Journal

Back in December 2019 I wrote about my requirements for a pocket notebook or journal. They are very specific. This is the link: Overhearing.

I was lucky enough to have found a small firm that supplied them but they have now gone out of business. One of those key requirements was space in the spine to slip in a pen.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Moleskine notebooks or journals do not have that space then they would be my favourite notebook or journal.

Moleskine and mine

That’s twice I’ve used notebook or journal. Is there a difference? According to one definition I found a journal is actually a form of notebook. Another is that journals are typically lined with a strap, whereas notebooks can be spiral-bound. Moleskines have a strap.

I got the following from Tanner Bates, a British company that sells them:

Behind the Cover: The Fascinating Historical Tale of Moleskine Journals
"Who doesn't love the sensation of opening a fresh, untouched Moleskine notebook? For dreamers, thinkers, planners, and creators, it's one of life's simple pleasures. This iconic brand's hallmark black notebook has played a vital role in its history, contributing significantly to its legendary status. However, the story of Moleskine goes far beyond its staple product, weaving an intricate tale of heritage, creativity, and global appeal.

Origins: From Parisian Studios to the Hands of Legends
The history of Moleskine journals begins in the 19th-century streets of Paris, known for their artistic vibrancy and intellectual prowess. Pocket-sized notebooks or 'carnets', bound with leather or oilskin, were sold by local stationers. These notebooks found their way into the hands of legendary artists and authors like Van Gogh, Picasso, and Hemingway, becoming their trusted companions for jotting down thoughts, sketches, and ideas.

The genesis of the Moleskine name can be attributed to British writer and notebook aficionado Bruce Chatwin. In his 1987 book, 'The Songlines', Chatwin fondly described his 'Paris' notebooks as 'carnets Moleskines', with 'Moleskine' referring to the black oilcloth binding.

In 1994, Maria Sebregondi, working with the Italian design company Modo & Modo, was tasked with creating products for a new generation of travellers eager to explore the post-Cold War era's newfound freedom. She proposed recreating the beloved notebooks she had bought in Paris in the early '80s. Thus, the Moleskine we know today was born. The name 'Moleskine', with its French origins and associations with heritage, utility and urban poetry, was a perfect fit. It was trademarked in 1996, with the first notebooks produced the following year."

And if that wasn’t enough, here is the Moleskine Manifesto:
"At Moleskine we believe in the timeless power of handwriting as an essential expression of human civilization, a powerful act to unleash human genius and foster the development and sharing of literacy and knowledge. In a fast-paced technological era, we proudly celebrate the artistry of the human touch; the enduring pleasure of putting pen to paper to unleash your unique voice. 

We celebrate the solemn, thoughtful and meditative gesture of the pen gliding across a blank page; the romance of crafting a personal story to record a lifelong memory and leave a distinguishing mark in all its unique beauty. Handwriting is both universal and deeply personal. It’s a thoughtful way to express your true self and connect to others in a very intimate yet universally accessible way. Put pen to paper, and unleash your unique voice."

the Moleskine range

If only they had that space for a pen.

Ages ago I wrote this poem directly onto the pages of my Moleskine. Very rare for that to happen.

Benches (Llandudno)

Strolling through the gardens
It was easy to pick these words
Pressing them into my journal
While no one was looking

“In memory of my husband
Sit and enjoy the view
As John and I did for fifty years”
Every bench forcing me to stop

“Leslie John Hadlington”
Jealous of them and those they knew
“Rest awhile, enjoy the view
As we always used to do”

Though some haven’t made it back
“In quiet thoughts I live again
The days that used to be”
The letters crumbling in my hand

First published in Borderlines in January, 2003

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Even In Boring Places...

I’d been thinking about what people (me) may class as boring places e.g. country villages, departure lounges, Villa Park, comedy clubs etc when I realised that if approached with a different mindset then even these awful spots could produce something of value.

To give an idea of what I mean let me take you back fifteen years and a trip to Prague. It was a delightful long weekend with friends and we had a wonderful time strolling around that beautiful city. We didn’t spend all that time together and one of my treats was to go off to the Norodni Museum. I had been looking forward to this and bounded up the red carpeted staircase to the Entrance Hall for the start of my tour.

But, oh dear, this was not what I had expected. The exhibition rooms led off the Hall and housed a vast array of exhibits, including natural history collections where exhibits include fossils, rocks, gemstones and stuffed extinct animals. But all the exhibits were displayed in such a way as to drain all enthusiasm back down those stairs. Room after room after room of wooden drawers with pinned butterflies and glass cases of gems after wooden drawers of pinned moths and glass cases of something I didn’t care about any more.

But here’s the point. It doesn’t matter if the place, person or thing has disappointed you if you can use it later as a means to create a poem or a story. These are parts of a poem which goes on a bit but is based on my visit to: 

Norodni Museum, Prague

Minerals
Agate Borax Calcite Lead
Feldspar Dolomite Pitchblend Talc
Zircon Lazulite Kernite Copper
Halite Howlite Hypersthene
Rhodonite Hafnon Datoline
Inasite Enstatite Psilomelane
Kyanite Carnotite Alabaster
Rutile Andesine Chalcedony

Ores
Copper Silver Magnetite...

It goes on to cover sections on Rocks, Minerals, Gems, Meteorites, Ammonites etc. But ends up with finding a temporary exhibition on Waters of the World which was terrific.

I wouldn’t mind betting that many of the Dead Good Blog readers are also writers, so I don’t want be seen as trying to teach you to suck eggs (where did that expression come from?) but we are very fortunate that we can take something like that bad experience at a museum and turn it into something that we are rather pleased with.

So, if the place you are in seems a little tedious, then I suggest you jot observations down into the notebook that you always have with you for just such a purpose. It may instantly lighten your mood by knowing that you will sooner or later be getting something out of it. And, of course, the pen is mightier than the Molybdenite.

I have to say that the second most least interesting place in Prague was the museum mentioned below. But again something happened, so stick with it in Prague. Something always happens.

Smetana’s Spectacles in the Smetana Museum, Prague

It was too hot for this,
the air felt heavy,
an extra layer
worn like frock coats
in the photos on the wall.
Downstairs the entrance
was being cleared of
bottles and cigarette ends
while up here the staff
eased into the day.

A day of four walls
and lots of pictures,
prints of Smetana,
sketches and letters,
drafts of letters,
manuscripts of music,
drafts of manuscripts of music,
programmes, programme changes,
the air felt heavy with words,
it was Museum.

Then a woman put down a cup
drew back curtains
and opened the windows,
suddenly the sun was light,
the sound of the river
was the sound of movement,
notes streamed off the pages
until I spotted those minims
trapped in a cage
and I wanted to set them free.

Smetana’s spectacles
all that was there of the man,
glasses like mine,
making sense of our worlds
bringing me back to my senses
and the irony of Ma Vlast
losing its frontiers
while stag nights
are drinking away freedom
in the bars of Wenceslas Square.

Terry.

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