@ Lords, #BRINO Not Quite Cricket. The BRINO Rebellion

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@ Lords, #BRINO Not Quite Cricket. The BRINO Rebellion

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this is a video blog about Brexit

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it’s a video blog about poetry it’s a

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video blog about the Britain of my youth,

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of the culture from which I come and in

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which I grew up. I spent the formative

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years of my life in Oxfordshire I went

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to the Warriner school  Bloxham, The Warriner

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school is a comprehensive school, back

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then in the 1970s the Warriner school

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was newly built and we had good facilities.

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Down the road from our school was

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Bloxham College which is a very nice

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public school several of my friends went

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to Bloxham school indeed some were sent

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there from our school for various

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misdemeanours and others came the other

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way. Now, the Oxfordshire of my youth was

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a very different place to today, nowadays there’s

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something called the Chipping Norton

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set, which to an extent always existed. I

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was brought up in a small village called

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Barford St. Michael and just outside the village is a nice house at which, as a

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young man I was

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the gardener for Mrs Stapleton.

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Now the Mitfords used to own or rent Rignall Hall, it was

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built by a Texan oil millionaire and I

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set myself the task that I wanted to buy

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that house, which seemed like an

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unattainable dream but, one which I took

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with me into my later years, I never did

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buy Rignall Hall but what I did do, is I

04f250424255338b8856316e7f7c540ef324da30

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bought the Belmont Estate near Bristol which adjoins Tyntesfield and became an eccentric

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country squire, you’ll find all of this

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my various blogging musings scribblings

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and videoing

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which I’ve put together over the past

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ten years of my self-imposed exile here

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in Sweden, from where I speak today.

In 2016 there was a vote for Brexit and

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the discourse on that vote on all sides

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was my opinion less than honest this

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isn’t a blog about all of that. The

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polarities and the dualities and the

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sophistry that accompanies it.

This is a

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blog about my youth and about cricket. I

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played village cricket for Bloxham and

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when I left Oxfordshire in my 16th year

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so this is going back now to 1980 after

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the end of school and doing my O

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levels my family moved to West Germany

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as it was then my father worked for the

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government and among other things he

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looked after the training ranges at

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Saltau for instance and many of my

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friends have been in the military now

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why is that important it’s important

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because that last summer was a formative

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summer for me I attended the first

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Fairport Convention concert which is now

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quite a large thing and now quite well-known

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but then the first one was held in

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Broughton castle and I remember Fairport

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Convention playing their famous song

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meet on the ledge

and here we are on the

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dawn of #BRINO

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Brexit in name only and it’s been

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presented as a ledge of some sort.

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I’ve cast my mind back, I’m a poet you see.

when I

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moved to Germany which was for a second

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time in 1980 the first time my first

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wife heard me speak was reading

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a passage from the famous book about an

Oxfordshire r childhood  cider with

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Rosie my five years in Oxfordshire gave

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me an Oxfordshire accent and my head of

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sixth-form at the Kent School Rheindahlen

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the military boarding school and He, Mr Harris,

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felt it would be amusing for him

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and the other staff, that I should read

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this in my Oxfordshire accent and my first

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wife thought I was the best actor she’d

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ever heard but of course, I was just

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speaking in my then accent.

Now playing

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village cricket that last summer back in

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1980 I remember playing Sibford Gower now

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Sibford is the location of another

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wonderful school the friends’ school in

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Sibford and it’s a beautiful cricket

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ground at the friends’ school with a

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wonderful backdrop I used to play wicket

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keeper in those days and we had

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a wonderful afternoon of cricket with all

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of the dramas and wonderful moments

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that happens in a village cricket match

download (25)

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with some local rivalry and after the

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match we went to the bishops Blais pub

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which is a beautiful pub if you ever get

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the chance to visit and during the

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summer in those days they used to have

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concerts or gigs and there was a

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guy with an Ovation guitar singing Bob

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Dylan songs and I remember that afternoon and others there, with

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great fondness and that’s the the

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background to a Britain an Oxfordshire

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adolescence and an education

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outside of the Warriner school outside

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of friendships with those who had

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greater privilege than I but I felt very

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privileged   to have

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enjoyed the childhood and education

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which I got at the Warriner school.

But too

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cricket and poetry  this morning I was

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reading a

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a poem

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I’m just clicking through my screen here

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because I’ve been working on various

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things cropped up in my studies and

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small now I’m an early riser

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with me

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let’s just get

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to where I want to go

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because social media figures in this

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stream of consciousness

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the memory hole works both ways it’s

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like the white Queens memory

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so here we are this admin question

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which has cropped up on the Green Party

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blog partly directed at my habit of

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preserving conversations before they

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disappear into the memory hole

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to which I made this contribution the

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Hound of heaven

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No

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the hounds of heaven on…  The Hound of

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heaven is a poem by Frances Thompson

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there’s a beautiful poem and I suggest

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you read it I will put the link in the

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description to this video but Francis

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Thompson was an interesting chap he had

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been a medical student following his

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father into the medical profession but

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left that profession to pursue a

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vocation as a poet and I was reading

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an essay he did on Shelley earlier this

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morning but he wrote another poem which

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is the poem I’m going to read now

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cricket_poetry#At_Lord’s

At Lord’s[edit]

Francis Thompson wrote the poem, “At Lord’s”:

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,

Though my own red roses there may blow;

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,

Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.

For the field is full of shades as I near a shadowy coast,

And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,

And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host

As the run stealers flicker to and fro,

To and fro:

O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!

It’s Glo’ster coming North, the irresistible,

The Shire of the Graces, long ago!

It’s Gloucestershire up North, the irresistible,

And new-risen Lancashire the foe!

A Shire so young that has scarce impressed its traces,

Ah, how shall it stand before all-resistless Graces ?

O, little red rose, their bats are as maces

To beat thee down, this summer long ago!

This day of seventy-eight they are come up north against thee

This day of seventy-eight long ago! The champion of the centuries,

he cometh up against thee, With his brethren, every one a famous foe!

The long-whiskered Doctor, that laugheth the rules to scorn,

While the bowler, pitched against him, bans the day he was born;

And G.F. with his science makes the fairest length forlorn;

They are come from the West to work thee woe!

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,

Though my own red roses there may blow;

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,

Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.

For the field is full of shades as I near a shadowy coast,

And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,

And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host

As the run stealers flicker to and fro, To and fro:

O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!

Not long before his death and long after he had watched Hornby and Barlow bat at Old Trafford, Thompson was invited to watch Lancashire play Middlesex at Lord’s. As the day of the match grew closer, Thompson became increasingly nostalgic. At the end, he did not go for the match, but sat at home and wrote “At Lord’s”. The original match in 1878 ended in a draw, with Gloucestershire needing 111 to win with five wickets in hand, Grace 58* [1]

The first stanza of the poem has contributed the titles of at least three books on cricket:

  1. D. Martineau‘s The field is full of shades[2]

Eric Midwinter‘s history of Lancashire cricket Red roses crest the caps [3]

  1. H. Young’s Field Full of Shades. A personal history of Claverham (Yatton) Cricket Club.

The first stanza is also quoted in full by Count Bronowsky in Paul Scott’s Raj Quartet novel The Day of the Scorpion.

Punch on William Scotton[edit]

The satirical magazine Punch printed the following poem following a particularly slow and boring innings by William Scotton. It mimicked Tennyson‘s famous “Break, break, break”.

Block, block, block

At the foot of thy wicket, O Scotton!

And I would that my tongue would utter My boredom.

You won’t put the pot on!

Oh, nice for the bowler, my boy,

That each ball like a barndoor you play!

Oh, nice for yourself, I suppose,

That you stick at the wicket all day!

And the clock’s slow hands go on,

And you still keep up your sticks; But oh!

for the lift of a smiting hand,

And the sound of a swipe for six!

Block, block, block, At the foot of thy wicket, ah do!

But one hour of Grace or Walter Read

Were worth a week of you!

Time does not permit me to correct the transcripts from the Second and Third Parts of the Video, They are extractable by clicking open transcript when you click the three little dots in the bottom left-hand corner of the Videos as they pay, I have placed links to references below.

https://longhairedmusings.wordpress.com/2011/05/10/celtic-baards-speak-out/

https://longhairedmusings.wordpress.com/2016/11/24/overlooked-and-unelected-a-poem-for-the-unappreciated/

https://longhairedmusings.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/when-the-time-comes/

https://longhairedmusings.wordpress.com/2017/03/28/globalisation-un-entangled-a-found-poem-cipher-of-globalism/

https://longhairedmusings.wordpress.com/2017/07/27/ceterum-censeo-carthaginem-esse-delendam-nihil-sub-sole-novum/

https://longhairedmusings.wordpress.com/2017/03/26/on-the-present-discontents-burke-opined-conquest-of-dough/

https://longhairedmusings.wordpress.com/2016/06/26/the-stagnation-of-social-technologies-post-brexit-anxiety-elexir/

http://www.isreview.org/issues/46/shelley.shtml

Shelley, by Francis Thompson

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1336/1336-h/1336-h.htm

How on earth are the Chancellor and the Governor of the Bank of England, commending the Hard ECU as they strive to, to be taken as serious participants in the debate against that kind of background noise? I believe that both the Chancellor and the Governor are cricketing enthusiasts, so I hope that there is no monopoly of cricketing metaphors. It is rather like sending your opening batsmen to the crease only for them to find, the moment the first balls are bowled, that their bats have been broken before the game by the team captain.

https://genius.com/Geoffrey-howe-resignation-speech-annotated

http://speakingfrog.com/?p=1012

Margaret Thatcher: Yes, the Commission does want to increase its powers. Yes, it is a non-elected body and I do not want the Commission to increase its powers at the expense of the House, so of course we are differing. Of course…

The President of the Commission, Mr. Delors, said at a press conference the other day that he wanted the European Parliament to be the democratic body of the Community, he wanted the Commission to be the Executive and he wanted the Council of Ministers to be the Senate. No. No. No.

Or…. or…..or…..

Perhaps the Labour party would give all those things up easily. Perhaps it would agree to a single currency, to total abolition of the pound sterling. Perhaps, being totally incompetent with monetary matters, they’d be only too delighted to hand over full responsibility as they did to the IMF, to a central bank. The fact is they have no competence on money and no competence on the economy—so, yes, the right hon. Gentleman would be glad to hand it all over. What is the point in trying to get elected to Parliament only to hand over your sterling and the powers of this House to Europe?

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ON LANGUAGE, OPPRESSION AND POLITICAL CORRECTNESS. THE BAARDS OF WALES. IMRE KALANYOS , ARANY JÁNOS,SUJATA BHATT

ON LANGUAGE, OPPRESSION AND POLITICAL CORRECTNESS. THE BAARDS OF WALES. IMRE KALANYOS , ARANY JÁNOS,SUJATA BHATT

Facebook does have its uses, it’s a curious Memory Hole glitch that reminds one of what so easily slips into the memory hole. Ordinarily, it is that very memory hole that is the genius of Facebook, for the powers that be. Every so often as today it scores a wonderful own goal.In this Post, I revisit a poem which was inspired by a Hungarian Epic Poem from one of that countries´ most celebrated literary sons. Another is surely Imre Kalynos. Who with his memory of growing up in Stalin’s Russia he delivers this is a wonderful piece of writing. It overbrims with wisdom and lessons for the art of living.

ROGER LEWIS SHARED A MEMORY.

42 mins · 

Roger Lewis

May 9, 2011 · 

Our links with the past are more powerful than we know particularly our connection with the land and Nature. Our connection is still deep within all of us I believe and this short story about what the Baards of Wales meant to one Hungarian gypsy that emigrated to America Squares an eternal circle of which we all yearn for.

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CELTIC BAARDS SPEAK OUT.

And the Baards of wales would not give praises to the conquering Edward,
instead, they spoke words of truth in poem and song made insolence by violence of the Crown and they were burnt at the stake for the truth they Spake.

What principality this that burns its priests for speaking truth against the tyrant.
The Baards of Cymru Eire Cornwall Bretagne, Syntagma & St Pauls reach out to us across the energy of reincarnated spirit and language Past Heroes deeds and words emulated to assuage

As once the tyrant Tribute sought
These new Caesars take all yet offer nought
once more we offer Insolence in Poetry Song rhyme and reason to tell the truth, that’s painted Treason.

Original Poem By Roger Lewis.
After. Arany János’ masterpiece.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bard…

Arany János was Hungary’s greatest epic poet and wrote this poem shortly after the visit of Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph to Hungary following defeat in the 1848-49 revolution war. Originally intended to be a poem to praise the Emperor, Arany, Janos used the story that King Edward I of England had 500 baards executed after his conquest of Wales in 1277. The poem is set in Montgomery mid-Wales.

”Tierra y Libertad”

The extract below is but an horsd’oeuvre, To a sumptuous banquet that is the whole piece at the link.

In the Elementary Scool of gordisa  by Imre Kalanyos Friday, August 03, 2007 Rated “G” by the Author. 

  ´´ I did not understand how the people of Sívó could be Gypsies. Due to the discrimination they were subjected to however, I knew that within the Hungarian society, my community, like the Gypsies, was placed in a social stratum defined by the color of their skin.  It was then that it became clear to me that the Hungarians called my villagers Gypsies for the same reason the ancient Greeks called the rest of the world Barbarians.´´

“Poems connected me to a world beyond my own.  It was from poems that I learned a history that was not taught in my school.  Poems made me aware of human feelings that were always part of human history but rarely revealed in the history books.  One such poem was “The Bards of Wales” written by Arany János (John Gold).  In the poem, the poet gave me a view on the Welsh people’s acceptance of their country’s annexation by King Edward.  The poem, as I understood it, was a reflection of the feelings of the bards.  In the thirteenth century, after conquering Wales, Edward I traveled on horseback throughout the country to assess what his gains were.  During his travel, he ordered the bards to praise him in their poems.  Some five hundred bards, one by one, were burned at the stake because they cursed him instead of praising him.  It was that poem that made me understand how Hungarians felt about the Russian occupation of their country.  From the poem, I learned that human feelings are part of ongoing history and that they cannot be dictated.  It was from “The Bards of Wales” that I learned a universal truth: the truth that neither kings nor dictators or tyrants can dictate human feelings.  I loved poems. They instilled in me a belief—a dream without which life had no meaning. From my literal understanding of Ady Endre’s poem titled “From the Rill to the Ocean,” I learned that to want is the door to possibilities; to want is human, and that one’s will make dreams come true .  I was in the fourth grade when I memorized Ady’s poem.
I memorized it because it depicted the environment in which I was living and the conditions I hoped to climb out of.” ……
“Throughout my life in Hungary, it was Ady’s poem that kept my hopes alive. It was the compelling factor in my determination to leave the rill in the hopes of reaching the saint, the big Ocean. ”

On Language and oppression

Another favourite of mine is.

A DIFFERENT HISTORY

Picture

A poem from her book ‘Brunizem’ published in 1986

BIOGRAPHY

Sujata Bhatt is an Indian poet and native speaker of Gujarati (the language native to the west Indian region of Gujarat) born on the 6th of May 1956 in Ahmedabad and brought up in Pune until her family immigrated to the United States in 1968. Now residing in Bremen, Germany with her daughter and husband, she now works as a freelance writer and translates works of Gujarat poetry into English. Recognised as a distinctive voice in contemporary poetry, Bhatt has won many prestigious awards for her work.

Bhatt describes her childhood in India as “the deepest layer of my identity”. Even though she has said that she feels an immense amount of pride and love towards her mother tongue and her culture, Bhatt mainly speaks and writes in English.

THIS IS A PHOTOGRAPH • OF ME
It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be·
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;
then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand comer
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.
(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am:in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the sUliace.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.)
We are great categorizers and pigeonholers in our society, and one reason is to put people safely into pigeonholes and then dismiss them, thinking we have thereby summed them up. “Feminist” is to me an adjective that does not enclose one. Margaret Atwood: Conversations, 136.

 

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