Thursday 30 May 2019

In the grey


I walked in the grey
Right after waking up.

In the unlate hours  
Passers-by were
Stolid effigies of fog.

It was too early to feel.
Stories were being woven.
Paths were being carved.

Whether my eyelids were close
Did not matter much. 

I walked in the grey of that day
Knowing full well the only light to be had
Was that which she would shine on me.

Wednesday 29 May 2019

Necessity is the mother of intention


"Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants; it is the creed of slaves."

William Pitt, British Prime Minister (1759-1806), in a speech in the House of Commons on 18 November, 1783.
 

Tuesday 28 May 2019

The hollow man


I realised I have nothing to share
no treasured memory of my mother
no great song to sing to praise my brother
no feeling normal folk feel they can spare

I have been on more battlefields
than I can care to count
the type of wars where no spoils
but your own skin may be claimed

I've seen rougher skirmishes than tonight
yet here I am, scared to live, to breathe,
scared of my own fright

and nothing whatsoever to bequeath
no darkness, no blinding rage
only the unchurning emptiness
at the pit of the stomach
only the silences – which have grown
deeper with age –
where my heart should beat
where my soul should lurk

so instead I read an author's memory
of her mother and I call it my own
I listen to a song about another's brother
which I pretend I'm the first to sing
I fake feelings I think others feel
so that folk makebelieve
I have a heart
 

Weighing in on the scales of Good and Evil


"I should dearly love that the world should be ever so little better for my presence. Even on this small stage we have our two sides, and something might be done by throwing all one's weight on the scale of breadth, tolerance, charity, temperance, peace, and kindliness to man and beast. We can't all strike very big blows, and even the little ones count for something."

Arthur Conan Doyle, physician and writer (1859-1930), in The Stark Munro Letters (1894).
 

Monday 27 May 2019

Fragment #189


It was all too soon that we forgot what it was which made us what we were. Beasts of burden, that we became. They made us love the work. So we changed our mind. And we became intoxicated. We wouldn't question, after a while. We were thought important. We were overwhelmed. We thought we were central, that we were in control, that we had it all. We loved one another and when the stabbings began none batted an eye. It was the way life was, wasn't it, and had always been, hadn't it. We were we, and no one who mattered would be left behind. Words were what they had always been, yet were different now that we had only we to use. We didn't remember what we used before we, but we were so happy that we forgot. We was all which had weight. We were few, but the happy few. We were brothers, we had one another's back. We were formidable. We were infinite. We were and there would be no end to us, ever.
 

Tuesday 21 May 2019

Fragment #177


"We thought it was over. We should have known better. We were tossed right inside the eye. The horizon had sunk behind billowing walls of grumbling wrath. The ship headwayed towards the edge, unseen in the growing darkness. Our sails, destroyed. The anchor line, snapped. Drifting inside the spiralling tower, electric arcs clawmarking the masts. Praying proved futile, Nature was stronger than any god."
 

Once heart


I know all too damn well
that I have a heart —
it’s pumping searing sadness
in my veins as I feel
the cold, unused space
on the other side of my bed

Monday 20 May 2019

This be the end


"But hatred gripped his heart tightly, making him tremble from head to toe. He would have liked to fight, one last time. To have the enemy within his reach, to see a blood that wasn't his. He looked away from the myriad droplets around him and went back to contemplating his gaping wound. It was being sucked inside his chest. In turn, he was sucked in. He saw only vast plains bleached by waving floors of blazing daisies, under a bare sun and the silvery reflections of a river in the distance, edged with reeds and dragonflies – yes, thousands of dragonflies dancing in the green wind of the grass, their wings rustling furiously, deafening, whirling around the tips of his fingers; he felt the hair on the nape of his neck bristle; the sun was duplicated to infinity, dazzling, repeated in thousands more suns in the iridescent prisms of their finely metallic and diaphanous, ridged elytra, and each of the thousands of suns on each of the thousands of facets burst with such blinding rage and such opaline wrath on the coruscating plains lying before him that he was forced to shield his face with his hand, and to close his eyes."
 

Saturday 18 May 2019

Home


Home is where we are
together home is your
sunny laughter

I know I'm home when you
speak to me with
your eyes into mine
– your eyes so fleeting
with others –

I miss home when you call
and your voice rings
like waves of
sleeplessness

Home is why we are
together home is our
sundog slumber

I want to stay home when
you hug me so hard you
push the stars right
into my hair and
cry meteors

I feel home when
everything down to
the spoon on the counter
spells your presence

Home is when we are
anywhere home is a
deepsun silence
 

Fragment #54


a year ago
we didn't know
the other existed
today it's as if
he had always been there

Friday 17 May 2019

Plume


when her idle fingertip
brushed past my heart
it left a trace in the dust

when she blew the smudge off
it fell like a dandelion of stars
 

Wednesday 15 May 2019

Fragment #129


I wish she hadn't let her silences
stroke my soul and my eyes

I wish she hadn't looked at me
as if she kissed my whole body

I wish she hadn't written those words
which now echo in my house of cards

I wish she hadn't brushed her fingertips
over my chin, my cheeks, my lips.

But she did. And now that she's gone
I wish I had been heartspoken.
 

Tuesday 14 May 2019

Components of resilience


"Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence."

Hal Borland, American author and journalist, notably for the New York Times (1900-1978) in Countryman: A Summary of Belief, 1965.
 

Blueshift


Unslain, dressing wounds I cannot see
haggard – unsure of knowing this world
just when I thought I did but again
someone unmade it
the feeling creeping back
that this unworld
unrecognisable, unfigured
untasted, ungripped
is redshifting away from me
and now, unfeeling alive,
I am unmyself
shifting to blue.
 

Monday 13 May 2019

like mirrors


"How simple life becomes when things like mirrors are forgotten."

Daphne du Maurier, novelist (1907-1989), in Frenchman's Creek (1941).

She will


When she will realise
she can move mountains
with her green gaze

when she will realise
she's the neutron star of girls

when she finally understands
she's shaping the world
in her gentlefirm hands

when she finally understands
she's greater than the Sahara sands

when she sees at last
that she's better than us all
and her love unsurpassed

when she sees at last
the good in her contrasts

when she finds out
she's stronger than us all
the strength in her doubt

when she finds out –

she'll move mountains
and supernova our soul
she'll make rain fall
where it never rains

she will light places
we didn't know existed

she will rewrite the tale
of what it is to love
she will lift the darkest veil
on skies we only dreamt of

she will fit the universe
in the palm of her hands
cup it like a young plant
water it with a verse

and we'll all be born again.
 

Sunday 12 May 2019

where the cliff met the sea


I set up my bed
by the break of day
I strung clouds together
wove rain as wallpaper

my bedroom was floating
on the placid ocean so
I stuffed my pillowcase
with the colours of space

with the day's sunshafts
I braided a farewell memory
One that I will keep deep down
and wait for the night to drown.

Thursday 9 May 2019

A Poet's Advice (1958)


"Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel...the moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself. To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."

E.E. Cummings, American poet, essayist, playwright, painter (1894-1962)
 

Monday 6 May 2019

I am not as I was


I am not as I was, dear flowers –

this buffeted, battered body
to whose contact you recoil
this body hooked on drips
which will not heal
was all I had to make a stand
to make myself heard
to give you birth
and to love you.
I may not be as I was,
but I give it all to you.

I am not as I was, my friends –

days drift into other days
drift again in so many ways –
unforgetting what time does –
I haven't been the best of dads
and of friends –
but please, watch over them
for the sake of what I once was.

I am not as I was, my love –

you know I wrote because I was
and you let me – checking the ties
with our daughters weren't slacking –
you were the mountain
shielding and guiding
feeding the hopes of us four –
and when I finally realised –
we silently had to unignore
the swelling in my abdomen.

I am not as I was
rings like a testament –
a raucous admittance of defeat –
forced to throw the towel –
I fight, I am fighting!

But soon I won't be any more –
leaving you my friends
to watch over my loved ones
– and you my love
to watch over our flowers –

Soon I won't be any more –
but tonight I am –
not as I was

– but I am –



“non sum qualis eram” Horace, Odes, Book 4, 1

Fragment #111


hearts ago I was a mountain
my summit so far up in the clouds
nobody would dare climb it
in fact covering an equally deep abyss
so nobody would see how empty I felt

a sigh from now I'll be an ocean
 

Sunday 5 May 2019

goldenbrown


kinder-than-life eyes
                                   goldenbrown gaze
                       a forest path without ends
                                               fuddling travellers
                                                                      with scented words
meandering through memories
                                    and feelings we knew we had
             your fingertips lighter than blue
                                    more present deeper down
                                                            dark in the underocean
                                                awaking space
                                    creating unlight
            switching nights on in rooms
one after the other
            – maps that had been explored
                                   discarded after a while
                                               shut off, forgotten –
minutely stepping in each
                       removing protective whitesheets
                                   sometimes just feeling through
                                               tasting treasured keepsakes
                       deftly handweighing, eyes up
           and the faintest of smiles
and moving to the next room
unheeded, fearless perhaps,
                                              were the footsteps left
                                                                                    in the accumulated dust
                                   today I wander off
                                                                      room after room
                                                                                                        smelling your laughter
                                              whitenoising your palewhite silhouette
                                   echoing like glass dewdrops
           in the forest of your eyes your
kinder-than-life eyes
                                  goldenbrown gaze

Thursday 2 May 2019

Ideal Idle


"It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen."

Jerome K. Jerome, humorist and playwright (1859-1927), in Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)

Wednesday 1 May 2019

On The Right To Listen and The Duty To Say Dumb Stuff


One of the most common rights we see in constitutions around the globe is the freedom of speech. The right to speak your mind. It is both our boon and our bane: we get to listen to the protectors of the environment and tolerance as well as the promoters of hatred and bigotry. Of course, it neither entails that everything said is intelligent, nor does it absolve anyone from saying anything stupid – not even remotely. Speaking one's mind offers the delicate and dangerous opportunity to glimpse inside said mind.

Following Milton's 1644 Aeropagitica and Paine's Age of Reason (1794-1807), I think it is possible to argue for the right to listen, as denying someone the right to speak denies the audience the right to listen. In fact, I'll argue further that the obligation to have someone say something stupid should be a corollary stipulated in the many constitutions which protect the freedom of speech.

Define stupid, I hear? Stupid as in: rejecting established laws of the physical world, rejecting accepted scientific facts, asserting evidence which baffle common sense, exhibiting great insensitivity towards those who suffer, anything which may cause harm to oneself or to others. Examples? Sure. God miraculously saving a cross whilst letting the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral burn. And a few years ago the face of Jesus appearing on a toast while he doesn't bat an eye at his priests abusing hundreds of thousands of children. I have a treasure trove of those.

I can already hear some grumbling at the back. Well, it's your right to be offended, certainly. The right to be offended is valid at all times, but I'm afraid it does not constitute an argument, especially one which should cut any argument short. Must I remind people that “[w]hat is asserted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence.” (In more recent years known as Hitchens's razor, but the occurrence of the concept dates back to at least the 19th Century).

Carlo Cipolla (1922-2000), an Italian economic historian, wrote an essay called The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity (1976). Here are his five fundamental laws of stupidity (also available here):
  1. Always and inevitably everyone underestimates the number of stupid individuals in circulation.
  2. The probability that a certain person will be stupid is independent of any other characteristic of that person.
  3. A stupid person is a person who causes losses to another person or to a group of persons while himself deriving no gain and even possibly incurring losses.
  4. Non-stupid people always underestimate the damaging power of stupid individuals. In particular non-stupid people constantly forget that at all times and places and under any circumstances to deal and/or associate with stupid people always turns out to be a costly mistake.
  5. A stupid person is the most dangerous type of person.
Let's assume that we are all part of non-stupid people, just for the sake of not developing any of those points further, them being self-evident, and dozens of examples having popped up in our heads.

I understand that the fewer stoopid people there are the better we should fare as a society, yet I contend that stupidity has its uses and its benefits - as long as we stick to the rulebook so we can still perceive the stupid character in what's being said. Yet I don't believe that someone thinking differently from me should be grounds for silencing said person, stupid people above all.

In a nutshell, my argument runs thus: I'd rather go on hearing the likes of Donald Trump and his ilk spew stupid things over and over again because it keeps my standards on their toes, and also because when somebody asserts something stupid as confidently as the president of the first economic power in the world, everyone's bound to stop and listen. The fact that many people, even from his own political side of the spectrum, recognise the content as moronic is for me a sign of a healthy society.

Of course I'm disregarding rule #1: I know there are more stupid people in circulation...I'm a teacher, and I've seen/am still seeing my daily share of stupidity. But I believe in the power of education, that it will prevail on the very, very long run. Even though stupid will always exist. Even though mistakes shall still be made. It takes an ex-stupid person to recognise a stupid person, as we've all believed, at some point, in a stupid theory. Perhaps we still do, in the dark of night when no one is watching.

No more of this, let's take a concrete example. This scientist claims she has discovered the cause for homosexuality, and a cure, and I believe that it would be wrong to discard the article altogether and put it on the garbage heap of nonsense. I think it's worth devoting a few minutes to read this woman's case. Why? For the sake of listening to her line of argument. Because only by listening to what they say can we rebuke and redress, only by understanding where their logic falters can we hope to root out this stupid thought and plant a seed of knowledge. If that's even possible. Stupidity goes too deep sometimes. I'm not certain this 'academic' has a basic understanding of human biology, and perhaps her religion's bias is blinding her, who knows, but I'm certain that if she were to understand and change her mind it could only come from a heavy dose of reason.

Yet reason and intelligence can sometimes be counter-productive. Intelligent arguments usually are fraught with jargon and become boring, while stupid arguments usually sound funny and stick to our twisted brains. The outrageous is taken away from its content by the funny, and only the punchline remains (thanks Augustine for the input!). The problem is that those with the loudest voices usually aren't the ones with the best logic, the best arguments, and the most sensible approach. There is a deep truth in: “The best lack all conviction, while the worst/ Are full of passionate intensity.” W. B. Yeats, The Second Coming (1920). Stupid is catchy, smart slips the mind.

Sometimes, when one gets a lot of ideas in the hope that one good idea will come out, it also means that there's a handful of stupid ideas wedged in the thought process. Discarded, to boot, but they were nonetheless necessary to explore every possible options. Think about Donald Trump tweeting: “So horrible to watch the massive fire at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. Perhaps flying water tankers could be used to put it out. Must act quickly!” (10:39 AM - 15 Apr 2019 – my emphasis). The fact that he wrote “perhaps” and “could” indicates that he thought of that as a possible alternative to put out the fire. The fact that many immediately recognised this as a stupid strategy warmed my heart (pun intended...too soon?), because it meant that the vast majority of people understand the basic laws of physics...whilst the president of the country which publishes the most scientific and technical articles doesn't.

Stupid comments, stupid actions, stupid arguments make us think, even sometimes doubt. Think about the conscientious objector who doesn't want to fight in a war whom everyone believes to be rightful. Think about the teacher who tells you that the Earth is 4,000 years old. Think about the theoretical physicist who tells you that you and your computer, the ground, the centre of the Earth are being traversed, as we speak, by trillions upon trillions of neutrinos. You probably wouldn't believe one, perhaps two, because you would like to have evidence in order to believe. Had you not doubt, at some point, you wouldn't be so certain of all the things you're certain about.

At one point in our history we thought we were at the centre of our universe, we thought gravity didn't exist and that the sun revolved around us. Some of us were labelled 'stupid' because they doubted what was commonly accepted as knowledge, and challenged mainstream interpretations because the evidence they had painstakingly gathered pointed in another direction. One last quote to highlight my point: “Just think of the tragedy of teaching children not to doubt.” Clarence Darrow, lawyer and author (1857-1938).

Here's Hitchens touching upon a very similar issue.

Habits

I am a man of habits I got to this conclusion because I flash-realised that I am hoping that someone, someday will see the patterns the rou...