Culloden : Shoulder of Lamentation

On 16th April 1746, the Duke of Cumberland wiped up the rump of Bonnie Prince Charlie's army of Stuart hopefuls. Charles Edward Stuart was trying to win the British throne for his father James, son of James 11, and tried to capitalise on the understrength English army. He had made it as far south as Derby, but because of lack of support he was forced to turn round, and when defeat came he was back in the Highlands, at Culloden Moor near Inverness. The Battle of Culloden was the last full-scale land battle to be fought in Britain. It has since been remembered in many songs and verse.
It is also a place cited as one of the various origins of the Curse of Scotland, a tag given to the nine of diamonds http://www.rampantscotland.com/know/blknow_curse.htm.
A memorial has been held on the Sunday nearest the 16th since the 1920's, on the cairn at the site of the Battle.
Many thousands were butchered as they ran, died in prison, executed or died in transport to the colonies Subsequently the culture and language of the Gaels was brutally suppressed, closely followed by  the Scottish clearances. So Culloden has become a site of pilgrimage and lamentation, functioning as a place to try and decode the Scottish identity and the Scottish nation. For the Scots  it has marked more than two centuries of tragedy and loss. It has become a landscape of loss and mourning. It speaks too of the larger Scottish diaspora, and has become a focus  for the collective  memory of the Scots.
Many Scots still shed a tear, for the noble sacrifice of the many Jacobite who fell.
In recent years the Scots soul has been rekindled and reawakenened, long may it soar.

Culloden (clip from 1964 docudrama , The Battle Of Culloden)

The Ghosts of Culloden - Isla Grant

Poem for the Hillsborough disaster by Carol Ann Duffy

The 96 Liverpool supporters who lost their lives at Hillsborough, 24 years ago were remembered in the anniversary memorial service yesterday. A memorial was unveiled at Old Haymarket and an antique clock was installed at Liverpool Town hall and set at 15.06 the time of the tragedy.
Families will gather at Anfield later today for an annual memorial service , a minutes silence will be held, with the names of the 96 fans who died read out, and a candle lit in memory of each victim.
The truth of what people have been saying for 24 years is finally emerging with the undeniable truth now recovered and revealed , and the fight for justice is reaching a conclusion.
Here is a touching poem by Carol Ann Duffy about the Hillsborough disater.

The Cathedral bell, tolled, could never tell;

nor the Liver Birds, mute in their stone spell;

or the Mersey, though seagulls waild, cursed, overhead,

in no language for the slandered dead...

not the raw, red throat of the Kop, keening,

or the cops' words censored of meaning;

not the clock, slow handclapping the coroner's deadline,

or the memo to Thatcher, or the tabloid headline...

but fathers told of their daughters; the names of sons

on the lips of their mothers like prayers; lost ones

honoured for bitter years by orphan, cousin, wife-

not a matter of footbal, but of life.

Over this great city, light after dark;

truth, the sweet silver song of the lark.

Samer Issawi's 'hunger speech' to Israelis

                                                                 
                                                             Samer Issawi

Reprinted from Youth Against Settlements,
http://hyas.ps/en/index.php/en/k2--category/settlements/item/148-hunger-speech-by-samer-issawi
Hunger Speech by Samer Issawi

Israelis:
I am Samer Issawi on hunger strike for eight consecutive months, laying in one of your hospitals called Kaplan. On my body is a medical devise connected to a surveillance room operating 24 hours a day. My heartbeats are slow and quiet and may stop at any minute, and everybody, doctors, officials and intelligence officers are waiting for my swtback and my loss of life.

I chose to write to you: intellectuals, writers, lawyers and journalist associations, and civil society activists. I invite you to visit me, to see a skeleton tied to his hospital bed, and around him three exhausted jailers. Sometimes they have their appetizing food and drinks around me.
The jailers watch my suffering, my loss of weight and my gradual melting. They often look at thei watches, asking themselves in surprise; how does this damaged body have an excess of time to live after its time?

Israelis:

I'm looking for an intellectual who is through shadowboxing, or talking to his face in mirrors. I want him to stare into my face and observe my coma, to wipe the gunpowder off his  pen, and from his mind the sound of bullets, he will then see my features carved deep in his eyes, I'll see him and he'll see me, I'jj see him nervous about the questions of the future, and he'll see me, a ghost that stays with him and doesn't leave.

You may receive instructions to write a romantic story about me, and you could do that easily after removing my humanity from me, you will watch a creature with nothing but a ribcage, breathing and choking with hunger, losing consciousness oncein a while.

And, after your cold silence, Mine will be a literary or media story that you add to your curricula, and when your students grow up they will believe that the Palestinian dies of hunger in front of Gilad's Israel sword, and you would then rejoice in this funerary ritual and your cultural and moral superiority.

Israelis:

I am Samer Issawi the young "Arboush" man according to your military terms, the Jerusalemite, whom you arrested without charge, except for leaving Jerusalem to the suburbs of Jerusalem. I, whom will be tried twice for a charge without charge, because it is the military that rules in your country, and the intelligence apparatus that decides, and all other componements of Israeli society ever have to do is sit in a trench and hide in the fort that keeps what is called a purity of identity - to avoid the explosion of my suspicious bones.

I have not heard one of you interfere to stop the loud wail of death, as if everyone of you has turned into gravediggers, and everyone wears his military suit: the judge, the writer, the intellectual, the journalist, the merchant, the academic, and the poet. And I cannot believe that a whole society was turned into guards over my death and my life, or guardians over settlers whose chase after my dreams and my trees.

Israelis:

I will die satisfied. I do not accept to be deported out of my homeland. I do not accept your courts and your arbitrary rule. If you had passed over in Easter to my country and destroyed it in the names of God of an ancient time, you will not Passover to my elegant soul which has declared disobedience. It has healed and flew and celebrated all the time that you lack. Maybe then you will understand that awareness of freedom is stronger than the awareness of deatrh.
Do not listen to those generals and those dusty myths, for the defeated will not remain defeated, and the victor will not remain a victor. History isn't only measured by battles, massacres and prisons, but by peace with the Other and the self.

Israelis:

Listen to my voice, the voice of our time and yours! Liberate yourselves of the excess of greedy power! Do not remain prisoners of miliary camps and the iron doors that have shut your minds! I am not waiting for a jailer to release me, I'm waitng for you to be released from my memory.

Bedroom Tax Song: You Cannae Have A Spare Rom in a Pokey Cooncil Flat.

 

A song about the Bedroom Tax, written for the demos that have occurred all over the UK, . and te Glasgow one in particular.
Set to the tune of the 1960's folk song "The Jeely Palce Song", by Scottish singer songwriter Adam McNaughton.

LYRICS

I'm a welfare state wean, we ive on the bottom flair
But we're not allowed to live there any mair.
They say we've got too many rooms, in our social rented flat
We've an eight by ten foot boxroom where you cannae swing a cat.

Chorus

Oh ye canna have a spare room in a pokey cooncil flat
Ian Duncan Smith and Co have put an end tae that
They say 'live in a smaller house', they say that is their plan
When the odds against you finding one are ninety-nine to one

Noo ma auties in a wheelchair, but these Tories dinna care
They say they have a deficit, she got to pay her share
£60 a month they'll take, then leave her tae her fate
Whilst gieing millionaires a tax cut, cause they say they're due a
break

Noo that Buckingham Palace looks a pretty roomy gaff
And the ludger there gets benefits at rates that make me laugh
A civil list, plus perks, worth nearly ninety million pounds
With her other dozen mansions lying empty a year round

Noon those MPs doon in Westminster must think we're dense
Wi their second home apartments, where the public pays their rent
They're even get a food allowance, two hubdred quid a week
But they're claiming we're the scroungers, is their arse up in their
cheeks?

So we've formed a Federation  amd we're gonna have our say
The Bedroom Tax it has to go, and we aint gonna pay
We're gonna march to George's square to demand our civil rights
Like nae mair Tories and that Liberal shite.

Au Caberet du Ciel, Paris, 1927 - Man Ray

  

Can't seem to avoid a certain somebody, showering down from nearly every newspaper I look at, every tiny bit of news I see, so heres's something completely different.
The cabaret scene shown was intended for reproduction in Varietes, a Belgian publication dedicated to Surrealism. Depicted are among the leading thinkers, writers and artists who reflected the Surrealist spirit in their work.
These include, standing:
Hans Arp, JJean Caupenne, Georges Sadoul, Andre Breton, Pierre Unik, Yves Tanguy, Cora, Andre Thirion ( shown from behind, facing Cora), Rene Crevel, Suzanne Musard, and Frederic Megret (shown with cigarette).
Seated at the front of the table are Elsa Triolet, Louis Aragon, Camille Goemans and Madame Goemans.

More on a Surrealist thread coming Sunday.

Dier Yassin Remembered.

Today  the Palestnian people mark the 65th year since Jewish militia murdered over 100 Palestinian villagers.
What happened in Deir Yassin prepared the ground for the ethnic cleansing of 70% of the Palestinian people. The same ethnic cleansing that occurred then is unfortunately going on today. In 1948 they used direct massacres, but today they use airstrikes in Gaza and shoot innocent young Palestinians in the West Bank.
For Palestinians and their supporters, the massacre is a symbol. It is remembered as the pivotal onset of the 1948 Nabka; Deir Yassin is the "other shoe that fell," sparking over 750,000 to flee from their homes out of a fear that they too would be massacred.
Early in the morning Commanders of the Irgun (headed by Menachim Begin) and the Stern Gang attacked Deir Yassin a village with aboyt 750 Palestinian residents.
The village  lay outside of the area assigned by the United Nations to the 'Jewish State'. It had a peaceful reputation. A year later the settlement  Kafar Shaul was founded on this site. In the 1980's the remains of Dier Yassin wwere bulldozed to make room for new settlements. The streets of these new neighbourhoods were named after members of the Irgun family.

Dier Yassin Remembered

Darkness recedes ( After Maggie)

Dark rippled,
heavy as lead,
tried to burn and sting,
crushed opposition,
taught us sadness,
that sometimes,
we need some hate,
to help us stay alive.

Memories moulded,
disturbing thoughts,
tainted many lifes,
stole dreams,
stretched understanding,
to limits unknown,
with pierced living breath,
and careful sharp precision.

A mother, daughter, yes!
who instead of flowers ,
planted seeds of agony and fear,
resiliant too, with cold calculation,
That is why yesterday, instead of tears,
many cheered in jubilation,
as this mean spirited medussa,
walked her final steps towards,
the flames of hell.

As darkness recedes,
let their be light.

The Witch is dead

Woke up earlier feeling a bit depressed, had an atos form to fill out, but then I noticed an unusual amount of people smiling in the street. What was going on I asked, haven't you heard the news Margaret Thatcher has died. What , suddenly it felt like the first time I had taken ecstacy, a rush of emotion that I had not felt for ages.
Some people would say that I should not be rejoicing in her death, nothing compares to the sadness that many people have felt that she was ever alive.
I deplore the way the mainstream media  is treating the life and legacy of Margaret Thatcher. To many people in this country, Thatcher was one of the most divisive figures to have emerged. She created misery and suffering for millions, while selling of  that which belonged to the people.I remember the strikes, the growing divide between the have;s and have nots, I remember her  plans  to take apart the weldare state, destroy the NHS. Her legacy being carried on by the Con Dems vicious cruel policies. Her legacy continues in nasty economic policies, that have made the rich richer and the poor poorer, with the slashing in this present time of essential services and the continuing dismantling of the welfare state. Her legacy forever rotten to the core, friends of dictators etc etc.
Across the country there will be many people dancing and celebrating her demise. I have already drunk a toast. Mourn her I will not
http://www.facebook.com/groups/TheWitchisDeadParty/

Maggie Thatcher may be dead but the rest of her Nasty Party and corrupt Government are very much alive. Please sign this, on behalf of those people who have been hardest hit by their deliberate destructive policies.

http://wowpetition.com/

These songs and this post is dedicated to all those who were blighted by her,and those who stood up against her in angry defiance.

Pete Wylie - The day that Thatcher dies

John McCullough - I will dance on your grave Mrs Thatcher

earlier post

http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/margaret-thatcher-her-legacy-personal.html

Margaret Thatcher may be dead but the rest of her Nasty Party  very much alive. 

Times's Police

I used to believe,
that libraries gave us power,
knowledge for free,
allowed us to share,
create and shape.

Across Britain, in sanctuaries harbour,
their trying to restrict access to internet,
to a daily fix of one hour,
some of us already hooked,
are feeling the sensation of withdrawal.

Not a lot of time, to gather thought,
for the unemployed to seek work,
to gather thought, dissect issues,
ease conscience, play silly games,
share urgent breath to the world.

Yesterday, I watched people
feverishly typing, as though
it was the last thing they would do,
some had the look of panic,
the pang of despair.

I went into the streets,with pockets full,
of restless ideas and conviction,
others carried papers, left unfilled,
took home thoughts stuffed with delicate emotion.

The power of communication,
needs patience, no rushed urgency,
allows us time, to pause for air,
freedom a universal language,
a form of magic,
floats through every living tongue.

Wires connect, whether we like it or not,
one of the better things to have emerged,
                                       from globalisation.
When speech gets cut, urgency grows wild,
in the desert without water, shards of purpose,
                                          do not simply die.
Hope flys without wings, holding all together.

Answers please by e.mail,
I'll try to reply soon,
in the heights of passion,
and  wild lofty abandon.

Make Conservatives History

In a London nursing home, an old priest lay dying.
For years he had faithfully served the people of the nation's capital.
No motioned for his nurse to come near. Yes, Father? said the nurse.
I would really like to see David Cameron and Nick Clegg before I die, whispered the priest.
I'll see what I can do, Father, replied the nurse.
The nurse sent the requst to No 10 and waited for a response.
Soon the word arrived, David and Nick would be delighted to visit the priest.
As they went to the hospital, David commented to Nick, I don't know why the old priest wants to see us, but it certainly will help our images.
Nick agreed that it was the right thing to do at this time.
When they arrived at the priest's room, the priest took David's hand in his right hand, and the Nick's hand in his left.
There was silence and a look of serenity on the old priest's face.
The old priest slowly said: I have always tried to pattern my life after our Lord and Saviour, 
Jesus Christ.
Amen, said David, Amen. said Nick.
The old priest continued, Jesus died between two lying bastards, and I would like to do the same....

OK Duncan Smith, here is your £53

OK Duncan Smith, here is your £53

I've deducted
£15 for your electricity and gas. You are on a pre-payment card and it costs
more
£3 towards your TV License
£3 towards tour travel costs to sign once a fortnight
£14 as you are now a social housing tenant you have two bedrooms. Don't give me that nonsence about your wife being unwell
£2 Council Tax contribution as you live in England

That leaves you £16 a week to live on, barely enough for a daily pint of milk
and a copy of that vile newspaper that published you this morning.

OK, let's forget the milk and the paper. I'm going to take another £5 for
phone charges as the DWP are on a premim rate number and £5 off
towards that crisis loan you took out to pay to get your boiler repaired.
That's £6 a week to survive on.

Think you can still do it? Try doing it every bastard week.

No 'just saying, no 'best wishes' and Seren is too fucking cross to comment.

You can rot in hell

(with thanks to Don Atreides)

Petition
Ian Duncan Smith to live on £53 a week

https://www.change.org/petitions/iain-duncan-smith-iain-duncan-smith-to-live-on-53-a-week

The Suicidal Tree

Trees have feelings. Back in 1644 on this day, army deserter Phillip Greensmith was strung up on a elm  tree at Coton-in-the-Elms, near Burton upon Trent in Staffordshire. The elm was so mortified by this misuse of its branches that it either decided to end it all, or went into terminal shock. From that day, its leaves and leaves began to wither, and within a year it was dead.
This is very much in keeping with the traditional personality of the elm. It is said that if you cut one down, a neighbouring elm will die of grief. Such a sentimental species proved an easy target for Dutch elm disease.
It is said that ' the elm and the vine do so naturally entwine'. Shakespeare alludes to the notion in The Comedy of Errors, in which Adriana says to her husband Antipholus of Syracuse:

Thou art an elm, my husband, I am a vine
Whose weakness married to thy stronger state
Makes me with thy strength to communicate.

The elm not only has deep-rooted emotions: it is also an arbiter of quality. The old maxims ' A good elm never grew on bad land' and 'Good elm, good barley' reveal its status as a crp and field guide. And how did the barley-grower cope when there was no handy, leafy, elm around for reference?

When the elmen leaf's big as a mouse's ear,
Then to sow barley never fear;
When the elmen's leaf's big as an ox's eye,
Then says I, ' Hie, boys, hie!'

Quietude - for R.S Thomas (29/3/13 -25/9/00 ) on the centenary of his birth

Wake up to quietude
no rush, tension is outside,
go on journeys, take one step at a time,
slowly step out into the garden
swathed in mist, remembering
that all life is difficult.

Look for truth
among the hedgerows,
dream on earth, behold paradise
capture y teimlad - the feeling,
mornings full of mystery and innocence
before we slip into the unknown.

Every doubt, every suspicion
can becomes a quite ripple,
every unkind word
thoughtless act, cancelled out,
the joy of living still in the moment
the sound of silence such a precious gift.

Yes there is fear, thoughts of death

in loneliness too,  the clog of isolation

the world  in deep sorrowful contemplation

a paralysis that shapes our different realities

bending and shaping  shifting perceptions

thoughts swirling in the vastness of time.

Each birth of  day,
surrenders a flash of gentleness
puzzles of thought, floating by
supernatural winds of sensation,
amulets of revelation, revolution
mind in quiet reflection.

In quietude,
no borders are necessary,
stillness encompassing
enlightenment presents itself,
as the riches of our gardens leap,
and the seeds of wild profusion grow.


(Happy Easter Weekend, heddwch/Peace)

iain duncan smith - you ratbag

Mr Ian Duncan Smith had been called to speak  to defend savage , Con-Dem Welfare cuts,when campaigner Willie Black rose to his feet and shouted " You're a ratbag."
Ian Duncan Smith is not a ratbag though, he is lower than vermin, even the word scumbag is too good a word for him.

Carlos Castanada ( 25/12/25 -27/4/98) - To Seek Freedom

' To seek freedom is the only driving force I know. Freedom to fly off into that infinity out there. Freedom to dissolve, to lift off, to be like a flame of a candle, which, in spite  of being up against the light of a billion stars, remains intact, because it never pretended to more than what it is, a mere candle.'

Samer Issawi is dying

Samer Issawi, aged 33 has been on hunger strike now for 246 days.
He is being detained without trial, indefinitely, under a policy known as administrative detention.
His strike is not for his own personal freedom, but is a collective one, for every brother, husband ,sister, mother, child who has seen their trees torn down,lands confiscated, homes demolished. Samer Issawi's freedom is Palestines freedom.

His heartbeat is down to 28 beats per minute, his heart could stop at any moment. He is suffering from breathing problems, constant dizziness and severe pains in the abdomen,still hungry for freedom.The media continues to be deadly silent about his predicament that is why we have to scream.

I stand in solidarity with Samer Issawi.

(earlier post)
http://teifidancer-teifidancer.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/free-samer-issawi.html

for up to date information
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Free-Samer-Issawi-Campaign/194111744067340

China Achebe ( 16/11/36 -21/3/13) R.I.P

Nigerian author China Achube was the author of 'Things Fall Apart' which was published in 1958. The book chronicled the life of thr Okonkwo and the complications that arise when white missionaries arrive in his village. The clash between colonialisation and traditional culture  still makes the book relevent in today's globalised world. He was also a poet, professor, critic, humanist and friend of Palestine. He described himself as a storyteller. R.I.P

Interview on CNN African Voices

'The white man is very clever. He came quietly and peaceful with his religion, but we were amused by his foolishness and allowed him to satay. Now he has one our brother and our clan can no longer act like one. He had put a knife on the things that held us together and we have fallen apart.'

-  China Achebe ( from his book, ' Things fall apart.')

Cecil Beaton ( 14/1/04 - 18/1/80) - Be Daring, Be Different.

'BE DARING

BE DIFFERNT

BE IMPRACTICAL

BE ANYTHING THAT

WILL ASSERT INTEGRITY

OF PURPOSE AND

IMAGINATIVE VISION

AGAINST THE PLAY-IT SAFERS,

THE CREATURES OF THE COMMONPLACE,

THE SLAVES OF THE ORDINARY.'

'

Percy Byshe Shelley (4/8/1792 -8/7/22) - In defence of Poetry

Today to mark World Poetry Day day an extract from Shelley's celebrated  essay written in 1821 but published posththumously in 1870, from Essays, letters from Abroad, Translated and fragments.

' Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds. We are aware of evanescent visitations of thought and feeling sometimes associated  with place or person, sometimes regarding our own mind alone, and always arising unforseen and departing unbidden, but elevating and delightful beyond expression: so that even in the desire and regret they leave, therte cannot but be pleasure, participating as it does in the nature of its object. It is as it were the interpenetration of a diviner nature through our own; but its footsteps are like those of a wind over the sea, which the coming calm erases, and whose traces remain only, as on the wrinkled sand which paves it. These and corresponding conditions of being are experienced principally by those of the most delicate sensibility and the most enlarged imagination; and the state of mind produced by them is at war with every base desire. The enthusiasm of virtue, love, patriotism, and friendship, is essentially linked with such emotions; and whilst they last, self appears as what it is, an atom to a universe. Poets are not only subject to these experiences as spirits of the most refined organisation, but they can colour all they combine with the evanescent hues of this eternal world; a world, a trait in the  representation of a scene or a passion, will touch the enchanted chord, and reanimate, in those who have ever experienced these emotions, the sleeping, the cold, the buried image of the past. Poetry thus makes immortal all that is best and most beautiful in the world; it arrests the vanishing apparitions which haunt the interlunations of life, and veiling them, or in language or in form, sends them forth among mankind, bearing sweet news of kindred joy to those with whom their sisters abide - abide, because there is no portal of expression from the caverns of the spirit which they inhabit into the universe of the things. Poetry redeems from decay the visitations of the divinity in man.
  Poetry turns all things to loveliness, ; it exalts the beauty of that which is most beautiful, and it adds beauty to that which is most deformed; it marries exultation and horror, grief and pleasure, eternity and change; it subdues to union under its light yoke all irreconcilable things. It transmutes all that it touches, and every form moving within the radiance of its presence is changed by wondrous sympathy to an incarnation of the spirit which it breathes: its secret alchemy turns to potable gold the poisonous waters which flow from death through life; it strips the veil of familaiarity from the world, and lays bare the naked and sleeping beauty, which is the spirit of its forms.
  All things exist as they are percieved; at least in relation to the precipient. ' The mind is its own place, and of itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.' But poetry defeats the curse which blinds us to be subjected to the accident of surrounding impressions. And whether it spreads its own figured curtains, or withdraws life's dark veil from before the scene of things, it equally createss for us a being within our being. It makes us the inhabitants of a world to which the familiar world is a chaos. It reproduces the common universe of which we are portions and percipients, and it purges from our inward sight the film of familiarity which obscures from us the wonder of our being. It compels us to feel that which we percieve, and to imagine, that which we know. It creates anew the universe, after it has been annihilated in our minds by the recurrence of impressions blunted by reitiration. It justifies the bold and true words of Tasso: Non merita noms di creatore, se non Iddio ed il Poeta.'

For full essay:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/learning/essay/237844

Budget Day 2013

Today, George Osborne is expected to unveil a further £2.5 bn in cuts but their programme of austerity is simply not working. It will be undoubtedly the same root, he will tell us their is no alternative, to his slash and burn approach to economics, but to all who can see, the Tory's austerity measures are not working, and the bankers are still sitting pretty and laughing.
Where was the opposition yesterday, when they abandoned support for the poorest by allowing Ian Duncan Smith's retrospect workare legislation to pass into law virtually unimpeded. The mind boggles!!

well at least Spring has arrived.

Tony Blair is a psychopath says Arundhati Roy - and Obama's no better

Writer and activist Arundhati Roy, interviewed on Democracy Now  on the tenth anniversary of the Iraq invasion, 19 March 2013. She also says Barak Obama is no different from Bush or Blair.
Fresh evidence has been revealed about how M.I.6 and the C.I.A were told through secret channels by Saddam Husseins foreign minister and his head of intelligence that Iraq had not active weapons of mass destruction. http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2013/mar/18/panorama-iraq-fresh-wmd-claims despite this Bush and Blair led us into nothing more than organised mass murder.Their support for this unjust invasion has long been seen as morally indefensible. They are nothing more than war criminals.
Long since the removal of Saddam Hussein, the Iraqi people have experienced violence and political disputes. All they long for now is peace and security.

Vapour

We are living in a world
Where imagination is disenfranchised
power takes its daily throne
dictates to those down below
With barrage of pictures words invading
Poetry can at least mend, be a healer.

Last night, went looking for reason
Because nothing made sense anymore,
How far are they gonna take us
Before the push becomes too great,
When we wake up in the morning
And all are ideas are extinquished,

Everything worth looking at
Currently erased and vaporised 
pasturised and modified
Sugar coating  has its place
but while world in division
this poem has no room for it.

As they try to forget your voice
follow the trail of glistening strands,
Where ink never  dries
all divisions cancelled  out,
takes refuge in language
the politics of bardic dream.

Refuse to be compromised
easily controlled or manipulated
keep your mind free, efferuvesent
unleash all your buried treasure
with free will, do not compromise
release  sincerity and passion. 

Rachel Corrie! You will never be forgotten!

Today I remember and pay tribute to Rachel Corrie, Peace activist and humanitarian. Her courage and determination and resistance on behalf of the Palestinian people will never be forgotten. R.I.P Rachel, she has inspired many of us and her spirit lives on.
Brutally murdered by the illegal occupation she was crushed to death by an Israeli armoured bulldozer in Rafah, Southern part of the Gaza strip, on March 16th, 2003. Justice has never been served for her, along with many others who have been killed under the Israeli regime. In 2005 Corrie's parents filed a civil lawsuit against the state of Israel. The lawsuit charged Israel with not conducting a full and credible investigation into the case and with responsibility for her death. They sued for a symbolic one U.S dollar in damages  to make the point that that the case was about justice for heir daughter and the Palestinian cause, she had been defending. In August 2012, an Israeli court rejected their suit.
The struggle continues against demolition and occupation of Palestinian homes and lands.

David Roviks - A song for Rachel Corrie

http://rachelcorriefoundation.org/

http://www.rachelcorrie.org/

Rachel Corrie - Interview

The Spirit of the Age - Ken Loach

Looking forward to seeing this new documentary by one of my favourite film makers Ken Loach. Which is in cinemas from today.
On all accounts an impassioned documentary about the spirit  of unity which buoyed Britain during the war years. Carried through to create a vision  of a fairer, united society.

'1945 was a pivotal year in British history. The unity that carried Britain through the war allied to the bitter memories of the inter-war years led to a vision of a better society. The spirit of the age was to be our brother's and our sister's keeper. Ken Loach has used film from Britain's regional and national archives, alongside sound recordings and contemporary interviews to create a rich political and social narrative. The Spirit of'45 hopes to illuminate and celebrate a period of unprecedented community spirit in the UK, the impact of which endured for many years and which may yet be rediscovered today. 1945 was a pivotal year in British history. The Unity that carried Britain through the war allied to the bitter memories of inter-war years led to a vision of a better society. The impact of this unprecedented  community spirit in the UK, has endured for many years and which may be rediscovered today.'

Loach wants to follow up the general release, with Q &;A sessions to debate the feasibility of a new left party.
In the end Unity is strength, and I welcome Mr Loach's contribution,and support too, all  those that  fight back, but I do not look anymore to Parliament for rescue. Right now , in this age of austerity, our beloved Welare State is being torn apart, by a wrecking crew long past caring. We need a new spirit , a coalition of resistance, as the failure of capitalism implodes all around.
Meanwhile on the screens tonight, this evil spirit of nauseousness and nastiness, the smell of sulphur fills the air.

London Poll Tax Riot Documentary 1990 - The Battle of Trafalgar FULL

This should be watched with consideration to all other media accounts of rioting:

'The Battle of Trafalgar: An account of the anti-poll tax demonstration 31st March 1990, one that is radically different from that presented by TV news.
Eye witness tell their stories against a backdrop of footage showing the days events as they unfolded. Demonstrators' testiomonies raise some uncomfortable questions. Questions about public order policing, the independence and accountability of the media and the right to demonstrate.'

Next month sees the introduction of the Bedroom Tax, a policy  that seems to be in total chaos at the moment. We must not forget that the Poll Tax was eventually overturned  because resistance was so high. When the bedroom tax hits us, again the people will not take it quietly. When people get the taste of bitterness and venom there will be implications, and it will not be pretty.

Just a Cut Up

Bad poems I sometimes cut into pieces
Don't  like to throw them away,
This one hangs by a thread
Perhaps if I add a word like rescue
It might just about save her
Or a random phrase,a statement of intent,
And if I now reveal, there is no spring
Only the waiting and anticipation,
Outside, knitted together, pencilled with menace.
There is uncertainty in every thought
These  words could disappear in a moment,
Tomorrow, could reappear in another arrangement
Perhaps you will hear nothing, only emptiness
Maybe this will be enough ,for this one to survive.

No to Fascists on the Streets of Wales: No to the National Front in Swansea 9th March

On 9th March the National Front will be holding a parade on the streets of Swansea, where they will be out spewing their brand of racial hatred. I will be going up tomorrow morning to stand with others in solidarity to to show that they are not wanted in Wales or anywhere else.
Their presence is an insult to all Welsh people who fought against fascism in the Spanish Civil War and the Second World War, and the many people maimed and murdered in the Swansea blitz.
The National Front are gathering as part of World WideWhite Pride Day , this is not about pride though just an excuse to promote their bigoted fascist ideals. I believe in freedom of speech but  the National Front have no right to march, their insidious ideas a direct opposite to all that freedom stands for, they are an unapologetic neo-nazi organisation who would crush the diversity and openess that fly under freedom's wings. Their ideology linked  historically in  opposition to all concepts of fraternity and equality, brutally supressing all opposition and criticism.
Where they gather however small, their evil  is released and must be oppossed. If such groups as the National Front, the English Defence Leaque and the British National Party and their various offshoots are not confronted then they will inevitably grow in size, look at Golden Dawn in Greece as a recent example.
These are some of the reasons why I am travelling to Swansea to vent my opposition to their insidious views.
Fighting fascism has long been a proud Welsh tradition. Wherever they emerge  from their dark holes they have been face with loud hostile opposition. They are simply not welcome on our streets.
Their is verified information that the National Front will be forced to undertake a static protest in a back street car park near the strand area of Swansea. United Against Fasism will be holding a counter demo in the Strand Quay. So it is possible  their will be a kettle situation, we must take their actions seriously and oppose any attempt to bring their hate to our streets.
Stay safe. No Pasaran.

More details here

No to National Front White Pride Demo in Swansea/Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/events/113020642216513/

Woody Guthrie - All you fascist bound to lose

Arundhati Roy ( b.24/11/62)- "Another world is not only possible, she is on her way.".

For International Women's Day

Uno de los imprescindibles /The Indispensable ones - Bertolt Brecht ( for Hugo Chavez 10/2/54 - 5/3/13 R.I.P)

Uno de los imprescidibles/ The indispensable ones

Those who are weak don't fight.
Those who are stronger might fight
for an hour.
Those who are stronger still might fight
for many years.
The strongest fight
their whole life.
They are the indispensable ones.

- Bertolt Brecht ( The Mother, a play)

Ivor Cutler (Surrealist,humourist b. Ibrox, Glasgow 15/1/23- 3/3/06) - READY/ ASTONISHED

                                                   
                                                Picture by Joyce Edwards

(ah Ivor, I still miss ya, your lovely whisper, the harmonium drifting among the clouds,beyond the dark places, the joy of cosy notion, in  the world you laughed at , but welcomed every glad day, ah Ivor, I'm still listening, to  your sacrement so sweet, I go the fields find smiles flashing in the undergrowth in an afternoon beyond convention... )

READY

When the soldier arrived, I was ready
-packed. He let me sniff his uniform.
Thick fresh cloth, mid-blue.   We set
off through the spring fields. Imagine
two men in a line moving through a
land without trees, the only vertical
objests. Clouds, fat sheep grazing,
made another layer of country, and us
two, moving pins. We should have swam,
or slithered, to keep the landscape
clear.We wandered on in circles,
what was the hurry,the view stayed
the same. I grew a thick beard and
became a bush. He bedded me in, saw
that I had everythin, shook my hand
and meandered away. So here I was,
near the sound of a stream. The land
was still. A green bird hopped on my
raised elbow, made a wispy nest in the
crook then sat there singing and laying
eggs and drinking the trears of happi-
ness as they slid off my chin.

Gillian Clarke (b.8/6/37) - Miracle on St David's Day

It has kind of become traditional  of me, on this blog to mark St David's Day (Dydd Gwyl Dewi) somehow. Today I offer you a poem by one of our foremost women contemporary poets. She is considered to be one of our greatest living poets, and is currently our national poet.Born in Cardiff, her work is rooted in our landscape, having lived and worked in Wales for most of her life.Since the 1980s  she has resided here in rural Ceredigion . I like what she writes a lot and find her poems  display her mastery of language with all its lucidity and power.
This one  comes  from her Collected Poems (Carcanet Press, 2008). Here she makes a personal recollection,  a true story after she was invited to read poetry to patients in the Occupational Therapy Department of a mental hospital in South Wales, organised to celebrate St Davids Day. The contrast between her opening quote and the rest of the poem, draws you in. Hers is set amongst enclosed walls, that are often closed to the outside world,that many people are unable to witness unless they have been unfortunate to have spent some time waiting for miracles, diving for stones,an almost invisible world that Gillian Clarke brings to life, providing a rare glimpse of an often private hidden world,  while the Wordsworth (the opening quote) poem which she returns to, looks outside for inspiration. I think it has much power and depth, and I find it very moving. I hope you enjoy.
       
                                                       Miracle on St David's Day
                        
                              They flash upon that inward eye
                               Which is the bliss of solitude
                              - The Daffodils - William Worsworth  

An afternoon yellow and open-mouthed
with daffodils. The sun treads the path
among cedars and enormous oaks.
It might be a country house, guests strolling,
the rumps of gardeners between nursery shrubs.   

I am reading poetry to the insane.
An old woman, interrupting, offers
as many buckets of coals as I need.
A beautiful chestnut-haired boy listens
entirely absorbed. A schizophrenic      

on a good day, they tell me later.
In a cage of first March sun a woman
sits not listening, not seeing, not feeling.
In her neat clothes, the woman is absent.
A big mild man is tenderly led

to his chair. He has never spoken.
His labourer's hands of his knees, he rocks
gently to the rhythyms of the poems.
I read to their prescences, absences,
to the big, dumb labouring man as he rocks.

He is suddenly standing, silently,
huge and mild, but I feel afraid. Like slow
movement of spring water or the first bird
of the year in the breaking darkness,
the labourer's voice recites The Daffodils'.


The nurses are frozen, alert; the patients
seem to listen. He is hoarse but word-perfect.
Outside the daffodils are still as wax,
a thousand, ten thousand, their syllables
unspoken, their creams and yellows still.

Forty years ago, in a Valleys school,
the class recited poetry by rote.
Since the dumbness of misery fell
he has remembered there was a music
of speech and that once he had something to say.

When he's done, before the applause, we observe
the flowers' silence. A thrush sings
and the daffodils are aflame.

Reprinted from :-
Gillian Clarke:Collected Poems
Carcanet 1997
Originally from 
'Letter from a far Country; 1982

Happy St Davids Day/

Dydd Gwyl Dewi

heddwch/peace

Hungry for Freedom

'Donate a Poem for Freedom' is a fundraising campaign for Freedom Bookshop after the firebombing 1/2/13. If you are a poet/know a poet  who would like to contribute, here is a link to the facebook page.
https://www.facebook.com/DonateAPoemForFreedom
The collection will be published via LULU and proceeds will go to Freedom Bookshop.
Submission  topics: freedom, liberty,oppression free speech.
Deadline: 1st March
The following is one of my own contributions.

Hungry for Freedom

So long as a human being thirsts for freedom
and is shackled in a concrete cage
without charge under a policy universally condemned
called administrative detention
I will sound alarms.

and if my poetry drifts towards polemic
I will make no apology
with the absence of the unseen in mainstream news
I will spread their dreams and hopes.

So long as bulldozers
destroy peoples homes
and walls are built that divide and uproot
I will raise my voice.

and when peoples lands are stolen
daily from under their feet
I will not be cowed into silence.

When rules of law are twisted
that allow voices to be unheard
I will not feign blindness
pretend ignorance
I will try to be an echoe.

and if some are allowed
to steal the richness
from peoples souls
I will stand up
and stamp my feet.

and will proudly raise my fist
proudly raise my fist.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti( b.24/3/19) - Poetry as Insurgent Art

Lawrence Ferlinghetti I consider to be  one of my favorite poets, a legend who in 1953, founded the City Lights bookstore.A prominent voice of the wide-open poetry movement that began in the 1950s, he has written poetry, translation, fiction, theater, art criticism, film narration and essays. Often concerned with politics and social issues. His work countered the literary elites definition of art and the artists role in the world. Though  imbued with the commonplace, his poetry cannot be simply described as polemic  or personal protest, for  it stands  on his craftmanship, thematics and grounding in tradition. Born in Yonkers, New York in 1919 , an activist whose beats still goes on, still brave enough and daring to challenge peoples beliefs, a painter too, but still active as a poet 90 plus years young. His life  has seen him act as a catalyst for numerous literary careers and for the Beat movement itself, publishing the eaerly work of Allen Ginsberg, Kerouac and Gary Snyder.
Making poetry accessible to all, with his lucid views he has long watered my senses. His bookstore quickly became an iconic literary institution that  has embodied social change and literary freedom. A truly remarkable person, and a great inspiration.
What follows is what   I would regard as his tour de force,although a work in progress, it is a a fine poetic manifesto nontheless, that  proves he's still got the edge, still got the force.His innovative poetics incorporate slang, pop cultural references wry humour to examine the human condition. Here he  shows us his purpose, I guess its up to us to do it ourselves.

I am signalling you through the flames.

The North Pole is not where it used to be.

Manifest Destiny is no longer manifest.

Civilisation self-destructs.

Nemesis is knocking at the door.

What are poets for, in such an age?
What is the use of poetry?

The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it.

If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times,
even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic.

You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay,
you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini,
you are an American or an non-American, you can conquer the conquerer with words.

If you would be a poet, write living newspapers.
Be a reporter from outer space,
filing dispatches to some supreme managing editor 
who believes in full disclosure,
and has a low tolerance for bullshit.

If you would be a poet, experiment with all manner of poetic, erotic broken grammers,
ecstatc religions, heathen outpourings speaking in tongues,
bombast public speech, automatic scribblings, surrealist sensings,
streams of consiousness, found sounds, rants and raves-
to create your own limbie, your own underlying, your ur voice.

If you call yourself a poet, don't just sit there.
Poetry is not a sedentary occupation, not a "take your seat" practice.
Stand up and let them have it.

If you would be a poet, invent a new language, anyone could understand.
If you would be a poet, speak new truths that the world can't deny.

Through art, create order out of the chaos of the living.

Make it new news.

Write beyond time.

Reinvent the idea of beauty.

Question everything and everyone, including Socrates who questioned everything.

Be subversive, constantly questioning reality and the status quo.

Strive to change the world in such a way that there's no further need to be a dissident.

Hip Hop and Rap your way to liberation.

Your poems must be more than want adds for broken hearts.

Words can save you where guns can't.

Give a voice to the tongueless street.

See the rose through world-clored glasses.

Be an eye among the blind.

Be naive, non-cynical, as if you had just landed on earth,
astonshed by what tou have fallen upon.

Dig folk singers who are the true
singing poets of yesterday and today.

Think subjectively, write objectively.

Like a field of sunflowers, a poem should not have to be explained.

Haunt bookstores.

Cultivate dissidence and critical thinking.
First though may be worst thought.

Sow your poems with the salt of the earth.

Don't ever believe poetry is irrelevant in dark times.

Make new wine out of the grapes of wrath.

Be the gadfly of the state and also its firefly.

Poetry is making something out of nothing, and can be about nothing and still mean something.

from Poetry as  Insurgent Art
New Directions Press 2007

http://www.citylights.com/book/?GCOI=87286100900740&fa=author&person_id=4854

Côr Cochion Caerdydd - Not in my name

This weekend marks Bradley Manning's 100th day in captivity without charge.
This track  is by Cor Cochion Caerdydd a Welsh Campagn group who work timelessly to raise awareness about world injusstices and illegal acts of war, which we have been witnesses to in recent years.
 Profits from the sale of this single go towards the legal defence case of this heroic Welsh America, and thereafrter to the international peace movent via C.N.D Cymru.
Blowing whistes on war crimes is not a crime. While criminal bankers enjoy immunity because 'they are big to fail,' Bradley Manning faces life for exposing the truth.

http://www.corcochion.org.uk/

http://couragetoresist.org/

http://www.cndcymru.org/



Collateral Murder