JERUSALEM AND NEW INIS FÁIL

Blake's famous poem. Then my rewrite.

From England to Ireland, from religion to mythology and from war to art.

JERUSALEM © William Blake 1757-1827

And did those feet in ancient time

Walk upon England's mountains green?

And was the holy Lamb of God

On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine

Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

And was Jerusalem builded here

Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold:

Bring me my arrows of desire:

Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!

Bring me my chariot of fire.

I will not cease from mental fight,

Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand

Till we have built Jerusalem

In England's green and pleasant land.

NEW INIS FÁIL © Dave Duggan 29.10.2014

And did those feet in ancient times

Walk upon Ireland's mountains green?

And was the great goddess Danú

On Ireland's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Tuatha de Danann

Race swift upon our rolling hills?

And was Old Inis Fáil builded here

Amongst our struggles and blood spills?

Bring me my quill of ancient oak:

Bring me my verses of desire:

Bring me my ink: black berries soak!

Bring me my fancy flights of fire.

I will not cease from artful fight

Nor shall my pen sleep in my hand

Till we have built New Inis Fáil

In Ireland's green and pleasant land.

Chris Wood sings Blake's Jerusalem.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXESeUypch0

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FURY, POPPIES AND MADNESS

Best job I've ever had.

So speaks a character in the war film Fury. Other characters repeat the phrase throughout the film.

How often do we hear the phrase 'just let me do my job' (or some such) when a character in a film is about to perform a violent act or deliver a treachery?

One of the myths of war is that it's a job and someone's got to do it. Another, the vehement basis of the film Fury, is that war brings out the best in small groups of men. And that men need that.

Shakespeare knew the truth of such madness.

Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate him

Do call it valiant fury.

Repetition of the phrase Best job I ever had serves to underline the economic basis of war.

There are small teams of highly intelligent and educated men now working in dynamic small groups in the development, production, marketing and sales of weapons of mass destruction. Not all Shakespeare's madmen are in ISIS.

Ideals are peaceful. History is violent.

On BBC Radio Five Live's Stephen Nolan show on 26^th October 2014, an articulate and intelligent British Army Infantryman, returned from war in Afghanistan, spoke about bayoneting people close up. He could not/did not remember how many he had killed. He noted that he is a not an airman, delivering payloads of death from a great height. He engages in the close-combat killing of men he describes, as 'a son, brother, father'.

Here's a Bible verse I think about sometimes. Many times. It goes: And I heard the voice of Lord saying: Whom shall I send and who will go for Us? And... I said: Here am I, send me!

The listener sees the Infantryman up close to a Taliban soldier, bayoneting him and wonders at the huge resources it took to get the Infantryman into that situation in Helmand province, southern Afghanistan, literally the other side of the world from his home place. The Infantryman says he notes an 'increased confidence' among the Afghanistan army and police and the local population as an outcome of the war campaign. The listener wonders if the resources it took to bring the Infantryman and his armed colleagues to that population could have been spent on other, less-destructive, confidence-building measures.

It will end, soon. But before it does, a lot more people have to die.

This is the myth that underpins the war machine. And in the film Fury an appeal to the deepest of human myths is asserted, naming both the weapon of mass destruction - the tank - and the heart-place.

[Referring to Fury] It's my home.

Football pundits and other presenters, on British television, wear poppies as a symbol of remembrance of British military war dead and as a fund-raiser for charitable acts to the maimed or deranged following acts of war. The State who sent them does not adequately compensate them for their losses and their sadness on their return.

O, yet I do repent me of my fury,

That I did kill them.

The myth of sacrifice is offered as a shimmering veil over the slaughter, the gore and the misery that is war. Without a commitment to 'never again', earnest in words and deeds, why wear poppies? Poppies, as badges of remembrance, do not offer such a commitment. Often they are bugle-calls to further slaughter.

Wars are not going anywhere, Sir.

Are we forever condemned to idiot-echo Shakespeare?

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

Fury; film; David Ayer; Columbia Pictures; Los Angeles; 2014

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2713180/trivia?tab=qt&ref_=tt_trv_qu

The Tragedy of Macbeth; stage-play; William Shakespeare; London; 1605

http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/playmenu.php?WorkID=macbeth

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b04mbk6d

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HOME, WEEK 3

A sonnet. A companion to WARD 32, WEEK 8

I make the move from crutch to newel post.

Let me pause. The house knows I have returned.

I settle here once more, not yet the ghost.

Home, with less toes. Replete with lessons learned.

Below, her hand will sofa-slide to mine.

She will whisper 'ready?' My eyes will glisten 'yes.'

One button pushed, light flounces, crime fills the time

We are aloft in Danish noir. I almost confess.

I thought I'd never see this room again.

Or her face. I am upright, not on my knees,

With septic suffering or piercing pain.

Yet tears fall from me in diffident ease

This respite cannot be taken for granted.

Restless and fearful, now, just now, landed.

© Dave Duggan 20.10.2014

WARD 32, WEEK 8

My hands are one short of a soccer team.

My feet make five-a-side.

I rise by pushing off my left hand.

I descend by leading with my palms.

Hand rails, hand holds, furniture grips

Are the resolute friends on which I depend.

My right foot bears weight on the heel.

My left bears all else. Sinisterly.

Salts in my blood grow testy.

My kidneys struggle to pass their molecular bulk.

Sugar in my blood oscillates.

I measure, conclude frailly and dose.

The medics mull, ponder and prescribe.

The nurses test, cajole and care.

I wallow, wait and fret.

Will I ever see home again?

WHAT DO WE TELL THE CHILD ABOUT GAZA?

Tell her it’s a game
Tell her it’s serious

The current onslaught on the people of Gaza, the latest in a series by The Israeli State and Defence Forces, shows:

That if they wish they could blow the people of Gaza into the sea of oblivion. Perhaps that is what they wish.

But don't frighten her
Don't tell her they’ll kill her

That this onslaught does not stop the activities of Hamas and other militants, which include the firing of rockets into Israeli cities.

Tell her we’re stronger
Tell her we’re entitled
Tell her they don't understand anything except violence

That this onslaught is resourced by the highest level of military might on the planet, supplied at commercial rates from the biggest economies. That the onslaught makes profit for those economies.

Tell her something about the men
Tell her they’re bad in the game
Tell her it’s a story

That Gaza is a densely populated strip of Mediterranean coastal land squeezed into a corner of an arc of land that runs from modern day Turkey south into the Arab lands towards the Gulf of Aden, east into Iran and west towards Morocco.

Don't tell her Arabs used to sleep in her bedroom

That there is an immense amount of oil and gas under the ground in all of these lands.

Don't tell her they said it was a land without people

Don't tell her I wouldn't have come if I’d known

That religious fundamentalisms of a variety of hues characterise these lands and give succour to forms of social and political organisation that are hypocritical, despotic, exclusive and apartheid-like.

Tell her there were people who hated Jews

Don't tell her

Tell her it’s over now

Tell her there are still people who hate Jews

Tell her there are people who love Jews

Don't tell her to think 'Jews' or not 'Jews'

Tell her more when she’s older

Tell her how many when she’s older

Tell her it was before she was born and she’s not in danger

That there is a 20^th century history of genocide in the recent memory of the dominant people in the state of Israel that underpins the belligerence of the state and rationalises acts of extreme violence and aggression in the name of defence.

Tell her we want peace

That the activities of the militants in Gaza echo the activities of the militants, who were also embedded in the civilian population and who also dug tunnels, in the Warsaw ghetto in 1943.

Tell her maybe we can share

That worldwide demonstrations are necessary to say that the killing of children is wrong. Otherwise there is a question as to whether we can call ourselves 'human'.

Tell her they’re attacking with rockets

Don't frighten her

Tell her only a few of us have been killed

Tell her the army has come to our defence

Don't tell her her cousin refused to serve in the army. Don't tell her how many of them have been killed

Tell her the Hamas fighters have been killed

Don't tell her about the family of dead girls

Tell her you can't believe what you see on television

Tell her we killed the babies by mistake

Don't tell her anything about the army

That without a thorough-going dismantling of the international arms industry the onslaught will recur.

Don't tell her anything about water

Don't tell her about the bulldozer

Don't tell her not to look at the bulldozer

Don't tell her it was knocking the house down

Tell her it’s a building site

Don't tell her anything about bulldozers

Don't tell her about the queues at the checkpoint

That the dismantling of the arms industry will mean job losses in the major economies, job losses for which the economies and their people are not ready.

….. tell her I wouldn't care if we wiped them out, the world would hate us is the only thing, tell her I don't care if the world hates us, tell her we’re better haters, tell her we’re chosen people, tell her I look at one of their children covered in blood and what do I feel? Tell her all I feel is happy it’s not her. Don't tell her that. Tell her we love her. Don't frighten her.

That the onslaught must stop. That all people must be safe. And free.

Seven Jewish Children – a play for Gaza; Caryl Churchill; stage-play; London; 2010

http://www.theguardian.com/stage/2009/feb/26/caryl-churchill-seven-jewish-children-play-gaza

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THE GARTH BROOKS CONCERT FIASCO

Read the songs. The clues are in the song titles of the Garth Brooks playlist. They tell us it was a Beer Run for Big Money. It's the Same Old Story. A commercial decision, Digging for Gold, to sell a product that doesn't exist, leaves 400 000 people distraught. People pay hard-found cash, reportedly to the tune of stg£21 million, for this non-existent product – a ticket to a concert by American country-pop star Garth Brooks. They scream Squeeze Me In. These tickets don't actually exist, being 'subject to licence'. It goes Against The Grain to say it, but this American Dream Ain't Goin' Down.

Ireland didn't give Garth Brooks the Cold Shoulder. No matter who he asks Why I Ain't Running, the bottom line remains that together with the promoter, he fouled it up. He can sing Please Come to Boston and Please Come to Denver, but he won't sing in Dublin, at Croke Park, a major sporting venue that also hosts concerts, in order to Do What You Gotta Do to make money. It's not a case of The Old Man's Back In Town. More a case of It's A Roller Coaster and Nobody Gets Off In This Town.

Notions of the economic benefit from the putative concerts break down under scrutiny. Small monies into local peoples' hands as casual labour, Workin' For A Livin'. Medium monies into local companies, mainly hotels and bars. Major money to the seller of the non-existent tickets, to Garth Brooks and his associates, much of which leaves the island of Ireland.

There is political leverage when individual desires are pooled together to form a mass desire of 400 000 people. Yet the brouhaha does nobody any good. It simply confirms Ireland as a play ground and a soft touch.

In a master stroke of Burning Bridges before you even get to them, a combination of promoter, sports organisation and City Council create a scenario worthy of Friends in Low Places. It's nobody and everybody's fault. The guilty remain Anonymous and ticket buyers will never met them Face To Face.

Ticket buyers mouth Unanswered Prayers and put up The White Flag. Garth Brooks learns that This Ain't Tennessee, singing I'd Rather Have Nothing than a compromise deal. The promotor, who originally said I've Got A Good Thing Going, now wonders what he'll do If Tomorrow Never Comes.

It is a fiasco. Everybody is in the dark. There is no-one to Leave A Light On. The promoter turns out not to be Mr Right. The Secret Track leads to an empty stadium and empty pockets. It is a Shameless episode. Shameless, because nobody takes the blame. It's been a Good Ride Cowboy and now it's time to get off.

Will We Bury The Hatchet? Only after the monies are paid back, following unreasonable delays and the deduction of service charges by credit card companies and others. Garth Brooks might say That's the Way Love Goes when you catch The Fever, desire The Gift, get into The Dance and face the inevitable; The Change.

Nobody is left Standing Outside The Fire.

Fan options? Limited. You May Be Right. Buy a Gareth Brooks DVD, invite your friends around and have a hooley on your own terms?

http://music.whosdatedwho.com/tpx_3027/garth-brooks/songs

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WATCHING THE RELEASE OF BOWE BERGDAHL

The watcher sees 1:53 of a 17 minute film.

It is on

http://www.irishtimes.com/news/world/us/taliban-release-video-of-bergdahl-handover-to-us-military-1.1820205

and other websites, including YouTube.

It is not a trailer, more a single in a mini-series. It is an incident in the movie of our world, echoing many of the existing images, texts, songs and movies of our world.

The watcher sees a white man, clean-shaven and bare-headed, sitting in a pick-up truck, possibly a Toyota Land Cruiser. The mise en scène is dusty scrub-land, desert, modern-day outback. The watcher wonders if this is Arizona.

The truth is that reality takes too long to put on screen.

The man seems calm in a close up at 0:18. He speaks to another man, who leans in the window of the open door of the vehicle. This other man wears a head scarf. Another man, similarly dressed, standing off, carries a machine gun.

Don't make programmes for your eyes only – that's the province of some experimental 'art' directors. But do make programmes that you want to make and you yourself want to see. There's not much point doing it if your hearts not in it.

A voice-over in a language the watcher cannot understand – Dari? Pashto? Arabic? - runs from the start. A logo, such as appear on TV news channels, is seen in the top right hand corner of the screen.

At 0:31 the bare-headed man stands outside the vehicle. He is guarded by men with their heads covered, a number of them carrying guns. The camera pans upwards to a cloud-filled sky. The watcher hears and sees the distinctive sound and silhouette of a US-built Black Hawk military helicopter.

The camera moves and sweeps across the ground. There is a cut at 0:42 and the helicopter lands in a cloud of dust. The Black Hawk is down, yet safe.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnV6wM-vd9s

The voice-over ends and, from this point on, the audio is provided by the rotating blades and the stuttering engine of the Black Hawk. The camera leaves the helicopter and, at 0:50, the watcher sees one of the cowled men carrying a stick with a white cloth on it.

The watcher wonders at the origin of this gesture. There are many songs about it, including religious ones.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fL-TwKzkCk

The watcher is not sure if singing songs about crosses, war, surrender to a god, while waving white flags, is helpful.

The breaking of weapons and other such gestures often accompany scenes like these. The watcher remembers the films Broken Arrow and The Battle of Apache Pass.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOeQaX4kLec

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=as468k1om3QAt

The watcher senses we could be in Arizona in the late 19^th Century.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRQb7zOeYWk&index=2&list=PLE2FDEE770C710F80

At 0:54 the bare-headed man is led forward. Three men, dressed in civilian clothes, come from the helicopter. They raise their palms in pacifying gestures of greeting. They extend their hands and these men cautiously shake hands with the guarding men. The bare-headed man is passed to the three from the helicopter, who lead him away. Uniformed soldiers receive them.

The bare-headed man is patted down at 1:25 and they are all helped aboard. It is a comically tense moment.

In the end directing video and film is selecting your version of reality and putting it on screen. To paraphrase Degas, the Impressionist artist: it's not what you see that matters-it's what you make others see.

The helicopter rises off the ground at 1:45 and clatters through the dusty air. Two men dangle their feet over the edge of the side doorway of the helicopter. They wave at the people on the ground.

The helicopter bears the number is 41. It's close, but not the ultimate answer.

"The Answer to the Great Question …" "Yes ... !""Of Life, the Universe and Everything ..." said Deep Thought. "Yes ... !""Is ... " said Deep Thought, and paused. "Yes ... !" "Is ... " "Yes ... !!! ... ?" "Forty-two," said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm. … "Forty-two!" yelled Loonquawl. "Is that all you've got to show for seven and a half million years' work?" "I checked it very thoroughly," said the computer, "and that quite definitely is the answer. I think the problem, to be quite honest with you, is that you've never actually known what the question is."

The watcher knows that the images are from the point of view (pov) of a man on the ground. The watcher is confident there is a camera on the helicopter, taking images from the Black Hawk's pov.

The camera can't be objective either. Someone has to operate it and operating it involves choice, choosing where to put it and which way to point it and when to start and stop it and what to leave out as the action develops.

Directing on Camera: Harris Watts; book; Aavo Media; London; 1992

The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy; Douglas Adams; Pan Macmillan; London; 2009

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