Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, 29 November 2025

A Thanksgiving Sermon

Thanksgiving isn't a New Zealand holiday, but giving thanks should be a universal trait.

Robert Green Ingersoll was the nineteenth-century's Christopher Hitchens—a famous and crusading atheist—like Hitchens except Ingersoll was kinder, and not a Trotskyite. And he was full of gratitude. This, here, was just a portion (the final part, starting page 58) ) of his famous 1897 Thanksgiving Sermon [hat tip Jerry Coyne] ...

A Thanksgiving Sermon

by Robert Green Ingersoll

Whom shall we thank? 

Standing here at the close of the 19th century — amid the trophies of thought — the triumphs of genius — here under the flag of the Great Republic — knowing something of the history of man — here on this day that has been set apart for thanksgiving, I most reverently thank the good me,. the good women of the past, I thank the kind fathers, the loving mothers of the savage days.  I thank the father who spoke the first gentle word, the mother who first smiled upon her babe. I thank the first true friend.

I thank the savages who hunted and fished that they and their babes might live. I thank those who cultivated the ground and changed the forests into farms — those who built rude homes and watched the faces of their happy children in the glow of fireside flames — those who domesticated horses, cattle and sheep — those who invented wheels and looms and taught us to spin and weave — those who by cultivation changed wild grasses into wheat and corn, changed bitter things to fruit, and worthless weeds to flowers, that sowed within our souls the seeds of art. 

I thank the poets of the dawn — the tellers of legends — the makers of myths — the singers of joy and grief, of hope and love. I thank the artists who chiseled forms in stone and wrought with light and shade the face of man. I thank the philosophers, the thinkers, who taught us how to use our minds in the great search for truth. 

I thank the astronomers who explored the heavens, told us the secrets of the stars, the glories of the constellations — the geologists who found the story of the world in fossil forms, in memoranda kept in ancient rocks, in lines written by waves, by frost and fire — the anatomists who sought in muscle, nerve and bone for all the mysteries of life — the chemists who unraveled Nature’s work that they might learn her art — the physicians who have laid the hand of science on the brow of pain, the hand whose magic touch restores — the surgeons who have defeated Nature’s self and forced her to preserve the lives of those she laboured to destroy. I thank the discoverers of chloroform and ether, the two angels who give to their beloved sleep, and wrap the throbbing brain in the soft robes of dreams. 

I thank the great inventors — those who gave us movable type and the press, by means of which great thoughts and all discovered facts are made immortal — the inventors of engines, of the great ships, of the railways, the cables and telegraphs. I thank the great mechanics, the workers in iron and steel, in wood and stone. I thank the inventors and makers of the numberless things of use and luxury.

I thank the industrious men, the loving mothers, the useful women. They are the benefactors of our race. The inventor of pins did a thousand times more good than all the popes and cardinals, the bishops and priests — than all the clergymen and parsons, exhorters and theologians that ever lived. The inventor of matches did more for the comfort and convenience of mankind than all the founders of religions and the makers of all creeds — than all malicious monks and selfish saints.

I thank the honest men and women who have expressed their sincere thoughts, who have been true to themselves and have preserved the veracity of their souls.

I thank the thinkers of Greece and Rome. Zeno and Epicurus, Cicero and Lucretius. I thank Bruno, the bravest, and Spinoza, the subtlest of men.

I thank Voltaire, whose thought lighted a flame in the brain of man, unlocked the doors of superstition’s cells and gave liberty to many millions of his fellow-men. Voltaire — a name that sheds light. Voltaire — a star that superstition’s darkness cannot quench.

I thank the great poets — the dramatists. I thank Homer and Aeschylus, and I thank Shakespeare above them all. I thank Burns for the heart-throbs he changed into songs. for his lyrics of flame. I thank Shelley for his Skylark, Keats for his Grecian Urn and Byron for his Prisoner of Chillon. I thank the great novelists. I thank the great sculptors. I thank the unknown man who moulded and chiseled the Venus de Milo. I thank the great painters. I thank Rembrandt and Corot. I thank all who have adorned, enriched and ennobled life — all who have created the great, the noble, the heroic and artistic ideals.

I thank the statesmen who have preserved the rights of man. I thank Paine whose genius sowed the seeds of independence in the hearts of ’76. I thank Jefferson whose mighty words for liberty have made the circuit of the globe. I thank the founders, the defenders, the saviors of the Republic. I thank Ericsson, the greatest mechanic of his century, for the monitor. I thank Lincoln for the Proclamation. I thank Grant for his victories and the vast host that fought for the right, — for the freedom of man. I thank them all — the living and the dead.

I thank the great scientists — those who have reached the foundation, the bed-rock — who have built upon facts — the great scientists, in whose presence theologians look silly and feel malicious.

The scientists never persecuted, never imprisoned their fellow-men. They forged no chains, built no dungeons, erected no scaffolds — tore no flesh with red hot pincers — dislocated no joints on racks, crushed no hones in iron boots — extinguished no eyes — tore out no tongues and lighted no fagots. They did not pretend to be inspired — did not claim to be prophets or saints or to have been born again. They were only intelligent and honest men. They did not appeal to force or fear. They did not regard men as slaves to be ruled by torture, by lash and chain, nor as children to be cheated with illusions, rocked in the cradle of an idiot creed and soothed by a lullaby of lies.

They did not wound — they healed. They did not kill — they lengthened life. They did not enslave — they broke the chains and made men free. They sowed the seeds of knowledge, and many millions have reaped, are reaping, and will reap the harvest: of joy.

I thank Humboldt and Helmholtz and Haeckel and Buchner. I thank Lamarck and Darwin — Darwin who revolutionized the thought of the intellectual world. I thank Huxley and Spencer. I thank the scientists one and all.

I thank the heroes, the destroyers of prejudice and fear — the dethroners of savage gods — the extinguishers of hate’s eternal fire — the heroes, the breakers of chains — the founders of free states — the makers of just laws — the heroes who fought and fell on countless fields — the heroes whose dungeons became shrines — the heroes whose blood made scaffolds sacred — the heroes, the apostles of reason, the disciples of truth, the soldiers of freedom — the heroes who held high the holy torch and filled the world with light.

With all my heart I thank them all.
* * * * 

Saturday, 27 July 2024

"Whate'er thou canst not clearly say thou know'st not."

 

"In vain they call upon the lofty TruthWith sombre conjurations; for the darkShe ne'er endures; for her abode is light.In Phoebus' world, in knowledge as in song,All things are bright. Bright beams the radiant sun;Clear runs and pure his bright Castalian fountain.Whate'er thou canst not clearly say thou know'st not.Twin-born with thought is word on lips of man;That which is darkly said is darkly thought;For wisdom true is like the diamond,A drop that's petrified of heavenly light;The purer that it is, the more its value,The more the daylight shines and glitters through it.The ancients builded unto Truth a temple,A fair rotunda, light as heaven's vault.And freely poured the sunshine from all sidesInto its open round; the winds of heavenAmid its ranks of pillars gayly gambolled.But now instead we build a Tower of Babel,A heavy, barbarous structure. Darkness peepsFrom out its deep and narrow grated casements.Unto the sky the tower was meant to reach,But hitherto we've only had confusion.As in the realm of thought, in that of songIt is; and poesy is e'er transparent ..."

~ Swedish writer Esaias Tegnér from the epilogue to his1820 speech to the graduating class at Lund University. Per Bylund (via Bing) renders the key passage as "What you cannot say clearly, you do not know; with the thought the word is born on the man's lips; what is obscurely said is what is obscurely thought."

Thursday, 7 December 2023

Te Reo: Confusion [update 2]


So even if you speak, or understand te reo, are the names "gifted" to govt departments by poets and reified reo speakers understandable? Or unintentionally confusing? Or perhaps the confusion is intentional, to help immunise them against criticism. (Hard to criticise, say, Te Konihana Tauhokohoko, if you have no idea who they are what they do.)

Anyway, here below, to help you out, in no particular order, is a rough literal translation of the names of some common departments and ministries (based first on the Māori-English dictionaries of Williams (1844), and then Ryan (1983), and then Google Translate for more recent neologisms like Kaipāho, Manatū, Haumaru, Konihana etc). Many seem more about 
poetry -- sometimes good poetry  -- than they do about communicating well ("Memory Room" for archives sounds good, and who wouldn't like the "Power of Distant Lightning"; whereas "Stranger Service" sounds like something that might be offered just off K Rd)

So, often, only those in the know would know...

[UPDATE 1:
Te Pūkenga (NZ Institute of Skills & Technology)                                           The Wise Person
He Puapua (2019 report by the Ardern Administration)                                  Some Seeds or 
                                                                                                                         A Break in the Waves or 
                                                                                                                        Some Female Genitals
Human Rights Commission  (Te Kāhui Tika Tangata)                                    The Correct People Cluster
Te Papa Tongarewa (Museum of New Zealand)                                            Expensive Box   
Māori Language Commission (ki Te Taura Whiri)                                            Towards the Platted Rope]

Te Whatu Ora (Health New Zealand)                                                              The Woven Garment of Health
Māori Health Authority (Te Aka Whai Ora)                                                      The Root of Life
Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment (ki Hīkina Whakatutuki)   To Launch Performance
Ministry of Social Development (Te Manatū Whakahiato Ora)                       The Ministry of Life Creation 
NZ Transport Agency (Waka Kotahi)                                                              One Canoe
Broadcasting Standards Authority (Te Mana Whanonga Kaipāho)                Controlling Broadcaster Behaviour
WorkSafe New Zealand (Mahi Haumaru Aotearoa)                                       Work Safely NZ
? (Whānau Ora)                                                                                              Healthy Families
Ministry for Primary Industries (Manatū Ahu Matua)                                      Ministry of the Main Dimension
Ministry for the Environment (Manatū Mō Te Taiao)                                      Ministry About the Wide World
Ministry for Culture and Heritage (Te Manatū Taonga)                                  Ministry of Treasures
Commerce Commission (Te Konihana Tauhokohoko)                                  The Marketing Convention
Earthquake Commission (Kōmihana Rūwhenua)                                         Commission (for) Shaking Land
Education New Zealand (Manapou ki te Ao)                                                Hope to the World
New Zealand Qualifications Authority (Mana Tohu Mātauranga o Aotearoa) Knowledge Brand Authority of NZ
Inland Revenue Department (Te Tari Taake)                                                The Snare of Other's Possessions
Productivity Commission (Te Kōmihana Whai Hua o Aotearoa)                  Commission for the Benefit of NZ
Ministry of Housing & Urban Development (Te Tūāpapa Kura Kāinga)        The Foundation of Precious Homes
Pharmac (Te Pātaka Whaioranga)                                                                The Storehouse of Privacy for Wellbeing
Reserve Bank of New Zealand (Te Pūtea Matua)                                        The Main Fund 
Ministry of Justice (Tāhū o te Ture)                                                                Ridge Pole of the Law
Ministry of Defence (Manatū Kaupapa Waonga)                                            Ministry of the Fleet of Forestry Canoes
Ministry of Education (Te Tāhuhu o te Mātauranga)                                       The Ridgepole of the Knowledge
Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade (Te Manatū Aorere)                            The Ministry of Flight
Office of Treaty Settlements (Te Kāhui Whakatau)                                        The Intent Swarm
Civil Aviation Authority (Te Mana Rererangi Tūmatanui o Aotearoa)            Public Aeroplane Authority of NZ
Land Information New Zealand (Toitu te Whenua)                                        Salt the Earth
Te Puni Kōkiri (Ministry for Māori Development)                                            The Action Camp
Electricity Authority (NZ) (Te Mana Hiko)                                                        Power of Distant Lightning
Crown Law Office (Te Tari Ture o te Karauna)                                                Crown Law Office
Department of Conservation (Te Papa Atawhai)                                            The Fostering Box
Department of Corrections (Ara Poutama Aotearoa)                                    Incantation Pathway NZ
Department of Internal Affairs (Te Tari Taiwhenua)                                        The District Office
Immigration New Zealand (Te Ratonga Manene)                                            The Service for Strangers
Archives New Zealand (Te Rua Mahara o te Kāwanatanga)                         The Memory Room of the Governorship
Local Government Commission (Mana Kāwanatanga ā Rohe)                     District Governorship Power
New Zealand Lottery Grants Board (Te Puna Tahua)                                    The Money Source
National Library of New Zealand (Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa)             Wellspring Of Knowledge NZ
New Zealand Passports Office (Nga Uruwhenua)                                           The Land Rites
New Zealand Citizenship Office (Te Raraunga)                                               The Data
Translation Service, The (Te Pūtahi Whakawhiti Reo)                                    The Crossroads Carrying Across Language
Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet 
(Te Tari o te Pirimia me te Komiti Matua)                                                        Office of the Premier & the First Committee
Education Review Office (Te Tari Arotake Matauranga)                                Office Reviewing Knowledge

Sunday, 16 July 2023

“Why Do Heroes Always Have Theme Songs?"




"The chapter is called “Why Do Heroes Always Have Theme Songs?” And it’s true, they do. That was the rule in ancient times—the most famous lyric poet of the classical world, Pindar, specialized in songs for heroes—and it’s still true today. In fact, songs of heroes seem to outlast other kinds of music.
    "Just consider the defining literary works of antiquity—such 'Gilgamesh,' the 'Iliad,' the 'Odyssey,' the 'Aeneid,' and other towering works of this sort. They, too, are very much songs of heroes, and have survived for thousands of years.
    "Hollywood can’t match that long lineage. But in its own way, the movie themes of heroes are surprisingly durable.
    "Every screen hero has a theme song, and these possess remarkable staying power. The iconic theme song composed for superspy James Bond in his first film appearance in 1962 is still propelling the franchise forward more than sixty year later. The multibillion dollar 'Mission Impossible' franchise absolutely requires the incantatory appearance of the familiar 5/4 theme song launched with the original TV show back in 1966, which hasn’t lost its mojo despite a half-century of changing musical trends and tastes. Indiana Jones and Harry Potter enjoy endless reboots in movies, games, and TV shows—but the audience would refuse to accept these brand extensions without these heroes’ special songs.


"Strange as it may seem, the songs have actually proven more enduring than the actors, plots, directors, or settings in these films. This runs against everything we’re told about the music business, where an instrumental track from 1962 would have very little significance in any other sphere of pop culture. But when it comes to heroes, different rules apply. These larger-than-life figures need their special songs and—as in the traditional quest stories—the melodies that have proven their magic in the past are the most potent of all....

 "Hollywood stardom is fleeting, but heroes and their songs live forever."

~ Ted Gioia, from his post 'Why Do Heroes Always Have Theme Songs?'


 


Wednesday, 3 August 2022

Now is good



 

The Hugh Laurie quote above offers somewhat similar advice to Conary's poem, below. Stephen Hicks has two stories that bear on both...
The Clock of Life, by Wilfred Grindle Conary
The clock of life is wound but once
And no man has the power
To tell just where the hands will stop,
At late or early hour.
To lose one’s wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one’s health is more.
To lose one’s soul is such a loss
As no man can restore.
The present only is our own.
Live, love, toil with a will.
Place no faith in ‘tomorrow’
For the clock may then be still.

Sunday, 18 April 2021

Earth abides


"Drive Nature off with a pitchfork, she’ll still press back, And secretly burst in triumph through your sad disdain."
~ From the Epistles of Horace, the poet of Ancient Rome, on 'The Delights of Country Life'

 

Tuesday, 13 April 2021

The Establishing of an Enzed Arts Establishment ...

"Poetry and fiction should, in my view, remain completely exempt from State patronage – except for the recording function provided by the State Literary Fund. They are of value only when they are the work of independent artists. Put a novelist on the payroll, and sooner or later you turn him into a tomcat ... that comes to the kitchen door for its milk and in return begs prettily or catches mice." ['The Culture Industry,' 1956]

 

'Note on the State Literary Fund' [1947]

Here is a piece of wisdom

I learnt at my mother's knee:

The mushroom grows in the open,

The toadstool under the tree.

 

~ NZ poet A.R.D. Fairburn, opposing the Fraser Government's extension of the state into art funding

Wednesday, 6 January 2021

'Television,' by Roald Dahl


Sage advice here for families, in Roald Dahl's famous poem ...

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all. 
 
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk. 
 
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE INSIDE THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES! 
 
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole- 
 
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did. 
 
~ Roald Dahl

. 

Wednesday, 22 July 2020

"Where your talents and the needs of the world cross, there lies your vocation." #QotD


"Where your talents and the needs of the world cross, there lies your vocation."
          ~ attrib. Aristotle 
"My object in life is
To unite my vocation with my avocation
As two eyes make one in sight.
Only when love and need are one
And the work is done for mortal stakes,
Is the work ever done
For heaven and the future's sakes."

          ~ Robert Frost, from his poem 'Two Tramps in Mud Time'
.

Tuesday, 9 June 2020

"I Want To Be A Consumer, Sir."


You've heard the logical fallacy so many times you've stopped acknowledging it. Yet all the exhortations to "go out and spend" to "save" the economy are mercilessly satirised in this piece of poetic brilliance by Patrick Barrington that appeared in 'Punch' two years before Keynes's encomium to irresponsibility first appeared:
I Want To Be A Consumer 
“And what do you mean to be?”
The kind old Bishop said
As he took the boy on his ample knee
And patted his curly head.
“We should all of us choose a calling
To help Society’s plan;
Then what do you mean to be, my boy,
When you grow to be a man?” 
“I want to be a Consumer,”
The bright-haired lad replied
As he gazed up into the Bishop’s face
In innocence open-eyed.
“I’ve never had aims of a selfish sort,
For that, as I know, is wrong.
I want to be a Consumer, Sir,
And help the world along. 
“I want to be a Consumer
And work both night and day,
For that is the thing that’s needed most,
I’ve heard Economists say,
I won’t just be a Producer,
Like Bobby and James and John;
I want to be a Consumer, Sir,
And help the nation on.” 
“I want to be a Consumer
And live in a useful way;
For that is the thing that’s needed most,
I’ve heard Economists say.
There are too many people working
And too many things are made.
I want to be a Consumer, Sir,
And help to further Trade. 
“But what do you want to be?”
The Bishop said again,
“For we all of us have to work,” said he,
“As must, I think, be plain.
Are you thinking of studying medicine
Or taking a Bar exam?”
“Why, no!” the bright-haired lad replied
As he helped himself to jam. 
“I want to be a Consumer
And do my duty well;
For that is the thing that’s needed most,
I’ve heard Economists tell.
I’ve made up my mind,” the lad was heard,
As he lit a cigar, to say;
“I want to be a Consumer, Sir,
And I want to begin today.”
. 

Friday, 31 January 2020

'Song of the Open Road'


From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines.
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute ...
I inhale great droughts of space,
The east and west are mine, and the north and the south are mine,
I am larger, better than I thought...

What gives me to be free to a woman’s or man’s good-will?
What gives them to be free to mine?
The efflux of the Soul is happiness—here is happiness;
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times;
Now it flows unto us—we are rightly charged...
Allons! whoever you are, come travel with me!
Travelling with me, you find what never tires.
The earth never tires;
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first—Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first;
Be not discouraged—keep on—there are divine things, well envelop’d;
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.
Allons! we must not stop here!
However sweet these laid-up stores—however convenient this dwelling, we cannot remain here;
However shelter’d this port, and however calm these waters, we must not anchor here;
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us, we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

All parts away for the progress of souls;
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.
Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.
 
    ~ Walt Whitman, from his 'Song of the Open Road'
.

Sunday, 8 September 2019

'I Have No Gun, But I Can Spit'


'I Have No Gun, But I Can Spit’

Some thirty inches from my nose
The frontier of my Person goes,
And all the untilled air between
Is private pagus or demesne.
Stranger, unless with bedroom eyes
I beckon you to fraternise,
Beware of rudely crossing it:
I have no gun, but I can spit.

    ~ W.H. Auden, from his poem 'Prologue: the Birth of Architecture' (1966)

Wednesday, 5 December 2018

Sunday, 22 July 2018

"To a Maori Figure Cast in Bronze ... "






This Hone Tuwhare poem [read here by the poet] seems strangely topical: the longing of a larger-than-life statue (by Molly McAlister) of a Maori warrior, planted at the foot of Queen St to greet tourists and stray passersby but who remains "hollow inside/with longing for the marae on / the cliff at Kohimarama, where you can watch the ships / come in curling their white moustaches ...

TO A MAORI FIGURE CAST IN BRONZE OUTSIDE THE CHIEF POST OFFICE, AUCKLAND by Hone Tuwhare

I hate being stuck up here, glaciated, hard all over
and with my guts removed: my old lady is not going
to like it

I’ve seen more efficient scare-crows in seed-bed
nurseries. Hell, I can’t even shoo the pigeons off

Me: all hollow inside with longing for the marae on
the cliff at Kohimarama, where you can watch the ships
come in curling their white moustaches

Why didn’t they stick me next to Mickey Savage?
‘Now then,’ he was a good bloke
Maybe it was a Tory City Council that put me here

They never consulted me about naming the square
It’s a wonder they never called it: Hori-in-the-gorge-at-
bottom-of-Hill. Because it is like that: a gorge,
with the sun blocked out, the wind whistling around
your balls (your balls mate) And at night, how I
feel for the beatle-girls with their long-haired
boy-friends licking their frozen finger-chippy lips
hopefully. And me again beetling

my tent eye-brows forever, like a brass monkey with
real worries: I mean, how the hell can you welcome
the Overseas Dollar, if you can’t open your mouth
to poke your tongue out, eh?

If I could only move from this bloody pedestal I’d
show the long-hairs how to knock out a tune on the
souped-up guitar, my mere quivering, my taiaha held
at the high port. And I’d fix the ripe kotiros too
with their mini-piupiu-ed bums twinkling: yeah!

Somebody give me a drink: I can’t stand it
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Friday, 6 July 2018

"You have no enemies, you say?"


A poem by Charles Mackay (English Chartist poet, 1814–1889) on those who say they "have no enemies" ...
You have no enemies, you say?
Alas, my friend, the boast is poor,
He who has mingled in the fray
Of duty, that the brave endure,
Must have made foes.
If you have none,
Small is the work that you have done.
You’ve hit no traitor on the hip,
You’ve dashed no cup from perjured lip,
You’ve never set the wrong to right.
You’ve been a coward in the fight.
[Hat tip Lisa Van Damme]
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Thursday, 13 July 2017

Quote of the Day: On rap “music”


“Today the dominant voice [in popular music] is thug poetry or [so-called] rap “music,” which is lower than even the genuine, original jungle impulse. Growing from the helpless ghetto child’s fear and insecurity, it expresses an enormous defensive facade hiding his feelings of weakness, vulnerability and inadequacy, overcompensating with an exaggerated mask and pageantry of impervious toughness, threatening might; it is an aggressive parade of the thug’s willingness and readiness to commit crimes against you here and now. It is the essence of a thug’s character and persona: a life of physical, criminal force negating the mind.”
~ M. Zachary Johnson, from his book Emotion in Life & Music: A New Science

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Wednesday, 12 July 2017

Quote of the Day: On Dante v Shakespeare


"Dante made great poetry out of a great philosophy of life; and that Shakespeare made equally great poetry out of an inferior and muddled philosophy of life… Dante's pattern is the richer by a serious philosophy, and Shakespeare's the poorer by a rag-bag philosophy, [but] I should say that [as a writer skilled in the two arts of poetry and drama] Shakespeare's pattern was more complex, and his problem more difficult, than Dante’s.”

~ T.S. Eliot, writing in G. Wilson Knight’s The Wheel of Fire

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Friday, 11 November 2016

Leonard Cohen (1934-2016)

 

Very sad news.

"I'm leaving the table
I'm out of the game"

Prolific right to the end. This from only a few months ago …

 

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Thursday, 20 October 2016

We need to talk about Bob

 

We need to talk about Bob Dylan.

Not so much about his Nobel Prize for literature itself because, as a few folk have said, the truths of the poet have been considered literature for millennia. Yet while Bob is not Ovid, admittedly, he does “borrow” from him unadmittedly – as Nelson poet Cliff Fell discovered a few years ago while listening to the Dylan album Modern Times while reading Ovid’s 2000-year-old book of poetry, Tristia.. "It was like I was suddenly reading with my ears," Fell wrote, citing almost identical lines heard in Dylan's "Workingman's Blues No. 2.”

For example, Fell compared Dylan's line "no one can ever claim that I took up arms against you" from ‘Workingman's Blues’ with Ovid's "My cause is better: no one can claim that I ever took up arms against you."
    But to Fell, it didn't seem to matter. "This is homage, not plagiarism," he wrote…

Fell found four other “borrowings” from the same book, which takes the “homage” from possibly accidental to wholly intentional – and entirely unacknowledged. Others have found many more borrowings from the same book, which in my mind begins to look less like homage and more like that other word that Fell used.

Because when Bob borrows – and, as “they” say (erroneously), all good artists do – he never gives credit. This first bothered me when I heard him play on his Time Out of Mind album a note-for-note version of Muddy Waters’s Rollin’ & Tumblin’ – a blues classic for decades that, when recorded (by Cream or by Clapton, by Jeff Beck or by Canned Heat) always appeared with a writing credit to McKinley Morganfield (Waters’s real name).* Not so with Bob, despite the obvious larceny.

 

 

For his part, Waters himself (from whom the Rolling Stones got their name and Dylan another song title) always fully acknowledged that the song and its distinctive riff were inspired by a traditional blues first recorded (it seems) by a fellow with the name of Hambone Willie Newbern. Not so Dylan. Not then and not ever. The album on which this and those other borrowings above appeared both featured the telling words: Words and Music by Bob Dylan. All of them. When challenged, Dylan evaded. And enforced “his” copyrights in court.

And this isn’t even the only song by Muddy Waters that’s reconstituted as something with ‘Words and Music by Bob Dylan’ on the package. ‘Trouble No More’ becomes ‘Someday Baby.’ And ‘Mannish Boy,’ (itself a redo of Bo Diddley’s ‘I’m a Man) donates the riff to ‘Early Roman Kings.’ Without attribution yet again. 

If none of this makes you uneasy, it does me. "Steal a little and they throw you in jail,” said Bob (or someone) in "Sweatheart Like You”. “Steal a lot and they make you king." And so it seems. Even before the Nobel, Dylan won a Grammy for Modern Times. Because as several writers have been examining,

A close examination of some of Dylan's studio output in recent years and some of his most famous older tunes makes it hard to deny that he borrows heavily from others work and does not credit them. The topic has been covered extensively in the press over the last decade with publications ranging from the ‘New York Times’ to the ‘Wall Street Journal’ debating Dylan's legacy. Apparently, it's a thin line between being dismissed as a culture vulture and hailed as a master synthesiser in the tradition of folk and blues greats and being Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

So to be blunt, as Jeoff Davis is in a recent article at Creative Loafing, the question must surely be asked: “could the 2016 Nobel Prize winner in Literature actually be a rip-off artist?”

Davis and others cite several songs which appear to be borrowed heavily from the classics Dylan himself loves and admires – not just recent songs, but classics like ‘Blowin; in the Wind,’ ‘Hard Rain,’ ‘Masters of War,’ ‘One More Cup of Coffee,’ ‘It Ain’t Me, Babe’ …

It seems as if Dylan has been borrowing other people's work since he started writing. In fact, In 2009, fine art auction house Christie's admitted that a handwritten poem credited to a teenaged Robert Zimmerman that was intended for auction was actually the song lyrics to "Little Buddy" by country singer Hank Snow. After a reader notified Reuters news of the similarities between the piece and the Snow song, Reuters informed the auction house. According to the article, a 16-year-old Zimmerman originally submitted the "poem" to his summer camp's newspaper with his name signed at the bottom minus any mention of Snow.
    And it's not just Dylan's lyrics that have been called into question, his memoir ‘Chronicles: Volume 1’ which was a finalist for the 2004 National Book Critics Award has been cited by Dylanologists as being heavily plagiarised, including seemingly authentic moments from Dylan's life, were lifted from
a wide variety of sources ranging from classic literature, to random issues of ‘Time’ magazine, to self help books. And The New York Times chronicled similarities between Dylan's paintings which were shown in an exhibit called "The Asia Series," which supposedly documented his travels but as the Times article shows in image comparisons, his paintings are strikingly similar to other people's photographs. "I paint mostly from real life," Dylan is quoted as saying by ‘The Times’ from the catalogue from the exhibit.
    Yeah, that and other people's photographs.
    And what does Mr. Dylan, the spokesman for a generation, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature have to say about all this.
    "Wussies and pussies complain about that stuff…. These are the same people that tried to pin the name Judas on me."

Nice redirection there Mr Dylan. But it doesn’t answer the question, does it.

Sure, he now has a cracking band to play these re-composed tunes, so they do sound tremendous (especially when they successfully bury Bob’s own mixed musicianship in the mix) but that doesn’t make all the recomposition right. Not without credit.

Why does Bob Dylan steal?", asks David Galenson at Huffington Post? Answer: Who knows. Famous magpie Jen Luc Godard “dismissed the problem: ‘we have the right to quote as we please.’ But why do they please to quote so much? And why do they quote so many obscure sources?”

Nice rhetorical question there, Mr Galenson.

[Some] people [do] object to this [thank goodness]. Scott Warmuth called him “Bob Charlatan.” Joni Mitchell called him a plagiarist: “Everything about Bob is a deception.” Michael Gray found Dylan’s paintings unimaginative: “It may not be plagiarism but it’s surely copying rather a lot.”
    Others don’t mind Dylan’s appropriations. Suzanne Vega explained that “it’s modern to use history as a kind of closet in which we can rummage around, pull influences from other eras.”

More accurate to say post-modern. And that’s not intended to be complimentary. And while some may excuse it by observing “that we’ve just come through some two and a half decades of hip-hop sampling,” as Galenson responds, “my dictionary’s definition of ‘borrow’ includes repayment. How exactly is Dylan repaying his debts?” Especially if attribution is denied.

So, Love or Theft?

For anyone interested, I put together a Spotify Tidal playlist of the most obvious borrowings folk have mentioned so you can hear just what he’s done to all those songs, Ma. (The borrowing generally follows the borrowed from).

I’d be curious to know what you think.

PS: Just discovered another Spotify list of Bob’s “Borrowings & Appropriations,” with scarcely an overlap with mine:
       http://open.spotify.com/user/1115807353/playlist/0hgaMVBSmYSGOSazgu2Apb 

 


* It’s not just good manners. I was introduced to dozens of great musos I came to love simply by reading the song credits on the likes of George Thorogood or Dr Feelgood records, just as another generation did the same by reading them off Cream albums or the first by the Rolling Stones.  I”d be .