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wwEgo Trip: the strange task of talking about me . . .wwww.eddiecastellan.com

You can probably tell that the tacky art of self-promotion doesn't come naturally to me from the fact that I led this page with a picture of just my hands . . . mind you, I edited several thousand pictures in a previous existence and I can't help thinking that it's better than the one with the rest of me in it.

However there comes a time when the bullet has to be bitten. I think these poems deserve an airing, hence this web site. I'm not a natural rebel but I've usually found in life that the Establishment tends to be anti-me, so often the best thing to do is to ignore it and go my own way.

Eddie Castellan is 51 and a bit. He has inherited the family tendency to keep a picture in the attic ( I think there's a couple of galleries-worth at the ancestral home somewhere in deepest Staffordshire).

He lives in the haute vallée of the Aude near Carcassonne, southwest France, which is even deeper, and possibly explains his urge to inflict quite modern and occasionally quite odd poetry on the world. You will find traces of this rural existence in poems like Spring canto and Café.

Occasional bouts of stir-craziness lead to images of French city life like Toulouse Quartet and Dusk.

The poet's eternal duty to consider life, the universe and everything turns up in any number of poems. You could start with The animal explodes or Wilderness. I've mentioned that one because it's got a deeply intellectual reference to Olivier Messiaen in it, just to prove that I too can be irritatingly clever.

Anyone with a taste for surreal gibberish, or just plain gibberish, might try Logic (because it hasn't any) or Truths.

Most of this poetry takes various home-made forms of free or blank verse. I'm not a great fan of rhyming poetry but one of the main reasons that I don't usually write it is because it's so difficult to do really well. If, like me, you're less talented than, shall we say, Yeats, then I think it's best avoided. Some of the poems are also translated into French with the help and expertise of Claire Meurice.

Eddie Castellan is also (fairly obviously) a musician as a man should always have more than one way of being flat broke. This leads to bouts of songwriting, so take a look at the lyrics.

He is an amazing guitarist with a reputation that sometimes stretches as far as the bar at the end of his road. He occasionally succeeds in playing with other much better musicians so that he can perfect his technique as a shameless name-dropper.

He is a good sound engineer as this increases his chances of getting paid and was recording engineer on Stanley Adler's superb electric cello album Arias Under Curves, released in May 2009 on Wrigglypig Records. He is still reeling from the shock of being involved in a high-quality arts project that actually got finished.

In another life he was for many years a newspaper sub-editor until moving to France in 2002. He has a 16-year-old son Rhys who is a bit of a star and a lurking affection for narrow gauge steam trains, especially the Talyllyn Railway on the mid Wales coast. He usually doesn't like dogs; living in France does this to you.

Pictures by Dennis von Bergh
Stanley Adler's Arias Under Curves is an ambitious project for alternative cello; a multi-tracked mixture of modern classical, Indian and occasionally jazzy flavours. He wrote all the music for the album, which we recorded together over four months during 2007
Talyllyn Railway No.4 Edward Thomas - good company for Dylan and RS though not actually named after the poet. Still, why not follow that train of thought to the other Edward Thomas's war poem set on the platform at Adlestrop? Picture by Ian Drummond

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All poems and texts on this site are the copyright of Richard Edward Hugh Castellan 2009 except where otherwise credited