I’d rather live in a…

I sleep in a Cathedral in a bed from which I gaze with one uncovered eye into an infinite perspective. The poles that hold the structure of my room rise into the heavens and play tidily-winks with the shooting stars. Occasionally a bird, a pigeon or an eagle rests on a pole-top endangering my one opened eye in the pool of my room below. One of my ears is silenced by water and so half the world is obliterated. When the moon is bright my Cathedral glows and the silhouette of a horse moves elongated around the circular wall. The fire that warms me and keeps me company makes my home a glowing neon cone. All my actions and non-actions may be read from afar and from within by my shadow that is my halting of firelight reaching the circumference of the Cathedral. If I huddle close to the fire I appear a giant to passers-by. When I return to my bed the dream of my previous sleep awaits me on my pillow. I share my bed with mice, bugs, spiders, grasshoppers, ants and ticks. I have no fear for when the cobra may come in search of the mice because the cobra is only dangerous when cornered and my room being round has no corners. The fifteen poles that rise from the ground around me are lashed together in the distance above. At this point my Cathedral is dressed with a massive cloth with flowing lips of a mouth that can be opened wide or closed. In the morning a sunlit spear pierces it’s way through the opened mouth and stabs a bright shaft onto the inner wall of the Cathedral. At the moment chosen by time a mouse runs down my leg and high up above a fish-eagle cries. It is time to rise and leave the dreams embedded deep in my feather pillow for later recall.

Excerpt from “Writings at Red Hill” Phillip Nangle 2006

Painting by Phillip Nangle  “The Journey” 2004

Phillip Nangle meets Kalimbaman!

We have been in touch a few years and I was passing by Asheville. Kevin said: Pop in to my gig at the Block and bring your mbira. My karimba was not tuned to his kalimba so we performed a few tunes on karimba and electronic percussion. I am honoured to meet and play with this Musical Giant.

 

 

 

The Bull is Breaking Out!

img_4686

This is a marimba composition of mine that I have arranged and performed on karimbas. The painting was created during the process of working on the music.

painting: “The Silent Wars” acrylic on canvas  130 x 93 cm  2016  Published by Phillip Nangle.

Nyanga Njanja

22-mbirataur-tryptich-2004-1

Moon Full of What?

The day can’t turn into night

The moon’s shining too bright

Unknown sounds mingle, emerge

The man paces

He shakes his head, his leg, his house, his bed

The cosmos rages

Ring around the moon in silent weather

The showdown abates

The kettle boils

Fridge-car, car-fridge-stove, car-fridge,

stove-fridge-car, stove-fridge-car, fridge-stove, car-fridge

Modern Man Chant Main Chorus:

Fridge-stove-car, car-stove-fridge

stove-car-fridge, fridge-stove-car

Lead Solo Chanter: (higher pitch, more nasal)

Stove-car-fridge-stove-car-stove-fridge-car-fridge-stove-car

More Chorus Tenor Lead X3

Stooooove-fridge-stooooove-fridge

car-stove-fridge-car, kettle, kettle, kettle

Moooooooonn!! said the cow

Moooooooooo! said the car

Mona!! said the man

Monday! said the night

still shining light as day

 

painting  nyanganjanja (oil on board) and poem by P. Nangle 2005

The Wirl Hold’s Gob!

gob

The Last Preacher’s Last Sermon.

Preacher: Drunk in quaint country church, empty wine bottles scattered around the pulpit.

The Congregation: Motley, sparse and rowing with oars attached to the pews which have been re-arranged into the shape of a sea vessel.

Gob. A female speaker with a gentle singing voice inside a large cardboard box.

To all of you and those like yourselves playing pot-luck with your fate, your circumstances dished out to you, unaware of your creative capacity and responsibility for your life: You have failed miserably to attain to the purpose of your existence which is to be co-creator with God in yourself and your environment around you!

Surely if God is almighty and consists of everything that exists then by making a resemblance in some form or other of all that we know to be, the essence of God will then speak to us in that form and we will be able to ask It questions thereby eliminating this recent discomfort of God unknown to us. It was soon after Kleilat Bamboo (a South African from Vioolsdrift) mastered the snowflakes creation program that the computer programmers exhausted the whole world’s possible programming phenomena in all its forms. These programs were assembled together on one divine and monumental occasion and since then the people of the earth have had once again thank Gob, direct access to God. Even though God presented Itself by an unusual name: “The Wirl Hold’s Gob,” people take this as near as dammit to mean: “The Whole World’s God.” The discrepancy they attribute to those still undiscovered perpetually mutating worms and frogs in certain impenetrable tropical rainforests whose textures and habits have yet to be programmed and added. Others are convinced it’s the earth’s core lava that is moving rather peculiarly. Either way Gob was accepted over time and with some alterations managed to prove Itself. Now old Father Hillander, the last practicing preacher, living in the remote hills of Ireland presents his final service because Gob has declared the end too nigh for another.

Preacher:

“You had it comin’ to yer! Yer a bunch of lazy sinners…Row!! Row yer boat into the lofty skies to yer place in the Heavens to rest with Isis and Osiris, row yer way through the Milky Way, join the Kings at Orion, go as a crowd no matter how tatty ‘n skimpish yer are..! Row! Row! This is yer last Sunday to rehearse! Aye! You had it comin’ to yer… the end is Nigh… let you know to row as ye pass to the other side for fear of the vessel slipping uncontrollably into Hell. Row now this last time to be sure you take the action with you when you go sailing through the skies. Send wine to all hands on board!”

Mother in congregation: (To her children)

“Have you done your homework?”  “Not yet Mommy.”

“Well you run along home and do your homework. You don’t want to arrive idiots in Heaven!”

Congregation member:

“What does Gob say?”

Gob:

“The Gates of Heaven have moved to the Entrance of Hell”

Father Hillander:

“Change rowing direction! This is where Anti-Karma kicks in. No more neighborly niceties and being good to one another! It’s plunder, plough asunder, pilfer, pinch, all the meanness you can muster to stand you in good stead as you enter Hell!  Row…, Rooow…, Rooooow!!!”

painting “Wirl Hold’s Gob” mixed media on paper and writing by P. Nangle