Sam Neill: "The truth about Palmerston North" by Tim Upperton скачать в хорошем качестве

Sam Neill: "The truth about Palmerston North" by Tim Upperton

Source: @TwoPaddocks and poetryfoundation.org Please note, that this is not the official channel of Sam Neill and has no affiliation with Sam himself, his family, friends or anyone around him. All pictures, videos and other media are copyright to their respective owners, no copyright infringement intended. This is a non-monetized, non-profit channel where videos are uploaded for those fans who don't have Twitter and Instagram accounts. Sam's official accounts are the following: Website: https://www.twopaddocks.com/ Twitter:   / twopaddocks   Instagram:   / samneilltheprop   Youtube:    / twopaddocks   My Sam Neill playlist on this channel:    • Sam Neill: "Thought I’d pick up a uke" - p...   "The truth about Palmerston North" by Tim Upperton People like to mock my town, they mock it for being too provincial and too boring and it’s true, not much of import happens here but I don’t mind. Some people say, when they are asked what they like about Palmerston North, that you can always find a park and that’s true, too, you can always find a park just a short walk from where you want to go, sometimes right outside, you don’t have to walk at all, you’re right there. Of course only people who live in New Zealand mock Palmerston North, as people who live outside New Zealand know nothing about it. People who don’t live in New Zealand mock our entire little country as a 1950s throwback with honest, rural folk and unspoilt scenery which isn’t quite true, our scenery is spoilt from being looked at too often and freedom campers, they say, are a problem, but me, I blame dairy cows. When I lived in the UK people there thought New Zealand was a state of Australia, and they would ask me what was coming up on Neighbours, thinking I had some kind of inside knowledge, but the truth is I don’t even watch Neighbours or indeed any soap operas. Actually the whole Southern Hemisphere is more or less written off by people who don’t live here, as somewhere elsewhere, insignificant, like Palmerston North, where as I said nothing much happens. And it’s an undeniable fact that the magazines I subscribe to come from exotic places that they flaunt in their titles, magazines like The New Yorker and London Review of Books and The Paris Review but not The Palmerston Northerner. It’s another fact that The Paris Review isn’t even published in Paris and has nothing to say about that city but it has insightful interviews with famous writers, some of whom I have read. I have been to Paris and apart from the architecture and the food and some very fine cemeteries and of course the language it’s quite like Palmerston North, though parking is a nightmare. I never visited the Louvre but one fine afternoon I went to the Musée d’Orsay which in the opinion of many educated people really is just as good if you like Impressionist and Post-Impressionist art, which I do. Still it was nice to come home again, home to Palmerston North, New Zealand, and to see the good brown Manawatū River moving sluggishly under the bridge. It’s not the Seine, but water is water. Paul Celan threw himself —  odd phrase, as if he were both baseball and pitcher — into the Seine. John Cleese said Palmerston North is the suicide capital of New Zealand, yet you don’t hear of people throwing themselves into the Manawatū, which would be a risky business, but only because of the effluent from those dairy cows leaching into the river. We live on a floodplain, and the river is ever in our thoughts and sometimes our houses. At such times we are downcast but we lift up our eyes unto the hills and the windmills perched on them that turn and turn. One time I saw a middle-aged woman in the Plaza, our only shopping mall, with her head tilted to where the sky would have been, but for the ceiling and the mood lighting, a stout middle-aged woman with black mascara, elegantly dressed, her wet mouth a dark, soundless O, and the crowd not unsympathetically parting and reforming around her — rock in the river —  noticing and not noticing, which is our way. #poetry #poem #actorsreadingpoetry