Middlefocus

Title: Montaigne Author: Stefan Zweig.  Translation and Introduction by Will Stone Published: Pushkin Press / Kindle 2015 First published 1941 I regret to say that I had not previously read anything by Stefan ZWEIG (1881-1942).  However, I was intrigued to follow up on a recommendation to read this small volume on Montaigne, whose lifestyle and essay writing I have long found fascinating.  What struck me most in this short biography is the overlap with Zweig's own situation in fleeing the Nazi onslaught of the 20th century to Montaigne's position as a renaissance philosopher and essayist amid societal upheaval at the end of the 16th century.  There are clear resonances with our modern world and I found myself on several occasions marking material that could apply just as much to today as it did in those earlier periods.  There is a substantial introduction to the book by Will Stone who translated the original and in his observations there was also much to highli...

  In Kraków for a short break we had been making our way to the Oskar Schindler factory which sits alongside the Museum of Contemporary Art.  We chanced upon this painted doorway which certainly catches attention. I knew as soon as I saw it that it would pass the test for inclusion in my photo collection of Closed Openings.  No descriptive words for this one.  Just look at it.  Observe.  Anything come to mind?

Walking a beach today, we came across a group of stones balanced on top of each other. Not a natural formation and clearly someone had found the time to engage in creative effort. How much time? How much effort? No doubt it was a meditation of sorts. Picking the right stones and shells to lend structure and support. The stack looked as if it would topple over at the slightest touch but no…it resisted the incoming waves that washed and frothed around. I stepped into the foam to get a close-up picture. I thought of other times; childhood, when armed with buckets and spades we sculpted with sand. This seemed the product of maturer effort - a rock castle and moat. Later we watched as a small flock of turnstones flew down, plumage the colour of the foreshore, and got busy living up to their appellation, flicking over pebbles in search of food. Did the stack look out of place to the birds? Upset their larder? Not a bit of it, they took it in their glide. A small stone stack, kinder to the en...

  It may have been the light from a sunny day at the beach because a glint of something caught my eye and made me pay attention. Glass. I stooped to look closer and picked up a bottle. Had it been just discarded or washed up? It looked as if it had been buried, brown caked-on sand around its neck, still stoppered. I could feel the embossment on the body and dusting it down could read the details: REGISTERED. WJ. BRIGGS. BELFAST and signed WJ.Briggs. But what did it contain? Holding it up to the light I peered inside hoping to find a roll of paper - a message in a bottle maybe. No such luck, it was quite empty. No hint of or even a trace of whatever liquid it once contained. One thing was sure, it was a glass bottle, dulled by abrasion but clearly vintage. This would-be beachcomber wanted to learn as much as possible about it. Questions surfaced. Why was the bottle here? How come? What was nearby? Who left it, an adult or a child? Does the Briggs company still exist? Where was it? S...

A railway line runs close to the rear of our home. Local and express trains including the hourly ones serving the Belfast/Dublin route hurtle past every fifteen minutes and apart from the occasional sustained warning blast of an air horn we don’t pay them much attention. Visitors to our home are taken aback: “Does that noise not bother you?” It doesn’t. It is simply part of the soundscape of where we live; something we are used to. Our paternal family has close connection with the railway. Granda Christy was a driver on a steam locomotive for the London, Midland and Scottish Railway (LMS) which also operated in Northern Ireland. A story is told of him stopping his engine on the Antrim Coast as he felt that the sound coming back to him from up ahead was not quite right. His intuitive experience was correct, boulders had fallen unto the track. Catastrophe avoided. A close call. Christy TRACEY with his steam locomotive. Photo source unknown. Exterior sounds are one type of resonance and t...