Darkling Wood

But We Can Still Rise Now, And Be That People Again

It was coincidental with the aftermath of the Scottish Independence vote, but timely nevetheless, that I just picked up a copy of "Poems That Make Grown Men Cry", by Anthony and Ben Holden (Eds.) They didn't make me cry, but one of them does seem very apt given the result of the vote:

Let My Country Awake

Where my mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depths of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action --
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake
       Rabindranath Tagore (1930s)

The Cave

In the heart of every man there is a cave,
Cold and dark beyond reach of mortal arms.
The cold and dark leach out, and slowly take his life,
Crudely, sticking heart to bone, mind to stone,
Cloying but bitter to the tongue, it is not for tasting,
But we do it anyway.

Save for a few, who seem to stretch immortally,
Reaching out, approaching, then breaking in,
Moving always forward, though repelled, disgusted even,
And tired, so deadly worn; falling, but never lying for long,
In the stench and sting of the black lie,
Then they pound, alone.

The door, if ancient walls deserve the insult,
Seems motionless at first. Rock steady, roots go deep,
What else should they expect? An arch?
A gateway? A welcome? Not here.
But then, the shift, a nudge, the slightest tremor.
They’d been warned.

Stepping through, we cannot follow.
We can only surmise, wait, or perhaps find our own.
But I’ve heard, often enough by now, that the dark burns
Brighter than all the suns. Brighter than that word can even mean.
I would like to try, but I am afraid.
But so, it seems, were they.

Resistance

I suppose I should get up now, I really should.
It's all that stands between me and the things I could
Do to better myself, and start my day,
And walk, or run, or both, and write and say
Things needing to be said, to make a living. 

My inbox is an easy task, just one foot then the other.
It's mostly spam or nonsense anyhow, so no bother
To read, and click, and click, and read, and rinse
Repeat, until they're gone and done, since
After that the way is clear, to make a living.

And yet both quilt and mouse feel heavier than lead.
Despite the promise of efficiency's thrill, instead
I wait, and frown, and twitch and drown in all
The teeming, scheming, demon-filled hell
Of distractions keeping me from living.

The Surrender Of Fort Liberty

[Update, July 17, 2016: the (understandable, now I look at it) reaction of some friends to the following made me realize that I could perhaps be more explicit about my point. My feeble attempt at poetry no more constitutes a criticism of the philosophy of the USA (nor what I presume was and is, respectively, the intent of its founders and their courageous modern counterparts), than a doctor's concerned pointing-out of worrying symptoms of infirmity and possible sickness in a poorly patient constitutes a criticism of human health, vitality, and well-being. And to those who argue that while it's OK for a family member to comment on that family's failings, outsiders should respectfully hold their tongues, I say screw that for a sensible approach to life, especially when it is often the case that those in the best position to alert everyone to said failings are outsiders, precisely because they are outsiders. Consider: what motivation would I have -- I who am in the USA not because that was inflicted on me by birth, but rather because I freely chose to come here because I heard and bought the noble message of life and liberty -- what possible motivation would I have for merely diss'ing the place? None. I cry foul because I care. Listen, those who have ears to hear.]

Rounding off a trio of tunes. Just as the "tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time ...", some recent travels, with the obligatory backscatter x-ray scans, feelings-up, demands for documents, and other "better safe than free" intrusions by various agents of the state, prompted me to consider refreshing the US National Anthem. Consider it merely an alternate, to be used only if the current carry-on continues such that Normal Service Is Never Resumed.

The Surrender Of Fort Liberty

O! say can you see in the eve's failing light,
What once lifted our hearts at That Dawn's light come streaming,
'T'whose worn stripes and dim stars, through grave oversight,
From our shelters we peer, are abused and unseeming?
But the Media's glare, on the Bombs rarely there,
Gives the lie, in the night, that our flag is still here;
O! say could that star spangled Banner yet wave,
O'er the Land that was free, now a bane for the brave?

My Two Girls

Being in a song-writing mood (and one taking a rather wistful and soppy turn it appears!) I may as well get this down for posterity. I wrote it many years ago, but if I was to accidentally pop my clogs it would pop its clogs at the same time. So here's hoping Google keeps a copy. It's set to a traditional folk tune I heard arranged as Maideanan Na h-Airidh on the album The Blood Is Strong by the Scottish group, Capercaillie. 

My Two Girls

Shining eyes, bright in the morning,
First wi' laughter, Sarah-Jane.
Full of life from Him who made ye,
Bringin' joy intae oor hame

Chorus:
For the Lord's no gied us diamonds,
Naught so hard 't'would pass away,
But two priceless bonnie lassies,
Still my baby girls the day

And wi' gentle wee Elizabeth,
There's a twinkle in her eye.
Takes yer sad heart, sets it dancin',
Smile tae claim yer heart for aye

Chorus:
For the Lord's no gied us diamonds,...

If I ever get a spare minute (hah!), I'd like to spend some time at one of Austin's umpteen studios and record my own version, but in the meantime here is a (low qual) piece of Capercaillie's arrangement to give a feeling of what it's about. (Actually, even better would be if I could get Karen Matheson into said studio to sing it for me, but I don't see that happening any time soon!)