Geography For The Lost Kapka Kassabova

Author Archive

  1. Geography For The Lost Kapka Kassabova

    June 30, 2007 by Christopher Buxton

    (Chris writes)

    As for Dante’s lovers in the first circle of Hell, Kapka Kassabova’s poems convey the slippery state of never belonging. A reader looking for a starting point need look no further than her generous autobiographical note at the end of the collection. In it she describes vividly a journey through the lands of lost language to locations that can never be destinations. In this regard her sensibility is close to Philip Larkin’s – that there can only be one destination which is individual and final. However, snapshots on the way to this destination are colourful, posiotive and wide ranging – from South America to Vietnam; from Africa to Bulgaria; from the North Sea to Mission Bay. There are temporary consolations and excitements. Kapka Kassabova snaps the fragile moment with a ruthlessly clear lens; captures moments, precise feelings of people’s lives and disjointed relationships. Characters/ghosts inhabit locations, bear witness to the eggshell nature of life.

    In Steve’s last Summer “You” the often mentioned lover stands with the poet at the top of a house, sweatily triumphant at the successgful hauling of a roped double bed through the window. This is applauded by the whole street community, but particularly by the tramp that draws precise pictures of all the houses and is about to die.

    In the words of another poet: “The empty handed painter on your street is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets…”

    In her autobiographical note – Skipping over invisible borders, Kapka Kassabova describes her education as a poet – bound by a series of betrayals to become a displaced person writing in an alien language. In her poetry, she conveys the state of displacement in a precise crystal language that conveys both life’s terror and its albeit temporary joys.

    I recommend this book to everyone – it is a feast.


  2. Inspect me baby – slow blues in G

    June 26, 2007 by Christopher Buxton

    Inspect me baby – Inspect me all night long
    Inspect me baby – Inspect me all night long
    Welcome to my lecture I’ll show you right from wrong

    I’ve got every loving strategy for your every learning style
    My session plan is ready – why don’t you unzip my file
    When you inspect me baby…..

    When you see my session plan – you won’t believe your eyes
    Never mind the quality – just check out the size
    When you inspect me baby….

    For a hot steamy session I commend B202
    If we get the blinds by then – we’ll be safe from view
    When you inspect me baby….

    I don’t need no blutak to give you visual treats
    I do my mounting on jet black sheets
    When you inspect me baby…

    Tick the box for ICT – We’re wireless in this joint
    Play and display – I’ll be your human power-point
    When you inspect me baby…

    So come on inspector baby – Don’t you be shy
    I’ve got a whole body of work for you to internally verify
    When you inspect me baby..


  3. How migrant workers save the British economy.

    June 25, 2007 by Christopher Buxton

    Martin and Daniella work in an old people’s home. Their leave to remain in the UK is based on a contract to work a 42 hour week. If they break their contract, they must pay their employers a significant sum of money. This sum of money reduces over three years but for those years they have the status of bonded workers.

    Daniella is a qualified nurse in her own country. When I ask her what she does, she lowers her voice. It requires an effort to admit that she is now a cleaner. Her husband, Martin, is a doctor.but in the care home, he is a care assistant. Both have high principles.

    They are asked – required even – to work every day. On rest days they are called in to work. Martin can work from 7.00 in the morning to 9 at night. He has had only two free days in the last three months – once to meet his wife from the airport; once to move to new rented accommodation. These two days were taken despite shrill opposition from his employers.

    All these extra hours are still only paid at the basic rate.

    In order to have their experience recognised and be able to apply for more responsible jobs, they need qualifications in English. It is of no comfort to them that the government wants all migrants to learn English. They are willing to pay the new steep charges at the local college – if only that college was running sufficient courses and they had guaranteed time from their employer to be able to attend.

    So the strawberries are rotting in the fields. It comes as a shock that the migrant student workers from Bulgaria and Romania did not show up this year. Were they fed up with the way they were treated on many of these farms? Or were they prevented from coming by quotas unnecessarily applied by a government running scared of our right wing anti-migrant press?


  4. Martin Lubenov Barbican 16/06/2007

    June 17, 2007 by Christopher Buxton

    Chris writes:

    We went to see a Bulgarian Gypsy band at the Barbican last night. Martin Lubenov, a shambling bear of a man in a loose fitting black shirt, generous trousers and grey cloth cap, faces his band, who, sublime musicians all, look back at him with trusting smiles of expectation.

    For a long time I had never rated the accordion – finding it bland, imprecise, and too much a pale imitation of an organ. It looks too an ungainly instrument, a burden strapped to the chest – not an instrument to easily allow the expression of free spirit. Our son, Vlad, received accordion lessons from a teacher who took her inspiration from Germany. I once asked her if she could teach him some Cajun music as he was getting bored by the square rhythms and melodies he was being forced to play. She had never heard of Cajun music and so, sadly, my son rejected the irksome German strapping.

    In Bulgaria, I began listening to Ibro Lolov, the gypsy band leader and accordionist. I began to realise how the instrument could bring a smile to my face and a surge in my body to leap up and dance. With a visit to New Orleans and a listen to a Neil Young track, my view of accordions continued to change.

    I read in the programme notes that Lubenov’s father was a drummer in the Lolov band and the Lolov band had been the only approved Gypsy band during communism.

    Martin Lubenov directs his orchestra from his accordion. His instrument is as bulky as himself but from it come phrases of muted tenderness that I never thought an accordion capable of. In driving percussive mode, his instrument is anything but imprecise. His band members are all virtuosos but there is no sense of arrogance in their young faces as Lubenov’s accordion leads them to the heights of free improvisation – even the quiet guitarist seizes his chance to amaze.

    Lubenov’s music draws not just on Balkan Jazz with a saxophonist/clarinetist playing like Ivo Papazov. There are echoes of the Parisian alley and the Buenos Aires brothel in his accordion playing and the guitarist’s solo is reminiscent of Carlos Jobim.

    After a bravura opening instrumental, there is a pause as the trombone player leaves the stage and returns with a blind singer, Neno Iliev, who clutches an acoustic guitar to his chest. We scarcely hear the guitar but the blind man’s voice soars, ululates and warms the soul.

    The audience had mostly come to see “the King Prawn”, Diego EL Cigala a Spanish gypsy singer, chosen to provide the climax of the Barbican 1000 Year Journey celebration of gypsy music. I have to say that in spite of El Cigala’s sharp expressive voice and his brilliant backing musicians, I found much of his set repetitive. Ironically it climaxed with songs from Cuba, which heavily featured his Caribbean bass player.

    Leaving after the final rapturous encore, I noted the number of empty seats in what had been a full auditorium. Perhaps those early departing may have shared my view that the pace variation and inspiration of the Bulgarian band had surpassed El Cigala.