Isaac Rosenberg's 'Break of Day in the Trenches' - War Poetry and War Horse

BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES (Isaac Rosenberg)


The darkness crumbles away -
It is the same old druid Time as ever.
Only a live thing leaps my hand -
A queer sardonic rat -
As I pull the parapet's poppy
To stick behind my ear.
Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew
Your cosmopolitan sympathies
(And God knows what antipathies).
Now you have touched this English hand
You will do the same to a German -
Soon, no doubt, if it be your pleasure
To cross the sleeping green between.
It seems you inwardly grin as you pass
Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes
Less chanced than you for life;
Bonds to the whims of murder,
Sprawled in the bowels of the earth,
The torn fields of France.
What do you see in our eyes
At the shrieking iron and flame
Hurled through still heavens?
What quaver - what heart aghast?
Poppies whose roots are in man's veins
Drop, and are ever dropping;
But mine in my ear is safe,
Just a little white with the dust.

I'm no expert on World War II poets but I am probably a tiny bit closer to it than with the World War I poets, being anywhere from interested in to obsessed with The Big Three of Keith Douglas, Sidney Keyes and Alun Lewis. The World War I poets are, by and large, more famous: Wilfred Owen, Rupert Brooke, Siegfried Sassoon and others. They have individual poems that touch me but but their vision doesn't speak to me to the same extent as those of Douglas and Keyes.

I'm not sure if I had heard of Isaac Rosenberg before I read Keith Douglas's remarkable 'Desert Flowers'. I think it's likely that I had come across his name, but I don't remember. In 'Desert Flowers', Douglas wryly says: "Rosenberg I only repeat what you were saying". It is a touching moment in the poem where the poet's everyday voice seems to break through. Rosenberg was a Londoner of Lithuanian Jewish parentage, who died in France in 1918. He was opposed to killing and to the war, but enlisted primarily to provide financial support for his mother. He was also an artist and painted the self-portrait above.

I don't know what Douglas meant when he spoke to Rosenberg - whether he referred to something specific in one of Rosenberg's poems, or if it was homage to his overall vision. I haven't read that much by Rosenberg yet. 'Break of Day in the Trenches' is his most famous poem - some feel that it is the single greatest poem of the war - and its opening lines are totally enthralling: "The darkness crumbles away - /It is the same old druid Time as ever." If only it were not about something as terrible as the war. It is a beautiful and skilful poem, with its subtle references to the rat who doesn't care about the national divisions that led to the war, and the heartbreaking bravado of the dust-whitened poppy tucked behind the young soldier's ear. It makes me want to read more of Rosenberg.

I thought of this poem partly because I'd been reading Douglas - and 'Desert Flowers' is forever burned on my mind - but also because I went to see the new film War Horse on the weekend. I loved the horse actors, who were superb, and so were some of the humans; it was impressively filmed, and Benedict Cumberbatch was in it, which never hurts. It could have been better, though. It was perhaps a bit too sentimental and glossy, though I realise that it was a film at least partly aimed at a younger audience and it wasn't going to be a full-on war movie. It did convey something of how terrible World War I was. Scenes from the trenches, and a cavalry charge (swords and all - tragic and ridiculous) cut down by machine guns... But it was sanitized, and as much as some of the scenes shocked by their power of suggestion, I couldn't help thinking that the reality was a million times worse than anything depicted. I do unreservedly recommend the play, which is still running in London's West End and I think now in America - the giant horse puppets had a magic I've never seen elsewhere on stage.

'I have always laboured lovingly for them. . .' St John Bosco

Statue of St John Bosco, Ronda, Spain

I have always admired St John Bosco (16 August 1815 - 31 January 1888). I gave more than a passing thought to the idea of being a Salesian, though that notion never really took hold. But a Salesian priest in England whom I never met did play a part in my desire to be a priest. He established a group called The Guild of St Dominic Savio and members received a newsletter each month. At one stage I wrote the priest to tell him that I hoped to be a missionary priest. I was about 16 at the time. He wrote me a personal letter in which he said that there were many good priests but that the Church needed holy priests. That has stayed with me for more than 50 years now.

I have been blessed all my life as a priest - more than 44 years now - through involvement with young people, as a teacher, a retreat-giver, a confessor, an editor replying to letters, as a friend. At times young people have exasperated me but they have always given me hope and have called forth the best in me. They have been forgiving and understanding.

The second reading in the Office of Readings today, the Feast of St John Bosco, is from a letter of St John Bosco to his confreres in the Salesian Congregation which he founded to respond to the needs of boys who had little hope or direction in their lives. It is a letter that shows an understanding of human nature and of God's call to be loving.

I have highlighted some parts and added [comments].



St Dominic Savio, 2 April 1842 - 9 March 1857, a student of St John Bosco



I have always laboured out of love

First of all, if we wish to appear concerned about the true happiness of our foster children and if we would move them to fulfil their duties, you must never forget that you are taking the place of the parents of these beloved young people. I have always laboured lovingly for them, and carried out my priestly duties with zeal. And the whole Salesian society has done this with me.

My sons, in my long experience very often I had to be convinced of this great truth. It is easier to become angry than to restrain oneself, and to threaten a boy than to persuade him. Yes, indeed, it is more fitting to be persistent in punishing our own impatience and pride than to correct the boys. We must be firm but kind, and be patient with them. [So often I've seen young persons respond positively and with gratitude to kind firmness, what may be called at times 'tough love'.]

I give you as a model the charity of Paul which he showed to his new converts. They often reduced him to tears and entreaties when he found them lacking docility and even opposing his loving efforts. [No young person has ever reduced me to tears by his or her behaviour but I have been close to tears on occasion when a young person has thanked me for being firm and showing care.]

See that no one finds you motivated by impetuosity or wilfulness. It is difficult to keep calm when administering punishment, but this must be done if we are to keep ourselves from showing off our authority or spilling out our anger. [This echoes last Sunday's gospel, Mark 1:21-28, where the people recognised the inner authority of Jesus.]

Let us regard those boys over whom we have some authority as our own sons. Let us place ourselves in their service. Let us be ashamed to assume an attitude of superiority. [The Handbook of the Legion of Mary, written by its founder, the Venerable Frank Duff, urges a similar approach to persons.] Let us not rule over them except for the purpose of serving them better. [Elected officials and anyone in a position of authority might take this to heart.]

This was the method that Jesus used with the apostles. He put up with their ignorance and roughness and even their infidelity. He treated sinners with a kindness and affection that caused some to be shocked, others to be scandalised, and still others to hope for God’s mercy. [Read an extraordinary instance of this in yesterday's post in Remembering Fr William Doyle SJ.] And so he bade us to be gentle and humble of heart.

They are our sons, and so in correcting their mistakes we must lay aside all anger and restrain it so firmly that it is extinguished entirely.

There must be no hostility in our minds, no contempt in our eyes, no insult on our lips. We must use mercy for the present and have hope for the future, as is fitting for true fathers who are eager for real correction and improvement.

In serious matters it is better to beg God humbly than to send forth a flood of words that will only offend the listeners and have no effect on those who are guilty.

Blessed Laura Vicuña (5 April 1891, Chile – 22 January 1904, Argentina, educated by the Salesian Sisters, Patron of victims of abuse



Contemplation - Seeing through the eyes of Love

Feast of Presentation of the Lord

It is truly providential that we should begin our novena in preparation for our Patronal feast day on this Feast of the Presentation of the Lord. Today’s feast commemorates the event of the holy family paying a visit to the Jerusalem Temple, 40 days after the birth of Jesus to perform two rituals: the first is that of the presentation of a first born son who is to be redeemed from God and the second is the purification of the mother since child birth had rendered her ritually unclean. It is a day that brings together many themes. In the East, today’s feast was traditionally called ‘Hypapante’: the feast of meeting, it commemorates the event where Simeon and Anna met Jesus in the Temple and recognized in him the Messiah so awaited. For the Eastern Christians, these two individuals represent the whole of humanity that meets its Lord in the Church. In the West, the feast took on a different focus which gave emphasis to the symbol of light, and so for centuries, the feast was known as “Candlemas”- where the candles blessed and lit during the liturgy came to symbolize Christ, the light to the nations. A third theme arose during the pontificate of Venerable John Paul II, when he chose to celebrate the Day of Consecrated Life on this feast day as many parallels could be made between those who lived a consecrated religious life in the Church and the presentation of the Lord.

These three themes may seem unconnected with the theme which we have chosen to preach today, that of Love. But it will soon become apparent that as one contemplates and enters into the very experience of Mary at the scene of the Presentation, as one gazes into her immaculate heart, which does not only represent the heart of a mother but indeed of the whole Church, we will soon recognize a deep pedagogy of love. To contemplate the pierced and wounded heart of Mary, as Simeon prophesied in today’s gospel, means entering the school of love. To enter in the School of Mary, Venerable John Paul II tells us, is “to put ourselves in living communion with Jesus . . . through the heart of his Mother” (John Paul II, RVM, 2).
Today, much of the love that we know and encounter is external. Love is seen demonstrated by the expensive and opulent gifts which we heap on each other. This kind of love depends constantly on strong emotions and passions. This is a love that only appreciates external beauty. But Mary teaches us that much of true love lies hidden and mysterious. Even though the fire of passion cools, the beauty of youth fade, the happiness bought by wealth disappears, love remains. It takes prayerful contemplation to recognize what seems invisible to the eye. Simeon and Anna, both physically blinded by age and by the dim light in the Temple’s interior, were able to recognize the Christ Child where others could not. They saw through the eyes of faith, the contemplative eyes of love. The Blessed Mother teaches us the art of love which is contemplation. To contemplate is to look with the heart, to look with love. It is only if we contemplate with love can we discover the greatness of God’s love. This is the reason why we need to contemplate with the Heart of Mary: to read, understand and penetrate the mysteries of Jesus with the love of Her Heart. She is our model and our teacher of contemplation.

So what does Mary teach us of love through contemplation?

The first fruit of contemplative love which Mary reveals in today’s gospel is this ‘Love means letting go.’ Mary and Joseph followed the ancient Jewish custom of presenting their first born son to God at the Temple and provided the requisite fee, a poor man’s portion, to redeem him from the Lord’s hands. But more than just blindly following a tradition and custom, Mary understood the truth of her actions. This child does not belong to her. This child belongs to God. The irony of this episode is that her child, destined to be Redeemer of the World, is in no need of redemption. Mary understood from the very moment the angel announced his conception in her womb, she would not be able to force or manipulate the direction of his fate. This child comes from God, he will live a life in accordance with the will of God and when his earthly mission is accomplished, he will return to God. Unlike other parents who often behave in a manner which indicates possession of their children, controlling their future, their career and even their love life, Mary’s love would provide space for her Son to fulfill his mission, even though this would mean breaking her heart at the end. Letting go doesn't mean we don't care or that we’ve given up. Letting go means we stop trying to force outcomes and make people behave. It means we stop trying to do the impossible--controlling that which we cannot--and instead, focus on what is possible for God. And we do this in gentleness, kindness, and love, as much as possible. As the Buddha wisely taught, “In the end these things matter most: How well did you love? How fully did you love? How deeply did you learn to let go?”

Mary also shows that ‘Love risks wounding.’ Simeon’s contemplative gaze penetrates the inner depth of Mary’s heart and prophetically foretells the pain which she will have to endure for her son. By doing so, the story links the love of Mary with the passion of Christ right from the very beginning. There are times we wish to shield our hearts from injury and wounding. We enclose ourselves in a cocoon hoping and desiring that our hearts will not be broken. We often extend this protective veil over our loved ones, our family members, our children, our friends. But as much as we try to shield them and ourselves from pain and suffering, wounds are inevitable when one takes the risk of loving. In his book, ‘The Four Loves’, C.S. Lewis beautifully speaks of the intimate relationship between love and pain, as he himself tries to make sense of the loss he experienced as a result of the death of his beloved wife. He writes, “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

The third fruit of contemplating Mary’s love is that Love purifies or to be more accurate, it sanctifies. We had encountered the first ironical point of the story when we noted that Jesus, who was presented at the temple, was actually not in need of redemption. The second irony is found in the ritual which Mary would have to undergo at this juncture, purification, because the Jews considered a woman ritually unclean and not fit for temple worship or social interaction after child birth. What is ironic here is that Mary also is in no need of such purification because she is the Immaculate Conception, the true Ark of the Covenant unsullied by original sin, the bearer and temple of the Lord, her son Jesus. Her holiness finds its source in the love of God that had consumed her from the moment of conception. St Augustine tells us that Mary’s love first conceived in her heart and then in her womb. So what is the single most important sign of sanctity? It is love. Scriptures constantly remind us that the beginning of love does not lie with the individual man or woman trying to be more altruistic or caring. The beginning of love always begins with God’s love for his people even though they remained sinners. The love of God divinizes the beloved and thereafter the beloved transforms the world and sanctifies it through this same love which he had received.

Thus, let us rejoice together with Mary as we begin this novena in preparation for our feast day. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit will fill our hearts with this contemplative love, a love that is always ready to let go and not seek to posses; a love that risks wounding and is always ready to share in the passion of Christ; and finally, a love that purifies, sanctifies so that our mortality may be exchanged with the immortality of the one who is Love incarnate, the Son of Mary, the Son of God.

A new series and a new book...BLACK LEGION

It is 2012 and after a number of delays my latest novel has been released. This is novel number nine and the first in this new series. Unlike the Star Crusades saga of five books, this series is set far into the future. It is a world populated by aliens, advanced technology and characters with no memory of Earth and its ancient past.

My background is ancient history, advanced computing and European martial arts, so this new book combines the lot into a new and exciting work. The story is influenced by the famous story of Xenophon and the Ten Thousand Mercenaries. I studied this work in great detail when working on my Masters Degree in the original Ancient Greek, and have always found its themes influential in my writing.

It is my plan continue the Black Legion story into a series of at least three books. I would them like to jump ahead a couple of generations to continue the story with new characters with stories to tell. This will all follow the framework of Ancient European history, mixed with renaissance intrigue, politics and style.


The Black Legion is an army like no other. Paid for by the blood money of a sinister alien race and filled with ten thousand of humanity’s best warriors. They are an unstoppable force with their number taken from every known Terran planet in the Galaxy. They have little in common, other than their love of wealth and adventure, and a bitter hatred for each other. Ten thousand savage mercenaries, exiles, thieves and criminals, each looking to make their name in the greatest enterprise in living memory.


Into this world of space travel, war and intrigue comes Xenophon, the exile from the Alliance planet Attica, Glaucon the rich playboy, Roxana the experienced starship officer, and Tamara, the blue-haired castaway with a hidden past and a violent personality. Fate brings them together, to serve on board one of the mighty Titans, the great floating fortresses and the most powerful starships known to mankind. There are only twelve of these in existence, and just one is powerful enough to take on an entire fleet of enemy ships.


With only a few weeks to train with their comrades, nothing will prepare them for the carnage that awaits them at the infamous Gates of Cilicia. This fortified sector serves as the entrance to the Median Empire, the largest and most powerful empire in the known Galaxy and ruled with an iron fist by the tyrant, Emperor Artaxerxes.


An epic science fiction novel that retells the ancient tale of Xenophon and the Ten Thousand Mercenaries.

Pleasing your wife, pleasing your husband

Officiating at a wedding in the Philippines

I want you to be free from anxieties. The unmarried man is anxious about the affairs of the Lord, how to please the Lord; but the married man is anxious about worldly affairs, how to please his wife, and his interests are divided. And the unmarried woman or girl is anxious about the affairs of the Lord, how to be holy in body and spirit; but the married woman is anxious about worldly affairs, how to please her husband.

This is a sort of appendix to Sunday Reflections for today. The above verses, 1 Corinthians 7: 32-34, are from today's Second Reading. My friends in Worldwide Marriage Encounter are probably sick and tired of my emphasising that the basic vocation in marriage is to be a spouse, not a parent. The latter is a consequence of the former. In this brief passage St Paul doesn't mention parenthood at all but the priority of pleasing one's spouse. I truly believe that  a spouse who gives first priority to that will be a good parent.

I was invited to a wedding recently and the officiating priest asked me to preach. I told the couple that their wedding day didn't mean the end of dating but rather the beginning. I went on to speak of the spousal relationship as being the fundamental one.

The wedding was at 4pm. Before 9pm, the last item during the reception was a short video of the ceremony. I was delightedly surprised when it opened with my words about dating and made the spousal relationship the basic theme, rather than only showing various shots of the wedding.

I have seen marriages break up where both spouses were doing everything they could 'for the sake of the kids'. I think that break-ups are much less likely when a husband's priority is, in St Paul's words, how to please his wife, and a wife's priority how to please her husband.

I have seen in so many families how children truly feel loved when their parents' priorities are such. One adult daughter told me how her father, when he was dying, said goodbye to all his children and then asked them to leave so that he could spent his last moments with his wife.

Al Purdy, Tom Thomson, the Group of Seven, and Canada: "A Country That No Man Can Comprehend"

Preface and Last Poem, HER GATES BOTH EAST AND WEST (Al Purdy)


The above link will take you through to a page on the website of Harbour Publishing, Al Purdy's publishers. It contains the preface to his Collected Poems and a 'last poem', 'Her Gates Both East And West'.

The painting is The Jack Pine by Tom Thomson, a great Canadian painter. It was completed in 1917, not long before Thomson's death. He died under mysterious circumstances in Algonquin Park, Ontario - his canoe was found floating empty and his body discovered over a week later. Thomson was the principal inspiration for the Group of Seven, who are remembered alongside his name and art. Along with Thomson, these seven - Franklin Carmichael, Lawren Harris, A Y Jackson, Franz Johnston, Arthur Lismer, J E H Macdonald, and Frederick Varley - left an extraordinary legacy to Canadian art. They celebrated the country's grandiose, cutting mountainscapes, its astonishing colours and contrasts, and its vastness. While they were principally based in Ontario, they also travelled and found inspiration from British Columbia to Nova Scotia, and even in the Arctic.

At the end of 2011, the Dulwich Picture Gallery in London hosted a wonderful exhibition of Tom Thomson and the Group of Seven. Of course, every Canadian art lover in town headed down to see it, including myself; but it was great to see so many Londoners curious about what Canadian art had to offer. I suspect a lot were thinking "not much". It was amazing to see so many of these great paintings together, though I was struck by homesickness and also had the inevitable "The rest of the world doesn't know what they're missing, eh?" conversation with another ex-pat. The exhibition was very well reviewed by the media and was a success. But the comment I was happiest to hear was overheard from a surprised-sounding art lover in the Lawren Harris room. Surrounded by monolithic, glowing, semi-deified icebergs and lakes, she said: "I've never seen anything like this before." Coming from hard-to-impress Londoners, that kind of comment is quite something.

I think that Tom Thomson and the Group of Seven go well with Al Purdy's poems. In so many respects, Purdy is the great voice of modern Canadian poetry. His poems are funny, irreverent and a bit rude; they celebrate Canada's vastness and beauty and tell us not to worry about that silly quest for national identity we're so hung up on. This is Canada - massive, diverse, harsh, lovely, self-celebrating but self-deprecating.

I heard Al Purdy read twice and met him once, probably in the space of about a year - maybe two years before he died in 2000. He came to read and chat with my modern Canadian poetry class. He was very tall and had a foghorn voice and an enormous personality. I was obviously being a bolshie 18 (19?)-year-old intellectual that day because I asked him how he could explain placing D H Lawrence's poetry ahead of Yeats's - he cited both of them as massive influences but loved Lawrence the most. (At the time, I was a total Yeats devotee.) He boomed "I'd have a hell of a time explaining it!" and then, as I recall, fixed his piercing eyes on me and recited a bit of Lawrence. There wasn't much I could say in response to that. Some months later, I went to one of Purdy's readings at the university. I remember he had an auditorium-full of students and others howling with laughter as he read some of his best-loved poems:


Now I am a sensitive man
so I say to him mildly as hell
"You shouldn'ta knocked over that good beer
with them beautiful flowers in it"

(from 'At the Quinte Hotel')


Purdy is funny on the page, but hearing him read was unforgettable. It's such a loss that he is no longer around to read his own poems, as they're not quite the same coming from anyone else.

Purdy lived and travelled all over Canada, though his later years were spent in Sidney, BC, just outside of my hometown of Victoria. Much of his inspiration seems to have come from Ontario, and from the Arctic, but it appears that he touched down almost everywhere. He hears the same voice everywhere, something which holds the country together:


Listen:
you can hear soft wind blowing
among tall fir trees on Vancouver Island
it is the same wind we knew
whispering along Côte des Neiges
on the island of Montreal
when we were lovers and had no money

(from 'A Handful of Earth')


I love the range and sweep of 'Her Gates Both East and West'. Purdy calls Canada "a country that no man can comprehend", and I think I know what he means. It's too big, it's too empty, its people are diverse but distinctly Canadian; it boggles the mind as much as it seduces. People in Europe sometimes ask why I've only been to Toronto a couple of times, given that it's the country's major city. I explain that I grew up almost a five-hour plane flight away. Then they understand a little more, but unless they have been to Canada (or at least North America) they don't really understand. From the UK, five hours would take you beyond Turkey. Flying that far and still being in the same country is hard to understand if you come from a small nation. I still can't help laughing when I overhear comments like "France and Germany are SO BIG!". Er, really?

I've travelled in Canada; fairly large parts of British Columbia, quite a lot of Alberta, bits of Ontario and Quebec. Is that really all? A lot of it was a very long time ago, too. It still takes in a lot of sights and memories. I think of the west coast of Vancouver Island, endless sand and ocean at Long Beach, world's end. The Rocky Mountains, lakes a blue you can't believe, postcard scenes beyond anything the human mind could imagine. The top of the CN Tower at night in November - COLD. Seeing the house where my father grew up in Westmount, Montreal. Flying home from Europe for a visit, watching hours and hours of rock and ice and snow unfolding beneath me and marvelling at it. The ferry between the mainland and Vancouver Island - the islands, the calm, the beautiful horizons. Road trips where you fall asleep and wake up hours later and the landscape has hardly changed, because it's just so big, and so far.

Unsurprisingly, I probably didn't really appreciate Canada until I left. People tell me how fortunate I was to grow up there, how beautiful it is, and wonder how I could have left. I tell them there was a big wide world waiting out there, and I love London, and I love Europe. But Canada was a special place to grow up. It is unusual to grow up in a city and still feel so close to nature, and in Canada you can easily do that, especially somewhere like Victoria or Vancouver. I miss the familiar mountains, their shapes and names, their changeable yet constant nature, colours shifting from day to day, sometimes disappearing behind cloudcover. I miss the sea and I miss knowing that not far away are lakes and forests. I miss knowing that I could be in a car for hours and there would be just an endless pour of dark green trees past my window and it would hardly change for hours. When I was younger, I found that a bit boring. I now know how wrong I was. Constant and exciting and magnificent, Canada is - not boring.

The Promise teaser

This hasn't been edited yet, so I apologize for any mistakes.


I stood alone, the sky dark, like on a rainy day, only there was no rain. The air was cold and crisp. Death was nearby; I could smell it, taste it, feel it. Through the leafless trees, I spotted three figures, hovering over something with their heads bowed.
I moved for the figures, my bare feet burning against the snow. The branches of the trees clawed at my flesh, trying to pull me backward, warning me not to go further. But I pressed on, pushing my way there, until I stepped out into the opening.
“Hello,” I called out to them, but the figures didn’t turn around.
Snowflakes fell from the sky, as I inched my way closer, wondering what they were looking at.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” a girl sobbed. I knew that voice; it belonged to Aislin.
She was standing between Laylen and Alex and her sobs flooded the air. My heart leapt in my chest, but not out of excitement. No, it was out of fear.
I ran for them, but a flock of crows swooped from the trees and circled above me. I ducked down, shielding my head as I shooed the crows away, but they keeping swirling and diving and finally I let out a scream, which sent all of them scurrying except one. It dove over and circled above whatever they were looking at.
I kept making my way over, my heart knocking in my chest. Aislin took Laylen’s hand and they turned around. Both their eyes were glistened with tears as they look right through me and headed for the forest.
I turned back to Alex, whose head was still tipped down. “Alex,” I said softly.
He dragged his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. “Forem,” he whispered and turned to leave. His green eyes sparkled with tears and I wanted nothing more than make his pain go away forever.
“Wait,” I called out, reaching for him, but he was already gone.
All that was left was a hole in the ground. I stepped over to it and looked down. There was a black coffin, with the lid open, and a girl lay inside it. Her eyes were shut, her skin as pale as snow, and her hands overlapped her heart where a single red rose rested.
“No,” my voice trembled as I backed away. “No, this can’t be happening.”
“Oh, but it is.”
I bumped into something solid and I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”
A half faerie, half foreseer, and one-hundred percent dead Nicholas stepped in front of me. An evil grin spread across his face. “Yes, it is. And denial will get you nowhere.” He gestured over my shoulder at the hole that held the coffin. “Look again, Gemma. And I mean, really look this time.”
I shook my head again, but I stepped forward and peered down into the grave. There she was again, the dead girl resting in the coffin. “It’s not me,” I stammered.
“Look closer,” Nicholas purred.
I swallowed hard and leaned nearer. Suddenly the girl’s eyes whipped open. My own purple eyes were staring back at me. “No!” I screamed.
Nicholas laughed. “Welcome to the Afterlife, Gemma. Were only the soul survives.” He shoved me forward, into the hole in the ground.
I landed in the coffin. “No!” I cried, staring up at Nicholas, the crow perched on his shoulder. I start to get to my feet, but the coffin lid slipped shut, sealing me in my grave, with nothing but myself.
Forever.

Copyright: is there any point in trying?

Holmes glanced up at my gasp. "What is it, Watson?" he asked sharply.

"Holmes," I cried, "it is a copyright violation. How horrible!"


Well, maybe not. And yet, and yet...copyright can be such a fraught, complex and even emotive area that Holmes himself might have felt inclined to turn his ginormous brain to its perusal.

I suppose that my decision to be hyper-conscientious about this blog has sort of become the "hook" for the whole thing - although I am not too sure anyone besides myself has actually noticed. Essentially, I'm not that worried about becoming the target of a massive lawsuit if I post a poem in its entirety without permission; it's more to do with some moral feelings surrounding the issue, combined with sympathy for the poets. I've posted one of my own poems (so far) in its entirety on this site and I don't particularly want people just taking it for their own use and without properly crediting it (if anyone wanted to do that, which is dubious.) I am treating this blog a little bit more like a magazine, I guess. It cuts down on spontaneity as I end up planning the entries somewhat more than I otherwise might, but that's sort of how my mind works anyway; things tick over in the background for a while and then emerge relatively formed. Spontaneity was never my strong suit.

Asking for permission has been interesting so far. Of course, I have posted some out of copyright poems - easy. As I think I mentioned at the outset, though, the majority of my current favourite poets actually do fall into that area where they've died but won't be out of copyright for another 5 to 50 years. That's what you get for preferring the greats of modern poetry. I've often been able to link to the poem I want on a site where permissions have cleared; Poetry Foundation, Poets.org and Poetry Archive have been particularly amazing resources for this. But sometimes poets have virtually no online presence of this sort. Or the poem I wanted can't be found online at all, or only without permissions having been cleared.

I've had an interesting variety of responses. One or two publishers have turned me down but have been very nice about it. A few publishers and agents have happily granted me permission but wanted to be sure that I had the most up-to-date version of the poem (in the case of Derek Mahon, this was noteworthy as he tends to revise his poems a lot) and that I knew it was a once-off, and that I credited the poem properly. This is all very correct, and I think that they took the pragmatic view that at least I was asking and perhaps it was a little free publicity for that author's Collected Poems or some such. One poet gave me permission directly, and so did an executor of an estate; both of these were very kind and also gave me some very interesting comments which I incorporated into the entry. Then there was Faber and the T S Eliot incident.

I had written to Faber asking whether I could reproduce Eliot's 'Marina', a favourite poem which also reminds me of home. I honestly didn't hold out a lot of hope, as Eliot is...well, Eliot...and I thought Faber was likely to keep a fairly tight grip on things generally. The automatic email I received in reply told me to expect at least a couple of months' wait, which is perfectly reasonable for a busy permissions department.

A few weeks ago I posted an entry about The Waste Land, in which I quoted some lines. Coincidentally (I think), Faber permissions got back to me a few days later. Politely, they told me that they were not able to grant permission to reproduce Eliot's poems electronically. However, they also told me that they had noticed my entry on The Waste Land and that I should take down all the quotations that I had used. This amounted to about 20 lines of a 400-lines-plus poem.

I was nonplussed and thought maybe they'd misunderstood and hadn't looked at the entry, and thought I had simply reproduced the whole thing or a huge portion thereof. I wrote back slightly acerbically commenting that I wasn't aware of any prohibition against quoting. The response (which sounded slightly apologetic) was that this was the publisher's decision and they had to ask me to remove the quotes. I didn't write back again.

From a little bit of subsequent online research I learned that the Eliot estate is pretty draconian. And no, they don't want you even quoting Eliot - anywhere - without permission. Not even a few lines at 5 or 10% of the poem. As you can see, I haven't taken the lines down. I think that if Faber pursues this it will really indicate that they don't have much else to do (which I doubt), and furthermore I don't feel that they are in the right legally - there are actual laws governing this sort of thing, though I admit it can be a somewhat gray area. It's completely right and acceptable for a publisher or estate to insist that they maintain control over the reproduction of entire poems or very large portions, but this hardly fell into that category. I had also provided a link to the Poetry Archive, where the poem actually is reproduced in its entirety, by permission.

I just couldn't help feeling that it was more than a little ungracious of them to respond to my query about another poem by not only saying that they didn't want me to reproduce 'Marina' - perfectly reasonable - but that I had to take down every tiny Eliot quote I'd ever used. I am a blogger and I am certainly not doing this for profit - and I was trying to do things the right way by the legal standards. While I do feel (a bit) for the publishing Emmas who get stuck with trying to enforce these decisions made by other people, I don't think that it was a particularly appropriate occasion to slap someone on the wrist. As I've said, I don't feel they are in the legal right to insist on this, and I had also directed people to a source where permissions were cleared. (The response I'd had from Faber said something about my quotations being accessible to the whole world and their dog - ok, maybe not those exact words - but failed to address the fact that I'd directed readers to a permissions-cleared online source which was also accessible to the whole world and their dog.) A large part of the intention of copyright protection is to not deprive the artist or the estate of their rightful income. What I'd done did not fall under that heading. In fact, the whole point was to direct people to the entire work, encouraging them to do so by my own enthusiasm for the poem, and by quoting a few of its irresistible lines. It is also a fact that there are numerous online sites where Eliot's poems are reproduced in their entirety without permissions clearance, and in many cases Faber does not appear to have insisted on their removal.

I suppose this is the moment to admit that I'm not sure where I am going with all this. I was a bit annoyed, but it's no big deal. I'm not planning to change my overall approach; quoting within reason and the usual norms of "fair use", linking to legal sources, sometimes approaching a publisher, agent, executor or poet and seeing how I get on. I feel better about this approach than I would about any other, and I think that it has worked reasonably well so far. I completely understand how difficult an area this can be - which is why I've taken the trouble of going down this road. I guess I'm also hoping that those who control the copyright will be reasonable in return. I don't expect everyone to grant me permission, at all. However, expecting them to be reasonable is something else again.

London eats in brief

I'm relaxing in the welsh countryside now breathing fresh air and enjoying the scenery which is a welcome change from London.


Dinner at The Green House in London - its a one Michelin star restaurant and serves modern European cuisine.


Had the winter tasting menu (£55++ per person for 6 dishes). I really liked the salmon with beetroot Our main was duck breast which was also very well done - tender pink and juicy.


Desserts - on top of the main dessert which had Guinness ice cream, there was mini portions of cheese cake, chocolate encased chestnut, lemon tart, some choc thing and hazelnut macaroon.


Hopefully i will have time to blog abt my lunch at Alain ducasse and dinner at hibiscus (which I really liked). - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

'He taught them with authority.' Sunday Reflections, 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

Moses, Carlo Dolci, painted 1640-45

Readings (New American Bible: Philippines, USA)

Gospel Mark 1:21-28 (Jerusalem Bible: Australia, England & Wales, India [optional], Ireland, New Zealand, Pakistan, Scotland, South Africa)

Jesus and his followers went as far as Capernaum, and as soon as the sabbath came Jesus went to the synagogue and began to teach. And his teaching made a deep impression on them because, unlike the scribes, he taught them with authority.

In their synagogue just then there was a man possessed by an unclean spirit, and it shouted, ‘What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are: the Holy One of God.’ But Jesus said sharply, ‘Be quiet! Come out of him!’ And the unclean spirit threw the man into convulsions and with a loud cry went out of him. The people were so astonished that they started asking each other what it all meant. ‘Here is a teaching that is new’ they said ‘and with authority behind it: he gives orders even to unclean spirits and they obey him.’ And his reputation rapidly spread everywhere, through all the surrounding Galilean countryside.

An Soiscéal Marcas 1:21-28 (Gaeilge, Irish)

When I was 16 I joined Fórsa Cosanta Áitiúil (Local Defence Force), part of the Irish Army Reserve (cap badge above). Membership was voluntary. We trained on Sundays and there was a two-week summer camp. However, I didn’t stay in it long enough to experience that.

I remember two individuals very clearly, not by name but by rank. One was a corporal and the other a sergeant. The corporal took delight in shouting and swearing at everyone. He was in his early 20s and we mostly between 16 and 18. We did what he told us to do. But none of us had any respect for him. 

The sergeant, also in his early 20s, while strict, never shouted at us and the strongest word he ever used was ‘damn’. While in its fullest meaning this really is a curse, usage over the centuries has made it a very mild expression, with hardly any connection to its dictionary definition. We did what the sergeant told us to do, and with genuine respect for him. He respected us and because of that his authority came primarily from his person, not from his rank.

I am always struck by the way St Mark highlights the authority Jesus had. It wasn’t from any position he held but from the Truth that he is. He tells us in St John’s Gospel that he is ‘the way, the truth and the life’. The people recognised this: his teaching made a deep impression on them because, unlike the scribes, he taught them with authority; ‘Here is a teaching that is new’ they said ‘and with authority behind it: he gives orders even to unclean spirits and they obey him.’

I remember our rector in the seminary, Fr Joseph Flynn, once saying to us, ‘Let us at least be hypocrites’. What he meant was that if we fall short of what we believe and profess, and know that we are falling short and ask God’s forgiveness, we will still have something of the authority of Jesus himself. The tax collector who prayed in the Temple, ‘Lord, have mercy on me a sinner’, still carries authority whereas the hypocritical Pharisee doesn’t.

Yesterday I had an email from a recovering alcoholic who told me he ‘went into a blank space’ when he learned of the death of a priest who had also been a recovering alcoholic. This priest had been very close to him during the first years of his recovery. I know that the priest had occasional lapses but sought the help of others in AA when he did. That’s what gave him the authority he had with fellow 'strugglers'. 

Some saints, such as St Thérèse of Lisieux (above, aged 15), carry the authority of the purity of their lives. Some, like St Augustine of Hippo, carry the authority of a person who has, with God’s grace, overcome a life of sin. Moses, who speaks to us in the first reading today, carries the authority of a great leader who acknowledged his own impatience and who accepted the consequence of this, that he would lead his people to the Promised Land, see it, but never enter it himself.

  St Augustine and St Monica, by Ary Scheffer (painted 1846)

San am sin chuaigh Íosa isteach i gCafarnáum. Agus lá na sabóide féin, ar dhul isteach satsionagóg dó, thosaigh sé ag teagasc.Agus bhí ionadh orthu faoina theagasc; á dteagasc a bhí sé mar dhuine a mbeadh údarás aige, níorbh ionann agus na scríobhaithe.

Bhí, san am sin, duine sa tsionagóg a raibh smacht ag spiorad míghlan air, agus scread sé amach: “Há, cad ab áil leat dínn, a Íosa Nazairéanaigh? Chun ár millte a tháinig tú. Is eol dom cé hé thú: Naomh Dé.” Labhair Íosa leis go bagrach: “Bí i do thost, agus gabh amach as.” Bhain an spiorad míghlan rachtaí as an duine, ghlaoigh amach go hard agus d’imigh as. Agus bhí alltacht chomh mór sin ar chách go raibh siad ag fiafraí dá chéile: “Cad é an rud é seo?” deiridís: “teagasc nua á dhéanamh le húdarás; na spioraid mhíghlana féin, fógraíonn sé orthu agus déanann siad rud air.” Agus níorbh fhada gur leath a chlú go fada gearr ar fud cheantar uile na Gailíle.

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Freedom and Authority

Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B

A few years ago, a prayer group consisting of young people had their weekly meetings in one of the rooms at the back of the sacristy in the Church of the Assumption, PJ. One of the highlights of the meeting, the group being Charismatic in nature, was the deliverance session. Now, you may be thinking that this would only involve one or two of those young persons. But no, the deliverance session was opened to all and sundry. In other words, everyone got a good dose of deliverance. As you may expect, there was always lots of writhing, crying, screaming, and rolling on the floor as the symphony of tongues-speaking teenagers riddled with angst, anxiety and stress reached its apex. One day, my former Parish Priest, Fr Andre Volle, a big French man with a big heart and wry sense of humour was walking past the room. Those of you who know Fr Volle personally would remember that he is hard of hearing and yet his hearing aid seems to miraculously pick up the weirdest sounds, pitches and tones which are inaudible to most ears. On that eventful day, as he walked pass the room, his hearing aid picked up and magnified the sounds that was coming from the room. He opened the door and saw the scene before him, more than half of the participants were on the floor crying out for deliverance. Fr Volle instinctively shouted, “Leave the Devil Alone”, and slammed shut the door. All the young people immediately got up from the floor and recovered their senses. It was as if the devil had actually been chased out of them. Now, that’s authority for you!

We can often get lost in today’s gospel story by paying undue attention to the exorcism performed by Jesus. I’m not going to go into an explanation or catechesis of demonic possession and the dynamics of exorcisms as I do not claim to be an authority in this area. What I can firmly say is that evil is more than the personification of an abstract concept and that the devil and his minions are real and sometimes do have influence on individuals who have decided to parlay with the dark forces.

Let’s, however, move away from the dramatic elements of this encounter between good and evil to consider two concepts or themes which are being highlighted in the readings – they are ‘authority and freedom.’ A possessed man is freed from the clutches of the devil. Another man exercises authority. What is the relationship between the two? Or to be more precise, what is the relationship between authority and freedom?

"Authority" is a word that makes most people think of law and order, direction and restraint, command and control, dominance and submission, respect and obedience. We look upon authority too often and focus over and over again as if there is something wrong with authority. We see only the oppressive side of authority. One tragedy of our time is that, having these associations, "authority" has become almost a dirty word in our post modern society, while opposition to authority in schools, families, society and the church generally is cheerfully accepted as something that is at least harmless and perhaps rather fine. Maybe it comes out of our history and our background.

Since the Protestant Reformation, we have witnessed an ever increasing revolt against authority, first in the forms in which it was manifested and then against the principal itself. None of its important forms has been immune from assault. The assault was first directed against dominant institutions of Church and State. But the control exercised by Church and State in combination had entered into all phases and aspects of life, in belief and conduct alike. Hence attack upon ecclesiastical and political institutions spread to science and art, to standards and ideals of economic and domestic life.

This attack on all forms of authority has a corollary – it is freedom. According the critics of authority, the sphere of authority encroaches on the sphere of freedom, thus instating oppression and tyranny. Freedom is always seen as involving rejection of authority! Authority is equated with fixed limits, freedom with cutting loose from all that. Ultimately, this tension has led to the demarcation of two separate spheres, one of authority and one of freedom.

Today, ‘freedom’ is often seen as a magical word that acts as the justification of all actions and values. Since WWII, when freedom fighters who fought against dictators began to define their aims in terms of Four Freedoms – freedom from want, freedom from fear, freedom of speech and freedom of religion – freedom in one form or another has been a worldwide passion, encouraged and catered at every level. Playboy carries the torch for sexual freedom. Firearms or guns manufactures lobby the U.S. Congress for the right of every American to carry firearms. What we don't see is that freedom is not a concept or a license in which people can do anything they want, be anything they can be.

What kind of authority are today’s readings referring to? Here, the readings stressed this point that ‘authority’ is a relational word which signifies the right to rule based on its source. Today, the people who witnessed the act of Jesus commanding the evil spirit to leave the possessed man recognized an authority which did not just come from years of studies as in the case of the scribes or Pharisees. It was not an authority that came from belonging to a class or category entrusted with official ministerial duties, as in the case of the priests and the levites. It was not an authority that emerge from associating with a long lineage of prominent rabbinical masters. Jesus’ authority flows from who he is and not what he has acquired or done. Jesus is the Son of God, and that is his source of authority. Authority is at the heart of his message, the gospel of the Kingdom of God.

Authority is also based on an objective truth, the relationship between the one who exercises authority and the one who confers authority. The authority of the bishop, for example, comes from Christ through apostolic succession. It does not depend on his popularity, intelligence or how he is viewed by his flock. Today, the object has been supplanted by the dictatorship of the subject. What do I mean by this? Many people are prepared to submit to authority as long as authority concurs with them. In other words, I obey authority as long as it suits me, when I sense that the authority is being reasonable, when I feel that the authority has my best interest in mind, when authority does not intrude into my private sphere or demand changes from me. What has really taken place here is that the authority vested in the objective relationship between the one exercising authority and his source, is now transferred to the subject, the individual. Thus, we are an authority onto ourselves.

What then do the readings say about freedom? Freedom is often conceived as freedom from restraint and limitations and freedom to make decisions and to act. But the readings provide a definition of freedom that is very different. Although it speaks of freedom ‘from’, it also points to freedom ‘for.’ This definition starts with freedom from and freedom not to — in this case, freedom from the guilt and power of sin, and freedom not to be dominated by tyrannical self-will — but it centers on freedom for: freedom for God, freedom to love and serve one’s Maker and fellow-creatures, freedom for the joy, hope and contentment which God gives to sinners who believe in Christ. The man who was possessed was freed ‘from’ the power of evil, in order that he may be freed for the kingdom. His freedom was realized in his submission to the authority of Christ.

Thus freedom is freedom not to do wrong, but to do right; not to break the moral law, but to keep it; not to forget God, but to cleave to him every moment, in every endeavor and relationship; not to abuse and exploit others, but to lay down one’s life for them. The Catechism of the Catholic Church reaffirms the intimate link between human freedom and the authority of God when it teaches that “Human freedom is a force for growth and maturity in truth and goodness; it attains its perfection when directed toward God, our beatitude” (CCC 1731) “As long as freedom has not bound itself definitively to its ultimate good which is God, there is the possibility of choosing between good and evil, and thus of growing in perfection or of failing and sinning.” (CCC 1732) From this we can clearly see the role of authority, which is to direct human freedom along the course for which it was created and given to humanity. Authority becomes the beacon or lighthouse along the whole horizon of possibilities. Authority is the set of lights that demarcate the runway for a safe landing. Authority is the anchor that continuously roots human freedom in the good and in God.

Thus, the readings remind us today the individualistic subjective philosophy of society was wrong in setting authority and freedom in opposition to one another. In the gospel, the authority of Christ is not merely lordship and power over all things, although this seems to be manifest throughout the gospels. However, the striking fact about Christ’s authority is that it also means freedom. Jesus taught with authority, not simply because he displayed lordship and power, but also because he brought liberation to the human soul. Thus, for Christians, there is no false dichotomy between freedom and authority. Freedom without authority will ultimately lead to enslavement to one form of addiction or another or to man’s own intrinsic tyranny. Authority, which does not facilitate freedom, will also lead to the abuse of power and external tyranny. Our faith requires attention to maintain the intimate and organic union these two things: of authority and freedom.

When the Church and its leaders exercises authority today, it does so as a prophetic act and not because they are trapped in the distant past of despotic undemocratic monarchs. When the Church and its leaders continue to teach, to sanctify and to govern with authority, they choose to bring about the union of the People of God who are called to be one as Christ and the Father are one. When they act with authority, they make present the voice of Christ who continues to proclaim the timeless gospel message: “The time is fulfilled, the Kingdom of God is hand. Repent and Believe in the good news.” What we should fear is when our leaders abdicate such authority in the name of democracy and allow the truths which they promise to defend and protect be bartered for socially acceptable mores. By doing so, they fail not only to silence their own voice or that of the Church. They silence the voice of Christ – a Christ who has no more authority to teach, to sanctify and govern his people.

A 'spirited' young Massgoer!



I came across this on Facebook. We'll have to wait in the Philippines, in Hong Kong and, I think, New Zealand, until next Advent for this.

Alec on the Team Jack Podcast

Some of you know one of my best friends, Jack Morrissey.  He recently started a Podcast on the Kevin Smith Smodcast network.  Well, he invited me on last week and the podcast just came out.  We talk a lot of Star Trek, props, collecting and more.  All the stuff we love to talk about.  I hope you will check it out.  It is just over an hour.  I have already gotten emails from friends who found it and loved it, so I thought I would share it with you all.

Alec

Desert Flowers and Death as Familiar: The Poetry of Keith Douglas

I had a coup de foudre moment when I first read Keith Douglas, which was a little less than a year ago. This is something that never happens to me in real life: I believe in meaningful coincidences, which makes me see them everywhere, but I don't believe in love at first sight, which makes me unlikely to ever experience it.

Love at first sight does occasionally happen to me in the arts, although it used to be a more common experience when I was a bit younger. Douglas was handsome and died young, but it was his diamond-cut, hard poetry of clarity which turned my head around. I had a glimmer of it when I read 'Actors waiting in the wings of Europe', but 'Desert Flowers' punched me in the stomach. I remember feeling my heart clench up and having to draw a deep breath.


Lay the coin on my tongue and I will sing
of what the others never set eyes on.

(from 'Desert Flowers')


I think that my reaction to Douglas had to do with the familiar seen through a different prism, which is partly what he was writing about in 'Desert Flowers', as above. Simply put, I had the sense that he saw things in much the same way as I do. He understood how unique and lonely it can be to see differently. I don't always feel like this about my favourite poets, writers, artists or musicians. Sometimes they give me a glimpse of something completely different. In Douglas's case, it was the familiar presented through the new, which can be particularly powerful. It was like finding someone inside my head who I didn't know had been there all along.

Douglas was born in 1920 and studied at Oxford, where he became noted for his poetry by the time he was 18. He fought as a tanker in the North African battles of World War II, including El Alamein; his memoir Alamein to Zem Zem describes these campaigns in clear visceral detail. Douglas survived North Africa and then died in Normandy on 9 June 1944, a few days after taking part in the D-Day invasion.

He was only 24 when he died. His poetry doesn't even need the softening effect of "very accomplished for his age"; he already had a fully realised vision and we can only wonder what his more mature work would have brought. In his poems he comes across as cool to the point of coldness, visionary to the point of prophetic, and highly conscious of his own death, which he seems to have anticipated for several years. I wouldn't call it "premonition" - I don't know what to call it. He knew he was going to die and he was very serene about it, or put up a convincing semblance of it. The images of death in his poetry are calm, lucid and shocking:


[...] there are all sorts of manure, you can imagine
the dead themselves, their boots, clothes and possessions
clinging to the ground, a man with no head
has a packet of chocolate and a souvenir of Tripoli.

(from 'Cairo Jag', 1943)


I see my feet like stones
underwater. The logical little fish
converge and nip the flesh
imagining I am one of the dead.

(from 'Mersa')


Shortly before he took part in the invasion of Normandy, he wrote:


The next month, then, is a window
and with a crash I'll split the glass.
Behind it stands one I must kiss,
person of love or death
a person or a wraith,
I fear what I shall find.

(from 'On a Return From Egypt')


He was dead not long afterward. There is something detached about Douglas, as well. I don't think he wanted to die, but the depth of emotion behind his words remains at a certain remove. 'On a Return From Egypt' also gave me a shock as the image I've quoted above was echoed to a certain extent in a poem I wrote about Cairo, before I started reading Douglas. Not a poem about death, but still, one about embracing the unfamiliar and frightening:


[...] O City
that stalks and devours, I have seen my fate
and grasped its hand. I have sat
by the deathly river and tasted night.
I have touched the face
and kissed the lips behind the mask.

(from my poem 'Cairo')


Douglas had several relationships with women from different countries. One of his lovers was a Chinese woman, Yingcheng, about whom he wrote:


but alas, Cheng, I cannot tell why,
today I touched a mask stretched on the stone-

hard face of death.

(from 'The Prisoner')


This is frankly pretty disturbing. He later wrote a poem addressed to the four significant girlfriends he had, wherein he described them as "four poisons", yet still seems to have loved them very much; not a good recipe for a successful relationship. I don't think that Douglas would have been an easy man to be involved with, as much as he ticks the boxes of Manly Man and Great Poet. His father's departure when he was eight years old seems to have done a good deal of damage. His poetry reveals much by what it does not reveal.

I would have liked to reproduce 'Desert Flowers' here if possible, but Douglas's executor J C Hall has recently died and I was totally unsure how to go about trying to get permission (Faber was not helpful). Not many of his poems seem to have been reproduced online by permission. So I include here a link to 'How to Kill', a very unsettling poem and possibly his most famous. It is not my favourite of his poems (although I like it, I have too many definite favourites) but it is a good place to start.

HOW TO KILL (Keith Douglas)

I don't know what else to say about Douglas. I have a bit of a dead poet crush on him; I feel sure that we could at least have had a good conversation and that we would have understood each other. Strange to feel that way about a poet who died very young and whose life couldn't possibly have been more different from mine, but I think that those who are given the same vision tend to recognise each other.

Ramen champion in changi airport

There's a Ramen Champion branch in T3 changi airport. It's rather small with 4 stalls only (gantetsu, riki, hakata gensuke and ikkousha). I've tried only gantetsu before. This is the ikkousha hakata style ramen - though hakata ramen isn't my favorite... The best thing about this was the perfectly boiled tamago with the yolk still runny. The soup was tasty but not very remarkable and I didn't quite like the char Siew cos it was choped up jnto small little pieces. - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Please pray for Julie

Mrs Julie Lamb with grandchildren Erin and Patrick O'Brien

Yesterday I received an email from a good friend in London, Ontario, Laura O'Brien. Laura asked me to pray for her mother, Mrs Julie Lamb. Julie has lung cancer and has been 'given weeks to a couple months to live'.

I've known Laura since 1981 when I was studying in Toronto. She and her husband Danny - Laura had the good sense to marry an Irishman! - were members of a prayer group that used to meet in St Basil's in the heart of  this remarkably cosmopolitan city. (The 1980 census showed that 44 per cent of the population of Metro Toronto had been born outside of Canada).

I met Julie for the first time in 2010 during a visit to Canada. She is a delightfully alive person.

Laura wrote, 'She is getting great care, and all the family have pulled together to ensure she has all her needs met'.

Please remember Julie and her family in your prayers

Tom Paris costume on eBay

A Tom Paris costume previously sold by Screen Used, is up for sale on eBay.  The seller initially had the costume on eBay with a very reasonable opening bid, but closed the auction early and has relisted it.  The seller is known to the Star Trek collecting community and a bit of a pain in the ass though not a crook. 

In the past one forum member has tried to negotiate with this seller for a costume he had on eBay and the seller was a bit rude (and this come form one of the nicest forum member) and refused to negotiate.  The buyer eventually waited the guy out and got the costume a few years later from him.
 

The seller's prices are generally high for Star Trek costumes, as we see from a lot of buyers who think they can make a big mark-up on costumes when they go to sell.  Here, while the opening bid is closer to a reasonable sale price than an opening bid, he does have a "Make an Offer" button.

Now this costume is really interesting is that this costume comes with a screen used comm badge and pips, so I think the price is pretty good, but make an offer if you are interested.

Happy Chinese new year

First lo hei of the year!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Taro cake @ Coffee Stars by Dao

Happy chinese new year! I'm feeling like Scrooge cos I have to work every single day during cny. The only redeeming fact is tt most of the shops will be closed tmr. This is the taro cake from Coffe stars a new cafe in wisma. It tastes very much like chilled ohr nee and the cream is actually coconut cream. The cake layers have bits of taro mixed into the batter. I shall slowly figure out where nine west has shifted to after I'm done wth this cake... - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

It's Who You are, Not What you Do

Homily for First Mass of Fr David Arulunatham

A new priest after his ordination was getting all nervous for his first mass. He was convinced that he would just clam up when it came to the time to deliver his first homily. He then went to consult the senior parish priest and asked for some good advice on how to overcome his fears. The senior priest replied, "When I am worried about getting nervous on the pulpit, I put a glass of vodka next to the water glass. If I start to get nervous, I take a sip."

So next Sunday he took the senior priest’s advice. At the beginning of the sermon, he got nervous and took a drink. Correction – he took several drinks. He then miraculously proceeded to talk up a storm. Quite happy with his own accomplishment and hoping to get some good reviews from parishioners and his senior, the new priest returned to his office only to find a note from the senior priest posted on his office door. It read.

1. Sip the Vodka, don't gulp.
2. There are 10 commandments, not 12.
3. There are 12 disciples, not 10.
4. Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.
5. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Daddy, Junior and the Spook.
6. When Jesus broke the bread at the Last Supper he said, "Take this and eat it of it for this is my body." He did not say "Eat me."
Yours sincerely,
Revd Fr Michael

The reason why I’m up here at the ambo and not our newly ordained priest, Fr David, is not because he had a little too much to drink. It has nothing to do with alcohol but everything to do with the inspiration of the Spirit. Fr David has asked me to preach at his first mass because this is an ancient treasured custom of the church for a senior priest, which I do not claim to be, preaches at the first mass celebrated by the newly ordained.

Something has changed since last Monday, the day Fr David was ordained to the priesthood. For all purposes, Fr David still looks the same. We do not expect any drastic physical transformation where he will suddenly transform into a one ton lorry or a small mini miner. He still speaks in the same way as many of you had known him before. Fr David’s passion for cooking and flower arrangements has not changed. His strong commanding voice still soothes the wounded soul and send shivers down the spine of those who are up to no good.

So, what are some of the changes that we see today? His clothing would be most apparent to the discerning eye. He has exchanged his deacon’s dalmatic, the uniform of a servant or waiter, for a chasuble, which symbolizes putting on Christ. His name has also changed. He is no longer Mr David Arulanatham or Br David or Deacon David. We now address him as Fr David. He has taken his rightful place at the sedile, or the presidential chair, denoting that he now acts in the person of Christ the King, Christ who is head of his body – in persona capitis Christi. Today, we will witness him consecrating bread and wine and not just merely assisting at the altar.

But there is a far more profound change that has taken place in Fr David. A change which is invisible to the eye but can be recognized by faith. The extrinsic changes that we see, changes to his clothing, roles, functions, and duties, are founded on the intrinsic change which we cannot see with the naked eye. Fr David has undergone an ontological change, a change of his whole being. The priesthood is more than just a profession or a function, it is a new identity, a new calling, a new creation. As St Paul beautifully explains the experience of such change in Gal 2:20, “It is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me.”

Thus, the priesthood and baptism are both intimately link. Both sacraments do not only confer grace but effect an ontological change in the person who receives it. The Church’s catechism speaks of this as leaving an indelible mark, quite similar to the indelible ink that we are speaking of using in the next general elections. But this indelible mark left by the sacraments of baptism, confirmation and holy orders can never be erased. It represents the undying fidelity of God to his promises and his graces, promises that will never be broken and graces that will never be withdrawn even in the face of man’s infidelity.

In baptism, we are made children of God, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people set apart for the worship of God. In baptism, we become a new creation. The old has been put to death on the cross. We experience a regeneration or a rebirth to everlasting life. In Holy Orders, the priest who is taken from the lay faithful who have been baptized, experiences another ontological change. The priest is configured to Christ at his ordination in a way calling for a permanent and lasting commitment, through a share in Christ’s eternal priesthood. The priest does not just emulate Christ. He is not just a substitute or a stand-in for Christ. Through ordination, the priest becomes Christ.

This last statement may sound excessive. But this pales in comparison to writings of St John Marie Vianney, the Cure de Ars, the patron saint of Parish Priests and diocesans. The Cure of Ars was quite humble, yet as a priest he was conscious of being an immense gift to his people: "A good shepherd, a pastor after God's heart, is the greatest treasure which the good Lord can grant to a parish and one of the most precious gifts of divine mercy". He spoke of the priesthood as if incapable of fathoming the grandeur of the gift and task entrusted to a human creature: "O, how great is the priest! ... If he realized what he is, he would die. ... God obeys him: he utters a few words and the Lord descends from heaven at his voice, to be contained within a small host".

In spite of the fact that many of these statements may sound audacious and even narcissistic, St John Marie Vianney’s words of wisdom are a reminder to priests that their ministry is founded not merely on function, talents, personality and abilities. Too often, a priest confuses his function with his identity which ultimately leads to a disavowal of his calling. When priests try so hard to be like the ordinary Joe or just one of the guys, he substitutes Christ whom he represents for the man whom he tries to be for the people. When the image of Christ is erased, what is left is the pure personality of the man. A priest’s worth then depends on his popularity, his abilities and his effectiveness. On the other hand, when priests are able to own and live up to their vocation as holy ministers of God, governing, sanctifying and teaching his flock, then their people will learn to live up to their own respective vocations to sanctify the world through their lay calling.

Now does this mean that you would see a very different Fr David. A Fr David incapable of making mistakes. A Fr David who will always be patient, kind, gentle, holy, compassionate, understanding, loving, and forgiving. In other words, are we expecting to see a new Fr David who is perfect and without sin? Let us not confuse the process of ordination with Canonization! Priests like everyone else remain sinners. But just like everyone else, he is called to holiness and through the sacrament of holy orders, he is called especially to configure himself to Christ who is Priest, Prophet and King. Ordination means that the hands of the sinner priest can be transformed by the Holy Spirit into the hands of Christ when celebrating the Eucharist, or anointing the dying, or absolving the penitent sinner, or offering blessing. God continues to use this unworthy and sometimes broken instrument to be his channel of grace of the world. By the grace of God, the priest offers his priesthood at all times in the name and person of Jesus. The weakness and sinfulness of a priest does not take away the efficacy of God’s grace but rather accentuates the truth that all is graced and that nothing can be accomplished without the grace and power of God.

Finally, dear Fr David, I would like to share with you a beautiful reflection by our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, in his homily at the concluding mass for the Year of the Priest that summarises what I have clumsily been trying to share with you:
“The priest is not a mere office-holder, like those which every society needs in order to carry out certain functions. Instead, he does something which no human being can do of his own power: in Christ’s name he speaks the words which absolve us of our sins and in this way he changes, starting with God, our entire life. Over the offerings of bread and wine he speaks Christ’s words of thanksgiving, which are words of transubstantiation – words which make Christ himself present, the Risen One, his Body and Blood – words which thus transform the elements of the world, which open the world to God and unite it to him. The priesthood, then, is not simply “office” but sacrament: God makes use of us poor men in order to be, through us, present to all men and women, and to act on their behalf. This audacity of God who entrusts himself to human beings – who, conscious of our weaknesses, nonetheless considers men capable of acting and being present in his stead – this audacity of God is the true grandeur concealed in the word “priesthood”