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First pressings (3): Sarah Miles and Paper Swans Press
Let's welcome a special guest, today, the third in an occasional series of interviews with the folk who run small poetry presses: Sarah Miles.
I need to declare an interest. I have nothing but respect and gratitude for all those selfless souls who run themselves ragged to put published poetry in your hands, but I owe a special debt to today's guest, who has published several of my poems in her Press' anthologies, and very handsome they are, too.
What I do is to send out a kind of open-ended prompt sheet, and invite these lovely folk to respond. Their generosity is wonderful. Sarah miles continues the tradition. OK. Ready? Sitting comfortably? Here we go:
If you could kick off by describing what you've done so far, that would be nice. A story is always a nice beginning. Then tackle the following questions. If it's OK, I'll then create the illusion of a dialogue, as though we're both sitting in a room, with cake and coffee. That sort of illusion.
There seem to be hundreds of small poetry presses about, and I imagine they struggle to make a living, competing as they do for what is essentially a niche market; something led you think: there's room for another. What was the trigger that persuaded you to set up your own publishing venture?
From what I've experienced, there is much more camaraderie between small presses, than competition. Basically, we are all in the same boat: struggling to break even, desperately trying to get great poetry 'out there' and scrabbling around to fund ourselves — big bookshops won't take our books unless we go down channels where we make about 5p a book and Amazon also takes a fair cut (plus many of us don't agree with their ethics, and we're a moral bunch, us publishers!). So, most of us rely on selling through our websites and this summer, I am going to try to set up a new independent website to facilitate buying from indie presses…watch this space!
My inspiration to set up Paper Swans was The Emma Press. I love their quality of books and the poetry within and, one day, voiced to a friend of mine (designer of our logo, Helen Braid), that I would so love to do the same thing and the thought of editing, publishing and producing beautiful books was something that had been a pipe-dream for a long time. She simply replied, 'Well, why don't you?' The seed was planted and, in a way, I suppose she gave me the 'permission (confidence)' I couldn't quite give myself and I'll always thank her for it. I had a little bit of money set aside and gave myself a two-book deadline. If it crashed — well, I had tried. But it didn't and, I'm happy to say, Paper Swans is going from strength to strength.
You chose to feature themed anthologies that called for submissions. Did you have any particular criteria for you choice of theme, or were you blessed by happy accidents? You've attracted a lot of submissions from well-established and otherwise successful poets. What do you put that down to?
The first theme (The Darker Side of Love) was a personal choice. I think a lot of poetry is therapeutic and there's nothing like a bad love affair to get the poetry flowing! Most people have experienced love gone wrong and I wanted to counteract all the glitter–clad romantic nonsense and publish a pamphlet for Valentine's Day that possibly a lot more people could identify with. I also had the good fortune to have been tweeting with Maggie Sawkins, who had recently won The Ted Hughes Award, and she submitted poems from that to our very first anthology! I will always be grateful for, what has always seemed, a huge leg-up when we really needed it. She gave us credence and put faith in us from the start.
Our second theme, Schooldays, was trying to tap into an experience that most people have enjoyed or endured. Again, I wanted to produce a book that a lot of people could identify with and get something from when they read it. From there, our anthologies have always kept that ideal of tying in with the broader experience, of both the writer and the reader. We have always kept our submissions fairly unspecific too, to allow the poet to write freely, for example, The Chronicles of Eve is about women and that covers a very wide range of interpretations and perspectives.
Our most recent full anthology, Best of British, was conceived pre-Brexit and wanting to give people the chance to break away with what we were being told to think and allow them to say what Britain really means to them: it's quirks, it's places, it's truth. It's a wonderful journey through people's memories and tales of Britain, from its back-alleys to its lochs to the longing of an expat for peanut butter.
Of all the lovely small poetry press publications, which are the ones that you particularly like yourself, and why?
As aforementioned, I still adore The Emma Press; I think the quality and individuality of her books sets them apart. Mother's Milk Books are also beautiful; I particularly liked the poetry duets pamphlets they produced. And, I have to mention Paekakariki Press who use letterpress printing which makes their books unique and beautiful. Great name, too!
Tell us something about your design choices. Did you consciously decide you wanted a house style? Did you have any models that you wanted to borrow from?
I kind of fell into a house style for the anthologies. The first two books were produced using a template I had set up and a lot of people kept telling me how much they liked it, so I kept it! As for our covers, again, the first two were similar, but I didn't want to be restricted on cover design and I was thrilled to have Sophia Platts-Palmer design the cover for The Chronicles of Eve. She was fresh from art school and had sent me some ideas. Her work is so unusual and intriguing — I have the cover art for Eve up on my wall!
Tell us something about the snags you encounter…how about how you set about the business of marketing, about getting the brand out there. It may be that it's something you feel a bit at sea with. How do you get folk to review the stuff, for instance? How do you feel about the business of competitions for small publishers…stuff like the Michael Marks, for instance? Riff on this topic as you feel appropriate
Definitely the hardest part about being a small press and surviving is sales and marketing. There is no money in poetry (alas) and most presses simply aim to break even, which is a real shame as the books produced are, in my opinion, far more beautiful and interesting than the ones you'll find on the shelves of Waterstone's. As I said earlier, large book shops aren't interested in stocking us and, even if they do, by the time they and their supplier have taken a cut, we would end up making very little, or even a loss. So, it's a no win situation a lot of the time. Awards like Michael Marks and Saboteur are a great way to gain some recognition and, perhaps, spur people on to go buy a book, but they are few and far between. We rely heavily on social media and trying to get our name known through word-of-mouth and poetry websites like yours. It constantly amazes me that poets seem to be so modest — often on something like Facebook, I will plug a book that a poet is published in and they will 'like' but not share! To all writers — please share any posts like this! Not just so we might sell a few more copies, but in doing that, more people are reading your work.
It's funny, I have had many conversations with other poetry friends or those who work in music and there seems to be such a juxtaposition between the arts and marketing. Somehow, driving sales feels 'wrong' or tainting the work somehow. It doesn't, of course, and without funding, many wonderful projects would never see the light of day, but it often doesn't sit right with publishers and artists alike. For me, I feel that if I don't keep pinging things on social media etc. then I am doing my writers an injustice. It's my job to get their work to as many readers as possible. It's also the reason I accept previously published work (apart from the pamphlet prize). It seems a shame to give a wonderful poem only one airing; much better to give it the exposure it deserves!
What next? More in the pipeline?
Yes, lots! We have recently published our first young poets anthology, with poetry from 16-18 year olds and we will shortly be announcing the winner of this year's poetry pamphlet prize — last year's winner, Glass by Elisabeth Sennitt Clough, won The Saboteur Award this year for best pamphlet, so that has prompted even more people to enter. Our judge, Jill Munro, has had a very tough job!
We currently have submissions open for an anthology of flash fiction and for a new project of pocket poetry, which will be ongoing. We aim to produce small, but beautiful books on various themes. All details are on our website. https://paperswans.co.uk/category/blog/
Further to that, we are once again, planning an online publication for National Poetry Day later in the year and will also be at The Free Verse Poetry Book Fair in London this September, if anyone wants to come and say hello.
Well…..you can't say fairer than that, can you? Sarah Miles, it's been a pleasure to have you as our guest today. Good luck to Paper Swans Press and all who sail with her. May you go from strength to strength.
And now, some advance notice. I see that I've posted eleven cobweb strands this July. I normally plan to do four or five a month. So I'm having a two week break to catch my breath, and hopefully do a bit of research, and come up with fresh ideas and topics, and line up a whole load of new guests. I can promise you that I'm definitely returning with a particular guest who I've been hoping to feature for a very long time, and I'm really really looking forward to it. See you all then. I hope the sun shines on all of you xx
By john foggin July 30, 2017 1,823 WordsLeave a comment
Unfinished business: Our David
July 29th. He'd have been 46 today, and I go on writing poems for him. I'm taken aback, every time. I think there's nothing left to be said. But there is. There always will be. Happy birthday, lovely boy
I made this box,
ran quick lead in the veins of driftwood roots,
the silver grain of bleached board and the wind-eyes
of burnished beachstones – rose quartz, granite, flint,
bound them with silver wire to honey oak, red pine,
and clenched them tight with sea-rust iron nails.
I made this box for you
I filled it with fragments, beachcombed
sea glass, wisps of snagged wool.
I wanted you to know
the random loveliness of being alive,
to know it in your bones and blood.
I put in :
snow, to remember draughts
and rooms with cold corners;
a black handled knife, sharp as silk
in a grey-vaulted market, the scent
of cut flowers to show that fathers
give like the gods; a bicycle stammering
through stems of barley, willowherb,
to understand that gravity may be defied;
the humped glass of a brown river,
black branches snagged on the weir's rim;
these bundled letters in different hands
and inks to show how words fall short of love.
I put in riddles:
silhouettes of mountains, oiled gun barrels,
a sheriff's badge, a dust-blown street,
a child running in a drift of grasses,
a scrubbed deal table in a pitman's house.
I wondered if you'd find the answers
if I might understand the questions.
I did not want to put inside my box
your cold clay mouth
this pale oak chamfered cube
and my two hands holding it, all
I wanted was you holding my box
in a high place
where you could only fly, not fall
"I made this box" appeared originally in Much Possessed. smith|doorstop 2016
By john foggin July 28, 2017 July 30, 2017 328 Words8 Comments
South Downs Poetry Festival: bonus tracks…Sarah Miles and Louisa Campbell
We read a poem:
Swineherd: (Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin)
When all this is over, said the swineherd,
I mean to retire, where
Nobody will have heard about my special skills
And conversation is mainly about the weather.
I want to lie awake at night
Listening to cream crawling to the top of the jug
I want to see an orchard where the trees grow in straight lines
The extracts give you a flavour of the Swineherd's dream……..of a life utterly different from the one he has. He doesn't say what it involves. You understand that from what he dreams of.
Now, Pick a task or occupation. Maybe you've done it, dreamed of it, would hate it. Lighthouse keeper, pigs head boner, chiropodist, dentist, mudlark, lady's maid. What will you dream of doing once it's all over.
My workshoppers have five minutes to react to this, to write, as far as possible, without conscious thought…at the very least, without an editorial voice in their heads. I promised that if anyone wrote something they thought worth keeping they could send it to me and, all things being equal, I'd put the poem on the cobweb. And I was delighted that two writers did, and even more delighted to like the poems and to keep my promise. Here we go. First, Sarah Miles.
When this is all over
(said the window cleaner),
I will go to a place where houses
with thatched roofs beckon the open air;
alive with insects, clicking,
keeping me awake at night.
I will sit on the fat window ledges,
my legs swinging and my thighs
spreading on the cold concrete,
absorbing the dust, the chill
and the crannies of the windowsills.
There will be no storeys,
no need for extensions or ladders.
My feet will be forever grounded,
my world will be smeared
and streaked with weather and bird-shit.
If I see suds, I will pop
each bubble,
one by one,
till there is nothing left to see
but a memory.
and Louisa Campbell
Delivery Song
The milk-white moon
holds a wispy finger
to his gentle mouth, whispers,
as I clink bottles on stone,
soft-step back to my float.
Puttle of tyres on road,
7, 9, 11, but not 13,
fox's warrior stare,
hedgehog's tippy-toddle,
all add their pulse to mine
as I long for the world to stay
like this forever: poised, hung-
over, quiet in ink blue,
Sarah Miles runs Paper Swans Press and is co-founder of The Poetry Shelf along with Abegail Morley and Jill Munro.
Louisa Campbell's poetry has appeared in journals including Prole, Acumen, and Three Drops From a Cauldron. Her first pamphlet, The Happy Bus, is forthcoming with Picaroon Poetry.
By john foggin July 27, 2017 469 Words3 Comments
Through the looking glass (2) : David Wilson
(To start with, an afterthought…something I came across after this cobweb strand was published. A sort of oxymoron. A postscript that comes at the beginning. As so often, it's an insight gleaned from Clive James' Poetry Notebook 2006-2014.
He's writing about memorable lines, 'tightly integrated things' and on achieving fame …or not achieving fame.
[On U A Fanthorpe] "It wasn't that she wrote one thing that put everything else in the shade. Though she had been awarded, very quietly, in 2003, the Queen's Medal for poetry, her whole output was in the shade, and then suddenly it all came to light at once: at the very end of her life, and partly because Carol Ann Duffy, who has a gift for fame, was an admirer of hers. Thus, Fanthorpe's gift for obscurity was overcome: until then, despite her having published several volumes with a faithful minor publishing house (the much lamented Peterloo Poets) she was was read mainly by her devotees, and it is one of the laws of poetry and of the arts in general that the instructed are an insufficient audience: one must break through to the uninstructed.)
That would have made a great title for this and last week's post: 'the instructed are an insufficient audience.
I guess that at the heart of last week's post was this fond wish : What I want to do is to consider those poets who break out of the bubble, this hall of mirrors that multiplies and multiplies the image rather than the reality, and are heard by folk who aren't that interested in poetry as such. Who are they, and how do they do it?
So here's another take on that question, and also an opportunity to share and celebrate the poetry of someone who I met via The Poetry Business Writing Days, whose work I've always liked for its quiet precision…and also, to be fair…. because of a shared enthusiasm for mountains and the stories that surround them. Climbing them? Not so much; dodgy bones and vertigo put paid to to my climbing decades ago. But the literature of mountains and mountaineering. Oh yes.
That was reinvigorated by Robert Macfarlane's 'Mountains of the mind' and its exploration of the shifting imagery of our relationship with high places. It does a job like Raymond Williams' The country and the city did for the opposition of ideas of urban and rural in art and literature. It's a job which Macfarlane continues to do with books like Landmarks, and Simon Schama in Landscape and memory. And I ought to namecheck Terry Gifford, one of my tutors on the MA Creative Writing course I did; apart from writing critical appraisals of Ted Hughes, he also used to organise international conferences on the relationship of climbing and literature. Clearly, I'm not breaking new ground here. Just setting a stage on which to introduce today's guest.
David Wilson's not the first by any means to write poetry that goes through the looking glass to engage the attention of folk not normally keen readers of poetry, and more recently there are other collections and pamphlets that occupy the same territory.
Helen Mort's recent 'No map could show them' has a double reach since it also celebrates those Victorian women alpinists, and ticks the boxes of both feminists and mountaineers. The backstory of Yvonne Reddick's Translating mountains engages in another way because of its poignant personal family history . You can check it out via the link https://johnfogginpoetry.com/2016/12/11/taking-off-a-polished-gem-revisited-yvonne-reddick/.
I'm personally fascinated by epic tales of suffering and death on high mountains. Joe Simpson's Touching the void showed how such a story can reach out to a much wider public, just as the myths that have accreted around Mallory will engage readers who have never set foot on a rock face. And since one of the poems that David Wilson wrote which proved a breakthrough for him is about Everest, it seems a good place to introduce him.
"David turned to writing poetry a few years ago after being
inspired by Derek Walcott's poem 'Midsummer, Tobago' on the wall of a
hospital waiting room in Leeds. He then discovered the Writing Days
run by the Poetry Business in Sheffield, leading to his first attempts
at poems since primary school.
David was born and brought up in North London and studied at the
London School of Economics, followed by a Masters degree at Leeds
University, which at the time had the only indoor climbing wall in the
country and was close to excellent outcrop climbing.
He has climbed
extensively in the UK, Alps and further afield, at a standard best
described as erratic. In mid-life he got hooked on windsurfing, but
writing about climbing led him back into it.
David's poems have appeared in The North, Poetry News, Rialto,
Scottish Mountaineer, Climb, Alpinist and the Cinnamon anthology
Journey Planner. He has also been a prize-winner in competitions:
Poets and Players (twice), Kent and Sussex, Buxton International
Festival, Poetry News and the Mountaineering Council of Scotland. His
first pamphlet, Slope, was published by Smith/Doorstop in 2016.
(Two things I'd want to highlight, because, I suppose, they fit the 'looking glass' argument. First off, his poems have appeared in serious poetry journals, but also in climbing and mountaineering journals, as well as winning a prize with the Mountaineering Council of Scotland. Second, you'll notice that the endorsement on the front cover of Slope isn't from a poet, but a world-famous mountaineer. You'd give an arm and a leg for an endorsemant like that. Or perhaps not, if you're a mountaineer. But you get the point.)
David adds some thoughts on writing poetry which are relevant.
"Prior to writing poetry, I occasionally wrote fiction, both short
stories and a well-received novel.
In seeking to write about the experience of climbing, and its social
and historical context, Robert McFarlane's Mountains of the Mind was
one influential book, another was Wade Davis' Into the Silence: The
Great War, Mallory and the Conquest of Everest; and a third, M. John
Harrison's novel Climbers. The poets Les Murray and Norman McCaig were
helpful in gaining insight into writing about climbing and landscape."
Praise for his poetry has come from the worlds of poetry and of mountaineering. Here's a selection.
'These poems bring back great memories. And I empathise with the
questions some of the poems raise.'
Chris Bonington
'Both Helen Mort's 'No Map Could Show Them' and David Wilson's 'Slope'
clearly show that great poetry about climbing is not only possible –
as Coleridge surely realised in his state of 'prophetic trance and
delight' when descending Broad Stand – but that it is very much alive
and well in Britain today, well over two hundred years after that
euphoric adventure on Scafell.'
David Pickford, Editor-in-Chief, Climb magazine.
and, to introduce the first poem:
'A brilliantly imagistic rendering of a place. The finding of likeness
between Elvis and Everest …is truly spectacular.'
Paul Muldoon on 'Everest', which he awarded the 2015 Poets and Players prize.
Once it was Chomolungma,
Mother Goddess of the Earth,
a face whose veil rarely lifted,
its whiteness the White Whale's.
Now it's like Elvis near the end,
a giant in a soiled jumpsuit,
blank, useful for percentages,
a sheet from which the music's fled.
What I like particularly here is how much is packed into an eight-line poem; the history of a mountain and of the death of legends; it charts a descent from the divine to the mysterious, to the popular myth, to the pathetic and shopworn. It has the kind of resonance I associate with Black Elk talking about Wounded Knee: the hoop of the nations is broken and the sacred tree is dead'.
The image of a sheet of staves which has lost all its notation resonates particularly with my images of failed ascents, the tiny black dots of climbers who vanished into whiteout.
Mind you, it would be doing David an injustice to suggest that he's somehow caught in a niche subject. That isn't remotely true, any more than it would be of Helen Mort or Yvonne Reddick. All I was suggesting at the start is that it does you no harm to be able to write about subjects that break the shiny walls of the poetry bubble. Because the odds are that then those readers will find all the other poems, and read them, too. Poems like this:
Duke of Edinburgh's
After Biology's birds and bees
Mr Palmer taught us Civil Defence,
how to raise a burned body part
above the level of the heart,
to recognise the four minute siren,
Duck and Cover if caught outside.
He prized his Mega-Death Calculator:
two cardboard discs, one over the other.
We'd offer a number in kilotons;
rotating the discs with two fat thumbs,
he'd read off deaths to the nearest ten k
within five miles of Camden Market.
The President gave his ultimatum.
Subs and missile ships sailed on.
Mr Palmer fiddled with his Calculator.
"Don't giggle! It looks likely tomorrow
that most of our numbers will be up."
Across a field the First Eleven trained.
The drunks who cursed outside the tube
gone in a flash. Tufnell Park white ash.
The blast hitting Highgate Hill, Marx's Grave,
the suicide bridge on Archway Road.
Helen Shapiro and her beehive vaporised
as she walked back to happiness.
We had teachers like that at the time of the first hydrogen bomb tests; we ghoulishly pored over diagrams that told us how our houses and our skin would look if an H Bomb was dropped on Leeds. Privately, I had nightmares.
David's poem beautifully dramatises the mindset of intelligent teenagers (I guess they were all boys) at the time of the Cuban Missile crisis. It's the precision of location and geography that makes this work for me…and that one telling bit of ephemeral history. Helen Shapiro's beehive hairdo. It nails one generation's priorities, (and maybe its uncertain preoccupation with birds and bees) and horrifies with the absolutism of that verb: vaporised. I love the art of this poem, the tying up of its narrative.
David generously sent me more poems than I can use in one post, but I reckon we can manage three more. The thing I notice as I read and re-read them is their concern with mortality, the fragility of human life. Most climbing literature will return again and again to reflections on the belief of great mountaineers. Namely, that putting themselves at risk in sublimely dangerous high and inaccessible places gives then renewed insight in the preciousness of being alive. I think these poems are illuminated by this core idea. See if you agree. The first is full of innocence. I love it.
Bivouac at Harrisons' Rocks
Leaves turn from green to grey.
On the breeze a scent of hops.
A star appears. A bat.
Beyond silver birch trees
a train sounds its two-tone horn,
slows for a bend, disappears.
We're fifteen years old
with apple pies, cans of Sprite,
and dreams of the Eigerwand.
Above our ledge a sandstone roof,
below us the drop. Not far
but far enough.
I read a lot into that 'far enough'…meaning: far enough to be thrilled and frightened, for the adrenalin rush; far enough to be killed if you fall off. The thing about climbing is that it's addictive. It's never enough. There's always something that bit harder, that bit bigger.
The next poem Palimpsest commemorates Rachel Slater and Tim Newton who went missing on Valentine's weekend 2016, buried in an avalanche on the North Face of
Ben Nevis. Their bodies were not found for many weeks.
Palimpset
How softly we climbed last winter,
touching the snow as if it were skin
on the slope that led to the routes,
knowing they were somewhere beneath us,
partners who left their tent at dawn,
her in her red jacket, him his new boots.
It could as easily have been us,
lost beneath an unreadable surface
as layers of old and new compressed.
It's yet another poem that does so much in a small space. The title, I think, is brilliant. Not just for the obvious whiteness of snow that covers imperfection and loss, but more radically, the scraping off of a record ready for new marks and tracks. How well it connects with the first lines
'Softly' is exactly right. That held-breath tentativeness, that fear of the surface fragility, that precariousness. And the the softness with which you might touch a loved one. And how you might pause to touch the dead body of a loved one. I find this powerfully moving.
The final poem I chose isn't a 'climbing' poem. But the voice is one I want to end with. It's a voice that says that being hopeful is a condition of being alive. And I'll settle for that on this July Sunday.
You reminded me, how years ago on the school run
I said one day we'll just keep driving,
past the railings and bells and latecomers
to see where the day takes us,
perhaps the beach, perhaps back home,
and I'd let you decide when it should be.
It didn't happen but knowing it was enough
you said, the best thing I ever did.
And I wonder if the same is true for me;
perhaps, when nestled among flowers
with the rear door of my limousine shut,
you might ask the man in black
to keep driving, see where the day takes us,
to hills, the sea, or just around the block
like an uncertain bride taking her time.
So, thank you, David Wilson for being our guest and being, involuntarily, part of an argument I've been having about the place of poetry in the oworld.
Two things coming up. Midweek we'll have two poems from a workshop I ran. Because I like them. And next Sunday (or Monday) a tribute to another small poetry press: Paper Swans. Hope to see you then.
Yvonne Reddick
Tŷ Newydd and That Report
Bottom of Form
By john foggin July 23, 2017 July 24, 2017 2,435 WordsLeave a comment
I just have to add my voice to that of a poet and teacher who has in many ways changed my life for the better.
Two things I HAVE to say. First of all, the fact that this 'report' is written with the protection of anonymity. I'd say that in itself that's an act of intellectual and moral dishonesty and cowardice. If you're going to write something that threatens the livelihood and wellbeing of others, do it in the open, or just button it.
Second: my own involvement with Arvon..and Lumb Bank in particular…. started in the 80s. As an LEA English Adviser, one task I inherited was to arrange an annual residential writing course for 6th form students in my authority. Not hobbyists, not retirees…young adults whose lives in some cases were changed, as mine was, for the better. Then there were collaborations with Yorkshire Arts..courses for would-be Writers in Education in collaboration with heads of English from the secondary schools in my LEA. Most participants mainly in their 30s. Among them, Lemn Sissay. I might rest my case right there.
And then, the residentials I've been on. Not Ty Newydd, as it happens, but courses run by The Poetry Business, Kim Moore, Almaserra Vella. Till I went on them I published nothing, and had no plans to do so. But since then (in the last 5 years) I've had 2 collections published, and four pamphlets. I've won competitions judged by, amomg others, three poets laureate. I've even come to the point when I can be asked to run a writers workshop at a Poetry Festival.
What do places like Lumb Bank and Ty Newydd offer professional writers? Well..employment is a word that springs effortlessly to mind.
I'll set aside the evidently not-right-on sneer about 'retirees'. I doubt that the report would ever have dreamed using a phrase like 'hobbyist women' or 'hobbyist people of colour'. Apparently equal opportunities don't apply to older folk. As a 74 year old I find that insulting. There you go. Apparently wanting to continue living a full creative life doesn't meet whatever criteria the reporters have set for themselves. It's interesting, I think, to ask who actually pays for them to write their report. I imagine it's the taxpayer. Just for the record, I've been paying taxes for over 50 years.
So, to the anonymous and unprincipled jobsworth who wrote the section of this report quoted by Kim I'd say: engage brain before opening your mouth. And have the courage not to hide behind the anonymity of a damaging and inaccurate piece of misinformation.
Last week, I saw via a post on Facebook that an Independent Review of Support for Publishing and Literature in Wales had been published. Within those pages the Tŷ Newydd Creative Writing Centre had received damaging criticism, which is so at odds with my experience of Tŷ Newydd that I feel obliged to write this in support of Tŷ Newydd
You can find the report here
The paragraph below is taken directly from the report.
Tŷ Newydd seems to be mainly aimed at 'retired hobbyists' but it was unclear who Tŷ Newydd caters for and why it is receiving public subsidy. It was also unclear how many individuals, who have attended a course at Tŷ Newydd, have gone on to publish a book. This kind of residential literary course is viewed by many to be outdated in the current creative writing boom in the digital age . Tŷ Newydd offers little…
By john fogginGallery July 21, 2017 July 21, 2017 1 Comment
Through the looking-glass (1): and a gem revisited….Keith Hutson
A meme has persistently popped up on my Facebook page recently. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. Hmm. It occurs to me that my days have been defined by poets and poetry for the last few weeks. Residentials, a festival, readings, workshops, poetry blogs, planning programmes. A week ago I was given a guided tour of the stunning renovations of Halifax's magnificent Piece Hall…an epic space that was once the centre of the European cloth trade. Merchants came from Russia to the Piece Hall. Easy to forget that in the 1970s it was saved from demolition by the casting vote of the mayor at a council meeting. A huge piazza surrounded on all four sides by classical galleries in (these days) golden sandstone. It wouldn't look remotely out of place in a great Italian city. The Square Chapel that was a near ruin in the 1980s has now been stitched into the complex by very smart, visionary architects. My mate Bob Horne and I were being shown around prior to checking out a performance space…our very own Puzzle Poets Live are invited to put on two hours of live poetry as part of the re-opening day celebrations on August 1st! How do we feel? Gobsmacked. That's how we feel.
Last Tuesday I was in Bradford to listen to Vicky Gatehouse and Ann Caldwell reading at The Beehive Poets. Wednesday, I was happy to be back in Halifax where Michael Brown and Maria Isakova Bennett were two of the four guest poets at Keith Hutson's Word Play in Square Chapel. Thursday I was reading at The Albert Poets in Huddersfield. The week before, a new and beautifull magazine, Strix, had its launch at the Hyde Park Book Club Cafe in Leeds. I think it's fair to say that my world has revolved round poems and poets and poetry of late. Clearly, it's very important.
And yet. Important to whom? Well, to thousands..but in my case, to a few hundred people I know or know of. There again, so is my beloved Rugby League team…but as far as most of the world's concerned it barely registers, if at all. Poets, the unacknowledged legislators? it's a big claim, isn't it? Unacknowledged, yes. I get that. But if I had to select the crucial legislators…the layers out of laws that govern the world, I'd pick mathematicians. Put it another way. Ten years ago, or thereabouts, poetry was something I read from time to time. Poems were things I tinkered with, intermittently and irregularly, without any real conviction. The world of magazines, competitions, prizes, poetry reading groups, open mics., workshops, residentials, festivals were literally invisible. Poetry's important to the people it's important to; I have to pinch myself and remind myself that to a great extent it's a bubble I've come inhabit in which I talk to like- minded people and sometimes forget that there's a world out there that doesn't give a toss. By and large, the people who buy my books are folk whose books I buy in return. Ditto, people who listen to me read and, probably, people who read my blog posts.
Before you decide this is altogether too depressing, I rush to say this is the bleakest version of a whole spectrum of shades of the truth about poetry and its place in the world. What I want to do is to tweak this a bit and to consider those poets who break out of the bubble, this hall of mirrors that multiplies and multiplies the image rather than the reality, and are heard by folk who aren't that interested in poetry as such. Who are they, and how do they do it?
I'm going to stick my neck out…I guess I expect some brickbats…but what the heck. I started reading/performing poems in folk clubs, and learned very quickly that if I wanted to keep the attention of a room of folk mainly there for the tunes and the beer, then I'd better do poems that rhymed (probably) and were funny (certainly). I built up a big file of stuff that wouldn't let me down. Poets like Matt Harvey and Les Barker. I used a lot of Marriott Edgar. And I came to respect what Pam Ayres did. She's a crafty, clever writer despite her TV persona. I'm very fond of 'Clive the fearless birdman'. I learned a lot from watching Ian Macmillan's live performances in libraries and other small venues…especially when he worked with Circus of Poets. And I think Roger McGough is frequently brilliant. McGough has always written lovely serious stuff along with stuff like the PCPlod sequence, and A lesson and Nooligan and the rest. But I think there's no argument that what let him break out of the poetry bubble was the Penguin anthology that rode on the back of Beatlemania in the 60s. And I'd argue hard and long that Ian Macmillan and Pam Ayres owe a lot to their voices and associated personae that worked so well on radio and TV. In other words, they're known beyond the poetry world as 'entertainers'. I'll come back to this.
And then there's the collections/anthologies that sell lots and lots of copies, and travel well outside the niche poetry world. In the case of Staying Alive and Lifesaving poems you're as likely to come across them in parts of bookshops that deal with 'lifestyle' and 'self-help' as in the less than crowded poetry shelves. I think the reason(s) for their popularity don't need spelling out. They're full of stunning poems, but I suspect they're sometimes leafed through by people wanting something to read at funerals. In a sense (though not in terms of the quality and seriousness of their poems) they occupy the same kind of cultural space that Patience Strong used to dominate. The thing I'm focussing on is the fact that they're bought and read by folk who don't naturally buy poetry.
The world's wife is a different case. For me, it's one of the most important collections I ever bought. It gave me a whole new and liberating way into my own writing. And, I should add, there are a lot of poems in there that went down a storm in folk clubs. Robust, strong, forthright poems. Funny poems. Memorable poems. I loved performing The Kray Sisters…in a not very convincing Michael Caine voice. But there's a lot more to it than the craft, the wit, the bravura quality of the whole collection….which it shares with Liz Lochhead's Dreaming Frankenstein. I remember coming across it about the time I met the first of the feminist-slanted revisionist picture story books: The paper bag princess. Both appeared at what seems to me the exact right time…you might not be into poetry, but if you were into feminism, then this was a must-read. The message was just as important as the poetry. It was innovatory, brilliantly simple as a concept, completely accessible and absolutely politically right-on. (It's also beautifully crafted. Little Red-Cap is stunningly written, full of internal rhymes, slant rhymes, assonance, texture..wistful and sardonic and finally triumphant by turns). And it's gone on and on and on being popular.
I think I'll nail my colours to the mast with that resonant word 'popular'. Of and for the people. Lets' be fair. A lot of poetry isn't. It's of, and for, coteries. But Macmillan and Ayres and McGough come out of a long proud tradition of oral poetry. Poetry that's performed as much as, if not more than, it's read. It's accessible…and anyone who thinks writing accessible, entertaining, and (particularly) genuinely funny poetry is easy, well, all I can say is: they've never tried to do it. I'm also reminded of something that Ian Macmillan said in a filmed interview with Martin Wiley. He said that much of the stuff written for Circus of Poets was written collaboratively…something on the lines that it's hard to write funny poems on your own because 'you can't make yourself laugh'. So, bearing those ideas in mind: popular, collaborative, public, entertaining, I finally get round to re-introducing today's returning guest poet: Keith Hutson.
Keith was last a guest in February 2015. You can follow the link to that post here if you like: https://johnfogginpoetry.com/2015/02/28/stand-up-a-polished-gem-3-keith-hutson/
I finished that post by writing that I'd hoped "he might have let me have one his poems that draw on the world of the music hall; it turns out that Widow Twankey is currently seeking employment elsewhere, as is another I wanted …Frankie Vaughan at a lad's boxing club in Ancoats.If you want a taste of the world of the music hall comedian in the dying days of the craft, you can find three sonnets in The North 53, and make the acquaintance of Sandy Powell,Tommy Trinder, and Robb Wilton who each apparently built a career on profoundly unfunny catchphrases. Keith's uncle would take him, as a young boy, to see all the comic greats who appeared at Blackpool and other theatres in the North, and a lot of his recent poetry pays tribute to the performers he loves. He is working towards a collection of these poems, called Troupers. (Any offers anyone?)"
As it happens, he has done much more than work towards a collection, and as we shall see, he's had offers. Let's let him introduce himself:
"Since I was last on the Cobweb, I've had more poems published in journals, and some successes in competitions including the Troubadour, Mclellan, York, Cornwall, Canon, Rosamond, and Rialto Nature. [he's understating again: the Poetry Business uses this endorsement from Keith on their webpage: 'Since I began attending the Poetry Business Writing Days two years ago,[ie in 2014 or thereabouts] I have gone from having no poems published to forty, all in well respected journals. This is due to the encouragement and support of Peter and Ann Sansom and all the monthly writing day participants'
My debut pamphlet, 'Routines' (31 sonnets celebrating music hall performers) was published by Poetry Salzburg in October 2016 (I was subsequently invited to join the Poetry Salzburg editorial board). [Just let that last sentence sink in before you read on]
In February this year I read, as Carol Ann Duffy's guest, at the Royal Society of Literature's TS Eliot Memorial event at the British Library. Carol Ann has asked me to be a Laureate's Choice poet for 2018, which will mean another pamphlet, 'Troupers', this time published by smith|doorstop, who have agreed to publish a future full collection too.
I tour the country with a one-man show, also called 'Troupers', next appearing on 28 September at Harrogate Theatre."
So, let's think about Routines and Troupers and the connection with my musings in the first part of the post. If you are going to break out beyond the bubble, you probably need a lucky break, some sort of special boost. I'd draw a parallel with a former colleage of mine, Gervaise Phinn. English teachers and English Advisers throughout the country knew all about his brilliant storytelling about the ups and downs of advising and inspecting schools in the North of England. No one else. Then he had a chance meeting with Esther Rantzen via his work for Childline..he made her laugh so much he ended up on TV, won a publishing contract, and became a bestseller of books about the life of a schools' inspector in the North Yorks Dales. The stories were the same, but no longer inside the selfreflecting budbble of the world of English teaching. In a similar way, Keith Hutson caught the eye and ear of Carole Ann Duffy. That's always going to help. More than that, though. He can tour his poems in a one man show that fills a theatre. Beyond the bubble. Brilliant. Let's see just how.
Bad Impresario
i.m. William Paul 1820 – 1882
William Paul, with millions to waste
on battling boredom, wondered which place
in Blighty had the least discerning taste:
could he unearth a town where utter tripe
would be considered culture at its height –
silk purses not sow's ears – night after night?
Two dozen hardened scouts were sent to scour
the land; five hundred flops auditioned for
his troupe; the ten most woeful went on tour
including long-abandoned novelties
like Lady Clock Eye, Baldwin's Catholic Geese,
The Human Mop, Frank and his Dancing Teeth:
from Cumbria to Cornwall no one asked
them back, except the Palace, Halifax.
First thing I particularly like is Keith's ear for the punchline. His sonnets take you for an eye-opening journey through the often bizarre world of music hall and variety acts from the the 19thC through to the late 1950's when they were effectively killed by television. The big stars were enormously famous…think of rock stars and you're not far wrong. The ones who weren't famous were frequently bonkers. I love that list of B and C list performers that seem to come from a deranged surrealist. Or Monty Python. Except that they were real. Keith does an enormous amount of research. Equally, he's adept at using the sonnet for its ability to hold a compressed narrative, to supply a turn and a closure.
Very often the stories of the really big stars have a familiar trajectory. Many of them came out of appalling poverty and deprivation, and many of them were destroyed by depression and drink, or just ended up, sadly and anticlimactically in care homes. Though not without being able, sometimes, to pack a punch, still. Like Joan Rhodes, the Strong Woman, the tearer of telephone books and bender of iron bars.
Coming On Strong
i.m Joan Rhodes 1921-2010
Three and in the workhouse, ten when you ran,
missing till twenty then, as lean as luck,
in fishnets at the fair, you tore a phone book
up, bent iron bars, broke nails, took four men
on at tug-of-war and won, which led to
lifting Bob Hope while Marlene Dietrich
loved a woman tough enough to keep
refusing King Farouk, who wanted you
to wreck his best four-poster bed with him
still in it. Joan, I've seen your photograph,
fab in a basque and tan, that cast iron bath
held high, before you disappeared again,
found in a care home where, I understand,
greeting the manager, you broke his hand.
As with many of the sonnets in his sequence, Keith can show a great tenderness and respect for his Troupers. This one starts with the beautifully compressed 'early life' that packs a huge unwritten backstory. And I love the economy of that 'lean as luck'. And the schadenfreude of the couplet that does a slightly different job from the one in the previous poem. What's clear is that the sheer fascination of these carefully researched subjects is what lifts them out of the world of poetry into a world of entertaining and informing. You just have to remember that these are also beautifully artful, crafted poems.
Two more poems (Keith's been really generous. Thanks Keith). The next one is more kinetic…basically because the act it describes was a man standing on a stage miming the running of a fried fish shop. Night after night. The past was another country.
The Fish Fryer
i.m. Billy Bennett 1887-1942
The secret is to get the audience
to flinch with you: imaginary hot fat
should surprise them too. A shared experience.
But ration out the twitches, make every spit
and spatter count. Your elbow action should,
however, never stop. You've got to work
that non-existent haddock, scallop, cod
till they can smell the sizzling. You'll look
a fool, standing on stage behind a range
that isn't there, but that's what they've all paid
good money for. Somehow it entertains
them – a ninny in a pinny plagued
by boiling oil. Don't try to analyse
their appetites, though. That way madness lies.
The first thing to notice is that this is one block of 14 lines. There's no resting place. Then you think about the speed of it from flinch to surprise to spit to spatter. The rhythm's manic, staccato, nonstop like the act. And the couplet does something different this time. Because the poet finally gives up trying to understand just what made the act work. And, possibly, Billy Bennett, too.
Finally, because there's a lot of light and shade in the whole sequence, I asked for on that illustrates the bittersweet, or pathetic or tragic, or just plain heartbreaking ends of so many of these stage careers. This poem's about Hutch. It's also about poverty, the class system and the rank racism of British society for most of the 20th C. A world in which the BBC were still showing The black and white minstrels into the 60's, and Love thy neighbour and It ain't half hot, Mum were still thought to be amusing.
Slave Song
for Leslie Hutchinson 1900-1969
Black. Baritone. Breathtaking, Coward said.
Now let's diminish you with this instead:
Lady Mountbatten so adored your dick,
she got a jewel-encrusted cast of it
from Cartier, to comfort her when you
were entertaining Noel, Novello.
Prohibited from singing on a stage,
you did Cole Porter from the pit, to rave
reviews; received sweets from the royal box.
Received Cole Porter too. But when the facts
about how in demand you were came out,
Lord Louis sued the press and swore in court
No nigger fucks my wife. Cut down, voice gone,
you died selling yourself in Paddington.
I reckon this needs no commentary. But you'll have gathered that here's poetry that riffs on the sonnet form and makes it sit up and beg; poetry as social history; poetry that entertains. Poetry that travels outside the bubble. Thank you Keith Hutson for being our guest and sharing your poems. Next week, a slightly different take on the the theme I opened with. See you all then, I hope
By john foggin July 16, 2017 3,024 Words2 Comments
Lost and found in translation: John Foggin
Last lap. First of all , thank you, Gyula Friewald for a morning of writing that pushed me (for one) into new and uncomfortable places. I can't say that I understand the business of adaptation/translation any better than when I started.
Recently I wrote, for the excellent on-line journal The High Window, a review of Peter Sirr's Sway (versions of poems from the Troubadour tradition) by Peter Sirr [Gallery Books 2016. €11.95] . You can read the whole thing, if you want to chart the problems I had with it: https://thehighwindowpress.com/category/reviews/ ). This was my starting point, and one, I think that illuminates what I was up to with my own retellings (I think that's what they are) of Gyula's poems.
"The translation-maker's duty is to the original, yes; but his primary duty is to the new poem which, through the process of translation, "becomes" the translator's poem and not just a transliteration of the original poet's work. In this view, the translator is active and not passive; an originator and not a transporter; a transformer and creator and not just some drudge who, dictionary in hand, roots for and writes down linguistic equivalents.
That seemed to resonate with what Peter Sirr says in his splendidly helpful –and reassuring – Afterword: I hung on to this ; he says he began the collection by a combination of fluke and compulsion:
"It was the lines in what we now call Old Occitan that I couldn't get out of my head. The opening gambit 'Farai un vers de dreyt nien' (I'll make a verse out of nothing at all') leapt from the page, seeming to arrive fully-formed in its self-confident flourish and strut,….playing …with the idea of poetry and the role of the poet"
He goes further: "These are not, it should be said, scholarly translations…I played fast and loose with form and image."…….. "Translation is never fixed or finished; it answers a contemporary need to engage with and remake in the language we have available to us whatever calls out to us from the past".
I could go along with that, as with Clive James': "A real poem? A real poem is 'Well separated' . You hear 'the force of real poetry at first glance' (I love that!). Because 'Even if you don't set out to memorize a real poem, it somehow seems to be memorizing itself for you'."
The message is simple enough. Read the poems as poems. Listen to them. Ask if they have that kind of force….and above all, find the moments, the core images where the poem's meanings seem to cohere.So, here are my versions.
Old mother. Shapeless, bloated;
yesterday they found you on the street
and now you're carrying the card:
officially unstable. You husband went
years ago; you can't breathe. They own the air.
How your lungs labour; tired wings.
Your wasted years, the years you never lived,
are clenched knots of old arguments
you couldn't win. The table's rigged,
the cards are marked. You have a ticket
to the Public Gardens. Wild flowers,
herbs and simples. Asphodel.
Welcome to your pension-free retirement;
welcome to a crochet comfort blanket
of 24 hour TV, the vodka you've got stashed.
Poor Ophelia in your little music box
the apparatchiks engineered. A trap
of stiff coiled springs and ratchets
where you wake and wail and wail;
you croon old nursery tunes and discords;
you grow slow; you are catatonic.
And this is the System's lying diagnosis.
It's prescription: factitious dramas,
depressives. Psychosis is in its blood
like yeast in bread; like genes.
The politicians of the media
chew listlessly, hand feed you nostrums
simple as barbed wire border fences.
Parliament squats in a Neo-Gothic dream.
Plays chess with you. With all the people.
The mountains of Buda were green
and smiling in the distance. Hope
planted trees that whispered.
Nine carpenters came before me.
Men with calloused hands who built roofs
that cradled my first years. My forefathers.
The years and family collapsed
like ancient rafters, fell on the deaf ears
of yellow daffodils that nodded,
as I waited by the river,
waited on the step, waited for my ash-gey father
wrapped in his dreamed immortality.
Lost. Absorbed by anthill circuses
I saw crouching dragons
where I waited in that old, slow
Danube backwater; waited,
tranced, forgot the breaking
of my family, the twitching of its severed hands.
I'm not sure what Hilary and Christopher discovered as they worked through this exercise. I think they stay closer to the originals, their shapes and rhythms. To their diction, too. They preserve more of the abstract thinking. But I see how illuminating was Christopher's pointing out the centrality of the image of hands in one poem. I think, too, that I learn a good deal from the way he applies a cool precision to his version of the 'Clockwork' poem. And I was more than impressed by the way Hilary preserved the shape of the 'Budapest Boy', seeing it as an image of cupped hands. I'm interested too, by the way she makes a coherent narrative of it. I'm not sure what I make of my versions. I'm pretty sure that what I responded to in 'Waiting' was the central (for me) image of the child on the step. It triggered suppressed guilt about what I see as my own absenteeism during my children's growing up. Not a physical absence. It's just that I let work be far too important. I wonder where on earth Ophelia came from in the other poem. No idea. I don't even know if she belongs there.
Still. At the end of it all, it seems to me that the whole business was about connection, about imaginative listening. About reaching out of your self. You never know. There could be a spark.
We'll be back to something more normal on Sunday (or Monday, or….) we'll be having a returning guest. So, uniforms tidy, ties tied, shirts tucked in, and no chewing. See you then.
By john foggin July 7, 2017 July 7, 2017 1,029 Words4 Comments


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Berwyn ist eine Stadt (mit dem Status "City") im Cook County im US-amerikanischen Bundesstaat Illinois. Im Jahr 2020 hatte Berwyn 57.250 Einwohner.

Berwyn ist Bestandteil der Metropolregion Chicago.

Geografie
Berwyn liegt im westlichen Vorortbereich von Chicago auf 41°50′33″ nördlicher Breite und 87°47′24″ westlicher Länge. Die Stadt erstreckt sich über eine Fläche von 10,1 km². Die Stadt Berwyn ist deckungsgleich mit der Berwyn Township.

Benachbarte Orte von Berwyn sind Oak Park (an der nördlichen Stadtgrenze), Cicero (an der östlichen Stadtgrenze), Forest View (an der südlichen Stadtgrenze) sowie Riverside und North Riverside (an der westlichen Stadtgrenze).

Das Stadtzentrum von Chicago liegt rund 16 km östlich von Berwyn.

Verkehr
Nördlich von Berwyn verläuft die Interstate 290 als Ausfallstraße von Chicago in nach Westen. Südlich von Berwyn führt die Interstate 55 von Chicago nach Südwesten in Richtung St. Louis. Der U.S. Highway 34 erreicht seinen östlichen Endpunkt an der Einmündung in die Illinois State Route 43. Diese Straße bildet zugleich die westliche Stadtgrenze von Berwyn. Alle weiteren Straßen sind innerstädtische Verbindungsstraßen.

Durch Berwyn verläuft eine Linie der Metra (Metropolitan Transit Authority), dem Nahverkehrssystem von Chicago. Auf dem Stadtgebiet von Berwyn gibt es mit Lavergne, Berwyn und Harlem Avenue drei Stationen der Linie, die von der Innenstadt Chicagos nach Aurora führt, und auf Gleisen der BNSF Railway (Burlington Northern Santa Fe) verläuft.

Die nächsten Flughäfen sind der Chicago Midway International Airport (13 km südöstlich) und der größere O'Hare International Airport (22,8 km nordwestlich).

Geschichte
Im Jahr 1902 wurden die Ortschaften La Vergne, Swedetown, Berwyn und South Oak Park zusammengeschlossen und als Village of Berwyn inkorporiert. Im Jahr 1908 wurde vom Staat Illinois der Gemeindestatus in "City" geändert.

Demografische Daten
Nach der Volkszählung im Jahr 2010 lebten in Berwyn 56.657 Menschen in 18.910 Haushalten. Die Bevölkerungsdichte betrug 5609,6 Einwohner pro Quadratkilometer. In den 18.910 Haushalten lebten statistisch je 2,99 Personen.

Ethnisch betrachtet setzte sich die Bevölkerung zusammen aus 60,5 Prozent Weißen, 6,4 Prozent Afroamerikanern, 0,6 Prozent amerikanischen Ureinwohnern, 2,5 Prozent Asiaten sowie 26,6 Prozent aus anderen ethnischen Gruppen; 3,4 Prozent stammten von zwei oder mehr Ethnien ab. Unabhängig von der ethnischen Zugehörigkeit waren 59,4 Prozent der Bevölkerung spanischer oder lateinamerikanischer Abstammung.

27,8 Prozent der Bevölkerung waren unter 18 Jahre alt, 62,8 Prozent waren zwischen 18 und 64 und 9,4 Prozent waren 65 Jahre oder älter. 50,5 Prozent der Bevölkerung war weiblich.

Das mittlere jährliche Einkommen eines Haushalts lag bei 50.361 USD. Das Pro-Kopf-Einkommen betrug 20.698 USD. 13,6 Prozent der Einwohner lebten unterhalb der Armutsgrenze.

Persönlichkeiten
 James Dapogny (1940–2019), Jazzmusiker, Bandleader und Professor für Musiktheorie an der University of Michigan
 Buzz Clifford (1942–2018), Sänger und Songwriter
 Ronald C. Blakey (* 1945), Geologe
 David Huffman (1945–1985), Schauspieler
 Jim Peterik (* 1950), Rockmusiker
 Patrick J. Michaels (1950–2022), Klimatologe und Klimawandelleugner
 Gregory Polan OSB (* 1950), Ordensgeistlicher, Priester, Altprimas der benediktinischen Konföderation und Großkanzler der Päpstlichen Athenaeum im Rom
 Bob Odenkirk (* 1962), Schauspieler
 Sondra Radvanovsky (* 1969), Opernsängerin

Weblinks

 Offizielle Website
 www.city-data.com – Berwyn, Illinois

Einzelnachweise

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


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The Stray Birds w/ Miss Tess & The Talkbacks
Sun Dec 18 8pm
Event Type: Music and Performance, Americana
$18, $15 mbrs | + $3 at the door
The brilliant acoustic trio, The Stray Birds, fill the theater with their rich vocal harmonies and tight arrangements that are, simply put, stunning. Tonight, they celebrate their newest release "Magic Fire" with their friends Miss Tess & The Talkbacks opening. Expect special collaborations.
In less than five years, The Stray Birds have become one of the most popular bands in Americana music. Formed in friendship and honed on the road, The Stray Birds' sound is spun with a stirring subtlety and grace. With wood, strings, and three voices raised in harmony, their performances bow to the richness of American folk music traditions—and speak to an uncompromising reverence for songs.
Now based in Tennessee, Miss Tess got her musical start in Maryland, where her childhood nights ended with music. Her parents would sing her to sleep with the gentle, tender sounds of American folk songs, occasionally interrupted by their '30s swing band rehearsing in the basement. All grown up, Miss Tess and The Talkbacks regularly steal the show at venues with something a little rowdier and more eclectic. Infused with classic country and honky-tonk, southern rhythm & blues, New Orleans jazz and swing, and sounds of swamp pop and early rock n' roll, she is an embodiment of everything that it still home-grown in America.
8pm | $18, $15 mbrs | + $3 at the door
Check Please! The Final Foodscape Last Call Closing Reception SAT JAN 29 | 6 - 8pm

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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Sugus Dumped Dying Dog. Help me
Fundraising campaign by anne klein
by anne klein
Lorain, us
Lorain, US | Animals & Pets
Last Thursday we received a message with a photo of a completely
hairless, mange-ridden, malnourished dog. It came with a map location
pin. I jumped in my car with some food, water, and a leash to meet a
fellow rescuer.
When I arrived, the pizza delivery driver who
had spotted him directed me to where the dog was curled up, passed out
on the side of the road. I woke him with a handful of food. It didn't
take much to coax this starving puppy to safety. He was scared of us,
but he wanted help! Neighbors on this farm road said he had just shown
up that day, and we know he didn't arrive on his own. He was dumped to
die.
We named him Phoenix, as we couldn't wait to watch him rise
from the ashes of the only life he had known — a life of suffering and
cruel neglect. We couldn't wait to see what his coat would look like as
it grew back in, since his skin is so diseased we can't s even tell what
kind of dog he is. We couldn't wait to see him run, play, and feel a
cool breeze blowing through the beautiful for he would have. We were so
excited for his future. Unfortunately, our dreams were quickly dashed!
Phoenix's treatment got underway, his condition rapidly declined. When I
arrived to the clinic Sunday to rush him to the 24-hr emergency vet,
Phoenix appeared to be half dead. I was floored. But he raised his head
in the car, trying to sit up, and I knew he wanted to live.
we arrived to the ER, Phoenix's temperature was too low to read, his
blood pressure had completely tanked, his blood glucose level was on the
floor, and his leg had swelled up with infection. Blood work showed he
had gone septic, and his prognosis was extremely grim. The doctor
suggested I revise his CPR to a DNR. She told me if his heart stops, he
won't likely come back. We were devastated.
Since they couldn't
let me stay with Phoenix, I drove around the hospital bawling my eyes
out and begging God to deliver him into the new life we so badly wanted
Phoenix to have. He can't go out like this! People around the country
started praying.
And thank God, Phoenix is a fighter and a
downright champ! Over the next 12 hours of aggressive medical treatment
and fervent prayers, Phoenix's temperature rose. His BP rose. His blood
sugar finally stayed up. The ER doctor called me last night, and for the
very first time, said "I actually have hope."
The problem that
she presented me with is that saving Phoenix's life "is going to be very
expensive." We are looking at an estimated $5,800 - $6,500 for the
first 72 hours of critical care. Phoenix has a urinary catheter since he
can't or won't walk yet, and exposure to his skin of his own urine
could be very dangerous. He has a constant ECG to monitor his blood
pressure. He's on an IV drip full of a complex, lifesaving cocktail of
drugs catered to his condition. And he needs pretty much his own
dedicated nurse, monitoring and working with him around the clock.
anyone who says one dog is not worth this kind of money, you have not
met Phoenix. He has a strong and beautiful soul. He deserves every
opportunity to be delivered from his cruel start to life—no matter the
cost—and to find out what it's like to be loved...to be part of a
family...to know joy! I think Phoenix's life is worth more than the
average cost of a used sedan, or a potato salad recipe.
We must
raise the necessary funds immediately in order to continue Phoenix's
treatment. This is a 911, and needs to be spread far and wide to anyone
who loves dogs, or simply hates suffering. We need anyone who can't
donate to please share! You never know who will see it, who can help
Phoenix.
Please know the doctor will inform us if Phoenix decides
he's too tired to continue this journey. For now, he has shown he's
willing to fight, and we want to do everything in our power to help him
battle. Please help us help him!
Send Message to anne klein


text:
Fallingwater House
Fallingwater House by Frank Lloyd Wright is perhaps the most famous house in the United States. There are houses that are much bigger, or more elaborate, but Fallingwater House has been photographed a million times because it is unique and iconic.
Fallingwater House by Frank Lloyd Wright
Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater
Frank Lloyd Wright – Fallingwater, house over waterfall.
Fallingwater 3D House by Frank Lloyd Wright
FALLINGWATER – TOUR of FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT'S ACHITECTURE – vlog
Inside Frank Lloyd Wright's Iconic Fallingwater House | Condé Nast Traveler
Other Frank Lloyd Wright Homes
Are You Sure About Buying a Frank Lloyd Wright Home?
Frank Lloyd Wright homes proving difficult to sell
Was Frank Lloyd Wright's architectural vision sustainable?


text:
UKIECC 80m Contest
3rd November 2021 0 By 2E0TXE
UKEICC Website
Radio Activity
These twice-monthly one hour contests are timed to coincide with the hours of darkness over most of the UK, Ireland and Europe. They are open to all stations anywhere to enter, and the scoring is distance based – similar to the very successful 160m Stew Perry Contest. The 2021-22 series runs from September 2021 until April 2022 – a total of 14 contests (7 on SSB, 7 on CW).
The contest exchange is simplified – no RST should be sent. These contests aim to encourage high quality operating, where each operator can balance speed of operating against logging accuracy. Those operators that can develop both of these essential skills while working the most stations at the *greatest distances* will always do best. Scores will accumulate to give overall winners in each section at the end of the series.
These are primarily single-operator events, but individual entrants may also wish to enter our Teams competitions, either by forming a team of 3 entrants, with 1 reserve (i.e. a team of 4, but only 3 scores count in each contest) or as a team of two entrants. You have until the end of November 2021 to register your Team for this Teams competition.
SSB Dates:
6th October 2021, 3rd November 2021
Contest starts at 20:00 until 21:00 in UTC
Modes:
SSB between 3.650 to 3.775kHz only.
Your 6 character locator only. No RST is required.
High Power – Upto 400w here in the UK
Low Power – 6 to 100w
QRP – Maximum of 5w
Logs:
Logfiles need to be submitted in Cabrillo format (UKEICC-80M) by 22:00 UTC!
Some members of GX4MWS will be taking part in the contest. Just remember that your submitted logs must be sent in by 10pm UTC (an hour after the contest has finished)
Hack Green Hanger Sale


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The most common age for patients receiving neck liposuction is between 30-50, and at times be at 60 years of age. Though this procedure is performed frequently, not all people looking for neck liposuction are suited candidates. The level of success with the cosmetic procedure neck liposuction depends on which structures in each candidate's necks are most prominent.
For those of you who are concerned about this cosmetic facial plastic surgery procedure, be reassured that neck liposuction is one of the most common areas in which liposuction is performed, and only takes about 30 minutes, and final results of neck liposuction are generally be evident by approximately 6 weeks to 6 months after the procedure.
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Facial liposuction can be carried out alone, or in combination with facial lifting, eyelid correction, chin augmentation, nose correction, etc.
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degree adverbs
Archives For degree adverbs
A Farewell to Adverbs?
February 26, 2017 — Leave a comment
New writers may wonder why they're told not to use adverbs. Well, remember when Oprah had a show about the mad-cow scare and Texas cattle ranchers blamed her for beef prices dipping to a ten-year low? Celebrities like Oprah can sway public opinion. Likewise, in the writing world, people listen to Stephen King. In On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, he writes:
I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops. To put it another way, they're like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn, it looks pretty and unique. If you fail to root it out, however, you find five the next day… fifty the day after that… and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely, and profligately covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are, but by then it's—GASP!!—too late.
Many writers assume that adverbs are now a banned part of speech. I understand King's frustration with adverbs. Inexperienced writers misuse them, and good writers overuse them. Some people drink too much coffee, but banning it isn't the solution. Rather than abolishing adverbs, why not provide writers with better instruction on how to use them?
Avoid Redundant Adverbs
Adverbs shouldn't be used unless they add meaning to a sentence. Consider the following examples:
"I am so tired," she said sleepily.
"I am so tired." She yawned and lumbered up the stairs.
"I could eat a horse," she said hungrily.
"I could eat a horse." She ransacked the cabinets and found a package of cookies.
"I'd like to throttle him," she said angrily.
"I'd like to throttle him." She stomped out of the room.
The adverbs in the first sentence of each example above (sleepily, hungrily, angrily) are redundant. Another problem is that the adverbs tell rather than show. By revising these sentences, both problems are eliminated.
Similarly, the sentences below (before revision) use redundant adverb-verb pairings:
She finished her meal completely.
She finished her meal.
She whispered the poem into his ear softly.
She whispered the poem into his ear.
He shouted obscenities loudly as he drove past her house.
He shouted obscenities as he drove past her house.
I personally feel that he's a jerk.
He's a jerk.
Use Strong Verbs
Careless writers use adverbs to modify weak verbs. Opt for strong verbs. Consider the sentence pairs below:
He closed the door forcefully.
He slammed the door.
He stated vehemently that he didn't cheat.
He swore he didn't cheat.
He found the book extremely interesting.
The book enthralled him.
Most writers would agree that the second sentence in each pair of sentences is better.
Minimize Degree Adverbs and Adverbial Intensifiers
A degree adverb or adverbial intensifier is an adverb that describes the intensity of the quantifying pronoun, adjective, adverb, or verb adjacent to it. Some examples of intensifiers are: absolutely, completely, clearly, terribly, extremely, very, really, highly, immensely, nearly, virtually, fairly, pretty, rather, slightly, hardly, scarcely, almost, relatively, so, too, strongly, strenuously, fiercely, utterly, somewhat, literally, only, totally, truly, madly, and deeply. Sometimes intensifiers can be eliminated without diminishing the meaning of a sentence. For example:
He was really clever.
He was brilliant.
She was very afraid.
She was terrified.
The music was extremely loud.
The music was deafening.
There are times when using an adverb is expedient. For example:
Use adverbs judiciously.
The sentence above is clear and simple. Is it possible to write the same thought without using an adverb? Sure, but I know I couldn't do it with three words.
Adverbs are also useful when they suggest something unusual. For example:
The crowd exited silently.
The nun licked her spoon seductively.
Most of the time crowds are noisy. Nuns typically don't behave in an overtly sexual manner. Readers notice when adverbs describe something unexpected.
Before joining the movement to abolish all adverbs, remember the immortal words of Rhett Butler to Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind:
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
Who would remove "frankly" from that quote? Not me.
Write something you love! — Joanne
WriteSomethingYouLove.com
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text:
MHS grad works on state wolf pup mortality study
Ellen Heilhecker, a graduate student of wildlife at the University of
Wisconsin-Stevens Point, will be conducting a gray wolf pup mortality
study in Wisconsin's central forest region in collaboration with wildlife
biologists from DNR.
Heilhecker is a 1989 graduate of Menomonie High School. She is the
daughter of Mary Heilhecker of Menomonie and Bill Heilhecker of
Boyceville.
Wisconsin's wolf population was estimated at 251 individuals in 2001, of
which approximately 37 wolves in 12 packs occupied the central forest
region. Surveys to determine the 2002 wolf population should be completed
in April.
Classified as a state threatened species, efforts are underway by the U.S.
Fish and Wildlife Service to reclassify Wisconsin's wolf population from
federally endangered to a threatened species. Information gathered in this
study will aid in their management and recovery.
The central forest region is the second largest forested area in the state
after the Wisconsin northwoods, encompassing 3,015 square miles including
portions of Eau Claire, Chippewa, Clark, Jackson, Wood, Monroe, Juneau,
Adams, and Marquette counties.
For two consecutive field seasons (2002 and 2003), wolf pups from five
packs will be captured, radio tagged, and monitored daily from mid-July to
January to determine survival rates and causes of mortality.
"We expect to find canine parvovirus, canine distemper and sarcoptic mange
impacting wolf pup survival, but to what extent we don't know," stated
Wayne Hall, a DNR wildlife biologist. "We hope to gain insight into the
extent of diseases present and their cause-specific mortality rates to
better manage Wisconsin's growing wolf population."
Each pup will be fitted with an ear tag transmitter developed specifically
for this study by Hall and Advanced Telemetry Systems in Isanti, Minn. The
transmitters are the size and weight of a quarter with a four-inch
flexible, contour whip antenna. They are equipped with a motion sensitive
mode that will emit a faster signal when the animal is no longer moving.
"Locating dead pups in time to determine what killed them is unlikely
unless individuals are monitored intensively by telemetry," said
Heilhecker. "This study will allow me to locate wolf pups within 24 hours
of their death."
Pups will be tracked from the ground using hand-held radio telemetry
equipment and located from fix-winged aircraft once or twice a week. Upon
hearing the sped up radio signal, carcasses will be retrieved and taken
directly to the U.S. Geological Survey National Wildlife Health Center in
Madison for analysis to determine the cause of death.
Wolf pup survival rates in Wisconsin are not well known. DNR mammalian
ecologist and chairman of the Wisconsin wolf program, Adrian Wydeven said,
"We have estimated that we normally lose about 70 percent of wolf pups
within the first year."


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On his final day in office, the Obama administration pushed through an ammunition ban that prohibits the use of lead ammunition on Federal land.
After effectively banning many types of non-lead ammunition for its armor-piercing properties, Obama finished the job by banning traditional ammunition use on Federal land as well.
Unfortunately, a lot of this is going to take an Act of Congress in order to undo quickly.
Send your FaxBlast to Congress and DEMAND that they undo all of Barack Obama's anti-ammunition executive orders!
Over the last eight years, Barack Obama has done everything in his power to make it harder and harder for law-abiding Americans to purchase and use ammunition.
First, the administration imposed new regulations on lead smelters, making it harder and more expensive for domestic ammunition manufacturers to source lead for their bullets.
Next, Obama targeted commonly used surplus 5.45x39 and 5.56x45 ammunition and banned its importation and sale. Even though these are rifle calibers, Obama's ATF reclassifiied them a pistol ammunition in order to ban them because of their "armor piercing" tendencies. Even though neither technically fit the definition of "armor piercing" that is set forth in the law, Obama moved forward with banning them anyway. Only after you and your colleagues got involved did the ATF back down on the M855 5.56 ban.
Then, former-President Obama went after another ammunition component: nitrocellulose. This chemical compound is used to make gunpowder. Even though it is not volatile, the ATF tried to reclassify it as a volatile substance, which would have ground American ammunition manufacturing to a halt for months. Luckily, gun owners spoke out against this and forced the ATF to back down.
Now, on his last day in office, President Obama finalized a ban on traditional lead ammunition usage on Federal lands. Considering that half the land in the western-most eleven states is owned by the Federal government, this ban is significant.
These are just four of the many steps that Barack Obama took against American gun owners over the past eight years. No single man should have this power. It should not be up to a President Trump, or anyone else for that matter, to decide not to ban ammunition.
I am writing to demand that you get behind legislation to undo these ammo bans. HR 1180 is just one of the many bills that would dismantle the anti-gun and anti-ammunition executive orders that Obama implemented while in office.
Not only would these bills roll back what Obama did, but they would also prevent any future administration from targeting Americans' 2nd Amendment rights like this ever again.
It's not enough to just reverse Obama's actions. You need to make sure no one can ever do this again!


text:
Die Kirche Illnau ist eine reformierte Pfarrkirche in Ober-Illnau im Kanton Zürich. Sie ist St. Martin geweiht und wurde im 12. Jahrhundert erbaut. Die langgestreckte Kirche mit ihrem stämmigen Turm thront auf einer markanten Hügelkuppe über der Kempt.

Geschichte
Die Besiedelung Illnaus durch die Alemannen datiert auf das späte 7. oder frühe 8. Jahrhundert. Aus dieser Zeit dürfte auch der erste Kirchenbau stammen, vermutlich bereits damals dem Heiligen Martin geweiht.
Zum ersten Mal wurde die Kirche in der zweiten Hälfte des 8. Jahrhunderts erwähnt. (Original im Stiftsarchiv St. Gallen). Damals gehörten zwei Fünftel der Kirche der Abtei St Gallen.
Die Vermutung, dass sie auf den Grundmauern eines römischen Wachtturms erbaut worden sein könnte, wurde 1954 anlässlich Grabungen bei einer Renovation widerlegt.

Bereits vor 1125 gelangte Kirche und zugehöriger Grundbesitz durch eine Schenkung Adalberts von Mörsburg in den Besitz der Benediktinerabtei Schaffhausen.
Aus dieser Zeit stammt der Neubau der Kirche als Steingebäude, das noch heute die Grundsubstanz sowohl des Kirchenschiffs als auch des Kirchturms ausmacht. Der Kirchturm wurde aus Nagelfluhstücken und Kieselsteinen erbaut und ist ungewöhnlich breit.
Laut einem von Hermann von Friedingen, Bischof von Konstanz (1182–1189) ausgehandelten Vergleich ging die Hälfte des Zehnten der Kirchgemeinde an den Leutpriester Albrecht, die andere Hälfte an das Kloster Allerheiligen.
Am 18. September 1347 bewilligte Papst Clemens V. die Inkorporation der ganzen Kirche als Besitz des Klosters Allerheiligen, die Bischof Ulrich von Konstanz am 3. Juli 1348 vollzog.
Illnau war zu dieser Zeit das Zentrum einer Pfarrei, die auch Kyburg, Rikon (Effretikon), Tagelswangen und Ottikon umfasste.
Mit der Auflösung des Klosters 1529 kam der Besitz an die Stadt Schaffhausen. Von 1524 bis 1834 erfolgten schrittweise Abtretungen an den Staat Zürich.

1420 bekam die Kirche eine erste Glocke, die heute zweitgrösste. Die Kirche wurde unter der Leitung von Landvogt Felix Schwarzmurer umgebaut. Turmrenovationen erfolgten 1584, 1625 und 1674. Bei einem grossen Jugendfest am 2. Januar 1819 (zum Gedächtnis an den 300 Jahre früher erfolgten Amtsantritt Zwinglis) stürzte der Holzemporenzugang ein, der sich ausserhalb der Kirche befand. Es gab mehrere Verletzte und einen Toten. Daraufhin wurde die Kirche um ein weiteres Stück verlängert und das Treppenhaus im Innern gebaut. Somit erhielt die Kirche Illnau im Wesentlichen die heute sichtbare äussere Gestaltung. 1851 erfolgte eine grosse Renovation; der Zustand der Kirche war sehr schlecht. ('ärmlich und beschämend grün vor Feuchtigkeit', laut der Beschreibung in der Chronik). 1819 wurde der Wunsch nach einer Orgel laut, das Interesse der Bevölkerung war aber nicht so gross; daher gab es erst 1847 eine erste Orgel, von Firma Kuhn. 1942 wurde sie von der gleichen Firma durch eine neue ersetzt. 1887 erfolgte eine weitere Grossrenovation: Da sich die westliche Giebelmauer von den Seitenmauern gelöst hatte und einzustürzen drohte, wurde die Fassade erneuert. Dazu gab es solide Fenster, einen neuen Fussboden und eine neue Bestuhlung.

Nach den Umbauten von 1852 und 1887 erscheint die romanisch-gotische Substanz des Langhauses heute biedermeierlich-neugotisch, während der Turm seinen mittelalterlichen Charakter bewahrt hat. Im Inneren besitzt die Gipsplafonddecke in Schiff und Chor eine feinprofilierte Stuckleiste mit Ecklappen und einen mittleren, sechseckigen Stern um eine Rosette (1852). Die Fenster stammen von Christian Berbig (1887). Markante Stücke sind der Pfarrstuhl (vermutlich aus 1651), ein Sitz mit lebhaft geformten Seitenwangen, und die Kanzel (1551). Der sechseckige Korpus lagert auf Konsölchen auf einer Säule. (Um 1970 wurde auf Anregung eines jungen Pfarrers die Säule stark verkürzt, wurde aber auf Intervention des Denkmalschutzes wieder auf fast ursprüngliche Höhe zurückgebaut). 1954 gab es neue Sitzbänke, das gemalte Dekor über der Empore wurde überstrichen bzw. entfernt. Grössere Renovationen erfolgten 1963 (Turm), 1967 (Aussenrestaurierung, Heizsystem etc.), ca. 1993 neuer Aussenanstrich.

Die Glocken der Kirche Illnau
Die grösste Glocke stammte aus dem Jahr 1420. Aufgrund eines Sprunges wurde sie 1753 in Zürich umgegossen. Sie wiegt ca. 2046 kg (300 kg schwerer als die alte). Ihr Ton ist 'es'. Ihre Inschrift lautet: 'Ich berufe zusammen die Christen rein, bis kommt der Richter allgemein'. Weitere Prägungen sind das Wappen von Salomon Hirzel (Landvogt zu Kyburg), die Giesserkartusche von M. Füssli, und am unteren Rand die Wappen von Johann Heinrich Seiler (damaliger Pfarrer in Illnau), Untervogt Jakob Wegmann (Müller zu Mannenberg und Landrichter) und von Hans Jakob Egg (Kirchenpfleger und Müller in der Thalmühle). In der Giess-Kartusche steht geschrieben: 'Aus Hitz und Feuer bin ich geflossen, Moritz Füssli aus Zürich hat mich gegossen'. Ein Hammer schlägt auf ihr die Stunden und Halbstunden an. Die zweitgrösste Glocke, die älteste, wurde vermutlich 1420 von der Giesserfamilie Klain in Rottweil gegossen. Sie wiegt 1730 kg und hat den Ton 'as'. Sie soll einst im Zusammenhang mit den Schwabenkriegen in Gailingen (BW) zwischenzeitlich gestohlen worden sein. Als Schmuck trägt sie zwei Reliefs. Eines zeigt den Heiligen Martin mit dem Bettler, dem er die Hälfte seines Mantels überlässt, das andere Christus mit einer zeigenden Handbewegung. Inschrift: 'Im Namen des Herrn. Amen. Mit dieser Glocke beklage ich die Verstorbenen, schmücke ich Feste und breche ich Blitze'. Die drittgrösste Glocke (468 kg) wurde 1541 von Hans Füssli gegossen und ist auf den Ton 'b' gestimmt. Inschrift: 'O rex gloria Christe veni nobis cum pace' (oh König der Ehren Christus, komm zu uns mit Frieden). Die kleinste Glocke (200 kg) wurde ebenfalls 1541 von Hans Füssli gegossen. Ihre damalige Inschrift war: 'Ave Maria gracia plena dominus tecum, Anno domini M CCCCC XXXXI' (Gegrüsst seist du Maria voller Gnaden. Der Herr ist mit Dir). 1853 wurde sie umgegossen.

Das Glockengeläute ist in der Läutordnung geregelt. Einige Beispiele: Wenn die Beerdigung eines Mannes anzuzeigen ist, beginnt das Geläute mit der grössten Glocke, in der Reihenfolge 1,2,3,4; bei einer Frau mit Glocken 3,2,1,4; bei einem Kind läuten Glocken 4,3,2. Bis 1947 wurden die Glocken durch handgezogene Seile geläutet, was für den Sigristen eine ständige Präsenz erforderte, wurde doch jeden Tag viermal geläutet: um 5 Uhr morgens, 11 Uhr, 15 Uhr (Sommer) bzw.16 Uhr (Winter) das Vesperläuten und um 19 Uhr das Betzeitläuten. Die Elektrifizierung und die spätere Läutautomatik erleichterten die Arbeit. Auch in Illnau änderte sich die Zeit: Auswärtige zogen zu und beklagten sich wegen des Morgengeläuts. So wurde von der Kirchenpflege beschlossen, im Winter statt um 5 Uhr morgens eine Stunde später zu läuten.

Technik der Turmuhr
In den 60er Jahren wurde die rund 100-jährige Andelfinger Turmuhr stillgelegt und durch elektrischen Antrieb für Uhr und Glocken ersetzt. Dabei erfolgte die Uhrensteuerung mit hochpräziser Funkuhr. Ca. 2006 wurde durch Firma Muff die mechanische Uhr totalrevidiert und mit Elektronik kombiniert. So wird der Stundenschlag wieder von der altehrwürdigen Uhr gesteuert. Einziger Unterschied ist, dass nicht mehr das Pendel im Uhrwerk, sondern ein kleiner funkuhr-gesteuerter Motor das Uhrwerk antreibt und damit höchste Ganggenauigkeit bringt. Eine neue elektronische Steuerung der Glockenmotoren ermöglicht einen sanften Tonanschlag der Klöppel (aufgrund des Schwunges der Glocken berechnet die Steuerung die genau richtigen Ein- und Ausschaltzeitpunkte der Motoren. Die früher dafür notwendigen Endschalter mit eigenem Kettenzug entfallen dabei.)

Literatur
 Die Kunstdenkmäler des Kantons Zürich, Bd. III, Basel 1978, S. 83–91.
 Walter Drack: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Baugeschichte der Kirche Illnau ZH. In: Unsere Kunstdenkmäler: Mitteilungsblatt für die Mitglieder der Gesellschaft für Schweizerische Kunstgeschichte 20 (1969),

Einzelnachweise

Illnau
Illnau
Bauwerk in Illnau-Effretikon
Illnau
Illnau
Illnau, Kirche
Illnau
Kulturgut von regionaler Bedeutung im Kanton Zürich
Illnau


text:
Top 1000 Humor Instagram Influencers in Christmas Island in 2020
Discover Top Ranked Influencers by Type and Category of Influence in Christmas Island. We've profiled Christmas Island's top influencers by number of followers and category so you can see how they're ranked. You can filter the ranking by selecting the country and category you're looking for. The ranking data will be updated every month.
Top Instagram Influencers Ranking in Christmas Island Find out the most influential Instagram accounts with details on their number of followers from Christmas Island. We're currently tracking a total of 0 influencers in Christmas Island with between 1,000 and 10m followers.


text:
' Licensed to the .NET Foundation under one or more agreements.
' The .NET Foundation licenses this file to you under the MIT license.
' See the LICENSE file in the project root for more information.

Namespace Microsoft.CodeAnalysis.Editor.VisualBasic.UnitTests.Recommendations.Statements
    Public Class TryKeywordRecommenderTests

        <Fact, Trait(Traits.Feature, Traits.Features.KeywordRecommending)>
        Public Sub TryInMethodBodyTest()
            VerifyRecommendationsContain(<MethodBody>|</MethodBody>, "Try")
        End Sub

        <Fact, Trait(Traits.Feature, Traits.Features.KeywordRecommending)>
        Public Sub TryInMultiLineLambdaTest()
            VerifyRecommendationsContain(<ClassDeclaration>
Private _member = Sub()
|
End Sub
                                         </ClassDeclaration>, "Try")

        End Sub

        <Fact, Trait(Traits.Feature, Traits.Features.KeywordRecommending)>
        Public Sub TryInSingleLineLambdaTest()
            VerifyRecommendationsMissing(<ClassDeclaration>
Private _member = Sub() |
                                         </ClassDeclaration>, "Try")
        End Sub

        <Fact, Trait(Traits.Feature, Traits.Features.KeywordRecommending)>
        Public Sub TryInSingleLineFunctionLambdaTest()
            VerifyRecommendationsMissing(<ClassDeclaration>
Private _member = Function() |
                                         </ClassDeclaration>, "Try")
        End Sub

        <Fact, Trait(Traits.Feature, Traits.Features.KeywordRecommending)>
        Public Sub AfterExitInTryBlockTest()
            Dim code =
<MethodBody>
Try
    Exit |
</MethodBody>

            VerifyRecommendationsContain(code, "Try")
        End Sub

        <Fact, Trait(Traits.Feature, Traits.Features.KeywordRecommending)>
        Public Sub NotAfterExitInFinallyBlockTest()
            Dim code =
<MethodBody>
Try
Finally
    Exit |
</MethodBody>

            VerifyRecommendationsMissing(code, "Try")
        End Sub

        <Fact, Trait(Traits.Feature, Traits.Features.KeywordRecommending)>
        Public Sub AfterExitInCatchBlockTest()
            Dim code =
<MethodBody>
Try
Catch
    Exit |
</MethodBody>

            VerifyRecommendationsContain(code, "Try")
        End Sub
    End Class
End Namespace

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
La Supercoppa tedesca 2022, 7ª edizione della Supercoppa nazionale di pallavolo maschile, si è svolta dal 30 settembre al 2 ottobre 2022: al torneo hanno partecipato otto squadre di club tedesche e la vittoria finale è andata per la quarta volta consecutiva allo .

Regolamento
La formula prevede la partecipazione di tutti i club della 1. Bundesliga, eccetto la formazione federale dell', che danno vita a un torneo a eliminazione diretta in gara unica, con i club eliminati ai quarti di finale che prendono parte alle finali per il quinto posto.

Squadre partecipanti

Torneo

Tabellone

Risultati

Quarti di finale

Semifinali

Finale 3º posto

Finale

Tabellone 5º posto

Risultati

Semifinali

Finale 7º posto

Finale 5º posto

Classifica finale

Statistiche

Note

Collegamenti esterni

 2022


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