In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk
  • The Rule of the Rough Beast

    A Rough Beast

     

    The “Rough Beast” is a phrase from “The Second Coming” by YB Yeats. Written in 1919, it is a poem that becomes more topical with each passing day.

    The last three lines of the poem above are a deliberate reference to TS Eliot’s lines from “Four Quartets” – “Humankind/Cannot bear very much reality.”

    And the middle section is suggested by an episode in Gustave Flaubert’s historical novel “Salammbo.” The Carthaginians worship Baal. And Baal is angry. Things have gone wrong and the people have failed him.  To  placate him, all the families of Carthage must offer up their first-born child to be burnt within the effigy of the god.

    And decisions which we of my generation make, or avoid making, gargoyles and phantasms we allow to manage our affairs, will have an impact upon our children that may not be dissimilar to Flaubert’s vision. In our subjugation to false gods, our hates and our fears, we risk sacrificing our own children, and the Earth itself.

     

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  • Rome Burning

    I run a charity called “Hyphen-21”. The charity holds and manages funding for a project which publishes bilingual poem-posters. Since the Spring of 2017, this project has been called “Poems for …the wall” (before that it was called “Poems for…). Since it first began in 1997, “Poems for…the wall” has been funded by the UK Arts Council, the NHS, the John Lewis Partnership, the Mayor of London, the Baring Foundation and the Foreign Office, among others.

    The project supplies small poem-posters for public display in healthcare waiting rooms, libraries and schools. The poems come free of charge. Many of them are bilingual, with fifty different languages represented, each with an English translation alongside.

    But, in essence, the charity “Hyphen-21” is a statement of position, a sort of platform of related ideas, rather than a poetry organisation. And the charity’s position is that human connectedness is what matters most, that neither society nor humanity will survive without a sufficient modicum of connectedness between people and peoples. But connectedness means skills, not just nice feelings or states of blessedness. Call them the skills of love. “Skills of love” is a possible rendering of a phrase that can be found in a Buddhist tract called Mettā Sutta. It means the skills associated with I – Thou connection, the skills of true, warm and enabling recognition between I and Other, or others, I and reality, I and my shadow, I and my neighbour.

    It would behove us to know what those skills consist of, in detail. And it would behove us to protect and tend them wherever we find them.

    Here are the respective websites :  www.hyphen-21.org ; www.poemsfor.org.

    Incidentally, the term “I – Thou” comes from a book by Martin Buber called “I and Thou.” Apparently, Buber denied that he was either a theologian or a philosopher, but I find it impossible not to think of him as both. His book is wonderful.

    The connecting hyphen between Buber’s I and Thou led to the charity’s title.

    Whenever I am engaged in an initiative which seems to carry or exemplify the spirit and background principles of “Hyphen-21”, I try to attach the charity’s logo to it, if I can, sometimes quite discretely. Thus, each of the “Poems for…” posters has it in the top right corner.

    And I wanted to put that logo at the head of each of the two poems I have just posted up, the poem by Robert Friend and that by David Punter. And in a recent email to Friend’s niece, Jean Cantu, I tried to explain my reasoning by sending her an essay I wrote years ago which puts together a kind of guide to action in times of crisis, by means of a diagram.

    For it is that diagram that became our logo.

    Jean liked the essay and found it topical and appropriate. She also found it pertinent to conditions in the Unites States, as she now experiences her country.

    As it happens, I haven’t found a satisfactory way of adding the logo to the poems in this blog format (although I managed it in their respective poster versions). And I have decided to transcribe the essay here, in this separate post, uploaded at the same time as the poems. It was one of a series of fifteen essays called “Fables and Reflections” I wrote over twenty years ago. “Fables and Reflections” seem to get uncomfortably truer with each passing year. This is what the distinguished author Iain McGilchrist has to say about them : “I find it deeply touching to be asked by Rogan Wolf to write a brief forward for these clever and insightful prose poems – for that is what they are. He feels my book provides a fitting context for them. But their beauty and the imagination that created them are all his. They are full of wisdom that we need very badly to hear. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.” Iain McGilchrist, author of “The Master and His Emissary—The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World.”

    Here below, then, is Fables and Reflections, number fourteen , called “Rome Burning”. (All the other Fables and Reflections can be found in pdf, further back in this blog) :

    (Incidentally, please admire, if you can, the first diagram below. It was done free-hand, using a Victorian dip-pen. My sons gave the pen to me a few Summers ago, to commemorate my bewildered crossing over into my third age).

    Rome Burning

    We live in times when none of us can be sure of the ground we stand on. In effect, the ground moves too fast and in too many directions. The process can make us feel insignificant, meaningless, powerless ; and this does harm to our capacity to act.

    Either we fail to act altogether, we “don’t get involved,”  so switch off, disconnect, go shopping ; or we act halfheartedly, in despair, confusion, doubt, fear for ourselves ; or we hide in action behind precedent, rigidity, over-simple ideology, conformism, fanaticism. It becomes ever more difficult just to act rightly, with whole conviction, all one’s faculties free and unfearful ; and to know where and how to act with effectiveness and meaning.

    In a burning Rome, why iron shirts ? In a burning Rome, what is the point of treating someone for a head-ache ? In a burning Rome, what do you do ?

    The diagram below is often useful to me :

    diag

    The horizontal line represents ground, the ground of our being. The surrounding arcs represent spheres of operation. Arc 1 represents the inner or most immediate sphere. It could be a person, or the core of that person. It could be your immediate family or workplace. The outer arcs, getting wider and wider, represent the different spheres of operation this unit occupies and relates to.

    For example, Jane Smith carves her name on the old school desk. She writes : Jane Smith, 3 St John’s Road, Personhampton, England, Europe, the Earth, the Solar System etc. If we apply Jane’s carving to the diagram, she herself will occupy the space created by Arc 1. In Arc 2 is her house and family . In Arc 3 is the street she lives in, her immediate neighbourhood. In Arc 4 is her town. In 5 the country. In 6 the continent. And so on.

    Or a community centre, where people otherwise isolated might gather. Arc 1 is the centre. Arc 2 contains its membership. Arc 3 those people’s families and communities. Arc 4 local resources, support services and institutions. Arc 5 the centre’s place in and relationship to the whole community work scene. Arc 6 that scene’s place in and relationship to the country’s welfare provision as a whole. And so on.

    Or Rome.

    Arc 1 contains a Roman official. Arc 2 the office where he works. Arc 3 the aspect of Roman life for which his office has responsibility. Arc 4 the whole organisation of Roman life and culture of which his office is a part. Arc 5 Roman life as it relates to other cultures, for instance there on the walls which have just been breached by barbarians carrying torches.

    And so on. We can now put the questions : in which arc, or sphere of operation, does Jane Smith mostly live ? To which arc or sphere of operation does our community centre mostly belong ? Which arc or sphere of operation should hold the attention of the Roman official ? Where should they concentrate their functioning ?

    My answer is that they belong equally in all spheres but in different ways. They will function in one sphere more than another, depending on circumstances and character.

    I believe the diagram offers guidelines for action. I propose its use has the following implications :

    Whatever your sphere of operation, your activities will neither be meaningful nor will flourish unless your centre, the innermost sphere, the core, is in good shape, is secure, focussed and operational. Literally, your centre must be solid to avoid the outer spheres collapsing on it.

    Thus, you need a secure home-base, a secure centre, to go out from, and to return to, and to trust in when you are away.

    Wherever you go, in body, in thought, or in action, you need to validate yourself by means of a solid centre before extending yourself beyond it.

    If all goes well in the outer spheres, or if colleagues placed there are functioning adequately, then you can concentrate on work close in, without risk to creativity, integrity or meaning.

    But in the following circumstances, you are obliged logically and morally to function in the outer spheres, remembering that you will function better there the more solid, meaningful and operational your inner centre, your home-base, remains :

    • if your centre, your home-base, is threatened from without, in literal terms, or in terms of principle, meaning or credibility, and the appropriate organisations or people in authority are not providing adequate protection or articulation.
    • if what you have or do in your inner sphere, or home-base is of special value, meaning or relevance to other spheres, and is not already in evidence there, for whatever reason.

    In these circumstances, you do not need an end in view and should not presume to know one. You should merely extend your functioning outward from sphere to sphere as far as resources allow and only so far as your initiative remains meaningful, relevant and solidly based. What results, what follows, cannot be planned for and to try would be both presumptuous and unwise. All you can be sure of is that if the original position is sound, the products of that position are likely to be sound as well.

    In uncharted territory, lost in turmoil, I have used this diagram of the arcs, of the spheres of operation, both as a kind of map and also as an anchorage. It is my Jane Smith. At a time when it is harder and harder to hold centre-ground, when out-dated concrete and linear thinking (in steely bright new guise) have such a powerful and all-conquering attraction, the principle and system given shape by this diagram have acted almost as a platform, a foothold in the midst of breaking ground.

    I have used it too as a system of prioritisation, as a way of selecting action from action. To develop the use of the diagram to offer detailed help with prioritisation, the diagram itself needs to be changed slightly. Thus :

    hyphen_300

     

    In this developed version, the additional lines, the “rays”, represent events, or claims upon the attention of the person or persons in the inner sphere. If the rays have a direction, it is inward, in towards arc 1, and they come to rest at different points relative to arc 1, depending on the sphere of their chief impact.

    For example, if four events have just now taken place, or there are four claims for attention simultaneously pressing in on the actor(s) in sphere 1, the following simple principle can be used to help with the decision on how and in what order of priority to respond :

    In normal circumstances, the more close in is the point of impact of the event , the more immediately it should be attended to. For instance, a client in crisis comes before the need to write the centre’s business plan. A fire in the office should be tackled before keeping an appointment for a business lunch.

    In times of threat and crisis, however, it would be consistent to reverse this rule. If an event takes place in an outer sphere that threatens the whole operation right through to the centre, then that outer sphere requires an immediate response and all available resources from within must be co-opted to help face out.

    The Roman official, for example, presented with Rome burning, would do well to forget the untidy state of his office, his anger with his boss, or his personal career ambitions ; he needs to face out ; and offer what help he can at the point at which the fire is burning.

    Rogan Wolf

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  • BALLAD OF REFUGE by David Punter

    I come in fear. The wheels, the stuttering engine,

    By road or wave; the endless killing payments.

    Bit by bit, my mind returns to rubble.

     

    You come in fear. The hunched back, failed bravado,

    They make me squirm. You have no place here, brother;

    Get back, for you remind me of my weakness.

     

    I starve, I thirst. I’m out there in my millions,

    Teeming, weeping. Just allow me, brother,

    One foot on land. I’ll work hard for my pittance.

     

    You starve, you thirst. What of me, of my neighbours,

    Struggling in an austere land? The steel-plant’s silent,

    My skills no longer fit, my hands are idle.

     

    My hopes are gone. My suffering gods won’t travel,

    My women cannot see, their eyes are blinded

    By the long dust, the silent days of torture.

     

    My hopes are gone. You come and you displace me,

    The silent mills and fields, they scorn and mock me,

    The Union Jack’s a shroud; all’s ripe for burning.

     

    I call to you. Across the long dark waters,

    Carrying a load of trinkets not worth selling,

    Umbrellas, handbags, at the gang-master’s calling.

     

    You call to me. I stop my ears with plaster,

    My sons and daughters can’t afford their schooling,

    My hospitals are full, the asylum’s broken.

     

    My last cry sinks. Protect me from this hardness,

    This cold that shrinks my soul. Pity me, brother,

    Or think on me adrift on the long night’s calling.

     

    My last cry sinks. Protect me from this falling.

    The bailiffs come, the sheets won’t disentangle.

    My homeland’s gone. God help us all this winter.

     

                                                                                     David Punter, 2016.

     

    Copyright © David Punter. Reproduced here by kind permission.

     

    Explanation

    This poem featured on the website of the UK Poetry Society in 2016. David Punter (born 1949) is Professor of English at Bristol University. Two opposing states of human desperation are described in the poem, seemingly irreconcilable. Mutual hatred becomes an obvious product, ruinous to both, but there to be exploited by the unscrupulous and the self-seeking, creatures of chaos and destruction.

    Here is a link to a version of the poem formatted as a little poster : Ballad of Refuge, D Punter.

    You can download the poster and print it out.

    I believe this poem belongs with Robert Friends’s “Hatred : a Sestina.” They provide between them a compassionate but clear-sighted view of present predicaments.

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  • HATRED : A SESTINA by Robert Friend

    Hatred

    is wanting

    to hurt

    and its fulfillment

    dancing

    on someone’s grave.

     

    Because the insult was grave,

    I must repay hatred with hatred,

    abandon all pleasure: the dancing,

    the flirting, the wallowing wantings

    of every day. How drab their fulfillment

    when compared with the pleasure to hurt.

     

    I plan to avenge the hurt

    if it takes all my life to the grave.

    Revenge is the deepest fulfillment.

    I shall give myself to my hatred.

    No means too mean shall be wanting

    when the consummation is dancing.

     

    I dream day and night of that dancing.

    His death will not save him from hurt.

    There’s more than a grave he’ll be wanting

    when I get to dance on his grave,

    whirling in an orgy of hatred,

    stamping on his slab in fulfillment.

     

    But if I am to enjoy that fulfillment

    my thoughts must be spinning and dancing

    endlessly.  What of my hatred’s

    last rites: What shoes shall I wear to hurt

    in?  What tune shall I dance to?  Grave

    decisions. And how shall I get there? Wanting

     

    answers to all these. What a desolation of wanting

    that murders all other fulfillment.

    I might as well be in my grave.

    For under that frenzy of dancing

    whose body’s writhing?  Whose heart’s mortally hurt?

    I am the corpse of my hatred.

     

    Dare I dig a grave for that hatred,

    abandon abandonment there, the terrible wanting to hurt?

    That thought itself is fulfillment. My heart, my heart begins dancing.

     

     

    Copyright © Jean Shapiro Cantu. Reproduced here by kind permission.

     

    Explanation

    Robert Friend (1913 – 1998 ) was an American poet and translator. I am grateful to Jean Cantu, his niece and copyright holder, for agreeing to his poem being published here at the same time as David Punter’s poem “Ballad of Refuge.” This last was featured on the website of the UK Poetry Society last year (see next post). David Punter is an English poet and teacher.

    It seemed to me that the two poems address some urgent and connected issues of the present times and do so with equal authority and in a similar way. In each case, the poet reaches into a state of human being which is not necessarily his own, yet is in the inheritance of us all, in order to understand better, throw light upon, the world as it is happening. There is something courageously redemptive about both poems. Don’t blink. Only connect…

    Is it possible for hatred to lie quietly in a grave ? Dare we ?

    Here is a link to a version of the poem formatted as a little poster :  Hatred by Robert Friend

    You can download the poster and print it out.

     

     

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  • Despatches to my Gazan Son

    Boy_and_soldier_in_front_of_Israeli_wall

    Justin C McIntosh has given his permission for his photograph above to be used for the cover of a long Turkish poem by Cahit Koytak, now published as a book with an English translation alongside. I am proud to have been one of the translators.

    The original Turkish poem is called Gazze Risalesi.  In English we have made that title Despatches to my Gazan Son – which is not a literal translation as such, but which feels true to, and respectful of, the spirit and address of the poem. We are all content with it.

    The book’s publishers are the Yunus Emre Institute, which is the Turkish equivalent of the British Council. My Turkish friend Mevlut Ceylan translated the original poem into English and then handed his text over to me, so that I could turn it into mother-tongue English. Cahit Koytak’s own family also helped me.

    I felt hugely privileged to have been given this task. Cahit Koytak is a distinguished poet in Turkey and I believe that this long poem of his is a great and international one. And I am proud of the result of my work, and the printed book itself is of good quality, more cloth-bound than paperback, carefully and tastefully done.

    Despatches to my Gazan Son is an extended lament on behalf of the Palestinians in Gaza. Cahit Koytak addresses himself to Yusuf, a fictional Palestinian boy. Then he turns to Joseph, a fictional Israeli young man. He grieves and condemns and beseeches, sounding like the father of both of them, sounding also rather like an Old Testament prophet, with his voice of passionate, timeless authority.

    The book came out just before Christmas 2016. I am still unclear what plans there are for its launch, promotion and distribution. These are unsettled times. I yearn for the chance to read it with Cahit – or at least excerpts from it. In the meantime, here is his voice reading the Turkish original, along with pictures of the children of Gaza.  And here am I reading the English version, my voice accompanied by those same pictures.

    Gazze Risalesi has also been translated into Arabic and I understand that this version too is available from the Yunus Emre Institute.

    I wrote the above paragraphs in February 2017. I am writing these last four over a year later. It is Monday July 2nd 2018, another hot day in a long string of hot days here in the UK. To date, there has still been no launch in this country of this fine poem by Cahit Koytak, published as a Turkish-English bilingual book. I have received no answers to queries I have sent to various quarters. The times are presumably even more unsettled this year than they were last.

    I still have a handful of copies of “Despatches to my Gazan Son” here in my work-room, unread. It has the same picture on its cover as the one at the head of this post. It looks good. Elsewhere on the home page of the site, is a link to two youtube recordings mentioned earlier. Each shares the same succession of pictures of children in Gaza. One recording has Cahit Koytak reciting the first part of his poem in Turkish ; the other has me reciting the English version.

    In addition, here now is the full text of the English version. I am not the sole copyright holder of this English text, but have not conferred with Mevlut Ceylan on my decision to do what I can to make it generally available. I take full responsibility for the unilateral decision I am making here.

    In July 2015, the international magazine “Electronic Intafada” published some brief excerpts from the English translation of the poem. Here is the link to those excerpts.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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  • Shavings from The Rainbow

     

    What is God, after all ?

    If maggots in a dead dog

    be but God kissing carrion,

    what then is not God ?

     

    And when the war began

    it seemed that the poles

    of the universe were cracking

    and the whole

    must go tumbling

    into the bottomless pit.

     

    You feel an agony of helplessness.

    You can do nothing.

    Vaguely you know

    the huge powers of the world

    are rolling and crashing together,

    darkly, clumsily, stupidly,

    yet colossal,

    so that you’re brushed along,

    almost as dust,

    helpless,

    swirling like dust !

     

    Can you

    with your own hands

    fight the vast forces of the earth

    as they crash and roll,

    can you hold the hills in their places ?

    You want to fight

    with your own warm hands

    against the whole.

    For what is not

    God, after all ?

     

    Rogan Wolf, February 2017

     

    The vast majority of the words of this poem were first written in prose by DH Lawrence. They occur in three separate passages towards the end of Chapter XII of Lawrence’s great novel “The Rainbow.” The war he was referring to was the Boer War. In turn, Lawrence’s reference in the first few lines here to “maggots in a dead dog” comes from “Hamlet” by William Shakespeare, Act II, Scene 2.

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  • The Angel Overhead

     

    In his grief, he asked the angel hanging overhead,

    his faceless confessor  :

    Why, Lord, do sinners’ ways so grossly prosper ?

    How can you allow the Lie so fatly to preside ?

    And the angel answered :

    I invited you to my feast,

    my laden tables, my radiant halls,

    and for my reward,

    through each fraught breath of human history,

    you’ve tortured me with nails.

    Rogan Wolf, February 2017

     

    The question “Why do sinners’ ways prosper ?” was taken from “Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend,”  a sonnet by Gerard Manley Hopkins.

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