The Ghost Ship

The Silent Eye

Ghost Ship for blogAAsmaller

The Ghost Ship
They come from land and some by wave
To travel brave and not unnerved
Across a globe described by one
Who sees in numbers straight and curved
That one, disgraced, must face a queen
Must eat her wrath and test its moment
And through eyes of tender wife
Must glimpse his soul and seek atonement
Far more than anger rides the squares
Of chamber wrought to pry
To lift the skin of ancient wreck
And tear apart the sun and sky
Four faces power has cast within
Four faces knit with passion
For rich and poor must play their parts
Beneath this cod and piece of fashion
No blade dare chance the chequered chart
Lest bearer seeks parade
Of limbless foe ‘neath guardian’s blow
A groaning exhibition made
The mind and heart shall be the game
And high with low be…

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Still Life in Jacksonville…


The historical sense to which our New Europeans lay claim with such gusto

is derived from a centuries long mingling of classes and races.


Thanks to this mingling, the past of every form and mode of life

now streams unchecked into modern souls…


Our instincts run back in all directions simultaneously,

so that, we have ourselves become a sort of living chaos.


The spirit, again, immediately perceives an advantage to this cultural dilettantism.


Our pallettes can quite easily accommodate both Homer and Shakespeare

in equal measure and yet still revel in the clashing colours

such a combination inevitably produces.

A flying visit – A Shakespearean story arc…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

The afternoon was drawing to a close and the chill of early spring was settling over Stratford-upon-Avon as we made our way back towards the car. There were still many things we would have liked to see, but, with the small dog waiting patiently for our return, they would have to wait for another visit. But, there was a church at the end of the street we were crossing and, for some reason, we both felt we ought to take a look.  You just never know what you might find and the place, even from a distance, looked as if it might be interesting.

Sketch of New Place by George Vertue 1737

It was certainly in the right part of town. We passed a good many Tudor buildings covered in carvings…and a few Victorian counterfeits too, but we also found the  site of  William Shakespeare’s house, New Place, right…

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The Merely Moral…


…Are glad to accept that standard

by which those bestowed with an overplus

of spirit become their equal.


The struggle for equality before divinity

is for them a way of life…


That high spirits might

actually be incompatible with morality

has never ocurred to them…


The chain of generations

must strive to be moral

before scaling the heights of spirit!


How else can the order of rank

amongst things, as well as men,

be maintained?


A flying visit – Seeing the details

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

It is impossible to walk around Stratford-upon-Avon without noticing its history, its art or its connection to William Shakespeare. Half timbered buildings are, it seems, everywhere. Statues and artistic depictions of the Bard vie with signs bearing his name or allusions to his work… in every conceivable place. There are, however, an awful lot of details that are easy to miss, unless you happen to be looking in the right direction.

Take the theatre, for example. The red brick building dominates the town. At first glance, it seems out of place, but closer inspection shows it to be an Art Deco creation that has evolved over time to incorporate new spaces and a theatre in the round. The 1932 building replaced an earlier edifice that was destroyed by fire. The current building was designed by Elizabeth Scott, and was the first major public space designed by a woman. It is…

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A Last Laugh?…


The New European,

in need of a costume

rifles through the storehouse of history

but finds none that quite fit…


We may consider the twenty-first century (common age)

with regard to these wayward

predilections of style…


In vain, we parade ourselves as Romantic,

or Baroque, or…

But, alas, nothing now suits us.


The spirit, being spirit,

spies an advantage in this,

our despair.


We are a fledgling age of Carnival,

in our ill-fitting garb

we make ready to take to the World Stage…


As Buffoons of God!

A flying visit to Stratford-upon-Avon

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Because I’d been at work that morning, it was well after lunch before we even set off on the 60 mile trip to Shakespeare’s home town. We knew before we left that there would not be enough time to explore properly, but the main aim of the trip was to get photographs of the Shakespeare memorial. We also planned to visit a pub and take a look at the manor house where Stuart had lived when he worked for the BBC. The manor is just outside Stratford, in Alveston, and to continue the literary connection, the village was once home to author J B Priestley and his wife, author and archaeologist, Jacquetta Hawkes.

The memorial was to be our first stop, but we had parked at the far end of the town and so, as we walked, we were able to see that characteristic mix of Georgian elegance, Victorian opulence…

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Formulas of Virtue…


We have become

well versed

in the love of enemies…

That’s the long and the short of it!


Silent and graceful,

we move,

as automata,

in a pit of vipers…


Our frozen lips

trace past moralities

like a catechism…

but their utterance is forever forestalled.


The mudras of free-thought

have replaced our religious posturing.

Our musical conscience, our dancing spirit,

Leaps above and beyond the ‘philistine’…




In respect of the Bard…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

With the Silent Eye’s annual workshop just weeks away and based around the idea of a fictitious final play by William Shakespeare, we decided to take a trip to his birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon to pay our respects. With his back to the river and surrounded by some of his most memorable characters, the Bard surveys the life of the town, watching from his pedestal as he would have watched in life.

It is said, although there is no record of either event, that Shakespeare was born in Henley Street, on 23rd April, St. George’s day in 1564 and died on the same day in 1616. It is plausible, as although records were not kept in those days of births and deaths, his baptism was recorded on April 26th 1564 and his burial on 26th April 1616, at Holy Trinity Church.

His father was a successful glove maker and his mother the daughter…

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