Archive for February, 2007

William Bronk

Once, a few years ago, I was sat outside a London pub having a beer with a friend.

Across the road was a big secondhand bookshop.

After a while I wandered over and had a browse.

In the poetry section I found a collection by William Bronk. I’d never heard of him but the description on the back, and a quick glance inside, was enough to convince me to buy it.

Later, having put the book on my shelf and largely forgotten about it, I read an obituary of Bronk in an English newspaper which described him as a kind of solitary figure prone to wandering around New York seeking inspiration.

At least, that’s what I think I read. At the time I was very into the idea of solitary genius poets.

Anyway, here is one of his poems:

What we are

What we are? We say we want to become
what we are or what we have an intent to be.
We read the possibilities, or try.
We get to some. We think we know how to read.
We recognize a word, here and there,
a syllable: male, it says perhaps,
or female, talent — look what you could do

or love, it says, love is what we mean.
Being at any cost: in the end, the cost
is terrible but so is the lure to us.
We see it move and shine and swallow it.
We say we are and this is what we are
as to say we should be and this is what to be
and this is how. But, oh, it isn’t so.


I wish that I could see you soon

I’ve shamelessly lifted this from Do Copenhagen but the more people that see this the better.

The band is called Herman Dune. They’re French.

A fog has fallen

Thanks yet again to Mikael Colville-Andersen for letting me use one of his images for my header.

I really like this one; Copenhagen is somehow an unknowable city in the winter – opaque and reserved.

This shot really captures the city’s sense of stillness, I think.

This is the day

The DJ played this The The track at Loppen the other night and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since.

Bands I’ve seen live this weekend



50 foot spiders

Tokyo Police Club


Tokyo Police Club, right, will be the band to see and be seen at by the summer. Mark my words.

1234 are the best Danish band I’ve heard in a long time.

Any band which ‘sounds like Charles Bukowski getting into Diana Ross and the Supremes and deciding to write indiepowerpop songs instead of poetry’ is OK in my book.

The Third Man


Holly Martins’ futile wait for Anna at the end of The Third Man must rank as one of the most poignant conclusions to a film.

Leaning back against a truck, cigarette in hand, he waits, motionless as she approaches.

Striding purposefully along the cedar-lined avenue, Anna draws level with Holly . . . and carries straight on, utterly unmoved.

What might have been, say Holly’s eyes.

Song of the hour