Wednesday, 16 November 2016

Reconciling 2016: Beginnings - Always Crashing in the Same Car?

We should have understood that when The Starman returned to the celestial heavens earlier this year, on January 11, the world - as we have known it - would come crashing down around us...

David Bowie, as much as any public figure (in Britain at any rate), represented an avatar for the liberal intelligentsia, the quixotic suburban populous and the artisanal working class. He was a source of life, solace; for some a prophet of the future. Perhaps he was also a harbinger of doom!?
Planet Earth in 2016, so we might be inclined to believe from what we see on television news, read online or in the daily rags, has become a Blackstar.
Bowie’s death was followed by Brexit was followed by Trump becoming President Elect, and in between there was turmoil in the markets, natural disasters and a spate of terror attacks in Brussels, Nice, Lahore and Istanbul. People in Canada have even started to dig their own graves.

Hmm.
2016 has been a momentous year and one in which many events transpired against received opinion or upset the odds. Aside from Leicester City winning the Premier League very few of these events has been stuff of fairy tales. But it’s probably fair to say that many of my ‘kind’ - I write as someone of the liberal or left-leaning, British middle class* – have been living in some version of a fairy tale for several decades. Little Wonder (?).
For ‘us’ it’s been a confusing and confounding year. Many of my ‘kind’ are scratching heads or soul-searching. How could ‘we’ have messed up the middle east so badly fundamentalist elements are now out to kill us off? How could ‘we’ have lost the Brexit vote? How could our ‘fellow’ Americans allow Donald Trump into the White House? Where’s Bowie when you need him? Oh no! Boo hoo!
It’s the year hatred may well have become neutral, fascism: ‘alt right’, lying: ‘post-truth’ but in ‘liberal’ echelons/on the left, debating circles have turned into echo chambers, places for people to argue amongst themselves. The conversation has occurred largely online and away from the mainstream press (where opinions are still formed/interpreted and given a/most voice) or, indeed, via protest after-the-fact (see Pro-EU marches in London post-Brexit and consider how many of the thousands who turned out to wave placards and pose in blue and yellow T-shirts actively campaigned for the EU cause beforehand).
We can criticise the political elite for sleepwalking into this mess. Although we elected and kept many of the same myopic/complacent neo-liberal politicians in power, and in the case of the US, our ‘fellow’ Americans didn’t knock on enough doors – either through Clinton apathy or just apathy.

We can say these politicians should have paid more attention to the blue collar working class over the years (when we also assumed the blue collar working class no longer was swayed by the Tabloids, was essentially apolitical, too overweight or drunk to mobilise or be mobilised).

We can blame capitalism – and not realise it is stampeding over our livelihoods too (for example, 80,000 white collar civil service jobs have been cut without even so much as a whisper since 2010 in the UK).

We can say the alt right fly in the face of facts (when we are lost in a maelstrom of them and unable to pick one to reply with).

We can say these people are racists, and slur them with various ists and isms and sometimes with good reason, but other times (when we're being lazy... perhaps too often) we are only contributing to the Us vs. Them narrative which fuels all of this.

We can be dour and become cynical, and while it is our right to be angry, anger needs a channel and it needs a positive kind of energy to channel it best (however you look at it we can't do anger like the alt right - not only because we eschew the rhetoric, but because the blood simply won't boil).
We need to remain outward looking and optimistic, even if it is optimism with a small ‘o’, and bargain with good faith that there is still common decency in society (the UK, America, the middle east etc).

We need to stand up to any of the injustices if/as/when they happen, better still pre-empt them. And to do so we have to drop the bad attitude – stop bickering amongst ourselves or indulging in some navel-gazing, reflexive narrative and learn from Brexit and Trump in particular that the values of ‘liberal’ society and/or the left need to have a more direct and emotive appeal.

We need to supress for now the ists and isms, nefarious factoids, all the cappuccino chatter and define what liberal/left values really stand for - let's say: Truth, Justice and Equality. Three straightforward words understood by everyone but all too often not utilised with sufficient rigour.

And we also need unity. The right, especially the 'alt right' is beginning to homogenise and thus is fast becoming the dominant voice in society and in politics. The left has to get over it's own peculiarities and forget pedantry.  While we can be civil in private when expressing our views, the uncomfortable truth for some (including me) is that we will probably have to shout them (in unison) in public to avoid being drowned out. And, perhaps most importantly, make sacrifices to time and properly engage in social action.
Meantime, the trove of Bowie’s music, his concerts, television appearances and interviews will still be there waiting, at least in one internet galaxy or another, when we’re done trying (or hoarse from shouting).

*using class in somewhat general terms here for purposes of this short piece

Wednesday, 9 November 2016

a one hundred and twenty ninth poem... 'imagine'

Just imagine if ol' Donald hadn't won...
Just imagine being bossed by a woman!
Eight years of getting nagged to find a job
Thank heavens for ol' Donald, Christ God -
And after Hillary we'd have had a Gay
Ruling this here nation, no sir, no way!
And what if following that we'd got a Trans
Presiding o'er this fair an' pleasant land?!
Just imagine if ol' Donald didn't win...
Just imagine havin' to take it on the chin!
Mexican rapists an' Muslim guns
Chasin' around our daughters an' our sons,
Tree huggers every corner of the block
Makin' out we're a stupid laughing stock...
  So thank Christ God ol' Donald didn't lose
Or we'd never have gotten the chance to air our views
Charge your glass, raise a toast, put out more flags
 Tell the Indians next door to pack their bags -
Amen!

a one hundred and twenty eighth new poem... 'hillary'

When the fate of her campaign 
Became clear to Hillary,
Tbf she didn't complain - asked
Bill to steer her to the distillery.

a one hundred and twenty seventh new poem... 'burn, baby burn'

So, Donald Trump has won -
Set the controls for the heart of the sun!

Thursday, 15 September 2016

a one hundred and twenty sixth new poem ... 'southern rail'



Southern Rail – the franchise
For your ordinary
Common-sense kind of man,
What’s the point of bloody
Sitting anyway, when we’ve two
Churchillian legs to stand?
Air-conditioning is for
Conchies and working toilets
Should be a treat… but you’re
All a load of fucking whingers –
What else d’you want, passenger
Ejector seats?!
Good old Southern Rail – the
Franchise for you ordinary
Common-sense kind of chap,
Bullet trains, TGVs are all
Foreign made death traps.
What could be better than
Trundling sedately through the English
Countryside, or staring at a
Bramble hedge, a brick
Yard, waiting (hours) for a ride?   
So here’s to Southern Rail –
We decent men hope you make
It through
Your current malaise
To better days,
We few
We very few!  




a one hundred and twenty fifth new poem ... 'bank holiday, newquay'



Grey rain clouds - lost - roll
Across Newquay sound,
No souls around;
6AM silent on the streets
Sticky with spilled Radler
Save for seagulls
Scavenging at tits/bits off a passed
Out Teenage Paddler,
Sicked up shots of Jaeger,
Stilton Cornish Pasty,
The whole drab town vastly
Slumbering smashed in
Lumbering wet dreams,
Broiling, roiling, oiling
Puke encrusted pillows
With grease from fish,
Chips, fingers, unwashed n' braided hair;
A stained curtain billows in
The fetid sea-salt-sweat
Melched air - at the Escape
Surf Hostel Europa
Not a single nostril twitches,
No one has life enough
To care.

Friday, 2 September 2016

a one hundred and twenty fourth new poem ... 'breakfast blubber'

As the camera cut
Back to Studio Boohoo
The two
Whimpering presenters
Were caught hankies out,
Trousers down, in
A piteous metaphorical 
Paddling pool of
Their own bathetic
Blubber.