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  • Reposting Excerpts from ‘Tula’ by Leo Tolstoy.

    May 23rd, 2010

    There have been some difficulties with this post, which is companion to Simone Weil‘s Necessity and to Edith Sitwell‘s The Wind’s Bastinado. Both the above poems were transcribed from a small  library in Mayo, the original Tula was removed earlier today, this is an edited version.

    Leo Tolstoy: Essays from Tula, with an introduction by Nicolas Berdyaev. London, Sheppard Press, 1948.

    1. Bethink Yourselves.
    2. The Slavery of our times.
    3. An Appeal to Social reformers.
    4. True criticism.
    5. I Cannot be Silent.
    6. Thou Shalt Kill No One.
    7. A Letter to the Peace Conference.
    8. The End of the Age.
    9. Love one Another.

    Foreword by Nicholas Berdyaev

    The book has an interesting tale, it came to me via my favourite wee private book collection in Westport, where the borrowing involves making a note of essay/book/monograph, author and  ISBN.

    The borrowing can be long term  unlike the public libraries which tend toward a three week limit and a fining system.That collection (in Mayo) is also good for transcribing portions of poetry books, and books that are no longer in circulation and is in the way of a discipline regarding what reading matter one wishes to access. Interestingly, a small group of books that are in my possession have been requested by someone who the owner judged not to be ready to request.

    It’s funny that often the books we would disregard at certain stages gather potency and relevance as we get a bit more life-experienced (or indeed world-weary).

    ‘

    ” Yet a religion which answers to the demands of our time does exist and is known to all men, and in a latent state lives in the hearts of men of the Christian world. Therefore that this religion should become evident to and binding upon all men it is only necessary firstly that educated men, the leaders of the masses, should understand that religion is necessary to man. That without religion man cannot live a good life, and that what they call science cannot replace religion; and secondly that those in power and support the old empty forms of religion should understand that what they support and preach under the form of religion is not only not religion but is the chief obstacle to men’s appropriating the true religion which  they already know, and which alone can deliver men from their calamities”.

    I have indeed published this in excerpt before now on this very blog. That’s probably because it is imperative to understanding the concept of evolutionary development in human philosophies and wisdom. Theres a huge apocrypha which goes ignored and unconserved in our drive to modernism which really does leave the best bits of our philosophies out. I am not into theorising on why theocracies indulge the most totalitarian aspects of collectivism or why dogma is anti-intellectual: sure that’s all been done before. I would simply say that each individual will take something different from a book they are reading be it poetry, theology, politics, philosophy and that to have that chance is important to everyone and not to the guardians of dogmatism who in many ways have failed quite simply to engage people at any level of understanding saving the overtly materialistic.

    I’d highly recommend the writings of Simone Weil to those who wish study how anti-intellectualism makes many of us outsiders to a shared heritage and how close we come to totalitarianism by arrogantly accepting dogma with blind obedience. I will add in the Weill links at the base of this small post.

    • Necessity
    • Leo Tolstoy’s Essays from Tula with an introduction by Nicolas Berdyaev London, Sheppard Press 1948.
  • Some Sufism for Friday.

    May 21st, 2010

    From Shabistari and the Secret Rose Garden

    ‘I’ and ‘You’ are but lattices,
    In the niches of a lamp,
    Through which the one light shines.

    ‘I ‘ and ‘You’ are the veil
    Between heaven and earth;
    Lift this veil and you will see
    no longer the bonds of sects and creeds.

    When ‘I’ and ‘You’ do not exist,
    What is mosque, what is synagogue ?
    What is the Temple of Fire ? 

    from, The Essence of Sufism, John Baldcock. Eagle Editions Limited 2004

    This is somewhat related to the Blasphemer’s Banquets Posts on Poethead , the links of which I will add in here at the end of the post. Also, I will add some more Sufi poems onto this thread in the coming days. It is also related to the John Moriarty Obit from July of 2008. I’d highly recommend the Moriarty Dreamtime and Serious Sounds volumes to readers on religions, metaphysics and philosophy.

    • Dreamtime and Serious Sounds

    The Blasphemer’s Banquet

    More Harrison

  • Protected: On Vade Mecums : (handy manuals)

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  • Dublin Writers Festival 2010.

    May 11th, 2010

    There follow two links to the Dublin Writers Festival 2010.

    Dublin Writers Festival Homepage.
    The National Womens Council of Ireland and the Dublin Writers Festival.

  • Ágnes Nemes Nagy Review,Poetry Ireland

    May 10th, 2010

    I have just realised that I have never linked this review,
    so whilst I twiddle with links and design, I thought
    to add it in here. Nagy was a muscular writer of
    great expression and symbol, she is illustrated at
    link with a Leonard Baskin ‘Hanged man’.

    I am also adding in the Link to the new Netvibes design
    page, which is (not) so cleverly based on ‘The Lady
    of Shallot’ , I like the deep colours and they match
    the current theme which I hope to live with for
    a while anyhow.

    Nagy Review on PI.
    Purple Poethead Pages on NetVibes.

  • ‘My Heart and I’ By EBB (for Aoife)

    May 8th, 2010

    RIP Aoife O Brien ( June 23rd 1970-May 1st 2010)

    I.

    “Enough! we’re tired my heart and I.
    We sit beside the headstone thus,
    And wish that the name were carved for us.
    The moss reprints more tenderly
    The hard types of the Mason’s knife,
    As heaven’s sweet life renews earth’s
    life,
    with which we are tired, my heart and I.

    II.

    You see we’re tired, my heart and I.
    We dealt with books, we trusted men,
    And in our own blood drenched the
    pen,
    As if such colours could not fly.
    We walked too straight for fortune’s
    end,
    We loved too true to keep a friend;
    At last we’re tired, my heart and I.

    III.

    How tired we feel, my heart and I!
    We seem of no use in the world;
    Our fancies hang grey and uncurled
    About men’s eye’s indifferently;
    Our voice which thrilled you so, will
    let
    You sleep; our tears are only wet:
    What do we do here, my heart and I ?

    IV.

    So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
    It was not thus in that old time
    When Ralph sate with me ‘neath the
    lime
    To watch the sun set from the sky.
    ‘dear love you are looking tired’, he
    said;
    I, smiling at him, shook my head:
    ‘Tis now we’re tired, my heart and I.

    V.

    So tired, so tired, my heart and I !
    Though now none takes me on his arm
    to fold me close and kiss me warm
    Till each quick breath end in a sigh
    of happy langour. Now alone,
    We lean upon this graveyard stone,
    Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

    VI.

    Tired out we are my heart and I.
    Suppose the world brought diadems
    To tempt us, crusted with loose gems
    of powers and pleasures? Let it try.
    We scarcely care to look at even
    A pretty child, or God’s blue heaven,
    We feel so tired, my heart and I.

    VII.

    Yet who complains ? My heart and I?
    In this abundant earth no doubt
    Is little room for things worn out:
    Disdain them, break them, throw them by.
    And if before the days grew rough
    We once were loved, used- well
    enough,
    I think, we’ve fared, my heart and I. ”

    E.B.B


    Aoife O Brien, June 23rd 1970- May 1st 2010

  • May 3rd 2010- World Press Freedom Day

    May 3rd, 2010

    Sadly many bloggers, users of Twitter and horizontal media addicts are finding themselves caught up in repressions.

    I am adding in here the UNESCO statement on Freedom of Information, (FOI) and some links to media concerns who advocate on behalf of imprisoned, murdered and abused writers and bloggers.
    Wikileaks
    UNESCO 2010 Statement
    CPJ
    International Women in Media Foundation
    Libel Reform Campaign

  • “The Masque of Bread” by George Mackay Brown

    April 27th, 2010

    What answer would he give, now he had reached
    The inquisitor’s door, down seventy hungry streets,
    Each poorer than the last, the last a slum
    Rambling like nightmare round his winter feet?

    The Inquisitor’s door ? The walls were all blank there,
    But a white bakehouse with a little arch
    And a creaking sign..Against the fragrant doorpost
    He clung, like drifted snow, while the shuttered oven
    Opened on hills of harvest sun and corn.

    The loaf the bakers laid on the long shelf
    was bearded, thewed, goldcrusted like a god.
    Each drew a mask over his gentle eyes
    -Masks of the wolf, the boar, the hawk, the reaper-
    And in mock passion clawed the bread.

    But he
    Who stood between the cold plough and the embers
    In the door of death, knew that this masquerade
    Was a pure seeking past a storm of symbols,
    The millwheel, sun, and scythe, and ox and harrow,
    Station by station to that simple act
    Of terror or love, that broke the hill apart.
    But what stood there – an Angel with a sword
    Or Grinning Rags – astride the kindled seed ?

    He knelt in the doorway. Still no question came
    And still he knew no answer.

    The bread lay broken,
    Fragmented light and song.

    When the first steeple
    Shook out petals of morning, long bright robes
    Circled in order round the man that died. 

     From Interrogation of Silence, the Writings of George Mackay Brown Eds, Rowena Murray & Brian Murray, John Murray Publications 2004.

  • ‘Outside and In’, three women at the Cúirt Literary Festival 2010.

    April 25th, 2010

    ‘Outside and In’ : Three women at the Cúirt literary Festival 2010 .

    In truth my visit to the Cúirt festival this year was brief; but I managed to attend the Town Hall Theatre to hear Joyce Carol Oates, Marina Carr (The Gallery Press 40th celebration) and on to Nuala Ní Chonchúir‘s launch of ‘You’ at the Dáil Bar , opposite Charlie Byrne’s Bookshop.

    Nuala’s launch epitomised the way Cúirt used be, a pub corner had been requisitioned, a tab run up and Charlie Byrne’s staff  brought in boxes of the novel, which the author signed for everyone present (more of that anon).

    Joyce Carol Oates read from a New Yorker story called Spiderboy, whilst regaling the audience with tales of worried students who had thought her visit to Galway in the midst of the Volcanic ash crisis comprised a journey into the vortex riven with personal danger and who sought assurances that she would return to teach. She read a long tale about a young boy who had unwittingly procured victims for his senator father. ‘There are places where people just vanish’ , was the response when asked of the father where those boys duct-taped shoes or filthy shirts had gone, after the lost boys had been plied with beer or brought to over 18 clubs. The da had found a way to rid himself of what he considered to be human detritus. It was truly an artful and troubling tale.

    Unfortunately Ms Oates did not speak afterward but welcomed meeting and signing in the lobby. Outside , an accident occurred and I watched as a man was intubated at the Franciscan Church, his wife making a wordless tableau of grief; and the hospital but yards away.

    A brief interval later; and there ushered in the Luminaries of The Gallery Press, Tom Kilroy, Peter Fallon, Tom French and Marina Carr did brief readings from their plays, poems and works in Progress. Marina terrified me with an image that will stay with me, as a woman lay in her dying, a weird taloned scarecrow emerged from the wardrobe to take account of the Seeker, it drew blood from two wells in the woman’s body to fulfill her obligations to write the life and death of the woman. A midwife scene of such darkness and droll humour that It stays with me indelibly; and advised the Elizabeth Siddall Portrait that graces this page, by Leonard Baskin.

    The stage of the Town hall Theatre felt populated with carnival grotesques as Marina’s deep  voice rang through the silence of bluish, indigo and the myth took shape under her  restrained body-language.

    I waited for Kilroy’s Cromwellian work in progress before taking my leave to go to the Dáil Bar where a very warm and friendly gathering of people had arrived to celebrate Nuala’s Ní Chonchúir’s launch of ‘You’.

    My inscribed copy formed a gift, so I shall just add a brief description of the wonderful reception, family welcome and lovely kids who played round as Nuala read strongly from her book. Little Juno played with my tickets and programme as soft rain began to fall outside, inside an ambient group enjoyed and bought many copies of the book.

    Spiderboy, by Joyce Carol Oates

    ‘Woman and Scarecrow , Marina Carr.

    Nuala Ní Chonchúir’s site

    Leonard Baskin’s , ‘Elizabeth Siddall’, from the R.Michelson Gallery catalogue.
  • A wee Chatto and Windus Almanack

    April 11th, 2010

    I have not decided what to do with this small almanac yet, its publication date is noted as : 1926 (re-print 1983).

    It’s a gem, with images Stanley Spencer later converted into quasi-religious subject-matter and it is sitting on my desk awaiting  my writing!  Maybe it’s because the thing has no evident calendrical structure and is just the names of months and dates that gives it a slight sparseness.. thus its enjoyment comes from admiring the images, I am unsure… It feels vaguely sacrilegious to attempt my scrawl in it, thus I am in two minds on how to proceed.

    One of the things about the Google Book Settlement which was largely undiscussed was the prohibition on pictorials. I have discussed here before the charm of illustration, collaboration and artistic focus in books, most especially in relation to two singular texts,

    René Crevel‘s , ‘Babylon’ and ‘Mark my Words’, by Eilis Ní Dhuibhne, with Alice Maher , (I also like Kitaj’s ‘The First Diasporist Manifesto’ ) Excerpt from ‘The First Diasporist Manifesto’ R B Kitaj.

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