Revolution

 

 

I come like a comet new born
Like the sun that arises at morning
I come like the furious tempest
That follows a thundercloud's warning
I come like the fiery lava
From cloud-covered mountains volcanic
I come like a storm from the north
That the oceans awake to in panic

I come because tyranny planted
My seed in the hot desert sand
I come because masters have kindled
My fury with every command
I come because man cannot murder
The life-giving seed in his veins
I come because liberty cannot
Forever be fettered by chains

I come because tyrants imagine
That mankind is only their throne
I come because peace has been nourished
By bullets and cannon alone
I come because one world is two
And we face one another with rage
I come because guards have been posted
To keep out the hope of the age

From earliest times the oppressed
Have awaked me and called me to lead them
I guided them out of enslavement
And brought them to high roads of freedom
I marched at the head of their legions
And hailed a new world at its birth
And now I shall march with the peoples
Until they unfetter the earth

And you, all you sanctified moneybags
Bandits anointed and crowned
Your counterfeit towers of justice
And ethics will crash to the ground
I'll send my good sword through your hearts
That have drained the world's blood in their lust
Smash all your crowns and your sceptres
And trample them into the dust

I'll rip off your rich purple garments
And tear them to rags and to shreds
Never again will their glitter
Be able to turn people's heads
At last your cold world will be robbed of
It's proud hypocritical glow
For we shall dissolve it as surely
As sunlight dissolves the deep snow

I'll tear down your cobweb morality
Shatter the old chain of lies
Catch all your blackhooded preachers
And choke them as though they were flies
I'll put a quick end to your heavens
Your gods that are deaf to all prayer
Scatter your futile old spirits
And clean up the earth and the air

And though you may choke me and shoot me
And hang me your toil is in vain
No dungeon, no gallows can scare me
Nor will I be frightened by pain
Each time I'll arise from the earth
And break through all your weapons of doom
Until you are finished forever
Until you are dust in the tomb

 

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Song Notes

The text is a poem by Joseph Bovshover and is from 'American Labour Songs of the 19th Century'. Dick Gaugan wrote the music for it in (East) Berlin during the 1982 Festival of Political Song.

Don’t talk to me about elections.

X 

 

I am interested in politics, particularly those of other countries, but I don’t want any part of the verbal wars that sprout up whenever somebody says anything.

For me, the changing of the guard in China is far more likely to have a bigger impact on how we live than the American Election.

From this side of the border, it doesn’t make much sense to see everybody getting all riled up now.

Nobody seemed very concerned when first jobs, and then buckets of consumer cash, were shipped off to what was once a Communist enemy.

I remember wondering how that was going to end even though all the experts were crowing about investment possibilities, the benefits of cost reduction, and how we, like boats, would rise on the tide.

We were told we wouldn’t need our manufacturing jobs as we would have plenty to do in the Service Industries. I did wonder who we might be serving when the inevitable happened and all our houses were turned upside down.

You see, I don’t trust politicians – of any stripe. Some may be well intentioned but the whole business is prone to corruption and misuse. And it had been since it was invented.

Sometimes, one of them might doing something worthy of the history books but if we didn’t vote for them – we’ll never credit it.

Likewise. If our choice screws up – we overlook it.

You gotta be that way or you will end up cynical and we can’t have that. It has been called the greatest threat to Democracy but I don’t think so.

Cynicism is a natural defence and should be encouraged. Elections only serve to deflect people from what is really needed. You disagree? Then tell me why it has all come down to advertising paid for by invested groups?

Can you really see a moneyed interest paying to get real reform elected? I didn’t think so.

I’m not advocating revolution – unless it is going to be one of the bloodless type – like the one they had in Portugal back in the 1970’s. But they're few and far between and we can’t risk anymore killing – we’ve had enough of that – just leads to revenge and that in turns leads back to where we began. Seen that far too often!

Maybe we need to start qualifying our candidates and our electors. Only candidates with impeccable standards of honesty and morality should be allowed run. And only people who can tell the difference between horse’s asses should be allowed to elect them.

That rules me out but I’m not concerned. I’m no longer interested.

Love is a dangerous business!

I knew this when I sat down to write Lagan Love but I had to.

‘Love’ is the most complicated and misunderstood aspect of life. It is, according to Christian principles; the greatest virtue! But how many of us approach it that way? The Beatles sang that it was ‘all you need’ but does neediness have limits? Love has also been the rationale for crimes of passion and an excuse for irrational behaviours that might otherwise be unacceptable. Love is, in many ways, similar to, and often enflamed by, drunkenness!

In too many cases our love-affairs are the breeding grounds for the worst of our neurosis; our insecurities, selfishness and dependencies. We look to love for reaffirmation or fulfillment and when we don’t find it, we blame the object of our love, or love itself. Talk with anyone after a breakup. How many of us will admit that we entered the now defunct relationship with less than virtuous aspirations?

Most of us allow the headiness of attraction to cause us to abandon all sense and literally throw ourselves at someone without really knowing. The culture of love encourages this. ‘Trust in love,’ we are told over and over.

The ‘Romance Industry’ does not help, serving up the sweet delusion of fantasy that makes the reality of failed love all the more bitter.

And we do not limit ourselves to loving persons. We love our countries even when more rational thought would decry all the stupid things done in our country’s name. We love our sports teams through long droughts when their primary interest seems to be the amount of money they can wrangle from us. We love our Pop Stars and when we are confronted by their human frailties – we simply ignore them, choosing to see conspiracy or bad press.

We even love our children as they feast on us emotionally and financially until we wither up into old age – forgotten and useless! However, we can also love and indulge our grandchildren because it is a chance to get even with our children!

But you are not supposed to say all of this aloud. That would be bitterness or cynicism – the tell-tale scars of failed love.

The scars of love, mine and others, were one of the reasons why I had to write Lagan Love. I had to take the sacred cow that is love and have a long hard look at it through the lens of my characters. They loved each other in all the ways we see around us and yet find disturbing on the page. We do not like to see love sullied by reality – preferring instead that they all live happily ever-after!

Love endures in fantasy and reality and I think it is a good time to examine it all. In Lagan Love I try to present love in its many forms and allow the reader to associate or reject them as they see fit. I believe in love but I also believe that there is a Yin and Yang to it all. Love has a dark side that is cruel and unforgiving and I think that if we keep that in mind – we have a far better chance of finding our way through the forest of emotions that we confuse with love.

The story behind.

There are a great many enduring images of Ireland; breath-taking scenery freshly misted by gentle rains, lichen-stained Celtic Crosses in the ruins of medieval monasteries, fading Georgian splendor from the days when Dublin was a jewel of the Empire and a green and lush country of pious and happy folks just waiting to be friendly. But it was very different growing up there.

I often reflected on this, sitting in Grogan’s of South William Street where the seeds of Lagan Love were sown. Grogan’s, aka ‘The Castle Lounge,’ had inherited a literary tradition from McDaid’s – the preferred local for many of the great Irish writers of the 1950’s.

The flight of the faithful

It was in 1972 that Grogans became a favored meeting place for cutting-edge Irish writers of the time. Renowned barman Paddy O’Brian, formerly of McDaids pub, began working in Grogans bringing with him regular customers of McDaids including the likes of poet Patrick Kavanagh, Flann O’Brien, J.P. Donleavy, Liam O’Flaherty. Thus cementing Grogans popularity amongst the citys’ artistic avant-garde . . . http://www.groganspub.ie/?page_id=7

I wandered in a year or two later to meet with my great friends, Joe McPeak, Jimmy Neil and Shuggie Murray, all refugees from Glasgow, and Emmanuel Greenan who had fled the troubles in Belfast for the relative peace of Dublin.

We liked to sit in the little nook near the door and in time were dubbed ‘Scot’s Corner’ by Paddy O’Brian, himself.

Our conversation was always varied, influenced by the great literariness of the place and interspersed with Jimmy’s acerbic tirades against Fascism and Capitalism; Shuggie’s unquenchable humour, Joe’s ancient mysticism and the occasional nod from Emmanuel who was taciturn.

We talked about all that troubled the world but we had reassurance – it had all been done before. History was our great source of comfort as the world seemed to spin out of control. But the history in Grogan’s was very different from that which the Irish Tourist Board would have you believe. There were no leaping leprechauns around – they were barred from the premises - and those who clung to pious subservience kept their impositions to themselves.

No! The smoke filled air of Grogan’s was pristine.

There my young and confused self could glimpse another reality – the one that artists speak of – the truth behind the veil! We were the descendants of the Celts – those proud and noble tribes that defied even the Romans who had to build a wall to limit their expansion and to keep us out. At least that’s what they did when they encountered the Scots – they didn’t even dare set foot in Ireland!

But we had suffered too. Years of harassment by the Vikings and then the Normans had left us beaten but unbowed. It was as clear as the little red glow at the bottom of a good pint. But we had turned all of that suffering into Art – music that would make a stone cry and gentle poetry of defiance against the numbing consumerism the world was scurrying towards.

I would capture all of that and put it in a book! I would leave a record of the lives and times of the great ordinary people who knew far more than the wise. I would – right after I had another few pints!

Lagan Love did not see the light of day for another forty years but like good wine, it had to settle and mature.

Austerity-Schmerity!

Enough is enough. This austerity mania has one obvious outcome – downward spirals!

There is a logic in the argument that Governments must get their fiscal houses in order but it cannot be denied that the slashing of public payrolls, at a time when private enterprises have been outsourcing job for decades, does little more than reduce the size of Economic activity. Monies spent on public employees rarely ends up in Swiss Banks accounts and is more likely to be a portion of Consumer Spending – the real driving force in most economies.

I have followed the arguments from all sides and yes, I see a certain logic in each.

But I also remember the arguments around economic expansion being a good thing – Jobs and Prosperity for all!

Much of recent Government debt, particularly in my home country of Ireland, was the result of the failures of Private Enterprises and Governments efforts to insulate against those. The ‘Wall Street bail-out’ also springs to mind. Elsewhere, Governments released funds to stimulate or maintain economic activity in a time of great uncertainty.

For the totally un-elected forces of the ‘Market’ to now denounce this is questionable given their silence during the decades of Private Enterprise madness that led us into this mess.

Likewise, the long term decline in actual incomes, and the efforts to compensate with cheap and easy credit, maybe be brought into question – after the fact!

We, the people, are in a mess. Through our Governments, we bailed out Capitalistic failure and now have to face the chiding of the those who were quick to avail of Public Funds. It’s enough to make you think that it is all a game, just like derivatives and sub-prime skullduggery!

One of the tenets of Capitalism in that Wealth can be expanded and is not a limited thing.

If that is true then a very obvious solutions presents itself – print more money and hit the reset button!

Money is such a relative thing anyway and it’s true value in a very nebulous thing. Print enough to set the world to right and let’s get on with it.

Unless, of course, there is a different game afoot. Some would claim that regressive forces are availing of the uncertainty to forward their political ideologies and rollback all social advances – returning us to the levels of poverty and insecurity that were prevalent for the majority as recently as the 1930’s.

Broken down and grasping for any chance, we will be less likely to interfere with the new elites running of the world – much like the old elites who were so difficult to get rid of.

But let’s not forget, the 1930’s were followed by the War of Ideologies – aka WW2.

Do people who avoid the great Existential questions cease to exist?

Symbolically speaking, of course!

I was ‘thinking’ through a scene where a young idealistic priest tries to negotiate the case of the hapless Danny Boyle with two jaded Drug Squad officers.

I was thinking of Symbols and, as I enjoyed a nice little cigar, the Principals behind them. Yes, I do that!

I like to admire all the different ways we can interpret them, and how, when we have, we like to flock amongst like-minded. The Priest and the Detectives were not.

Clear symbols can be hugely important in life, like when trying to decide which washroom to go into at one of those very fancy restaurants, or foreign airports.

But the natural balances in the universe might dictate that we should not be rushing around airports – or anywhere really.

My point is there is huge value in actually learning something that is so obvious that it is usually overlooked.

I like logos but I doubt that everything can be represented by a single form. That would contradict everything we know about ourselves. The Good and the Bad. The Beautiful and the Ugly . . . you know?

That’s what I am trying to capture in a few lines.

And they have to be good enough to capture a moment’s attention in a very hectic world. And I would like the people who will read it, years from now, to stop and wonder about what a crazy time we live in.

Stop, slow down and take it easy for a moment and consider this:

Do people who avoid the great Existential questions cease to exist?

Having a little break.

I’ve been thinking about the past, mine and the world’s, for a while now. I’m working on something that starts there and ends up . . . somewhere.

The details are not important just yet. The main purpose right now is to understand what the damn book is trying to tell me. It’s the second part of a trilogy that I decided to write after spending the better part of a year trying to write it as one book. Silly me!

It begins in the past, like all the best books. A ‘once upon a time’ thing, only set in Dublin in the 1960’s so the chance of them all living ‘happily-ever-after’ is slim. But you never know.

I’ve grown very attached to a few of the characters and doubt I can send them off to the bad ends I had once planned for them. It’s not in me.

Yes, I still like to peek beneath the veneers and see what life is really like when we take off the Wellbutrin  tinted glasses.

Not that I want to beat myself down with the weight of all the sins we have committed in the past, to ourselves, others and Life.

What I want to draw attention to is best summed up by one of my favourite sayings, ‘the more things change . . .’ That’s why I’m digging around in the past – to find the literary equivalent of artifacts. Or at least that what I think I’m doing. But I might be wrong.

All that I dig up, intending to use a central motif, might just end up being pared down to the essence and become the backdrop. Who knows? Most of the time writers are just the typists, especially when they get out of their own way.

And that’s the thing that I share with history and the rest of humanity – getting in my own way. That and burdening myself with a headful of details so that they can be distilled in the smoky, disorganised corner in which I write. Sometimes, I feel like one of those old monks that scratched away in the gloom. You know, like Bruno and the rest of them that got burned for their troubles! Yet the ashes of their words are still settling.

Wouldn’t that be a grand thing but I live in a different age. I would be wealthy if I was given money every time I head the phrase: ‘out-of-the-box-thinking.’ Governments, Businesses, Churches all claim they are looking for it but they really only want the type of thinking that jumps right back into the box.

But that’s nothing new. We’ve been around this part of the course many times before.

A few years ago I got to take my kids to Rome and when we visited the green mound that once was the Circus Maximus, I had them run around it.

They were both young and active and loved it but what I hoped they would get from it was a glimpse of time and place and history. It could come in handy when they try to make sense of the world we have made for them.