I've been to Glasgow three times to visit my son and his family, yet feel I barely know the city.
Cities are such vast entities and I am unfamiliar with their workings, mysteries.
I was brought up in a village near Aber, moved to Cambridge and for a while got to know it until I came to dislike it intensely; then moved to a small, farming community and , for many years have lived in Heolgerrig above Merthyr.
Unlike my Belfast-born wife I am always uncomfortable in cities, even old friends like Cardiff and Swansea.
It's partly my upbringing, but also an obsession with maps and geography I've had since school days. I've maps of countries and continents in my head, yet can't visualize cities in the same way and even Belfast with its spokes of roads from the centre becomes blurry at the edges.
When people talk about city-breaks and generalise about liking this place or that , I am suspicious.
To me, the Glasgow I know is two small areas separated by the River Clyde and those bridges passed over daily: in the south around Queen's Park and in the west near the university.
I've a sense of it from the taxi-drivers talking football and many friendly assistants in shops, restaurants and cafes.
Flying this time was quite an ordeal, as Glasgow was immersed in fog. However, our troubles began at Cardiff Airport and a delay which FlyBe officials explained as ' one box at the front not connecting with another at the back'.......all very technical!
Glasgow's distinctive for me because of its tall tenements made from sandstone in the 19th century.....it's astonishing to think that some 73% of its population live in flats. They are proud, sturdy buildings which give a real sense of continuity to the cityscape.
We actually stayed in one this time and when the fog cleared had a view of the infamous Ashton Lane beyond the tree-tops, all spangled in lights and a restaurant called Ubiquitous Chip where the large chips are more like mini roasties and should've been renamed Frozen Chip when we went there, as we sat in a draught the whole meal!
Though I'm no fan of Christmas with its crass commercialism and carnivorous carnival, it's so exciting for our family to get together again and to see my grandson as he develops so quickly and his personality takes shape.
Now he's up walking and exploring everything you've to keep an eye on him; yet it's very inspiring watching him copy movements and sounds and begin to fashion language and respond with such awe to his surroundings. We take so much for granted.
We all sit round vying for his attention by making the most ridiculous noises and I'm one of the worst offenders : my Donald Duck impersonations desperate.
In amongst this silliness, my wife can produce a song for almost every toy or game in both English and Welsh, my favourite being 'Mi welais Jac a Do' as he taps his head ( to me he's 'doing the ayatollah'!).
My son and daughter-in-law keep a detailed account of his progress and I was glad to contribute by writing out a couple of haiku from this year about him and a brief history of the Jenkins family.
Here are three more I wrote after our visit :-
Taller than his dad,
it blooms light-buds and strange fruits :
he plucks a soft snowman.
=========
In the room's corners
he discovers shiny sounds :
offers them around.
=========
For each toy and game
her songs are strongly blowing :
he's a tree swaying.
Glasgow appears to be a vibrant city culturally and one day I hope to go to the Celtic Connections festival ( mostly folk music), where this year two of my favourite artists are appearing on the same evening , namely Scottish singer-songwriter Karine Polwart and Armenian jazz pianist/composer Tigran Hamasyan.
It's a city which deserves to be the hub of a fiercely independent Scotland, but one where its rulers need to be open to criticism and readily embrace true socialism and republicanism.
I look forward to returning to see how my wee grandson finds his way and whether he takes on the accent I know well from the literature of the likes of James Kelman and Tom Leonard.
Hopefully next time we'll fly into more clement whether!
INTO THE FOG
We're flying into the fog
and there's a deathly quiet
till one old lady says -
' I'd rather not end up
in pieces scattered all over!'
Everyone glares at her
as we glimpse the lights
of the city below in the distance
and, for a moment, think
we are saved this fate.
Then we descend into it :
a swirling, freezing, blind cloud ,
I think is the perfect
metaphor for Brexit
except nobody's at each other;
and Theresa May is not the pilot
because she's on auto, with her
'Brexit is Brexit' and ' The only deal';
we have to depend on the skill
of the person in the cockpit.
The co-pilot sounds like Corbyn
so calm and reassuring -
'We've enough fuel for an hour
of taxiing, if we should fail.'
We halt mid-air, jittery with information.
The co-pilot has a plan
as the cabin crew look doomed.
When we judder and brake-screech
onto the runway, nobody claps
because May's still out there, lurking.
Cities are such vast entities and I am unfamiliar with their workings, mysteries.
I was brought up in a village near Aber, moved to Cambridge and for a while got to know it until I came to dislike it intensely; then moved to a small, farming community and , for many years have lived in Heolgerrig above Merthyr.
Unlike my Belfast-born wife I am always uncomfortable in cities, even old friends like Cardiff and Swansea.
It's partly my upbringing, but also an obsession with maps and geography I've had since school days. I've maps of countries and continents in my head, yet can't visualize cities in the same way and even Belfast with its spokes of roads from the centre becomes blurry at the edges.
When people talk about city-breaks and generalise about liking this place or that , I am suspicious.
To me, the Glasgow I know is two small areas separated by the River Clyde and those bridges passed over daily: in the south around Queen's Park and in the west near the university.
I've a sense of it from the taxi-drivers talking football and many friendly assistants in shops, restaurants and cafes.
Flying this time was quite an ordeal, as Glasgow was immersed in fog. However, our troubles began at Cardiff Airport and a delay which FlyBe officials explained as ' one box at the front not connecting with another at the back'.......all very technical!
Glasgow's distinctive for me because of its tall tenements made from sandstone in the 19th century.....it's astonishing to think that some 73% of its population live in flats. They are proud, sturdy buildings which give a real sense of continuity to the cityscape.
We actually stayed in one this time and when the fog cleared had a view of the infamous Ashton Lane beyond the tree-tops, all spangled in lights and a restaurant called Ubiquitous Chip where the large chips are more like mini roasties and should've been renamed Frozen Chip when we went there, as we sat in a draught the whole meal!
Though I'm no fan of Christmas with its crass commercialism and carnivorous carnival, it's so exciting for our family to get together again and to see my grandson as he develops so quickly and his personality takes shape.
Now he's up walking and exploring everything you've to keep an eye on him; yet it's very inspiring watching him copy movements and sounds and begin to fashion language and respond with such awe to his surroundings. We take so much for granted.
We all sit round vying for his attention by making the most ridiculous noises and I'm one of the worst offenders : my Donald Duck impersonations desperate.
In amongst this silliness, my wife can produce a song for almost every toy or game in both English and Welsh, my favourite being 'Mi welais Jac a Do' as he taps his head ( to me he's 'doing the ayatollah'!).
My son and daughter-in-law keep a detailed account of his progress and I was glad to contribute by writing out a couple of haiku from this year about him and a brief history of the Jenkins family.
Here are three more I wrote after our visit :-
Taller than his dad,
it blooms light-buds and strange fruits :
he plucks a soft snowman.
=========
In the room's corners
he discovers shiny sounds :
offers them around.
=========
For each toy and game
her songs are strongly blowing :
he's a tree swaying.
Glasgow appears to be a vibrant city culturally and one day I hope to go to the Celtic Connections festival ( mostly folk music), where this year two of my favourite artists are appearing on the same evening , namely Scottish singer-songwriter Karine Polwart and Armenian jazz pianist/composer Tigran Hamasyan.
It's a city which deserves to be the hub of a fiercely independent Scotland, but one where its rulers need to be open to criticism and readily embrace true socialism and republicanism.
I look forward to returning to see how my wee grandson finds his way and whether he takes on the accent I know well from the literature of the likes of James Kelman and Tom Leonard.
Hopefully next time we'll fly into more clement whether!
INTO THE FOG
We're flying into the fog
and there's a deathly quiet
till one old lady says -
' I'd rather not end up
in pieces scattered all over!'
Everyone glares at her
as we glimpse the lights
of the city below in the distance
and, for a moment, think
we are saved this fate.
Then we descend into it :
a swirling, freezing, blind cloud ,
I think is the perfect
metaphor for Brexit
except nobody's at each other;
and Theresa May is not the pilot
because she's on auto, with her
'Brexit is Brexit' and ' The only deal';
we have to depend on the skill
of the person in the cockpit.
The co-pilot sounds like Corbyn
so calm and reassuring -
'We've enough fuel for an hour
of taxiing, if we should fail.'
We halt mid-air, jittery with information.
The co-pilot has a plan
as the cabin crew look doomed.
When we judder and brake-screech
onto the runway, nobody claps
because May's still out there, lurking.
RSS Feed
