There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.
By Robert W. Service 1874 - 1958
Could have been written about my ex-boyfriend...
Showing posts with label loneliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loneliness. Show all posts
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Friday, 6 August 2010
lost in translation - together
People seem to either love or hate this film. I love it. People who hate it, 'don't get it', obviously they have never had this sort of experience. I have. And the beauty of the film is how poignantly realistic it is... *sigh*, I'm going to stop there. It's too close to my own heart to go into further without revealing too much about my own experience. Plus I don't want to go there for my own sanity.
Instead I'll hand over to the words of someone else - Roger Ebert.
Here are some snippets.
Bill Murray's acting in Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation" is surely one of the most exquisitely controlled performances in recent movies. Without it, the film could be unwatchable. With it, I can't take my eyes away. Not for a second, not for a frame, does his focus relax, and yet it seems effortless. It's sometimes said of an actor that we can't see him acting. I can't even see himnot acting. He seems to be existing, merely existing, in the situation created for him by Sofia Coppola.
She has one objective: She wants to show two people lonely in vast foreign Tokyo and coming to the mutual realization that their lives are stuck. Perhaps what they're looking for is the same thing I've heard we seek in marriage: A witness. Coppola wants to get that note right. There isn't a viewer who doesn't expect Bob Harris and Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) to end up in love, or having sex, or whatever. We've met Charlotte's husband John (Giovanni Ribisi). We expect him to return unexpectedly from his photo shoot and surprise them together. These expectations have been sculpted, one chip of Hollywood's chisel after another, in tens of thousands of films. The last thing we expect is… what would probably actually happen. They share loneliness.
I can't tell you how many people have told me that just don't get "Lost in Translation." They want to know what it's about. They complain "nothing happens." They've been trained by movies that tell them where to look and what to feel, in stories that have a beginning, a middle and an end. "Lost in Translation" offers an experience in the exercise of empathy. The characters empathize with each other (that's what it's about), and we can empathize with them going through that process. It's not a question of reading our own emotions into Murray's blank slate. The slate isn't blank. It's on hold. He doesn't choose to wear his heart on his sleeve for Charlotte, and he doesn't choose to make a move. But he is very lonely and not without sympathy for her. She would plausibly have sex with him, casually, to be "nice," and because she's mad at her husband and it might be fun. But she doesn't know as he does that if you cheat it shouldn't be with someone it would make a difference to.
I wish I had written and made this film.
Thursday, 13 May 2010
Norfolk - Northfork
I was filming in Norfolk recently and we spent the night on the north coast next to these huge mudflats by the Sea. It was bloody freezing but beautiful.
We stayed in a little B&B, with all the English chintz that you'd expect.
Behind the house was a boat in a field. It belonged to the couple's son and I thought 'how cool to live in a houseboat in a field' - but apparently, and to my disappointment, it's not a houseboat but just a regular boat he's renovating and no one lives there.
Reminded me though of the crazy 2003 film Northfork (note similarities of name with Norfolk!) Has anyone seen it? I still have no idea what to make of it. I think it probably had amazing potential which it didn't quite meet unfortunately. A modern day Noah's Ark? Maybe that's what the son was really building...
We stayed in a little B&B, with all the English chintz that you'd expect.
Behind the house was a boat in a field. It belonged to the couple's son and I thought 'how cool to live in a houseboat in a field' - but apparently, and to my disappointment, it's not a houseboat but just a regular boat he's renovating and no one lives there.
Reminded me though of the crazy 2003 film Northfork (note similarities of name with Norfolk!) Has anyone seen it? I still have no idea what to make of it. I think it probably had amazing potential which it didn't quite meet unfortunately. A modern day Noah's Ark? Maybe that's what the son was really building...
I like the loneliness in it though, and that's what the Norfolk boat reminded me of. Poetic.
Talking about loneliness, here's 10 words a Twitter friend just used to describe me:
Beautiful, intelligent, sullen, travelled, protective, sculptural, simpatica, graceful, lost, tierna
Tierna is Spanish - Literally, it means "tender" but the connotation is sweet, loveable, innocent, heart-warming, etc.
Monday, 26 April 2010
On falling in love
I recently met Diana Athill.
She was born inconceivably long ago, at the end of the First World War; and now at 92 is still sharp as a knife and loving life more than ever. Her rather unusual life, can I think be said to be a product of her own ‘self’ more than anything else.
Born into an upper class family, she spent most of her childhood on an enormous estate in rural Norfolk, and although she never inherited any of the wealth, she has kept her Queen’s English accent. She went to Oxford and then helped set up and run the publishing firm, Andre Deutsch, for 50 years, publishing VS Naipaul, Molly Keane, John Updike and Jean Rhys among others.
She is known for her daring and racy love life, she has had many lovers over the years, including younger black men and married men – all of which she documents with astounding candour in the books she wrote, primarily in her 80s. And some of her own accounts paint her far from the sweet old woman she looks like today. She has never been sweet.
There are several quotes and excerpts from her books which I love, because they ring so true, either with some of my own experiences or philosophies.
It all started for Diana when her fiancé jilted her for another woman, which she says took her 20 years to fully recover from.
On falling in love:
The sensations involved are after all undeniably delicious: not least the sensations of danger, of being aware of risk and of a sudden release from ones inhibitions against embracing risk.
Intoxication is what it is: it is as seductive and dangerous as alcohol, and should be handled as cautiously. How generations of romanticising Romance can be counter-balanced is hard to see, but it ought to be done.
In old age I can still remember the matchless intoxication of falling in love...and the more common but no less delicious sensations of a powerful physical attraction...I wonder what took me into such affairs, and what held me in them, almost always, until the man moved on.
When I did fall in love again after the war, it didn’t work either, that was very sad. He wasn’t eligible – would have been a good match, nice and rich but he never fell in love with me, thought he might be but he didn’t. He was a nice brave man and was brave enough to say it’s not going to work, I’m not falling in love with you.
Result was pretty shattering but got over it quite fast, no false hopes, cry cry, finish. That was much better.
When you fall in love, you’re not in a normal state – mad as a hatter. You know less about that person at that stage than you ever will again, you’re not seeing that person, you’re seeing your need.
One of her criticisms is for being cold at times…
I am one of those people who are hardly ever totally involved in an emotion. Always a beady-eyed watcher at back of my mind.
I try to be truthful, everyone always goes on about this honesty, even if sometimes uncomfortable.
That suggests a kind of coldness in me. Not that involved emotionally, more curious, watching it, like reading an interesting book. Not as kindly involved as I appear to be – more distanced – a beady eye.
A lot of writers say they can sit and watch their parents die, they mind, but still observing it and watching my own reactions all the time.
Loneliness and heartbreak
During that time my soul shrank to the size of a pea. It had never been very large or succulent but now it had almost withered away. I escaped emptiness through sleep - dormouse, hibernation.
I wish now that in my youth I had loved my family less....I might have had the courage for revolt, instead of going quietly underground.
Did I once, long before I can remember, want to fall in love with my father as little girls as supposed to do, and was I chilled by an indifference that left me with a tendancy to expect rejection? It would make sense, it is the sort of explanation offered by convincing textbooks, but it seems a bit too simple for me.
If I fell seriously in love it was with a fatalistic expectation of disaster, and disaster followed. By the time I reached my thirties I was convinced that I lacked some vital quality necessary to inspire love, and it was not until my forties were approaching that I began to see the possibility that instead of lacking it, I might have been suppressing it; that my profound 'misfortune', of being unable to make the men I loved love me in return, might be the result of an attitude of my own which came from a subconsious equating of love with pain.
I did not fall in love with him, but might have been jumping off a cliff?
On life:
I was fairly optimistic and resilient, when I came across story of 103 year old lady who had an infinitely more frightful life than me and still think life is wonderful and plays the piano 3 hours a day. Her sister, she said, was always unhappy – what you’re born with – either being unhappy or able to be resilient.
On marriage:
I’ve seen enough happy and successful marriages to know you can really have hardly anything better when it works.
A relationship can start being romantic and end being very good all round.
Or can be romantic to start with and end up being hell – my 2nd great love – who I would have gone through fire for, I knew nothing about him at all – I understood Tony quite well, but not the 2nd, we only met about 10 times.
Sex:
Men feel differently about sex – varieties about how people feel about sex are very great. On the whole, I think there is a difference – based purely and simply on biology.
After all every time a woman fucks, she could get pregnant, could be about to change the whole nature of her life. Completely. Not true of a man, he’s much freer.
To say the pill ended that is not true, it’s quite a drastic interference with your nature. A long time before women can feel as free about sex as men can, not sure they ever will be able to.
When I was young I thought about men all the time and about love. One was mixed up about sex and love, thought they were thinking about love on the whole. Think I always thought I was thinking about love.
When I was sexually attracted to someone but didn’t love them I never thought that I loved them. What I really wanted was love, not sex, well sex with it. It is for a good many men too I think isn’t it.
Click here for more on Diana
She was born inconceivably long ago, at the end of the First World War; and now at 92 is still sharp as a knife and loving life more than ever. Her rather unusual life, can I think be said to be a product of her own ‘self’ more than anything else.
Born into an upper class family, she spent most of her childhood on an enormous estate in rural Norfolk, and although she never inherited any of the wealth, she has kept her Queen’s English accent. She went to Oxford and then helped set up and run the publishing firm, Andre Deutsch, for 50 years, publishing VS Naipaul, Molly Keane, John Updike and Jean Rhys among others.
She is known for her daring and racy love life, she has had many lovers over the years, including younger black men and married men – all of which she documents with astounding candour in the books she wrote, primarily in her 80s. And some of her own accounts paint her far from the sweet old woman she looks like today. She has never been sweet.
There are several quotes and excerpts from her books which I love, because they ring so true, either with some of my own experiences or philosophies.
It all started for Diana when her fiancé jilted her for another woman, which she says took her 20 years to fully recover from.
On falling in love:
The sensations involved are after all undeniably delicious: not least the sensations of danger, of being aware of risk and of a sudden release from ones inhibitions against embracing risk.
Intoxication is what it is: it is as seductive and dangerous as alcohol, and should be handled as cautiously. How generations of romanticising Romance can be counter-balanced is hard to see, but it ought to be done.
In old age I can still remember the matchless intoxication of falling in love...and the more common but no less delicious sensations of a powerful physical attraction...I wonder what took me into such affairs, and what held me in them, almost always, until the man moved on.
When I did fall in love again after the war, it didn’t work either, that was very sad. He wasn’t eligible – would have been a good match, nice and rich but he never fell in love with me, thought he might be but he didn’t. He was a nice brave man and was brave enough to say it’s not going to work, I’m not falling in love with you.
Result was pretty shattering but got over it quite fast, no false hopes, cry cry, finish. That was much better.
When you fall in love, you’re not in a normal state – mad as a hatter. You know less about that person at that stage than you ever will again, you’re not seeing that person, you’re seeing your need.
One of her criticisms is for being cold at times…
I am one of those people who are hardly ever totally involved in an emotion. Always a beady-eyed watcher at back of my mind.
I try to be truthful, everyone always goes on about this honesty, even if sometimes uncomfortable.
That suggests a kind of coldness in me. Not that involved emotionally, more curious, watching it, like reading an interesting book. Not as kindly involved as I appear to be – more distanced – a beady eye.
A lot of writers say they can sit and watch their parents die, they mind, but still observing it and watching my own reactions all the time.
Loneliness and heartbreak
During that time my soul shrank to the size of a pea. It had never been very large or succulent but now it had almost withered away. I escaped emptiness through sleep - dormouse, hibernation.
I wish now that in my youth I had loved my family less....I might have had the courage for revolt, instead of going quietly underground.
Did I once, long before I can remember, want to fall in love with my father as little girls as supposed to do, and was I chilled by an indifference that left me with a tendancy to expect rejection? It would make sense, it is the sort of explanation offered by convincing textbooks, but it seems a bit too simple for me.
If I fell seriously in love it was with a fatalistic expectation of disaster, and disaster followed. By the time I reached my thirties I was convinced that I lacked some vital quality necessary to inspire love, and it was not until my forties were approaching that I began to see the possibility that instead of lacking it, I might have been suppressing it; that my profound 'misfortune', of being unable to make the men I loved love me in return, might be the result of an attitude of my own which came from a subconsious equating of love with pain.
I did not fall in love with him, but might have been jumping off a cliff?
On life:
I was fairly optimistic and resilient, when I came across story of 103 year old lady who had an infinitely more frightful life than me and still think life is wonderful and plays the piano 3 hours a day. Her sister, she said, was always unhappy – what you’re born with – either being unhappy or able to be resilient.
On marriage:
I’ve seen enough happy and successful marriages to know you can really have hardly anything better when it works.
A relationship can start being romantic and end being very good all round.
Or can be romantic to start with and end up being hell – my 2nd great love – who I would have gone through fire for, I knew nothing about him at all – I understood Tony quite well, but not the 2nd, we only met about 10 times.
Sex:
Men feel differently about sex – varieties about how people feel about sex are very great. On the whole, I think there is a difference – based purely and simply on biology.
After all every time a woman fucks, she could get pregnant, could be about to change the whole nature of her life. Completely. Not true of a man, he’s much freer.
To say the pill ended that is not true, it’s quite a drastic interference with your nature. A long time before women can feel as free about sex as men can, not sure they ever will be able to.
When I was young I thought about men all the time and about love. One was mixed up about sex and love, thought they were thinking about love on the whole. Think I always thought I was thinking about love.
When I was sexually attracted to someone but didn’t love them I never thought that I loved them. What I really wanted was love, not sex, well sex with it. It is for a good many men too I think isn’t it.
Click here for more on Diana
Saturday, 8 August 2009
sometimes I feel lonely, but that's okay
I have an etching on my wall by Tracey Emin. I bought it for £250 after my first really serious boyfriend left me when I was 21. It’s of a little bird on a branch and at the bottom it says ‘Sometimes I feel lonely, but that’s okay.’
I never care what people think about me.
Yeah right! Of course I do really, everyone does right? Or let’s rephrase that – it’s when you care what everyone thinks about you that you’re in trouble. Most people care what the people they care about, think. And that’s totally understandable.
I’m at home alone on a Saturday night – oh god, what will people think? I should be out partying, surely that’s what EVERYONE else my age is doing tonight? Then one day I realised something. It’s OKAY if I don’t want to do what everyone else is doing or what I think I should be doing. I’m much happier when I’m doing my own thing.
The happiest, quirkiest people I know often do their own thing, odd things, which is sometimes nothing, or not the thing they should be doing. See what I’m saying?
It took me a long time to get to this realisation, I’ve put a lot of work into learning to respect and like myself but sometimes I still forget it.
Oh god this blog is bloody boring and self-absorbed.
Ok what now? Well, I want to tell you something I find very difficult to admit or say out loud.
The thing is, what I really want to tell you is – that I’ve never felt that I have many friends or that they are REALLY there for me if ever I need them to be. I’ve always been someone who has formed strong friendships with individuals, and never really had a big group of friends who I can hang out with. That’s what I would like/need. The few close friends I have all have groups of friends who I’m not part of so I always end up being the friend they go out to dinner with or have round for dinner. Going round and round the M25 looking for the right exit and ending up at the end of a long traffic jam. Added to that, most of my few close friends have moved abroad/got married and had babies.
Sometimes I just need to adjust my hermit crab/social butterfly settings – a bit of socialising and then it’s back to the hermit crab. I’ll arrange something tomorrow for next week. Everyone’s probably busy though.
So, I am at home again on a Saturday night, watching CSI, tweeting and blogging. And then someone posts this link on Twitter and suddenly it all seems okay again.
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