINNY, RESTLESS TEEN GROWING UP IN ADELAIDE, WRITING FREE-FORM VERSE INFLUENCED BY LEBANESE POET KHALIL GIBRAN, DISAPPEARING INTO CHARACTERS AND “TRYING TO FIND THEIR VOICE”. HE BEGAN TO HOOVER UP WORDS BY DOSTOYEVSKY, PROUST, SHAKESPEARE, SHELLEY AND KEATS, THE BIBLE. THEN ALL THE QUESTING MALES — JACK KEROUAC, CHARLES BUKOWSKI, HENRY MILLER, HERMANN HESSE — UNTIL HE LANDED ON RAYMOND CARVER, WHOSE ECONOMY AND POWER HE WOULD SEEK TO EMULATE. BOOKER PRIZE-WINNING AUTHOR RICHARD FLANAGAN CALLS HIS OLD FRIEND THE MOST WELL-READ PERSON HE KNOWS. “I’VE SEEN HIM DELIVER A 10-MINUTE SOLILOQUY FROM RICHARD III THAT HE’S MEMORISED,” FLANAGAN SAYS. “I SOMETIMES WONDER IF HIS WHOLE LIFE IS SHAPED BY AN IDEA OF ART — AND ARTISTS — AS BEING ABOUT THE PURSUIT OF EXPERIENCE. HE LIKES TO OPEN THE DOORS OF PERCEPTION IN EVERY WAY.”
