Category: Poems and Poetics

Is that all there is?

 

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( This can be sung along with Peggy Lee to the song by Jerry Lieber and Mike Stoller and inspired by a short story by Thomas Mann: Disillusionment. I used to play this a lot when I was young; and I even played it to my first year students for many years. I was a cheery little soul. Here I write my own little lyric for it!).

When I was fifteen, I discovered homosexuality.

They said it was a crime.

And a sickness, a sin, a shame and a sadness.

And I said to myself: is that all there is?

 

When I was twenty-five, I discovered liberation.

It was GLF; we were out and proud; we made demands.

We were modern homosexuals out to change the world.

And I said to myself: is that all there is?

 

When I was thirty, I discovered research.

Transvestites and paedophiles and sado-masochists and more:

The conflicting meanings of the whole damn thing!

And I said to myself: is that all there is?

 

When I was thirty-five, I discovered AIDS and feminism.

I knew the tragedy of AIDS: twenty five millions dead and still counting

And the tragedy of feminism: its interminable divides.

And I said to myself: is that all there is?

 

When I was forty-five, I went global and postmodern.

Queer had come around again;

And rights was on the world agenda.

And I said to myself: is that all there is?

 

When I was sixty, I nearly died: but I didn’t.

Starry starry nights and the incorrigible plurality of snow.

The multiplicities of life, of death, of suffering.

And I said to myself: is that all there is?

 

So life goes on as I look to seventy.

The inevitability of disappointment

and the importance of hope.

And I say to myself: is that all there is?

So let’s keep dancing.

In Memoriam: Stan Cohen

The past few days have been very sad ones as I have learnt of the deaths of two former  teachers, colleagues and dear friends: Stan Cohen and Mary McIntosh. They were both inspirational; both pioneers in their works for rights and better worlds ; both serious intellectuals; and both very dear people. They will be…

QUOTING HUMANISMS: INSPIRATIONS

CHARLES HORTON COOLEY (1964-1929)


         ‘We live in the minds of others without

                          knowing it’

Art and Inspirations: The Golden Stairs

The Golden Stairs

Edward Bourne Jones

A copy of this celebrated painting has been recently given to us  by  dear friends after a visit to the Pre-Rapehlite Exhibition. I spotted this gem in the last gallery of the exhibition – and recalled it from the cover of Umberto Eco’s The Infinity of Lists  (currently one of my favourite books). It hints at my key themes of multiplicities, pluralities and the infinite. We had just been to see the musical Top Hat, and I was in a mood for the Ziegfield Follies or the Busby Berkeley Girls (and Boys!) which this nineteenth century image must have been well on the way to inspiring.


Poem for the day: All Things Pass

All Things Pass – Lao-Tzu All things pass A sunrise does not last all morning All things pass A cloudburst does not last all day All things pass Nor a sunset all night All things pass What always changes?Earth…sky…thunder… mountain…water… wind…fire…lake… These change And if these do not last Do man’s visions last? Do man’s…

Quoting Humanisms

 

                                      We tell ourselves stories in order to live

                                                      Joan Didion, title of her collected stories.

 

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Stories animate human life: that is their work.

Arthur W.Frank   Letting Stories Breathe

 

Narrative makes the earth habitable for human beings” Frank, again: p46

 

 

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We have each of us, a life story, an inner narrative – whose continuity, whose sense is our lives…. A man needs such a narrative, a continuous inner narrative to maintain his identity…

Oliver Sachs  opening to The man who mistook his wife for a hat

 

Oliver Sachs

 

Poetic for the day

Poetic for the Day Two little poetics I have recently encountered “All of Us”  by David Budbill Out of the undifferentiated Tao come the ten thousand things: the bug in the bird’s mouth, the bird in the tree, the tree outside the window, the window beyond the chair, the chair in the room, the man…

Love, Loss and Laugher: Visions of Alzheimer’s

The work of the sociologist –photographer Cathy Greenblat  has aimed to show the ‘active’ nature of Alzheimer’s across the world; and how ‘good care’ can be crucial in creating situations to enable a better life for people with Alzheimer’s.  As she remarks: As a social scientist, I know how much expectations influence achievement, and I…

Quoting Humanisms

Here are a few thoughts from George Eliot. Her Middlemarch is one of the great sociological novels: it should really be a part of any sociology syllabus.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other? I cannot be indifferent to the troubles of a man who advised me in my trouble, and attended me in my illness

I concluded my textbook with another quote from her.

Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

O may I join the choir invisible
O my I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence: liveGeorge Eliot
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge man’s search
To vaster issues.
    So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing as beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonised
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air.
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burthen of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better— saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reference more mixed with love—
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread for ever.
    This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty—
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense.
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.

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