Foregone conclusions of a monochrome maniac

‘The greatest enemy of clear language is insincerity’ so if I can’t understand you, that’s because you don’t mean it.

When you use clichés your brain goes into automatic. You’re not even trying to express yourself; you’re letting language slop indolently rather than pinpointing your real thoughts. So stop it, don’t you dare avoid putting yourself into what you say. If you’re not bothering to use your own ways of expressing yourself, then you might as well stay quiet. It’s like you’re taking a bunch of old frames and hanging them empty on the wall – there’s not really any input from you, except in where they’re hung. Go fill in your frames.

Having said that, I’m now going to steal a whole load of other people’s words, because they’re lovely.

I really am so incredibly annoying. Me and my nervous laugh.

POEM: THE ENVOY OF MR COGITO

Go where those others went to the dark boundary
for the golden fleece of nothingness your last prize

go upright among those who are on their knees
among those with their backs turned and those toppled in the dust

you were saved not in order to live
you have little time you must give testimony

be courageous when the mind deceives you be courageous
in the final account only this is important

and let your helpless Anger be like the sea
whenever you hear the voice of the insulted and beaten

let your sister Scorn not leave you
for the informers executioners cowards—they will win
they will go to your funeral and with relief will throw a lump of earth
the woodborer will write your smoothed-over biography

and do not forgive truly it is not in your power
to forgive in the name of those betrayed at dawn

beware however of unnecessary pride
keep looking at your clown’s face in the mirror
repeat: I was called—weren’t there better ones than I

beware of dryness of heart love the morning spring
the bird with an unknown name the winter oak

light on a wall the splendour of the sky
they don’t need your warm breath
they are there to say: no one will console you

be vigilant—when the light on the mountains gives the sign—arise and go
as long as blood turns in the breast your dark star

repeat old incantations of humanity fables and legends
because this is how you will attain the good you will not attain
repeat great words repeat them stubbornly
like those crossing the desert who perished in the sand

and they will reward you with what they have at hand
with the whip of laughter with murder on a garbage heap

go because only in this way will you be admitted to the company of cold skulls
to the company of your ancestors: Gilgamesh Hector Roland
the defenders of the kingdom without limit and the city of ashes

Be faithful Go


Zbigniew Herbert

Obviously that’s been translated. As he’s Polish and stuff. But still, he gets right to the essence of it all, ‘go upright’. There’s some great lines, lines which make something inside me tense and pounce on emotion... ‘keep looking at your clowns face in the mirror’. Obviously he was writing in a time when literature was being repressed, under both the Nazi and then the Soviet regimes, in face most things were – hence lines like ‘repeat them stubbornly’. This brings into question something I’ve long wondered about – in fact I’ve written papers on it – that in order for art to truly flourish, to have something it really needs to say, it needs some attempt at suppression or censorship. The way Mr Herbert writes, it’s like he’s whispering the truth, and a vibrant truth at that, through the monochromic yelling of the world.

"In Poland," Herbert once stated, "we think of the poet as prophet; he is not merely a maker of verbal forms or an imitator of reality. The poet expresses the deepest feelings and the widest awareness of people. . . . The language of poetry differs from the language of politics. And, after all, poetry lives longer than any conceivable political crisis. The poet looks over a broad terrain and over vast stretches of time. He makes observations on the problems of his own time, to be sure, but he is a partisan only in the sense that he is a partisan of the truth. He arouses doubts and uncertainties and brings everything into question."

But then he also brings into question the extent of poetry’s influence; "It is vanity to think that one can influence the course of history by writing poetry. It is not the barometer that changes the weather."


Here’s some songs which have been in my head:

To be alone with you – Bob Dylan
(that plays in my head far too much. It’s half sweet and half a little annoying.)

Grey – Ani difrano
reminds me of... lots of people. Firstly she’s pretty good at word pictures, for a lyricist. Then, the tiny dreams are awesome I utterly can relate to that, in fact what’s nice about most of it is how easily applicable it all is. In some ways. Obviously not really to me now, but to other people and maybe a little to who I have been.
‘the sky is grey, the sand is grey, and the ocean is grey.
i feel right at home in this stunning monochrome, alone in my way.
i smoke and i drink and every time i blink i have a tiny dream.
but as bad as i am i'm proud of the fact that i'm worse than i seem.
you walk through my walls like a ghost on tv.
you penetrate me and my little pink heart is on its little brown raft floating out to sea.
and what can i say but i'm wired this way and you're wired to me,
and what can i do but wallow in you unintentionally?
what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i've got everything i want and still i want more.
maybe some tiny shiny key will wash up on the shore.
regretfully, i guess i've got three simple things to say.
why me? why this now? why this way?’

Well it’s true that we love one another – The White Stripes

this could be because the lyrics go:
'Jack will you call me if you're able?
I got your phone number written
In the back of my bible
Jack I think you’re pulling my leg
And I think maybe I better ask Meg
Meg do you think Jack really loves me?
You know, I don't care because
Jack really bugs me'

Amusement...