Thursday, 1 February 2024

PORTRAITS OF THE ARTIST (D)

 





Lindisfarne

                          
                     
     I

If I have looked at your stooped back
And your tense muscles (naming them thews)
The sunlight blond on your hair
And the green sprouting of your virile crops
Praising them, forgetting the runnels of sweat
Stinking in your armpits, the honed wind
Nailing your skin, the worms of decay
Coursing up through your limbs, loneliness
The hawk hovering over your shoulder
Preparing to stoop, prying, forgive me
I am a man; and remember yourself
That crabbed fingers and rounded shoulders,
Fumes in the lungs, halter on the heart,
Attend your dream. At least my
Dream is noble. Your life is harshness
And your dream luxuriant decay.


                          II

When I consider the poets I have loved
This I discover is their common element:
Soil.  Whether Mackay Brown's patchwork,
Drudgings among stones, furrows pages
To be tuned through station of the year to harvest;
Thomas, amid his peasant parishioners battling
Doggedly against the tilth that bore them,
Longs to absorb them; Heaney's diggings,
Peat embruing to constitute bog people;
Rowe's more exotic peasants stolid
As the tractor mangles their world; or the one
Poem I know of Ogston's celebrating
The crofter's sordid defeat, soil
Is their material. I have enjoyed reading also
Part understood volumes on geomorphology:
Glacier or flood sculpting clay or rock.
Yet there are romantic touches to my
Love of their works for the soil itself
I handle only in a little loved garden:
Not that the peasant loved his land,
A harsh mistress rooting age into his limbs.
Soil, tilth, peat or clay:
This is the word I have shunned: Earth.

             III

The vital water, silting and moistening,
Compounds the good ground.

The fecund seed, broadcast on the earth
Clung in the good ground.

The thievish birds jibbed at the nets
Shielding the good ground.

Roots writhed down, toward the procreant water
Imbuing the good ground.

Toward the sun sprouts pullulate
Out from the good ground.

Master, garner the mellow fruit
From your good ground.

Friday, 26 January 2024

PORTRAITS OF THE ARTIST (C)





              I

Well, they made him a "Group Leader"
 Or, in grander modes, a "Group Manager"
The nearest he got to "Laird".

But he did the duties "well"
Some said "very well" but argued he did
Too much of the work himself.

If ever they marked him as "fitted"
For a higher grade they ensured
"Well fitted" was the required mark.

As he became sardonic
They decanted him from groups to
An asylum for hardened cynics.

             II

If you should work in wood to reconstruct your
Dismantled wardrobe, mend a gate, or make
A stool, disorder would attend your structure,
Things fall apart, breadths vanish by mistake.

If you should work with paint its varied thickness,
Shirt dabblings, sprays, propensities to chaos
Might show the Id in some repressive sickness;
A poltergeist might think you framed his naos.

Lawnmowers burn out; wires break and fuses blow:
Tyres you are blowing up deflate instead;
You cure locks worse; warped plumbings overflow;
The headboard slants and wobbles on the bed.

Words only find me an effective warder,
Framed by me into one essay at order.

             III

Unarranged, the sensations
Suck by my senses to
My "faulty sensory perception".

Within, further confusion,
The sense of humour
Disarranging.

From the core
The sense of sny
Deranged.

O wretched man that I am!
Who shall deliver me
From this body of death?

If what I need is a Deliverer
What I gain also
Is a Master.

If what I need is an Escape
What I gain
Is also a Lord.

If what I need is a Resource
What I have
Is a Head also.









 These are views on Lindisfarne, the so-called Holy Island, on the Northumberland coast.  It is specially associated with Cuthbert.

Tuesday, 23 January 2024

PORTRAITS OF THE ARTIST (B)




 More from Northumberland; the 'clock' is a tidal clock in the guest house where we were staying, useful for knowing when we could go to the tidal island of Lindisfarne.

              
              I

Rose and I together,
Gangrels on the Ben
Stomping snow or heather.

Feet ensconced in leather,
Free and careless then
Rose and I together.

Loosed the daily tether,
Left the mundane pen
Stomping snow or heather.

Climbed past ewe and wether
Far from homes of men
Rose and I together.

Vagaries of weather
Dappled vision when
Stomping snow or heather.

Yearning, I ask whether
That will be again
Rose and I together
Stomping snow or heather.

              II

"Oft have I travelled"
Hrafnkel's tortuous terrain
Traversing mire-veiled rock
To Eyvind's treacherous murder;

Clambered with Grettir Greitlandsjokull
By the ice-shaded crevasse
To where in the shadowed valley
Only sheep perturbed his peace;

Come with Kjartan to the rock
By the ravine Hafragill
Where his friend bore
Anger into the ambush;

Stumbled with the blind bard Egil
To his final murders
Where edging bogs and pits
He buried money and slaves;

Ranged with SkarpHedin
The nightroad with the ringing halberd:
"Two ravens flew with them
All the way";

Raced to the river with Hedin,
Hurled to the icehump,
Birdfast skimmed the snowbridge,
Slidden to the crux of the battle.

Gone with Gunnar back
Through glorious slope and gold cornfields,
Thralled by Iceland s loveliness
To his home and thief's eyed Hallgerd.


             III

Wanderings, tergiversations, vacillations.
I have trodden the wilderness,
Thirsted, hungered and murmured:
Stumbled back towards Egypt
(Through grace moated by the Sea);
Plunged headlong to Hormah
To force the land in my strength,
And trawled through sand and rock:
Even, in some seasons followed
The Ark to our resting place.

For I have tasted the grapes of Eshcol
And seen in spirit the fertile land:
Milk and honey are to my taste:
And I, like Caleb, have the land in my heart.

But more I know the One
Who bore me to this waste
Will plant me in His mountain,
His fixed and purposed place.

"The Ben" is Ben Nevis, the highest hill in Scotland. Part II relates to my early fondness for Icelandic sagas. 

Thursday, 18 January 2024

PORTRAITS OF THE ARTIST (A)

This is the first of seven sections of a sort of autobiography which I wrote in 1994.  It is not specifically Christian.  It includes older sections, such as AI, which existed as 'poems' in their own right.  The better poet of AIII is George Mackay Brown: Scottish Poetry Library

PORTRAITS OF THE ARTIST
              
              I

Meaning was not enough,
Aptness with words even
Was unsatisfying:
A hunger of the mind.

Sometimes a distant form
Will almost coalesce
But defies the eye's focus;
The object undefined.

The artist forges line,
Colour, texture and form
Into a unity:
More than he had defined.

So he became a poet:
The timbre of the words
And texture of their sounds
Cast him this other kind.


              II

Words and images
I have cajoled into
My own order.

Into my mind and others' minds
I have guddled, hoping
Some plump, fresh grilse might surface.

I have ridged page upon page
That seed of my sowing
Might bear some fertile ears.

Through others fields and wastes
I have tramped, plucking
Berries, seeds and feathers.

Tentatively I have raided
Unaccustomed lands
Trying to make something mine.

And I have essayed to deploy
Old images and rhymes
Into new hymns and anthems.

If any words have lived
Or any symbols danced
I have become a poet.

             III

If I am poet, not mere versifier,
That honed style has been the marque
Of the real poems; while the concetto used
Is the best I can distil into the poetic
Myth-cauldron.  Since both are derived
From a better poet I make no claim
To originality.  But I attempt to build
On others' foundations: the minor poet's task.
Consider my idyll; a laird or chieftain
Rules benignly; peasant and shepherd
(Or fisher) fold grain and flesh;
A tramp scuffs past; a fighter or seaman
Relives old struggles; and each in his way
Poet and priest bear succour and praise.
Against these archetypes I have tasked others
Now try myself: will the metal weigh true?











 

Sunday, 31 December 2023

THOU ART FAIRER THAN THE SONS OF MEN





 A visit to Cheshire

Lord, Thy praise exceedeth tongue or pen:
From our hearts an anthem swelleth
To the One whose grace excelleth  
Thou art fairer than the sons of men!

Thou art First and Last and the Amen:
Thou art throned in perfect fitness
Who wast here the faithful Witness  
Thou art fairer than the sons of men!

All Thou art transcendeth human ken
Thus Thy grace and glory raises
Worship, adoration, praises  
Thou art fairer than the sons of men!



Sing this to the tune of "God be with you till we meet again".

Sunday, 17 December 2023

THE LORD IS IN CONTROL





Seahouses Harbour 


From the sky loom
Asteroids and shooting stars,
Comets: the Lord
Is in control.

Beneath magma
Rises, lava bursts,
Feel worldly shudders:
The Lord is in control.

Within bacteria
Of leprosy, viruses,
Parasites: the Lord is
In control.

The pastures are green;
The waters are still;
The soul within me restored:
The Lord is in control.


Sunday, 10 December 2023

REDEMPTION



Between Bamburgh and Seahouses, and in Seahouses, Northumberland

My land was barren, and my sheep had fled,
My barn was ruined, and my wealth was spent,
My fences shattered, and my sheepdog dead:
The Landlord faithfully required his rent.
How could I pay a penny of my debt
From land my wandering sheep had churned to mud?
The Landlord's writ forbad me to forget
And showed the rental must be paid in blood.

And so I asked for Mercy. Mercy came
To help me plead, with her resplendent face.
And we were heard, although I had no claim,
While all my pleas evoked the help of Grace.

The Landlord gave me wealth that would suffice
For life, and told me He had paid the price.



Sunday, 3 December 2023

ECONOMIC SONNETS


This needs some explanation.  I'm doing an online module of study on economic development, part of which is internet discussion with my fellow-students.  And part of the marking is to provide personal reflections on the discussions.  These make up the first seven sonnets; but economists don't have real answers; so I went on afterwards to the eighth sonnet.   

On The Advantages of the Developed Nations


First movers in industrialisation

Gained a first step towards imperialism,

And while most states have outward liberation

They’re held in thrall to neoliberalism;

Resources were available, which first

Allowed the wealth the north can now attain,

But all development entails a thirst

For energy which Earth cannot sustain.


We thought of inequalities in nations,

And India and China’s new advance.

And current change in women’s situations,

Though I had doubts about its relevance.


I wondered how advances in technology

Impinged on nations’ ruling ideology.


On Developing and Measuring Development


While we could all accept that GDP

Is not a useful measure of advancement

We found it rather harder to agree

Alternatives: each measure needs enhancement.

It was proposed each nation should decide

Which let me tell my comrade in Bhutan

They measure happiness – which won’t provide

An answer to the woes the north began.


We thought of global warming to produce

Grief in the south, which cannot be denied;

And rightwing thinking which will not reduce

Our inequalities – and never tried.


While I was sad that if you plant a tree

It has no impact on your GDP.


On Traditional Theories of Development


Economists have their creation myth:

That markets, through a hand that is invisible

Work best for all, or so thought Adam Smith,

Which most think true , but which Marx thought was risible.

Using competitive advantages we all thus

Ricardo thought, live where world trading boomed,

But all was limited thought Thomas Malthus

Since population growth means we're all doomed.

 

It's all old hat, thinks Sean, while Hannah's found

Positives lacking. Kayley thinks that Keynes

Is useful still, and Neo-Keynesianism sound

When government in wisdom intervenes.  

 

The way I'd set things out seemed satisfying

To David Skene, which I found gratifying.


On Dependency Theory


Next week we were confronted with a query

And I must squeeze thought on it in a minute,

About the value of dependency theory

And I concluded – yeah, there’s something in it.

Although the nations of the south are free

They’re bound to give the north its interest,

While I would ask us all to what degree

They have internalised, ‘the west is best’.


Colonialism stole the south’s resources

And keeps them still as primary producers;

Was this designed? I asked, and, What recourses

Extracted Asia from its seducers?


As metaphor Pat showed a trafficker

Has dumped our useless clothes on Africa.


On the Role of International Institutions


The role of international institutions

Which were set up at Bretton Woods

Is marred, I showed, because their constitutions,

While set up maybe for our common goods,

Lacked in legitimate democracy.

The US has a veto on decisions,

And with its prevalent hypocrisy

Is likely to resist the south’s revisions.


To whom, asked Clare, are they accountable?

Examples of corruption have been found.

Is their attacks on human rights surmountable?

Will they let fossil fuels stay in the ground?


And for how long will the world bank be loath

To think there is another way than growth?


On Endogenous Growth Theory


Endogenous Growth Theory foxed us next,

Perhaps because parts were too obvious.

With thought about it we were less perplexed:

Some institutions may be noxious;

By sorting that, enhancing education,

And using new technology growth grows.

Yet much harks back to Smith’s specialisation:

How much has man advanced in what he know?


But what if growth is not what we desire?

Kayley suggests our turbines might be taller

As our advanced technologies require

Less land and thus their footprint will be smaller.


Tharoor hails, in one book he has compiled,

“The education of the female child”.


On The Role of the State


We started with the British constitution,

Sean designated as “uncodified”,

Which came through parliamentary evolution.

Ros thought codification should be tried

So that all know responsibilities and rights.

The fact one could hold governments in check

Is a development which Lindy cites,

Though changes may become a bottleneck.


Most liked the one I showed from Ecuador,

Especially the section about food;

But courts are one thing we must reckon for

If aims of constitutions are not good.


So Swiss may readily change the agenda

In one of their persistent referenda.


On the Answer to It All


Searching the world for principles and laws

Economists have scanned economies

But their conclusions were unsure because

They only reached to externalities.

Sometimes they helped external human need

But could not solve the need that is within;

They could not cure the root of human greed,

Because the root of human greed is sin.


God came in Christ to deal with sin and sins,

And in His grace to souls the Saviour died;

The only hope for human hearts begins

Because God’s Christ is raised and glorified.


The present worries, and the future’s grim

Unless we have our faith and hope in Him.