aboriginalizing methodology: considering the canoe Peter Cole

QUALITATIVE STUDIES IN EDUCATION, 2002, VOL. 15, NO. 4, 447 – 459

protocol for passengers

ama sqit nilhsten skwatsits tsexox

welcome to the sound of running water ideo morphic ortho graphies

welcome to conversations of stone river earth sky

this canoe tsexox missing a few glottal stops welcomes you

first a caution even to the best swimmers treaders floaters logholders

it would be advisable that while we are in motion

that you not stand up as we journey

to lake stream river ocean sky stars language spirit world

“please spare us’’ I can hear an academic geyser spouting up right down centre

everywhere in particular this oraclic source infected with ratio caucus iuris

this mesoscopic cog(noscento) of how it [education] is supposed to be                                            

shaped and shaping

this disease which is its own vector this malady which is its own cause

is known to cause short-sightedness tunnel vision and intolerance

to diffracted white light

“please’’ speaks the voice from the plume “channel your romantic piffle elsewhere

in this country we use scientific principles social science methods

including scholarly referencing’’

which appeared to a succession of mostly white mostly expired mostly men

of mediated merit du club des vieux garçons

or perhaps ex nihilo like manna banana panna

coyote is feeling a bit put off by the tone she is picking up

but she puts it down to human beings being human beings of an occidental kind

uncontaminated by this accelerating discovering she transforms herself

into a fourlegged and trots along the river bank

raven skycams overhead now alloyed to the bird nation

with respect to this canoe journey there will be extremes of weather and climate

there will be portages rapids waterfalls riptides swells crests gales typhoons tsunami

forest and grass fires droughts sandstorms blizzards toxic sludge customs agents

so bring waterproof windproof heatproof coldproof insulated breathable comfortable

light wash `n wear bedding clothing attitudes and a thick skin

you might want to bring a tent some bushsmarts and navigating knowhow

but please no cellphones beepers laptops palmtops modems

satellite communication devices radios tvs cd recorders dats recorders

the default position here is “unencumbered’ ’

by the “conveniences’’ of modern life wireless transistorless chipless

some ports of call require a passport and visa

some require oaths or affidavits of allegiance

some sovereign indigenous nations require that you apply in advance

to enter their domain using the correct protocol

I know you will be respectful to the shapes and textures

scents resiliences resonances zoning bylaws stones

native flora “driftwood’’ mores ethics of the places we visit

I know that you know how to act in someone else’s home

where you are an invited guest not a tourist

so grab a paddle or rudder or line and keep time  i t  indian time

my experience is that a vertical attitude in turbulence

tends toward horizontal or oblique compromise

so for your own safety and that of your cotravellers

please sit be comfortable and strap yourself in

to a personal floatation device or parachute relax have fun

and don’t worry too much if there aren’t suffcient references

to published materials or any at least in the first few bends

in time the earth and sky will denecessitate the need for biblio graphics

replacing them with sound vision texture scent taste

as jake thomas cayuga elder said at a conference

at the six nations reserve in 1998 “thank you for inviting me

to come up here and waste my breath again’’

a silence followed by laughter

shaping the canoe

the means of transportation I have chosen for this article

as well as my doctoral dissertation

first peoples’ knowings as legitimate discourse in education: coming home to the village

besides language is a canoe

constructed not from the forest nations but from words

and the gesturings of those words and the spaces around those words

the idea of chapter is anathema to who I am as an indigenous person

it implies western order and format as “the’’ legitimate shapers of discourse

the universe being ordered into rationally constructed geometries

precluding enthalpy to be the prescribed means of navigating

rather than say entropy devalidating our own symbolic sense of ourselves

perceptions of our perceptions making us take up the tools of the settlers

hoe hoe hoe rake shovel ratiocination for the nation

the idea of paragraph is meaningless to my sense

of oral contiguousness with the land with community with acting in the world

it is a denunciation of the geography of my relationship with place

where are the plateaux the escarpments the end moraines the ridges and slopes

the practice of academically certified punctuation distances me

from my sense of space time and natural speech patterns including translated ones

separating me from my connection with the earth and its natural rhythms

the a priori presumption being that the written word is of paramount worth

the assumption being that the mechanisms of codification

and transliteration of our rhythms periods commas semicolons

have anything (whatsoever) to do with our paralinguistic choreographies

to thus delegate the orality of my nation and its transcription to a place removed

from equal symbolic even orthographic consideration

is to put us in our place illiterates illegitimates iterati

the ideas of beginningmiddleend genesis exodus revelation testa corpus coda

are ways of linearly encoding a western vision of the world

ways of encrypting experience so that little by little we are all molded

into believing unthinkingly that there are beginnings middles ends

believing that experience can be diagrammed graphed morphed thus

the idea of capital versus small letters as being reflections of the world

is a way of “class’’ifying words caste-ing them

and those who use them differentially

it is a way of playing with value and with naming

some words (we are to assume) are common some proper

and because I do not see any noun as being un“common’ ’ or im“proper’’

and rather than using caste nomenclature orthographic diversion

in the practice of capital and small letters

rather than being equitable and capitalizing them all

I capitalize only the ones which ask to be capitalized

by which I mean I am writ the things which become words “write’’ me

retroactively and in so doing make the choice themselves

as to how they prefer to be and if at all on paper

the idea of only a fixed vocabulary being tolerated in scholarly endeavour

disallowing unglossaried unannounced neologistic precipitation is culturally binding

these categories are cultural prisons

within which “other’’ is castigated set adrift within a panopticon/vention

in (a) craft bound not for mutual acculturation

but unilateral assimilation genosimilitude

where are the translated places for parts of speech english doesn’t have

parts of speech indigenous languages don’t have

where is there unobstructed space for the animated in transit

I align spatially rather than use punctuation as the default place of diacritics

this english language was forced onto my nation in residential school

and other places our languages were and are not “official’’

have you ever seen a five year old girl with a pin (inserted) through her tongue

for speaking her language permission resides in me as languaged

to use this imposed english as I must otherwise it will use me at its discretion

forging me into molds of correct usage which would never do

insofar as my own agenda is concerned

english is one of the languages I was raised in

it is the language of my mother and my father knew it too

I allowed myself to be colonized by it unaware ssssss

in turn I have chosen to use it as I need to for my writing

even if it means I must write chaos chance trickster

even if it means I must bring words into existence

which thencetofore were naught

if a word does not exist I let it invent me through it

if a way of getting an idea or sound or intention across works or I think it does

I employ it paying union wages including over time

I am the written the languaged the read

and the “me’’ I speak of here at this cross-roads this node

this inter-section this confluence is one

which exists within as well as despite language

like a stone partly beneath the earth or water or sky partly above it

it is not that the stone is partly buried or submerged but that its relationship

with earth with water with air is not defined solely in terms of the preposition “above’’

as a languaged person I do not acknowledge as ultimate authority

of how I am to express myself “correctly’’ using english

dictionaries lexicons grammarabilia

and other imported colonialist paraphernalia

who owns this language to whom is it deeded chartered

who has given the university the government the viceroy intendancy

over how documents are to be languaged over what counts

as legitimate discourse within a sanctioned institution of post-knowing

when this tool of conquerage this english was forced on us

we vowed to use it so as to communicate as best we were able

I set as my task to write for meaning rather than correctness

even at the risk of being misunderstood mis-taken

which is part of what language is all about — risk

negotiating meaning agency power relations

in order to enter those realms of anointed power

those racially predestined orbs those p/reserves of academ(ent)ia

those places where I can be of immediate help for my nation

it is deemed I am to follow western epistemologies

cast like the commandments of moses [or the manifesto of andré breton]

into petrified substantiation transited like retrograde orbiting planets

with us as indigenous peoples caught in the thrall

like occulted satellites eclipsed step sibs ellipses to the indian act and treaties

my canoe is a place of cultural understanding

it transports it connects me to the forest and the water and to my spirit

it conveys it acts as a place of gestation of birthing

in transit and final worldly threshold for generations

millenia of my relations if ever there was home for our migrations

it is this form this vessel this tree relation

this part of my article is an introduction but not to a beginning

to a continuation a continuing

with the transfer of these words from computer screen pencil pen

thought feeling spirit sound to paper

the canoe comes from the forest and from place of mind spirit

thanks here are given for the sister/brother cedar’s life medicines are burned

whereafter planks so carefully are eased from the snag’s trunk

with such delicate surgery you’d think it were an operation

on a butterfly’s broken wing

though it might seem the canoe and tree are from a conceptual space

they are from spirit and heart

and it is in those places I give thanks kukwstumlhkacw

paper has long been the form whereon the academy has held the forest hostage

for its wildness its untamed savagery its plantness

in the end itself returning to pulp and dissipated print

so many documents are created or photocopied ongoingly

you’d think universities were themselves forest industries

so great their tonnage of this stuff

yet here too is a forest though not called so yet is

pulped pressed flat between covers printed on in aisles and paginated

even so it is just that yet not just that even is it more

this canoe’s medium will be air though most of us are aware

there is customarily in air a plenitude of water called humidity

the power needed to make and power computer engineering arises

in the turbines of dams for which forests are felled submerged

paper thus is even where it is not since its absence is only that

a presence of not having been processed from tree dimension

into eight and a half by eleven a-4  plus or minus and its direct declensions

the sentience of trees named by the sound of wind in branches

when elder brother is reddest indeed this relation of the tree nation

is all that brother can be when manifest in trans form

a home for my nation

in creating a framework

our educational frameworks are not imported from conceptual spaces

or other western domains

they are not semiotic xenotransplants tip-layered epistemes adventitious suckers

this would be the usual site for parentheses encasing a published reference

title punctuation year perhaps a superscript numeral

alas I offer only experience upon which to draw

in this instance it is my only referee

I the unanointed paleo-subjectivity am not unaware

that persons high on the plateau of western knowing

the in alto cognoscenti would call this practice unscholarly or “polemical’’

if in fact this article became becomes published

alack we pre/preter/extra/alter/literate autochthones with our transgressive praxes

have only our experiences and stories to which we might allude

—though we could beg to intone invoke evince

the anthropologists linguists historians indian expert educators

who have made careers out of studying us

and we could fulfill the mandate of referencing

by quoting them quoting us —but I will refrain

)and please this “we’’ I employ is inclusive only as a rhetorical device(

and since I am not practiced at referencing nature in a scholarly manner

I will let the paren)theses( remain outside of the visible

and get on with building a framework with a purpose

as we paddle together portage make and break camp

I will take time to consider and plan and implement a framework

of some no little importance for the lives of many first peoples

in considering a sweatlodge

for a sweatlodge it is not unimportant

the journey of the parts in relation to the whole

firstoff it (the impersonable pronoun) is not taken for granted

that a sweatlodge is necessarily necessary

at such and such a time or place or circum/stance

it is not taken for granted that we are called upon

by the ancestors and the powers and spirits and beings to construct a sweatlodge

rather it is an honour an obligation to construct one

or have one constructed through oneself

once it has been determined necessary or appropriate

the framework then —is not identical from nation to nation to nation

nor the rituals involved including the means of harvesting

our relations the willow if indeed it is the willow we speak of

(some employ other members of the tree nations especially

as willow is not universally present in all geographies)

on the willow grow ofttimes our spiritual sisters and brothers

our relations the fungus nations we do not take for granted

that we can dislodge these spiritual medicines from their home

further it must be agreed on the placement of the lodge and the timing

and not just by one another and ourselves but by all that is life

everything is part of the framework and is the framework

including our relations with ]the[ creator sun moon earth sky one another

how many willows must be asked for how are the willows to be spoken with

who will speak and when and how in what language

what will be offered the willow for its life will the willow agree

are there not insect and bird nations to be consulted viruses

will the willow be in constant contact with the ground

situated so as to remember and relate in transit

and what ground where

from the time of harvesting onwards

during transportation to the place of construction of lodge

will the ground be dug into with implements or with hands or at all

will there be a pit for the rocks which will heat the water that will carry our prayers

who will do the digging what will this person say when

will the leaves of the willow be removed or not

will there be purifications at all stages

is respect to be shown generally specifically latently

in the consensus of this enterprise will “nature’’ be part of consensus

who will speak for “nature’’ who can hear her

is interpretation necessary in order to understand

the voice the language of “nature’’ are we not nature

how deep will the holes be for each willow how many

which hole will be dug first what direction who will dig it which second

who will tie the willows together once they are bent together

what will they be tied with what knot what colour what time of day

in what moon how are all of our relations to be honoured

when the intercultural conversation is from many nations and languages

and traditions are there hardandfast rules are there protocols

known through living respectful lives on and with the land and sky

where does authenticity reside legitimacy whose whose not

what will cover the bent willows

the skins of our relations the fourleggeds

or tarps plastic whatever is available

where will the fire be what direction how many stones will be used

how many logs for fuel what kind how will they be collected and by whom

how will the logs and the stones be set down

who will keep the fire how will our relations the stones be treated

after they have helped us in our healing there is so much more

and much of it is not for sharing on paper for academic reasons

why the instrumental of who is not one of the adverbs conjunctions or nouns which

our elders employ in interrogative discourse

because to use why it is said seems to be questioning the creator’s motives

seems to be calling onto the mat of reason what lies beyond

(or other/wise thither from) reason

a framework

is not just an architect/ural or /tectonic manifestation of a blueprint/ing

it is the enactment of a respectful relationship

with the rest of creation which shares this earth with us

a framework is never a noun never simply a metaphor

it cannot be captured thus as a part of speech a figuration

it is more than any words which attempt to denotate it

a framework is a journey/ing with

domicilic frameworks

we constructed our homes from earth from our relations the tree nations

according to the seasons our number and available sustenance

the placement of salmon people in a comparatively accessible degree

you could argue (if you were of such a mind to) that we had theories

of nomadism and seasonal variation migration initiation

the practice was we inhumed ourselves in and with the white blanket of winter

but this was not an academically strategized model

it was practice it was survival it did not rise or otherwise spread

from rationalist scientist occidental epistemologies even retroactively

even by onside “indians’’ colonized elite collaborators ambitious apples

red on the outside white on the in or variations on these

our pit-home walls kept a considerable r-value between us

and the weather and the geography which was also inside

we slept and cooked and attended indoor chores in reasonable comfort

there was a hole for smoke and the breath of our ancestors

and the plant nations to mingle with ours

and at least one alternate means of egress in case of emergency

which of course was always just around the bend

we didn’t have corners in our language

we wove mats spread grasses hung our salmon engendered regenerated expired

in this domicilic framework enfolding us this home

within an elaborate performative epistemology of survivance

thank you professor vizenor for that netted gem

precluding or at least gesturing toward our continuance

on the great interior plateau our home land and native oka nada

(which for those outside of the canadian context relates to a major military standoff

near montreal quebec canada between a handfull of aboriginal people

and a division of the canadian army

over replacing a sacred “indian’’ burial site (alias dictus cemetery) with a golf course

oka being the reserve nada being by inference never   the less

each person had comprehensive expertise we were communal individuals

with broad as well as specific survival strategies

sleeves up our tricks ravenpockets coyotedreams

in those days before the whiteman our individuality

was not the focus and resolve it is today

ex/clusivizing self from selves selves from self

life spindled spun and wove us together

more aboriginal/ized epistemologies and methodologies

weaving and knitting our clothes and furniture from trees grasses wool hair roots

provided protective domestic frameworks with which to cover ourselves

in those long winter nights when we had time to theorize

about indigenous weaving metaphors and textual interpenetration

linguistic multifurcation and the strategics of risk venturing

but for the most part we huddled together in collective warmth and caring

our looms were are technological studies in simplicity denoting demarc/at/ing us

as primitive disingenuous naïve stoneage gullible trusting

our simplicity made us fertile grounds for evangelical hubris

for the lies and genocides acted out on us present tense included

by the ruling soldierly and settlerly classes from europe [sic]

trans/planted imports choking out native species

of course it is the greatest genius which is simple s/implicit

anyone with less than half a mind can dumbfound an audience

with complications obfuscative dithrambic clarifications appropriately

gesticulated graphed and overhead projected lubyrasered chartflipped

oh yes we had our frameworks and they were mostly temporary

like us  except in the long run we returned to the earth we never left

our frameworks the grammar of our actions declensioning us

subjecting us to nominal activity deverbifying “acting’’ into action

even now the english language is the time machine that takes us back

wards to a truth that was never part of any story

we ever heard or imagined in our primitive e/state

especially as we have (at least had) no past or future tense

until our ideas became translated into english and back

and suddenly even our present became on hold mise en scène  iris shot

aboriginal technological frameworks

frameworks yes we used what the newcomers called frameworks

to gather our relations the salmon nations

these were our installations and properties and sets

molding us to the places of the river which named us

through our naming of them the land languaged us

with the breath it gave us we spoke to identify (actually to relate) our connecting

our fishing platforms and scaffolds held us over breakwaters hairpin bends

and back-eddies with our three-pronged spears and gaffs harpoons

basketry traps weirs set lines set-nets dip-nets gillnets scoopnets

and drying racks ready to enact the prayer

which adapted us to the condition/al/s the laconic geographies

a few weeks of good fishing meant survival rather than starvation

and it was rarely longer a time we were given to store for the winter

“if ’’ was not an overly used morpheme in our vocabulary

our frameworks and workings took into account the clarity (or not)

of the water its speed its dervish its placidity its negotiativity

we paid intimate attendance to geography by the default position

of being unseparated from it rather than prepositionally related ad/hered to it

we were and are not speci/fic/ally different from salmon

steelhead rainbow silver trout oolichan sturgeon dolly varden

until we all started sprouting latin nomenclature

becoming reductively subsumed into rationalist scientist discourses

I don’t know the reason canada has just a federal department of indian affairs

there is no department of white affairs salmon affairs

moose beaver deer bear not to forget the waterfowl

and how did the conversation get shifted into the western category of “rights’’

including aboriginal rights

we never had “rights’’ before contact we had relationships we had community

talking about aboriginal rights is a way of moving an aboriginal relational conversation

away into a western legal discourse

give me relationships mr prime minister and the opportunity to practice my culture

on my own land and you can keep your native rights

and the rest of your imported legislation or that passed to benefit the “majority’’

which means the 95% who are not aboriginal

don’t continue to lock us in your semiotic conceptual prisons

we’re inmate enough as it is without being immured

by the cementum of your white discourse

relating to relations: a framework of respect

catching fish is different from studying toward a phd

(though they can both be done at the same time) in that fishing can sustain life

one does not require possession of these three consonants after one’s name

in order to catch fish or even to provoke them into predatory discourse

nor to be able to create tools and implements and ideations relating to the fish nations

it does not require a certificate or degree to understand

or be able to assess the psychology limnology piscatology related to fish

because psychology and assessment being human constructs

are of little import to fish but saying that

I do not presume to speak for fish but to share my experience of them

together with my assumptive objectifications which I try to keep to a minimum

in order to be able to predict indeed or survive in or with the weather

and attached seasons and know the relationship between the blossoming

of particular plants in the montane ultra back home

and the running of particular salmonic subspecies/subspecific salmon

does not require academic expertise

in the fashioning of tools with which to fell trees

and make of them nominations of survival

weaving together t/ropes finding respectful ways of design/at/ing our relations

the fish nations from earth from tree containers to hold salmon oil

one does not need a masterate in archaeology or socalled “hi’’ tech

to survive in the mindset/tler space of “pre’’ historic times

a rich and diverse imagination and respectful action would do and did and does

theory yes we devised ideas too frameworks

when there was time to reflect refract diffract diffuse

there was always somebody in the community

wanting to gainsay needing to theorize about the world

but mostly they were under six years of age

and mostly it was refraction and diffusion

which are about how fish see us and patterns of in/ter/ference

relating to how we see them or not

not to forget or neglect the importance of groping in darkness

tactiling feeling for the bottomfeeders with your toes your feet

not needing to rely exclusively on visual acuity

our kind of framework/ing is looked on as primitive by the larger society

because in modern western mindsetting

there are factory people to perform the preliminary work

to assemble package process thereby de-prioritize

the need for us to rub sticks or strike stones together in order to have heat

we have a thermostat and “fossil fuels’’ volatile combustibles

in the fervour and flux of modern comfort let us not forget dams

which not only destroy animals and their homes the forests meadows

but they also heat us in directly proportionate ways

to their destruction of life habitat

yes insects viruses rodents amphibians reptiles

mammals the bird and fish nations live lives real lives

they are not expendable just so that we can be more comfortable

how can methodology be separate from the living

of an ethical compassionate life together with

as first peoples of this land our responsibilities include

to take into accountability not just measurability

our relationships with the rest of creation

we follow our original instructions as orally passed on

as well as continually relearned in our ceremonies rituals daily protocols

we work to regenerate mutual relationships interpenetrating considerations

ethics for us is not an add-on or a form to fill in

it is intimate integration with the deep structure of our understanding

of creation including its ongoingness its pre- co- and post-emptiveness

our way is not to bioassay and reproduce mapped grids gradients

of the western research paradigms

accountability and respect is not just about seeking re-zoning approval

it is more than following approved bureaucratic structural codes

what about consideration for all our relations

what about love for each leaf tree stone student colleague

insect fish worm fourlegged microbe fungus moss lichen virus

what about offering tobacco water thanks awareness

prayer intoned sung danced or silently felt

prayer as conversation with all of creation

acknowledged compassion for the harming of these relations

rather than the consuming of them as the sine qua non

the rest of creation does not reside in the genitive case of human beings

as alms to our need and proprietary claim

do we dare to move a stone knowing it has is spirit

knowing it has been t/here a thousand millennia

do we dare dig into our mother the earth  our earth the mother

even with our hands even with our thoughts our metaphors

and not remember we are all related

what is it to drag our mother into those presumed prefigured conceptual spaces

of languaging of visualizing of justifying our mistreatment of her

defiling her for profit

if we knew what it meant at the level of body the place of spirit

to call life to call living things our relations “resources’’

what kind of place of violation of creation has this english language created

turning a tree into lumber timber log 2by4 sawdust paper garbage

turning a tree into a resource what kind of etymology is that

what kind of ethic epistemology methodology what does it say

of the underlying motive of capitalism consumer fraud ab origine

is this not a consideration worth considering

before outcomes and risk assessments and surface rights wrongs

is there not spirit in the air we breathe  the breath we share in the water

is it not an obligation for human beings to offer some thing

for the life we are about to take

a life which we do not own which we have no right

to assume is ours to take even to survive

is the framework of ethical consideration

and spiritual connection not the frame work we need

to consider and to act within the guidelines

the creator gives us however that might come across

be it direct intervention sign/ification interpretation or presumption

even within the translated real/m of the english language

whose geographies are alien to many of our minds and hearts

is there not sown some respect for how things might be to others

our frameworks are not frames nor are they works

they are the movement of forest and relations through mind hand and spirit

they shape our minds around themselves

bring it into organic functioning sometimes retroactively

fashioning themselves into us through our co-optation of them

yet with respect to ethics is it not just another liberal notion meant

to contain contentment validate western traditions

is ethics not a negotiated notion arising from/as the ashes

of western epistemologies at the expense of “other’’

is ethics not a cultivar rather than an adventitious shoot

meant to privilege certain kinds of knowings sowings and not others

is ethics not something which is meant to ensure

indigenous knowings and actions must fit the delineations and geometrics

of the denotation of western ethical action

who is in charge of the ethics police whose frames matter whose are expendable

who holds the reins and whip the keys to the dungeon the drawbridge

this too is the stain and cut of ethics

which does not end nor begin in white picket fences

stone mansions and marble places of white worship

it begins in the pockets of the privileged and in the pockets of those pockets

it resides too in our plank houses long houses spirit is everywhere everywhence

the land backhome being thick with bush the mountains steep and rugged

the air not a viable option most of our travel was by water craft

we did not take for granted our sister and brother tree nations

sacrificing their lives for our “needs’’

whether vertically situated or oblique horizontal whole or fragmented

driftwood snag oldgrowth deadhead diseased or burnt a tree is a relation

and as such is equivalent to any other relation stone star objet trouvé

we learned to take a canoe from a cedar without felling it

slate for tools profuse with islands

not just a way of life but life itself

hunting trails berry trails trading trails

we assemble bit by bit the canoe giving thanks

in that place europhilosophy calls “conceptual space’’ t/here

I speak with the assembled tree nations to a particular tree

asking permission to use part of its clothing its body its spirit

as a vehicle for my journey of words ideas intentions actions feeling

as a companion

paddle paddle paddle

                                     swooooooooossshhh

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Ode to Liltybill o’ the boards by peter cole

written september 2006

published on memorial page for 15+ years read aloud by voice actor Russ Roberts ©

Ode to Liltybill o’ the Boards by peter cole

to be read aloud

sorting through my poetry and language books today

my hand chanced on milkwood

nestled between edward thomas and stevie smith

memories of a longago walterdale rehearsal

came rushing like a welsh dickery do

south wales mind you carmarthen where winnie was born

and bill setting up to do the impossible the improbable

which for him was comme d’habitude

staging it in what 11 days 14 or was it 27

all from scratch never mind the numbers

it was a master piece of a master piece

of a master worder wunderthesp everover reacher

oh peace be unto thee thine and thee again

rhymesmaker liltybill o’ the boards

heelclicking sweet william go lao borre dah

I saw you dance once singing the stars down with your heels

and like helen the fair juliet the starryeyed ariel the transfixed

asters did bend to hear your storying

lend ear to your rhymes

I can see now here still your thousand [and one] faces

hear ten thousand voices in a quarter of a glance

a half a g/listen oh and that laugh caparisoned

at the gates of your welsh smile ach a vie

ma mochen dee winifred edwards used to say

to the naughty boys of which you were [n]ever one

noyes yesno o gandalf o llandilo o merlin o my

ah yes ’twas of thee the words were writ ever large

thunder and lightning boatswain!

prospero whispers hear a little further but

let your indulgence set me free

and you are free always were

and as they say aye and they do say it

you’ve got to watch that one billyboyo

or he’ll steal your heart with his magickal reminiscences

hang it on a line until you come back again

so that the winds keep it fresh with their breath

oh and be sure you will come back

but be sure each time that you do leave

as you trudge back from the shady glens of north wales

you remember to take a last glance back

at the magister oh wolf of the step/pen stage mage

my liege don’t be afeared to look back

O lente, lente, currite noctis equi!

was this the face the voice the wit

that launched sputnicked sent in to orbit

the spirit of humankind /ness

he never asked anything from you up there upstage left

just everything I still remember his head sticking out of that beckett box

a head is not just a head yet it is just that and

a play is not just a play a role a universe and so much more than a role

though a role it be too and be quick about it or at least timely

be sure that you make good while you’re at it your ap/p/l/auses silences and beats

they are the true linesthrough with between of by wherewhitherwhence among

I am hearing you mr meilen master of the light

yet ever on the edge of darkness where the shadows are long

oh bill how can one speak of you

in any tense but the present

in any mood but the imperative mayhaps the subjunctive

how can one remember you

in anything but superlatives oh what a man is this

whose face is tectonic resonance geo graphy

the writer the written everone welsh geboren spirit knows

the hills are alive so too the brooks and fens and barren lands and streets and gutters

look that cloud do you see his head tilt back and again

and see how the sunshine dances like his eyes in the shaded pool

the autumn wheat or is it barley blarney rustling whistling parsing farcing

such a jig it is too such a welsh wildness whose roots reach deep deep wide afar

trickster prince you wanted me to dance with your headdress

but it was not as it should be it was your feathers

and the protocols said only when the eagle screams inside

and its light blasts out of your eyes only then is it the time to thus step one’s steps

listen when the trees bark and sough when they tango and roar

oh what a scent that rose or is it a sweet william ah yes

some rosemary for remembrance of times square root cellar

surely with evergreens mixed in pine spruce fir cedar

sweet smell of stanley park delaney’s on denman

but still remembering emily murphy park the soft green smells of aspen

friends near and far yet never so far when they’re in your own heart

there there and there is meilen and yet another time

a will oh the wisp thisp thespian dancing billy

he did kick up his yonder digits phalanges and calcaneus from scotland to wales

ireland and the wee isles without so much as an english step between

ah and the sound of 1000 shires counties dells and moors the more

so merry in that restless yet relaxed too voice voices galore by gawr

how green were the imitators rich little was never so big

I can see you bill in your office paraphernaliaed yet control present everywhichwhence

forth comes this fury of a whirling pocket of air this writhing cone of perturbation

in coronation street and out of the storm walks william meilen o f t u order of the

universe

you live in each of us cymry oh but none of us can help it a gift we shall always have

precious memories of futuretimes pastspaces presentiments of bill o’ the wisp

until we dance with you again listen with our other ears elsewise otherworldly

leaning

can you hear his voice in the wind soft as april leaves before a rain

anon sweet prince ado let hereafter make merry with thee

and thine

______________________

Peter Cole

published online memorial site as sound file with Russ Roberts reading

to honour Bill Meilen Welsh thespian drama professor trickster and man about town

diolch yn fowr meistro ©

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Angel Saga One

©
Angel/ina/cita or Angel Saga One by Peter Cole

written first and second weeks of May 1990

published in Secrets from the Orange Couch 4(2), 22-28, 1991

to be read aloud


On Tuesday I was rehearsing Mozart’s Requiem
caressing my bass viol
stroke strum pluck bow
stroke strum pluck bow
trying to forget
about my infinitely boring life
its tedium
its lacklustre humdrumness
its etceteraness
when an angel with pizzicatto eyebrows
came to the door
daubed bobbed and looking like Marlene Dietrich
cross-faded over a 1934 Greta Garbo
Ring ting rat a ta tat
rangle tee tangle boom tlrt
went the viol
my heart
and the Michel Foucault anti-doorbell
I lay the bass down
and absently ran the bow across my lips
the catgut tickled
the rosin was moist and pungent
warm lubricious
and the mahogany/pernambuco
was wonderfully smooth
I was worried about this encounter
worried about worrying about about
plucking up my courage
I went to the door
to engage the angel in dialogue
She asked for directions I think
she was gesticulating gesturing declaiming
I’ve always had trouble with gerunds
and progressive activity
triplicates trinities tri-ing everything

We talked
I’m not sure if I was listening to the words
I’m not sure what she was saying
only that it sounded French
her lips were French her eyes her cheeks
her control
but her movements were peninsular Italian dialectic
with punic overtones phoenician directness
ad portas
Eurydice walks into the mirror
I thought about black horses and triremes
about Greek fire about things burning in general
about kindling
how you have to get it just right
position everything so the wind won’t blow out
the flame
She had a lot of angles
oblique obtuse ob-some-other-root
she was like a sphere
of which I was a circle
infinitely removed but there
right on my own doorstep unremoved
looking for a youth hostel
american express or 7-11
I don’t know maybe a church
I couldn’t control my imagination
she drew me in to the iron bars
of her gaze
the trap of her beauty
I had to possess her
before I became the direct object
of whatever verb she chose
to predicate me with
there’s a big difference between the genitive case
and a personal possessive adjective
I had to choose
She stayed for tea
and the water started to boil
even before I got the kettle plugged in
while it was still coming out of the tap
distilled demineralized reverse-osmosis perfect
like her
That was quick she said
as I absently fondled the tea cosy
tugging at it twisting it squeezing it

letting the tea steep into coldness
forgetting about insulation r-values heat conduction
Our conversation faltered teetered
fell over a virtual precipice
into a massive fluid body
into the metaphorical sea
that everything falls into eventually
and was taken away by the tide
in pieces to wherever the tide
takes things away to
I watched her pour the tea
she sipped it as if nothing else existed
it was cold but she didn’t seem to notice
and I didn’t care much
about the temperature of things
latent heats of vapourization kinetic energy random collisions
whether molecules moved or not
I just wanted something to do
while time passed the minutes
Pinter/ludes/esque stops of conversation
She seemed to enjoy the silence
its un/in/ob/trusiveness
it bothered me the space between words
the void that made a mockery of thought
We both knew that outside the bounds of our discourse
was the truth we were looking for
truth unabated untrammelled
by meaning consensus accord
unassaulted by questions answers codes
whose only reason for existing
for being conceived
was to be found without being looked for
I longed to run the tips of my fingers
across her thighs
across the loose folds of her jelabiah
smell the soft skin of her neck
where the hair was pulled tight in order
to accommodate a complicated Mediterranean plait
which hung down between her wings
three finger-breadths
from where her hips began to swell
somewhere beneath her layers of layers
I could feel the multi-strand coaxial billows
of her hair on my lips

with the growing-tip of my imagination
and the as-yet unfaded remnants
of my long-term memory
The excitement was abrupt and unrestrained
I wasn’t sure I was up for it
the excitement that is
in favour of it lingering around loitering
threatening to bring out of latency
the hidden the unmanifest
the hermetic unawareness
I felt compelled to make a move
even if that move were a rejection
of making a move
What I wanted
what I dared to want to want
was to touch her touch her
feel the mounds of flesh from which her wings grew
stroke her serenity into something more emotional
more ecstatic more relenting
If only I could become the locus solus of her longing
an adored statue kissed into life
with brutal tenderness
forced into mortality
from the deathless beauty of stone
Alas we were paradigms apart
red-shifting galaxies separating
separating separate ing
escaping theories
and other forms of capture
I reached out to her with words with language
I lied to her just to get it over with
just to dispense with another variable
I lied with my body
I had to
it was all I knew how to do with it
I tried to think of how to maneuvre
how to get her to desire me
if only with her mind if only
to at least think about it
or think about thinking about it
I thought of drowning lovers
pulling one another down

rapt raptus rapere
in eternal embrace
sliding into the abyss of requited love
we sipped our tea and carried on
our parallel monologues
Anticipating my question
the irrelevancy of my point of view
she spoke I don’t have wings I’m human
I’ve evolved along with everyone
and everything else
I’m just like you
it’s you who makes me different
with your mind
you see wings that aren’t there
I was confused about my feelings for her
I felt guilty about the/my desire
which had become a need
then a heightened desire
which propelled me dangerously near
to losing control of control
I couldn’t categorize compartmentalize the situation
the perspective was too disturbing
it drove me mad to think that she had needs desires
it’s so much easier to deal with an adored object
a desired thing
than a fellow creature
possessed of feelings of needs
My mind was clogged with metaphors
from the physical sciences
from economics and law
extraterritorial infarction
border raid mentality
jurisdictional overlap
intimate invasion the Queen’s pleasure
expropriation epicentre plate tectonics
overthrusts mantle plumes
It was easier to analogize depersonalize
I couldn’t face the idea of intimacy
of sharing of losing myself
having to find new markers
distinguishing subject from not subject
with sharing the limits of control and meaning
if there is meaning
if there are limits
if control matters

It seems she’d been speaking English the whole time
I’d been trying to translate her body
interpret it outside of linguistic control
away from the knowingness of words
apart from the symbols
that separate us from the world
from one another
from the aboutness of things
I wanted to infuse infiltrate inhume myself
in her into her
I wondered about interspecific hybrids
species that jump the fence of normalcy
break the rules of how evolution is supposed to work
like mules beefalo catrabbits tigons
tomato-potatoes nectarines and lemon-limes
And angels lay with the daughters of men
but what about the sons of women
what about their heaven leaningness
their getting and begetting?
what about gender overlap
mixing desire and repulsion?
what about the laws of thermodynamics
and the axioms that separate them from reality?
what kind of gene pool are we dealing with here anyway
what kind of controls?
Was (she) I disturbing (me) you? she asked
no I was just waiting for you
to make time stand still
I wanted to call her Laura
but she insisted on Angela
with whatever infixes I cared
to add -in- -ic- -itafter
her messenger status was confirmed intimated
Intimated I repeated
her French eyes transfixed me
the muscles about her mouth
and the prospect of seeing her tongue
drew me into the event horizon
the inevitable gravity of her embrace
Would (conditional) you like a cookie
with (preposition) your tea?
what kind do you have?
peak freen they’re a bit stale
like most things like life

Is it all right if I dip?
pause
the biscuit the cookie I mean
into the tea?
we usually say dunk
it doesn’t matter to me
Most of her soggy cookie fell into her tea
and lay there at the bottom
so she had to slurp it up in noisy clumps
She walked to the kitchen window
I followed her shoulder blades her wings
as her body swayed harmonically
lyrically anatomically
she seemed to be separated from the world
by an aura
the critical distancing
that desire perimeters a body with
She said I reminded her of Harry Lime
distant and mysterious
enigmatic abnormal
thanks I needed that
film noir hero wonderful great
she’s just fictionalized me
made me meta-real paranormal
what next?
Seduction how do you seduce an angel
who can’t possibly be an angel
who must be one
because what else could she be
with those wings?
I wonder is she impressionable?
is she a she first of all?
or even an it?
do they reproduce?
or just make announcements and give warnings?
do their wings flap?
Maybe she likes talk
word sounds mouth noises
inane chatter banal philosophizing
or silence
I could just shut up for a minute
or forever
How about deeds? I could do something

or be something
like good or just or merciful
or pious
it might make a better impression
if I acted like someone else
like Mahatma Gandhi or Chuang Tzu
somebody dead somebody holy
how would I act or be pious?
is it human to be pious?
to act pious?
or would it just make her suspicious
about my intentions?
maybe I should ask
Patterns funneled in from every direction
even directions which didn’t exist
or have any meaning
status quo über alles
an avalanche
critical mass critical angle critical distance
predictability took over
swallowed up everything
possibilities maybes what ifs howevers
the seams of similitude br o ke
and my cookie-cutter thoughts rolled out
snake-eyes boxcars lucky sevens
domino mania
Socially acceptable feelings clunked out
of their moulds
pre-formed pre-fabricated
what I had assumed to be
my own thoughts desires needs
now showed their true cast and colour
My role was to be fitted formed immured
within the boundaries of the common weal
to be no more than a functionless assembly of flesh
a generic font to hold and channel further compromise
no different from a cube of ice fallen from its tray
no different from the tray
She turned around slowly
silhouetted by back-lighting
like Grace Kelly in Rear Window
before the prince got her
or Ingrid Bergman in a dozen movies
when the civilized world lay at her feet
civilized sure
She didn’t frown or speak maliciously

but her tone was hard
your talk isn’t any good
you’re too automatic
even what you think to be spontaneous
is just mumbo jumbo filler academese jargon
you might as well be dead as cloned
a replication of a replication
unchanging unwilling to change
safe careful afraid
don’t you have or want or need
thoughts or feelings
that are your own?
Her soliloquy went on
salted with appropriate pauses then
it would disgust me to touch you
to be touched by you touch me
We had a quick shower together
we shared a towel the same towel
the same soap the same water
the same nakedness
she was something to look at
somebody that is to look at
no longer an it
but not quite a she
Let’s go out do something she said
okay
so went to a generic sporting event
I explained what I thought the rules were patriarchically
she listened patiently
ignoring most of what I said
intent on the war going on around us
The spectators were more violent
than the spectacle on the field
I thought about her body as she dried it with the towel
about about
about how much electrical potential is stored within us
angels people other creatures
other empassioned beasts celled things
I wonder if they have cells
if there’s more to them
than connective tissue and anatomical presence
I thought about magnetism
and waves of light and darkness
about hybrid vigour and genetic mosaics
about lairs and dens

about hutches and warrens
burrows and nests and beds and fields
about hives and hills stables and barns
trees and meadows
I concluded that the essence of human being
of species continuity and thriving
is stored between the electrodes of sexual tension
and the crowd roared.
©

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October 1964 — Autumn gardening with Shirley Bassey by Peter Cole N Vancouver BC

Early spring 1962 I asked my parents if they would buy me a pocket transistor radio for my birthday a monumental expense at a time when most everyone local was living in a state of  near or perpetual poverty I told them a transistor radio was central to my sense of meaning identity and life purpose and would improve my attention span and grades and make me more sociable  plus it would keep me company while gardening  uh-huh my Dad thought what next?  

Dad developed alternative sources of income after the War besides being an electrician including importing home electronics from Japan  He could get a transistor radio cheaper than wholesale The income from his mail-order businesses helped our family at a time when WW II veterans in Canada got very small pensions and as an ucwalmicwtribal man he had to fight Veterans Affairs for 20 years to get even a miniscule pension after serving in the RCN  He had multiple serious chronic health issues and medical bills that cut into his worklife and our family life and finances  Mom’s teacher’s income was like most post-war salaries for women  it helped to sustain a family if you were thrifty—re-used recycled bought second-hand passed down clothing tools materials equipment did home gardening canning brewing baking sewing darning knitting  patching repairing refurbishing which most of us did anyway as a matter of necessity and cultural practice  

May 1962  There it was (trumpet fanfare)  my brand new Sanyo pocket transistor radio—sleek  black  plastic new— for my thirteenth birthday  made in Japan with a chrome half-plate over the built-in speaker  it fit snugly into its paper-thin leathery harness  The radio came with a beige squat single earplug whose fidelity was fuzzy mono and muffled instead of tinny squelchy and strident like the radio’s speaker because the sound had to first pass through earwax that had been compacted by the earplug  Back then most people had manners that prevented them from broad-casting radio sounds that interfered with others’ quiet enjoyment so most kids held their radio up to their ear at low volume and threw the ear plug into a junk drawer or traded it

Everyone recognized the meandering shuffle-gait-waddle of transistor-radio-listening teens—head tilted sideways at a neck-crick angle while ambling about seemingly aimlessly without displaying directional head hand or body signals on sidewalk crosswalk stairs Add to that foot tapping  head bobbing  finger snapping  hip swaying shoulder feinting  doo wop R&B swing scat jive  Public safety alerts quickly appeared  in newspapers and on public library and school bulletin boards attesting to the inherent dangers associated with unsupervised kids listening to transistor radios in public spaces while in motion  The Cold War was in full swing  the effects of the Cuban Missile Crisis still reverberated  the US President had been assassinated  the USSR  was winning the space race  a massive concrete-barbed wire wall encircled West Berlin  the Viet Nam War was escalating  and our municipal officials’ number one concern was kids listening to music at low volume while walking This is the world we were being inducted into  go figure

Jump cut October 1964  overcast cold Saturday afternoon  temperature dipping to zero tonight  I’ve been working in the garden since after breakfast while listening to the Top 40 and local bandstand playdate announcements and  deejay banter  The transistor radio is my tether to contemporary culture though I’m willingly an invisible part of it  Being shy and reserved keeps you safe from groupthink  groupknow groupdo groupwithness and having your own music source means you can be in the middle of the groove and on the periphery of contemporary life simultaneously depending on family and school dynamics  peer (and media) pressure  personal finances self image  feelings of self worth imagination sociability hermeticism You can choose to be invisible  safe from being forcibly or subtly socialized into prescribed social harmony and homogeneity templates  Music is a place of refuge a magical garden and in my life I have learned to tend that garden  I am that garden  we share one another’s breath and life-being while occupying different bodies lifeways values Standing in the cold for hours tending to the garden can teach you how to inhabit and be nurtured by the trances the earth gifts you with as music streams from around the world through the radio inspiring   the tao that you can speak of

The twice yearly garden cultivation-clean-up took (me) at least three weeks early spring and fall—all day Saturdays but only 6 or 7 hours Sundays (squeezing homework in) 2 or 3 hours weekdays with a dusting of snow or frost  October days are short cold windy overcast so you have to make the most of each minute  Digging de-clumping  weeding removing rocks and sticks all the while levelling the earth rescuing earthworms beetles millipedes and other things that live underground from being chopped up crushed injured or impaled by shovel or garden fork  manifesting buddhism’s infinite compassion and mindfulness The potatoes carrots parsnips radishes kale and brussels sprouts will still be in the ground for a few more weeks before being harvested (by me) and stored in boxes of sand in the unheated garage for the winter  I don’t know how they’re still edible after the temperature plunges to -45  The rhubarb and horse radish stay in the ground even longer because everyone knows they (and cockroaches) could withstand a first strike followed by nuclear winter  Funny how my dear bigger smarter older brother always had to do something with his best friend or train for track-and-field or practise his saxophone or join the Air Force cadets when it came time to helping out in the garden hmm  Anyway I’d probably have ended up re-doing his part  as I took the garden more seriously It had to be near perfection to please my Dad (and the ancestors he was a portal for)  Hereditary chief mentorship meant ritualizing everything always thinking acting feeling along millennial ancestral lines while obliquely evolving along mainstream settler-colonist lines   is not the true tao

To be fair to Dad he put himself into the emergency coronary unit every time he stubbornly chose to do too much of the sustained hard physical labour of gardening (that his doctors warned him against) But that was his way to do what he believed he had to do  as a father and husband  as a man defined by the time  even if it endangered his life  And it did  He was brought up as a st’at’imc  hereditary chief in our ancestral xa’xtsa homeland a thousand kilometres away and he was teaching me ceremony through the rigours of gardening helping me to teach myself through experience  He always did more than his share of everything so did Mom  He was stoic Mom more demonstrably excitable  both were level-headed though at odds as to the how of it  Mom and sister Maggie Sue always did invaluable foundational organizational work in the garden  making rows hoeing raking planting weeding thinning watering though I seem to have been elected by acclamation to be the main digger chopper weeder de-rocker and leveller in spring and fall  In time the responsibility grew on me  taking decades to internalize externalize how important that part of my life was and had always been  and how indispensible the music and chat coming from the transistor radio were for me at a deeply personal-transgenerational level  Learning to be a careful methodical gardener guided by my parents my BC aunties older ucwalmicw cousins helped me in all areas of my life into the future and past  Time spent in the garden was a seamless part of self-realization coming of age self remembering  listening to the Top 40 and deejays going through their patter was the balm that soothed my soul body spirit and 

gave me the quiet verve and stubborn stamina to perform garden-work with contentment  

which I preferred  to joy  which often felt excessive 

Averaging two point something minutes per song  plus commercials jingled by deejays  playdate info timestamped with station identification  CJCA and CHED grounded me in the baseline of early 1960s music across the spectrum after being weaned on 50s blues jazz big band pop rock crooner gospel doo wop country music (and Welsh hymns I lip synched at mamgu’s house)  So many Welsh words  ucwalmicwts sounds and in time German Russian Arabic sharing the glottal stopped deeply guttural softly liquid sonic essences requiring salivary operational efficacy so no soda crackers 3 hours before voice (woodwind brass harmonica) rehearsal or performance

The radio’s fidelity clarity continuity reception changed with one’s proximity to it and how one was grounded—clothing footware accessories one’s static electricity perspiration skin cream shampoo soap toothpaste diet ionizational conductive and electrical potentials of skin body hair if one smoked or drank all could function as aerials resistance interference mast grounding  The broadcast variables relaying  incoming radio waves  dancing with quantized electron waves  the radio’s tiny tinny aerial’s electro-magnetic outreach straining  etiolating  beyond its achievable grasp with signals from the radio station’s red light beacons antennas that in a single fluid motion  forwarded sound-as-music to station listeners  outbound to the deeply receptive far reaches of the cosmos voice oscillations quiverings squelches travelling the speed of light  to exoplanets constellations methane clouds on Jupiter carbon-iferous rainfall on Neptune and Uranus in the form of diamonds and  picked up by occupants of interplanetary most extraordinary craft  piloted by Karen and Richard Carpenter and David Bowie 60 lightyears after the fact  I imagine Shirley Bassey on that galactic journey that for me began in the garden that weekend

2 pm  the sun a cold distant orb emitting oblique autumn light filtered through frigid sundog clouds  and no bird sang  There was always a cold wind from the Arctic or the mountains this time of year  My hands and wrists were cold most of the time halfway up my forearms and neck but I felt warm because of the vigorous exercise  the flannel shirt and from being in a semi-trance torpor triggered by vibes radiating from that radio sitting on the clump of dirt by the excavated pile of rocks weeds rhizomes mycellia mycorrhiza and sticks I look at the straight level line of the dirt chopped finely to a uniform size  You could lay a 6-foot long  two-by-four on top of it and laterally rotate it 360 degrees and it wouldn’t tilt  That’s what Dad likes to see  consistency  though my greatest consistency has always been being inconsistent  but given time and miracles

A delightful concert in our back garden this weekend  a dozen performers every hour singers bands emcees deejays so far including... Dusty Springfield  Roy Orbison Petula Clark Cilla Black Tom Jones Patsy Cline  Kiki Dee  Kitty Wells Johnny Rivers  Sandie Shaw Manfred Mann Nancy Wilson  Little Eva  the Beatles  Del Shannon  Mary Hopkin  Freddie and the Dreamers  the Breakaways  Polly Brown the Staples Lulu  Helen Shapiro Beryl Barsden  Samantha Jones  Sandra Barry the Hollies Gene Pitney Martha and the Vandellas  Tommy James the Shirelles  Brenda Lee  Bobby Darin Kathy Kirby Dodie West  Jackie de Shannon  Sam Cooke  Dion Muriel Day Tawny Reed  Herman’s Hermits  Julie Rogers  the Seekers Leslie Gore  Jerry Lee Lewis the Chiffons Lonnie Mack  Barbara Ruskin  the Kinks Julie Grant Val Doonican  the Cascades  Eydie Gormé  Val McKenna Dana Gillespie  the Breakaways the Tokens a perfect

garden mix for maintaining a semi-dazed reverie of dig-chop-weed-rescue-level more to come

Out of the blue (gray skies) the Deejay announces Shirley Bassey singing Goldfinger from the new Bond film of the same name  hmm Shirley Bassey?  milliseconds later  the disc drops spins needle slides over down tracks across around opens with brass woodwinds strings percussion endless dotted note sequences syncopated offbeat on point reeded emboucheured rosinned intoned brushed and beaten beltings blares whispers coos comehithers be-gone-with-yous Clear exuberant bold  brash melodical exotical brassy sassy cymry hyfryd  unapologetically Welsh like Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard Rosie Probert Myfanwy Price Mog Edwards grand gestures steeping stirring powerful dramatic self-assured soulful lustig sonorous teasing  riffs liltings of soul jazz  gospel r&b rock country opera gymanfa ganu soaring updrafting acrobatic in a background of pure transcendent Welsh children singing uncoached unconducted spontaneous  Shirley sings with her whole body spirit mind soul  performs as each instrument instrumentalist  She is the orchestra the music the conductor director the score each every and all Each orchestra member and the ensemble is alert to Shirley’s every breath pulse fibrillation smile eyebrow lift lip point sigh sign signal gesture block sweep swoop tableau the performance is a mix of West End musical big band marching band  pipe band opera and Welsh pubnight singalong                  

It began that chill October day mid-afternoon with just three amazing syllables that knocked my radio over from a distance of 8.000 kilometres gold  fing ger  in fact the ‘l’ itself was made to constitute its own phonemic intersyllablic gliding into and over the ‘d’ after lolling lingering midpalate yod position  Nothing I had heard on the radio had prepared me for the intensity of this performative explosion its theatricality operative intensity but I couldn’t place her accent which I realized can be influenced by genre context contract

No-one I’d ever heard sang like her despite there being no shortage of powerful women singers 60+ years ago Ella  Patsy Judy Aretha Tammi Dusty Etta  Petula  Mary Joni  Mavis Brenda Diana  Julie Dionne Connie Mahalia Cilla Thelma  Lotte Martha Lulu Nina Judith Peggy Veronica Betty  Sandie Tina  Esther Barbra Miriam Gladys  Marianne Lesley Patti  and many others   She’s up there in her own universe birthing galaxies  enacting her cymreictod 

Many amazing female singers’ voices came across the pond from the UK  Ireland the US and elsewhere on radio  vinyl through cathode ray and vacuum tubes  transistors  then silicon chips and binary coding but how many of us can remember the first time we experienced at a deep and personal level the sound of a soul speaking to us  the electrical signals travelling the twisted coppery-plumbum pathways inside the radio’s rudimentary machinery powered by a 9-volt battery  They relied on tangled connective byways of twisted soldered wires redhot resistors  bits of dust and plastic insulation without ventilation to protect from overheating  carrying voices instruments and measured silences between notes  notes between silences  and it was magic 

Our childhood city had a small but proud Welsh population including my Mother’s mother (mamgu) Winnie an immigrant from Myddfai and Llandeilo born in the 1880s  Mom constantly made us aware of our Welsh and Scottish Irish Cornish heritage while my Father who did not advertise his ucwalmic/st’at’imc  heritage was proud of it  He was very laid-back it wasn’t a safe option to be visible to the settler-colonizer majority struggling every day just make a go of it   

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