Enthusiast is a bit of an understatement,
My friend Claire could tell you that;
As we hiked from the West coast to the East coast of Scotland
At night she read "normal things" - while I read maps.

Of course I needed to be sure of the route,
But after 25 miles of walking that wasnt all-
I'd spend at least 3 hours staring and staring
The roads, the woods, the rivers, hostels, churches, pubs and schools....

In fact night after night I spent,
So long engrossed,
That after five nights,
I had one of the strangest dreams ever experienced.

I was "in" an OS map -
Walking a yellow road, past big red triangles,
Counting contours,
And heading straight for the strangest of all -
Just across the red road, the enormous half filled pint glass
- the public house of course!

Surreal dream that was,
But also great fun,
I was in an OS map...
One without people - I was the only one

I did ease up on the map reading after,
Thought I might start hallucinating otherwise,
Claire already thought I was slightly mad,
If I told her we needed to shelter from the rain in the giant pint glass - well, as I said, she already knew I was mad!

But my obsession is not limited to OS maps,
Oh no, its the entire World Atlas;
Continents, Countries, Oceans and territories,
Nothing escapes my attention in the World Atlas.

I have so so many maps,
Because people keep changing things,
From the names of Countries and places
To minor details...bridges...silly little things.

I have a map that says USSR,
The Soviet Union so large,
Now I have another with Russia,
Belarus, Estonia, Ukraine, and others that re-emerged.

Even isolated places like Greenland
People cant make up their mind,
Is it Nuuk or Godthaab?
They are both still there to confuse the mind.

I had a map with Zaire,
Once the biggest country in Africa,
Its now the Democratic Republic of the Congo,
Needed to amend my map of Africa.

Ok, all maps up to date;
Just when I can rest my map brain...
Sudan is then split in two!!
Get out the map Emma - quick - draw a line!!

I dont know what I think would happen
If my maps were not up to date;
But I just cant take the risk,.
I have to change them before its too late.

Most recent of course was Swaziland,
How? Why? When?!
Its ok, i've read about it now,
And I understand...let me get my pen.

But Swaziland is so tiny
Now I need to write eSwatini (!)
My map is now such a mess
Time for a new one? No not yet - Swaziland has not yet changed like the rest!

I have to wait for cartographers
To catch up and make all the changes,
Or otherwise i'll only trust my own map
The one with scribbles all over the pages.

Its not just on a Country scale
Such changes do confuse us,
For even in South Africa alone -
New names replaces the oldies.

Port Elizabeth,
Now Nelson Mandela Bay;
I think its wonderful,
But its not what my map says!

Umtata became Mthata;
Another very welcome change,
But that one letter is on my mind...
Quick - cross out the "u"...in case we go insane!

Nothing is more messed up in my guide books,
Which consist almost exclusively of maps
Than the city of Durban....
Street names have changed...but "not quite yet"

I picked up a local map,
And not shown in the one I carried
- Its still in process of "changing",
So two names there are for almost every road!

Pretoria became Tshwane,
Again I agree with the name change,
But by now the maps in my book
Make so little sense - it could be mistaken for Adelaide!

I wont go into Rhodesia,
There have been so many changes across Africa,
But if they were before I was born,
It somehow doesnt seem so much to matter...

I only get frustrated with
Things that I know,
Before 1980 -
I had no maps to know.

I'd be talking about the Transkei, the Ciskei,
The Orange Free State and all,
More recent but left in the past -
I have none of those on my walls.

I focus more on Africa,
as most will know i'm a bit obsessed,
Being from a British Island on the African Plate,
...with Ascension drifting away with America...albeit very slow.

The Mid Atlantic Ridge runs between them,
From Iceland to the South Pole,
Dividing the Continental plates,
St Helena and Ascension came out of a hole...

My mind drifts a little to Asia,
Although I dont know it as well,
But...is it Burma or Myanmar now?
And is Palestine shrinking still?

Islands cause much fascination,
Being an Islander myself,
But mine is just the tip of a volcano,
The map doesnt show anything else.

As far as Islands go - the Atlantic is easy,
Try staring at the Pacific,
Such a vast and empty ocean,
Hides many secrets...more than the Atlantic.

You may think St Helena isolated,
But only till your eyes enter the Pacific,
It might be a huge mostly empty ocean,
But the vast Island chains are prolific.

There are fracture zone after fracture zone,
Creating Island chains and coral atolls;
From the Coral sea of Australia,
To the Galapagos of South America.

There's Polynesia, there's Melanesia,
Micronesia too;
And within these - hundreds of Islands...
And yes - I've tried to count them too..

We look for other British Islands,
Pitcairn - the most isolated of all;
And what a sorry story to tell..
About 60 people and half of them in jail...

Sometimes im desperately trying to find an Island
To replace my British non-British Island;
Those who think im mad loving South Africa-
Wont even begin to understand.

But this poem is not about emotion,
So i'll mention that no more,
Its more about Geography
- too many Islands to explore.

Staring at the Pacific
Can occupy at least three sleepless nights,
Remembering the names of the islands -
Is a much more difficult plight.

Most heart breaking about this Ocean,
Is the Islands being lost;
Populations having to leave,
As sea levels rise and coral islands are lost...

I think I have found my location,
or a few i'd give a try,
On a large map they simply appear as "bumps"
Surrounded by bigger Islands, and the ocean wide

Sleepless nights have drawn me to Tokelau;
A tiny territory of New Zealand;
Three beautiful coral atolls...
But oh so far from New Zealand.

Less than one thousand people,
Yet with their own language,
The closest Island is Samoa,
That boat journey for me would be a privilege...

The Island has 100% clean energy,
With so few people to sustain,
It's setting an example for the World,
Tokelau looks like "paradise" on my map....if I had to give it a new name...

Indigenous people full of colour,
Flowers round their necks and some clothes a recent thing,
They even have their own musical culture,
Its only mass worry is rising tides - and the flat atolls eventually submerging....

There is another island I look at,
With its tribal peoples far more "untouched",
It really is like a land time forgot,
Although it does have an airport..

It is the Island of "Mog-Mog"...
Yes...I didnt make that up..
It really does exist,
Although I admit it took me years to discover on my map...

I wont mention where it is,
I dont want to give it away;
My maps are full of secrets,
And that is how some should stay.

You can visit from Tahiti,
Which is more like France than its surrounds;
But Mog-Mog is a totally different world,
Dont be fooled by Tahiti - Mog-Mog is part of the "untouched surrounds"

I could talk about these Islands forever,
As even I have not discovered them all,
But I have to finish with the Indian Ocean,
The Chagos Islands are British afterall...

What happened to the Chagossians
was a cruel sin of humankind,
Not just ST Helena suffers at the hands of the British
- Chagossians were forced to leave their Isle behind...

To make way for an American Air base,
Ascension - how familiar does that sound?!
The story of the Chagossian tragedy
Must touch every Islander to be found...

The Chagossians also inspire us however,
For fifty years on they are still fighting,
Fighting to return to their homeland,
Now a heavily guarded secret is their homeland...

My people however dont seem to care,
And that does make me sad;
This is another British Island
Not in the Atlantic, or Caribbean - but that does not make it bad...

The powers at be are so evil
That even after the fifty year lease was up..
The British just signed yet another...
As for the Islanders - they just want forgot...

I support the Chagossian people,
In their desperate fight to go home,
Even after deportation-
Their British Citizenship rights are next to none...

I am not proud of my motherland either,
And im not the only one;
I dont consider myself even British,
I dont "worship" my motherland like some...

I see what is really happening,
In St Helena and other "Crown Territories",
Just take a moment to look at them all....
and let me know if you find any that are totally "free"...

....oppression comes in many forms....

........................Nomkhumbulwa...

There was this time before the going home. The supers bowled off with cheery parents or elder brothers a good fortnight before the big day. There were lessons, but despite the best efforts of the staff who remained nobody could take this between time seriously. Mr Gayford for maths was hardly a substitute for Alfie's lively lessons. But Alfie we knew was climbing in the Alps this Christmas and would return with photos and tales that kept us enthralled despite the sums he invented - calculate the air pressure at 4107 metres on the Jungfrau. We all loved him with his self-raising Citroen Safari that smelt enticingly of Gitanes and that scent Claudia his girlfriend favoured. Oh Claudia, so wonderfully and exotically dressed, who seemed a world away from any boy's mother or sister.
 
Mornings were quite different. A later breakfast and then a two-hour practice with Dr. B . Hard work, with new music to learn. But the carols! Oh those sounds, and so different from what we sang all year. Boris Ord's Adam lay y bonden, Praetorius A Great and Mighty Wonder, Torches, In Dulce Jubilo. and as Advent progressed that magical verse anthem by Orlando Gibbons This is  the Record of John.
 
I was just eleven when Dr. B said, as we opened the music folder for the morning rehearsal, 'St Clair, Can you do this for us please?' Not so much a question as a command; you didn't say no to Dr. B. The introduction was well underway before I grasped it was to be me. How I stumbled through it that first time I don't know. I could never hear this piece without tears welling or indeed falling. ' Look Mog is getting tearful' said Richards the head chorister, and the little boys would snigger. And I would blush:  through my freckles to the roots of my auburn gold hair. Did nobody understand what this music did to me, what it said and expressed? At eleven I think I had began to know, and later when I heard it in Kings Chapel, and then conducted it variously to those bemused American students, listened to my gramophone recording, its affect always, always the same. I was experiencing truly what Vikram Seth has called an equal music, something so entirely right, a true conjunction of words and music, a coming together beyond anything as a composer I could ever imagine, a yardstick life-long; it became an acid test of sensitivity to my love of music and has been passed only four times by serious friends and lovers. To know me you must know and feel this music . . .
 
And so on the second Sunday of Advent at Evensong I sang this jewel, this precious flower of music's art. The candles flickered in Her Majesty's chapel and we stood for the anthem. The chamber ***** began its short introduction already weaving together the four-part texture - and then the first solo statement. This is the record of John when the Jews sent priest and Levites from Jerusalem . . . and then the tears fell and the music swam in front of me as though glazed in the candlelight.
 
Who art thou then? And he confessed and denied not, and said plainly, 'I am not the Christ'.
 
Oh that melisma on the 'I', that written out ornament, so emphatic, and expressing this truth with innocent authority. I sang it then as I hear it now. Nobody had to demonstrate and say 'Don't let it flow, let each note be separate, exact, purposeful'. So it was and ever shall be, Amen.
 
And they asked him, What art thou then? (Art thou Elias? x 2). And he said I am not. ( Art thou the prophet? x 2) And he said I am not.
 
The verse anthem is such a peculiar phenomenon of the English Reformation. Devised it is said to allow the hard-pressed choirmaster to train the main body of his singers in a short response, the soloist singing the hardest and most expressive music on his own: the verse. It is also so well suited to the English choral tradition with its Cantores and Decani ordering of voices. I was always a ‘Can’, even later when I joined the back row as a tenor.
 
Then they said unto him, What art thou? That we may give an answer unto them that sent us. What sayest thou of thyself? And he said I am the voice of him that cryeth in the wilderness. Make straight the way if the Lord.
 
And so I wonder still about the place of this text in the liturgy of Advent and why, cloaked in Gibbons’ music, it has remained affecting and necessary. And who is John? a prophet of the desert, the son of Elizabeth to whom Mary went to share the news of her pregnancy and whose own son quickened in her womb as she heard of her cousin Elizabeth's own miracle - a childless woman beyond childbearing age unexpectedly blessed and whose partner struck dumb for the duration of her confinement. Is it just another piece in the jigsaw of the Christmas story in which prophecy takes its part?
 
When I was eleven I thought to 'cry in the wilderness' meant exactly that - tears in a desert place. I learnt later that this was a man who stood apart, was different, a hippie dressed in the untreated skins of wild beasts, who lived amongst those who sought the wild places to mourn, to place themselves in a kind of quarantine after illness or bereavement, who then became wise, and who cried.
 
Such meditations seem appropriate to the season when there is so often the necessity of travel, much waiting about, the bearing down of the bleakness of winter time, though strung about with moments of delicious warmth when coming in from the cold as with the chair by the library fire I craved as a chorister to escape blissfully into fictioned lives and exotic places.
 
How these things touch us vividly throughout our lives; as we watch and wait and listen.

Tiggy is my little cat she's mostly grey and fairly fat
With large green eyes and a small pink nose and a wiggly tail..heaven knows
Stripes and spots and a cheeky grin, sometimes she's out , sometimes she's in
No interest in the neighbourhood mogs but scared of vacuum's not of dogs
She chases flies and red dots too ... my little bouncy tiggy roo !

Rani jutarnji intervjui
#1 Dok grad spava uz cvrkut ptica koje niko ne osluskuje.

M: Sta za tebe znaci cvrkut ptica?

mh: Za nekog ko zivi citav zivot pored ulice, tacnije u nivou ulice, gde me od trotoara deli nekih 25-35 cm zida, a od vozila  1.5 -2 m, priguseni zvuk vozila koji se postepeno pojacava i postepeno gubi u kracim ili duzim intervalima uz onaj huk u trenutku prolaska kao i govor prolaznika, urezao se u mene i postao deo mog zivota.

Retko uhvatim sebe kako slusam te zvukove sem kada mi se neki bas nametne i to onaj ljudski u duzini jedne recenice koja moze da se izgovori prolaskom pored par metara zida. Iz te jedne recenice koja ima svoj zvuk i tematiku profil prolaznika je vrlo lako zamisliti. Ponekad mi izmame osmeh, a ponekad uznemirenost, pa i strah.

Tematika tih recenica mogla bi se podeliti u zavisnosti od doba dana kada su prolaznici aktivni. Od onih dnevnih tema najglasnije su vaspitno-obrazovne gde se dete uci kako da ne ide ni slucajno pored ivicnjaka, a od onih nocnih, najglasnije su one ljubavne gde tacno znam da u narednih sto metara sledi raskid ili strastven ***.

Ima i onih tema gde ti se smuci i gde sam u fazonu “hajde bre vise” a to su naravno komsijske, koje kad krenu znam da ce trajati bar pola sata ili u kasnim nocnim satima taxi teme, ko koga ceka i ko gde ide.

Ponekad znam da provirim kroz roletne i zateknem vrlo kreativne scene, recimo kreativno iscrtavanje kruga sto mi zene ne bismo mogle.

Vikend je predvidjen za vristanje zena koje pokusavaju da prekinu tucu pijanih iz kafica gde kako se otvaraju vrata treste narodnjaci, a ima i onih koje vole da bacaju veliko kamenje na takve kafice i onda brzim trcecim koracima prodju pored mog prozora.

mh: uh, sto meni ne idu ove duge forme

M: pa zasto ih onda koristis?

mh: Ma ne znam, dosadno mi, a i znam nekog ko voli glupe textove.

mh: Dakle, gde sam ono bese stala. A da, zasto volim cvrkut ptica.

Pa, tokom studija najvise mi je prijalo da u nocnim satima, kad se sve primiri, kad svi polegaju i saobracaj se razredi i kad se moje telo zagreje, da krenem sa radom na studentskim zadacima. Iz dana u dan ritam bi se menjao i ja bih sve kasnije i kasnije odlazila u krevet i tako sve dok nije pocelo da svice.

U tom pomeranju pocela sam da uocavam kad se sta desava na ulici i polako prestajala da gledam na sat. Djubretari bi bucno prosli u 4am a negde izmedju 4:30 - 4:45 bi nastao muk, noc bi pocela da prelazi u dan i tada bi krenulo oglasavanje ptica.

I dan danas ne znam koja ptica je u pitanju jer sa prozora se nije dalo videti ali nije, vrabac, nije golub, nije lasta, ne kresti ko vrana, svraka, nije gugutka sa svojim”dugo spiš”, ne znam, ali znam da je pesma lepa i da dolazi od nekog ko zeli da privuce paznju na sebe. I taj osecaj da priroda opstaje medju ovim betonom mi je bila bas lepa i zanimljiva jer su ptice pronasle rupu u buci i koristile taj momenat da komuniciraju daleko od usiju mnogih.

Te ptice su u stvari bas pametne i prakticne, kad stigne jesen, a one lepo na jug, tamo gde je prijatnije, a ne da se smrzavaju, budu sumorni sve do proleca kao “mi ljudi iz gradova” - Milan Mladenovic

Ptice bi oznacavale tada i pocetak tv emisije nekog kuvara koji bi parlao na spanskom onako kako to samo oni umeju i ja bih sa zamisljenim ukusom polako uranjala u san.

mh: Vreme mi je da uronim u san, zato Laku noc do sledeceg intervjua.

M: Laku noc tebi i svim citaocima

__________
#2 Iskrenost - veoma skup poklon

M: Kako tumacis ove recenice koje smo pronasli na jednom zidu, moglo bi se reci jednu pored druge?
- "Iskrenost je veoma skup poklon, ne ocekuj ga od jeftinih ljudi"
- "Nije vazno da li je skupo, nego da li se isplati"

mh: Nek odgovor ostane za neku drugu priliku.

Prosao je sajam knjiga pa bih volela da podelim sa citaocima jednu pesmu inspirisanu knjigama, zove se "Neizreceno"

NEIZRECENO

Lagano je
prelazila
prstima
preko korica
u ritmu
sto neznost
izaziva

Pogled
mi se usmerio
na pokret
na zelju
stajala je pored
primetila je
izgovorila je

Ja tako
kada mi se
svidjaju
korice

Uzvratih joj
da volim
u muzejima
preko skulptura
da predjem
dodirom
dozivim oblik
osetim teksturu

Znas li ti da je to zabranjeno?
Rece ona
ozbiljno

Tu sam zastala
a u glavi je
odzvanjalo

E jbg
kad volim
ono sto je zabranjeno

E jbg
kad volim
ono sto je zabranjeno

E jbg
vise nije bila tu
vise nije bila pored
ali je i dalje odzvanjalo

mh, Novembar 2016

M: Danas si okrenula novi list?

mh: Today is the day :D

---------------------------------------------------
#3 Koja je tvoja maska?

M: Evo posle relativno duge pauze konacno smo uhvatili mh da nam kaze par reci o tome sta se desava i zasto je nema, da li sprema nesto novo...

mh: Dobro vece svim citaocima i tebi M posebno. Evo samo par reci o tome da se priprema program naucno -obrazovnog karaktera za sledecu 2017 godinu. Bice tu dosta toga sto ce iziskivati da citaoci udju u sebe i potraze neke odgovore.
Jedna od prvih tema bice maske, kako nastaju, njihova uloga i podela.

M: Ja se posebno radujem znajuci da vec dugo radis na tome i verujem da ce sve maske pasti :)

mh: Pa eto nadam se da sam citaocima vec zagolicala mastu i da ce biti tu da isprate program koji sledi.

M: btw. Imali smo jednog citaoca iz unutrasljosti sa komentarom na pesmu "Neizreceno" kaze, u pesmi se navode "korice kao predmet svidjanja" da li to oznacava neku povrsnost ili...?

hm: ne, ne , ne cak naprotiv, sasvim suprotno, oznacava jednu otvorenost da se zaviri i pronadje nesto dublje ispod raznoraznih korica, sem knjige, postoje tu i recimo modni casopisi, ili katalozi o uredjenje enterijera... Tako da mislim da je rec sasvim na svom mestu.

M: Hvala ti mh, ne bi te vise zadrzavali. Vidimo se uskoro :)
mh: vidimo se, pozdrav svim citaocima :)



NASTAVICE SE...

Overcoming life when it throws you a curb ball knocking you down.
Is to always stay in a positive mind set while you are living here.
Knowing that when you trust in the Almighty Savior Lord God.
He shall for the most part , protect you from harms way here.
It is usually us , leaning away from the right road that we are on.
That causes us to walk into harms away by leaving the correct one.
For all of you are Awesome  MOG and ***, powerful people.
I love you all in the unconditional Love that comes from his Spirit.
May the Christ bless each and everyone of you here on a daily basic.

Why do my thoughts seem to run So deep,
when the late hour beckons " Time for Sleep" ,
But sleep isn't headed my way it would seem,
perchance a respite for lucidity in dream.
melatonin melancholy * Hey You*speed slumber , TODAY !
i have things to do and while yet tired , ...Well ,NO Way.
Surely ! Sleep doth approach whether by faith or fatigue ,
I should have , Terrifically traveled terrains tracked to a league.
But slumber, hasn't my number, or asunder  So i'd be.
i'm leaping by faith , But first should brush the teeth.
I'll then recline my ,thoughts and frame, to "succeed" ,
By simply accepting position of such rest i do need.  :D
                              < Brain Mog >

bulji u mene sa plafona
neizbežna paučina
srž dok se
u kostima ledi
eho mog krika
u povratku
najavi zoru
neizbežnu
male reči
cigareta i kafa
divljačka rutina me
probudi

A POEM I

A poem is just a bunch of words ( some say ) ,
that tell of conditions like pain or maybe play.
But maybe the start is really the end (of it).
Either way dear human please don't throw your fit.
well you can ,If you like And Will if you Must.
Sometimes however the resulting balloon may bust.
Fall flat or worse , not find hearing ears , (it's sad)
occasionally one thinks that the syntax be quite bad.
No matter the method from finish until a start
just let truth flow freely from the deepest of heart
surface to find a reason to live and on still more
And never your own words Ever Ignore ( Ever).
                                     by Brain Mog

There should be toy devices, of dog's noses on a stick
Different breeds there could be, so you could take your pick
Dog's noses are so nice to feel, in eye's it's just the trick
The start of your day when you awake, it'll give you such a kick

They could be rechargeable, and moist pouches you could buy
Just the job when you feel down, to moisten your tired eye
It may sound strange, but don't knock it until you've had a try
If you have a furry friend, their nose should not be shy

There's nothing more refreshing than dog's noses that are wet
It's one thing that they can do, being your loving pet
Much better than an Optrex, or any eye moister set
Because with doggie noses, you know what you will get

It's the perfect accessory, to brighten up your day
Every eye is different, so dog's noses are okay
They come in different sizes, so come on what'd say
Dog's noses are the business, their nose is here to stay

You will love the feeling, of that wet doggie nose
There easier than watering cans, or a garden hose
Their wetness is quite subtle, it's good the way it goes
You could have different noses, lined up in doggie rows

Imagine going to the shops, and they had nose of the dog
From Pointers to Alsatians, theirs loads that they could flog
Picking out the ones you want, dog's noses you could hog
The dog noses brand could expand, to include nose of the mog

mh

The are thee; that offer the effectual word, as much as anyone,
instead, yea accused of ******
It started out with the idea thyne wanted to be moved, stopped,
moved again, all Faberge as if images of people dancing
about lightly in a circle
However, what you did your whole life, -just did baby the temple, so thee had another one altogether not producing music, as it goes, doing more bad, ie: song is good
The mog god accepts is acceptance, of the lord we know you saw, as for the word your servants, yet, understood the councils of his messengers
Face not the bends on the river's meanderings as if in a  boogie woogie, constantly, it keeps smashing the good up -to a worked definition that is a recovery path
Comprehend this thee certainly, had some of so, to introductions yea. For that right there is set to go, savvier minutes make promises nary but, this, moreover of angel's aged wisdom, adays trial and error... no learning and forebear to others... or perhaps the switch of one's own strategies
Blessed each differ... who owns the tune... the celestial impasse of sorts, tis that we make our way through

Mog A Dish, You!


It’s Famine time again

not as frequent as the

World Cup but it does

move venues and the

spectator TV ratings

go up. Unfortunately,

when Ireland hosted

it there was no cover

even if there was the

UK English promotors

would not have given

Sky™ viewing permits.

This year it is in Gaza

managed by the Jews

the blinded ones who

lost sight of history, but

not only that, they put

their dentures under

pillows for tooth fairy’s.