Friday, 17 May 2013

READING STRAW DOGS BY JOHN GRAY



Straw Dogs is the title of a Sam Peckinpah film and of a book by John Gray.

John Gray is professor of European Thought at The London School of Economics, London (51 degrees North, 0 degrees West). The reader observes, after finishing Straw Dogs, that John Gray doesn't think much of European thought.

Straw Dogs is a brisk, lively, yet curiously enervating read, a vivid swirl through philosophy, animal behaviour and popular culture.

Gray is a big fan of arch-pessimist Schopenhauer.

Like other animals, we are embodiments of universal Will, the struggling suffering energy that animates everything in the world.

Gray is good when quoting voraciously from, and commenting quirkily upon, the work of dead philosophers. He has a winning Sunday paper/colour supplement style, used to telling effect in snatches of writing that are robust and catchy. It is highly readable pop-philosophy at its best, especially when nailing the myth of perpetual progress.

The idea of progress is only the longing for immortality given a techno-futurist twist.

The technological pursuit of immortality is not a scientific project. It promises what religion has always promised – to give us freedom from fate and chance.

Gray is astutely accurate in his delineation of the cult of Christianity as the mid-point between Greek philosophy and the Enlightenment in the series of myths we use to make sense of the here and now and to make some sense of hope and possibility for the future.

After all, there's never been a kingdom given to so much bloodshed as that of Christ.
That's Montesquieu, isn't it?
Oh, really? Who's he?
Somebody well worth reading.

Gray has no time for moral philosophy. The section The Vices of Morality is the most trenchant in the book and he has a right go at Socrates.

We think of morality as set of laws or rules that everyone must obey, and as a special sort of value, which takes precedence over every other.

The reader senses that Gray is less secure when relying on his own invention and concludes that, after all the fireworks and the allusions, Gray is simply a downbeat Malthusian of the old school; every problem in the world is due to over-population and the only solution is the mass annihilation of many of Gray's fellows, which is likely anyway as we are homo rapiens and killing is what we are good at.

The reader notes that Gray does not offer himself, his family, friends and colleagues as members of the species to be taken out. Gray reserves that role for a generalised body referred to as 'the poor', who, as always in such works, are elsewhere, never in the world of the writer.

Images of the Sunday supplement magazine come to the reader's mind. There is a centre fold spread of aching text and stunning photos of the horrors of war, the devastations of famine or the trauma of an industrial catastrophe, such as in Dhaka (23 degrees North, 90 degrees East) recently.

And following this, there is the high-gloss photo of a luxury saloon car or a watch of improbable ostentation or even a grotesquely sleek and powerful racing yacht. The Sunday supplement tells us that believing the dreams of their advertisements is the way to confine the horrors of the world elsewhere. The choice is ours.

All the grand narratives get the Gray treatment and are dismissed: Western and Eastern philosophies (the Eastern ones, especially Chinese and Japanese, fare slightly better), the Homeric Greek ideas, the Socratic Greek ideas, Christianity, the Enlightenment, Marxism, Fascism and Stalinism.

Notably, the current dominant narrative - a globalised casino-capitalism – is not treated quite so forcefully. This surprises the reader given that Gray works in an academic institution which has as a motto rerum cognoscere causa (to know the cause of things). As ever, what you see depends on where you look from.

The reader plans to read Gray's first book: False Dawn: The Delusions of Global Capitalism and notes that it is not sufficient to base everything on contingency and a deterministic, cyclical, even downwardly spiralling, fate, drawing us to destruction.

We are contingent, rapacious, social animals, with choices, if not purposes and aims.

The reader is left wanting more than Gray's concluding note.

Can we think of the aim of life as being simply to see?

What you see depends on where you stand. Gray's vantage is metropolitan, academic and wealthy.

His book is stirring, readable and the epitome of I'm-alright-jackery.



Straw Dogs: book; John Gray; Granta Books: London; 2002
Straw Dogs: film; Sam Peckinpah; ABC Pictures; Los Angeles; 1971



www.facebook.com/DaveDugganWriter


Friday, 10 May 2013

SHAKESPEARE MORALS DISPUTES TODAY



Christian church leaders in Ireland and Britain call for broad moral discussions in the face of public efforts to change laws and practices on marriage, abortion, the role of women clergy, prostitution and the sex trade.

Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time, the place, and the condition of this country 
stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; 
but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.

Mending it for our own good is complex in the midst of calls from quarters embroiled in sexual, financial and other difficulties and scandals.

When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer 

That fools should be so deep contemplative;

It is past time for church leaders to humbly and morally reflect on the churches' relationships with investment banks and arms manufacturers; to cogently acknowledge that best practice in child protection was not always present and is not currently assured to public satisfaction; that the understanding of marriage today is changing as it has done over the centuries; that it is possible to be pro-life, while accepting the right of women to choose to be pregnant or not; that controlling conception is a contemporary, human right;

and yet, to say 
the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom 
as the morality of imprisonment.

And that being moral is a human creation, one that is continually contested and re-invented in the cauldron of our lives day-to-day.

Fortune is an excellent moral.

Being moral is a cultural and evolutionary form available to all humans.

Applying this to that, and so to so; 
For love can comment upon every woe.




http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org



www.facebook.com/DaveDugganWriter

Monday, 29 April 2013

SHOCK AT THE EDGE OF TOWN



Interviewed on BBC Radio Foyle (Mark Patterson Lunchtime Show, 5.4.2013) a property owner and businessman decries large retailers for scavenging on the edges of towns, destroying them.

Tesco, a British and multi-national retailer, seeks to open a grand store on the edge of Derry Londonderry (54 degrees North, 7 degrees West). It already has a down-town outlet and one more edge-of-town grand store in another edge-of-town location.

There are, as the BBC presenters rush to explain, offer retailers selling food and other products. Ditto in Derry Londonderry.

Ironies abound, as always. The particular area where Tesco seeks to build its new store already has two large retailers in place.: Dunnes and Supervalue, both, as it happens, Irish-owned companies. Sinn Féin (SF), an Irish nationalist political party, appears to back Tesco's plans to open in the area. There is positive demand from many residents nearby. The Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP), also an Irish nationalist party, appears to oppose the development.

The words 'appears to' are necessary in this highly charged and highly sensitive matter. Anything that blocks jobs coming to the economically challenged city of Derry Londonderry is a political no-no.

The man on the BBC Radio Foyle argues that no new jobs will be created. Jobs will be displaced from existing retail outfits, which, he argues, will close. Jobs in construction will be short-term, non -specialist and few. Many sub-contracting functions will, of necessity, be delivered by non-indigenous companies.

The man on the radio speaks of anti-scavenger laws in Canada in response to these developments. A major political row rumbles on in India between indigenous, often very wealthy, retailers and global arrivistes such as Walmart and Carrefour.

The notion that the larger retailers are somehow better took a hammering recently with the discovery of horse-meat in products labelled as 'beef'. The push for profit at all levels of the food industry leaves shoppers shocked and awed.

As an aside, the best joke of the many that emerged during the horse-meat scandal concerns fish, not meat: Did you hear that Donegal Catch (big fish processors) have pulled their products off the supermarket shelves? Why? They found seahorse in the cod.

Appeals to the concepts of consumer choice, retail freedom, fair trading, the sovereignty of the market are all made publicly, usually by spokespersons for Tescos. The ironies heap on.

An intriguing aspect of all of this is the role played by the car and the oil industries. Many people walk to the large edge-of-town retail outfits. But the vast majority of us drive to car-parks built on acres of tarmac.

We drive, park, shop, load up and drive home. If we shopped differently, would the economy collapse?

This is the season for eating lamb in Ireland, as daffodils press forth. Images on BBC television of sheep and lamb carcasses laid out in mass graves, on hillsides blanched grimy white by thawing snow, present the actualities of the front end of our food industry.

Our hands chill as we reach for the pre-packed cutlets in the Tesco edge-of-town store. The oil barons grin as we count our pennies and return to our cars to drive home to feed our young.

As the free market economy has no social or moral requisites, war, disaster, and instability are suitable avenues for profit. Accordingly, market interests will attempt to privatise sectors like defence and military, and use war and instability to their profit.
More and more people, Klein feels, are becoming aware of the pitfalls of free market thinking, its underlying motives, and the gap between its realisation and freedom, equality, or democracy. “The shock doctrine is losing its efficacy due to overuse, just as torture techniques wear off over time.” Some people and countries are seeking ways of helping themselves, and helping each other, rather than becoming dependent on international manipulation with a free market agenda.




www.facebook.com/DaveDugganWriter






Wednesday, 17 April 2013

MARATHON BOMBS




Unknown perpetrators plant bombs in pressure cookers in Boston (42 degrees North, 71 degrees West). They go off at the finish line of that great city's annual marathon, killing and maiming people in a cruel act of vicious violence.

In a crime against humanity.

President Obama, in a BBC TV report, calls it an act of terrorism, saying that any use of bombs to kill innocent civilians is an act of terrorism. The truth of his remark is self-evident.

There is terror on the faces of people in Boston interviewed by the BBC, following the horrific incident. Also shock and awe. The marathon bombs are specific manifestations of a global phenomenon. Violence, as war and in many other forms, reaches everywhere, killing and maiming with impunity.

All this violence is self-evidently wrong.

The wonderful modern spectacle and sporting event called 'The Marathon' originates in a war story, a story of great violence. A huge conflagration engulfs the region of the eastern Mediterranean as Athenian and Persian armies immolate populations and devastate territories. A messenger runs from the battlefield at Marathon, the field of fennel, to tell the leaders of a victory. He dies as he crosses the white line.

The pressure is too much and blows him up.

The BBC coverage of the killings in Boston is lengthy. The news report is followed by analysis in interviews with victims, witnesses, doctors, security experts and politicians. The treatment of the violent incident is extensive and forensic.

It is not comprehensive.

There are omissions, lacunae, ghosts hovering in the media mist. The ghosts of all the detailed coverage the BBC does not make of similar and greater incidents of violence in territories where the people are not 'us'.

Such is the play of geo-politics and the limits – itself a form of violence - it sets on human empathy. It is a noxious gas, seen in the miasma of battlefields and in the mists of media omissions.

A woman is buried today, with funeral pomp and military ceremony, in London (51 degrees North, 7 degrees West). Much of her public life is associated with violence: the direct violence of war and overseas military campaigns; the direct violence of economic and social dislocation; the indirect violence of poverty and inequality and the cultural violence of discrimination on the grounds of sexual orientation.

Violence is possible at the woman's funeral. This is self-evident.

The pressure cooker is always bubbling. When it blows, it is cruel and devastating.

Lord Carrington, in a BBC TV interview, directs citizens, who hold different opinions from the dead woman and her supporters, to stay away. He takes a self-evidently aggressive stance. He is, after all, a Lord and thus a manifestation of a particular social organisation, a particular way of arranging and running a kingdom. He says: if you don't like it, you'd best lump it.

For clarification purposes, Lord Carrington does not live in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia or the Sultanate of Brunei, the kleptocracy of Burma or the autocracy of North Korea. He lives in the homeland of the BBC.

Gas, isn't it?

Fennel is a digestive aid and a carminative, or agent capable of diminishing gas.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/tv


www.facebook.com/DaveDugganWriter


Tuesday, 9 April 2013

QUEEN BEE DIES AT THE RITZ



Political apiarists are divided in their responses to the death of the Queen Bee at The Ritz Hotel, London (51 degrees North, 0 degrees West). 

Varying opinions are being expressed as to the significance of the particular h(d)ive the Queen Bee chose as her death place, many seeing it as a lofty come-up from the hive above a grocer's shop in a provincial town, where she first appeared; others seeing it as the obvious location for a Queen Bee for whom bling, glitz and the trappings of wealth were all she really cared for.

A healthy queen bee is continually emitting pheromones (a bee perfume) that only the bees in the hive can smell. These pheromone odours tell the bees in the colony that the queen is still with them and all is well in the hive. 

All is not well in the hive and has not been for some time. The legacy of the Queen Bee is seen in devastated communities and changes to mechanisms of production, that open the way to a rapacious, financially-driven business culture that scavenges rather than develops. 

Can you imagine all that greed and avarice
Coming down on that child's lips?

How many types of Bee are in a Honey Bee colony? Three  - a single queen, thousands of female workers and in the summer hundreds of male drones. The drone bee does no work and in the early autumn they are evicted by the workers and die.

The Queen Bee did nothing to bring more females into her circle of power, preferring to surround herself with male drones, usually from military or business backgrounds.

Try telling that to the boys on both sides, 
being blown to bits or beaten and maimed
Who takes all the glory and none of the shame

The Queen Bee will receive a military funeral, with streets lined with military drones. Death is a private matter, in particular when the legacy of the life is shameful.

And yet, in this case, there is a very public dimension.

Well I hope I don't die too soon
I pray the lord my soul to save
Oh I'll be a good boy, I'm trying so hard to behave
Because there's one thing I know, I'd like to live
Long enough to savour
That's when they finally put you in the ground
I'll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down



www.facebook.com/DaveDugganWriter



Saturday, 30 March 2013

HURLING IN AUSTERE TIMES



Above Waterford, a sign of the times
Echoes the ardent woes of citizens. 
Vanquished in bleak economic climes,
They remain hurling-hardy denizens.
Daubed on the white patch on Mount Misery
By youthful abseillers - brave?, desperate? -
'NOT OUR DEBT' in bold, painted clarity,
Cypriot graffitti, forever wet.
Watchful, the vanquished gather in the stand.
The field spots white and blue, tips blue and gold.
A woman rises, echoes the demand.
Her neighbour, in Déise colours old,
Bends, lifts and strikes the telling Exocet.
Her call: 'Come on lads, this is not our debt.'



Thursday, 21 March 2013

WHITE SMOKE, BLACK EARTH


     
Head bent, knees kinked, old shoulders roundly bowed,    
Mother kneels hard upon the wooden plank.
Words cascading from two mouths male and proud,          
Make Mother ring her hands in woven coils,
Hearing the cant spill from twinned springs of gall.

The one a pope, the other president,
Alternate, articulate, monotone.
White smoke befuddles, as is its intent.
Is that Benedict or Francis - the same?
Cheery Chavez - a new man at the game?

Her knees crackling, aching and seeming stuck,       
Distracted, she – was that my phone ringing? -
Begins to reach, perhaps a ruff to pluck,
But no glance she earns, no contact, no link,
Which sets her weary heart and mind to think.

Daughter should have phoned her sometime today,
At least to let her know that all was well,
That she had trudged the trip and found her way,
A bucket filled with silver from the pipe     
Then straight home fast-paced as the time grew ripe.

Not a ringing phone, but a rifle shot.
The daughter falls, the silver spills awry.
The mother hears what is and what is not,
As precious silver rivulets the clay.
Daughter will not call this or any day.

Male voices drone commands with thorough might.
Mother listens and hears a low gurgle.
The fluid flows - she senses only fright -
Blood, water – gold, silver - ebb towards dearth.
White gun smoke billows clear above black earth.