Defence against white supremacists

33nsochttps://qz.com/1054694/a-philosophical-principle-coined-in-1945-could-be-a-key-us-defense-against-white-supremacists/

 

“White supremacists are really, really hoping that you don’t keep reading this article. They don’t want you to learn about the Paradox of Tolerance, because then they’d lose a powerful weapon in their fight to make society more racist. Ready to make a white supremacist mad?

Fortunately for us, the Paradox of Tolerance, a concept coined by philosopher Karl Popper, is easy to understand and remember. The “paradox” part makes it sounds complicated and hard, but it’s really just a rule with one exception. It goes like this:

  1. A tolerant society should be tolerant by default,
  2. With one exception: it should not tolerate intolerance itself.

To give a specific example, a tolerant society should tolerate protest marches in general, but it shouldn’t tolerate a white supremacist march advocating for the oppression and killing of people of color – like the march in Charlottesville, Virginia, in August 2017 that ended with white supremacists beating and killing people who were opposed to their message of intolerance.”

Where is not our badness, where no sin?

Do  we need the Evil Others, then
The” backward” countries we exploit for  oil
To take our badness, bear what is our sin?

For we are perfect, civilised, thinking
And they are children letting anger boil
Do  we need the Evil Others, then?

We ravaged the  whole world,  just to begin;
Created empires, stole the haul.
Where is not our badness, where not sin?

We demeaned their culture  and religion
Said that we were best and took their all.
Do we need an Evil Other, then?

We did all this with noble conviction
Forgot the lessons and the truth of Fall
Where is then our badness, where our sin?

Are we so sure that we  do sense the whole
And never hear the voice of God bewail?
We need the Evil Others,  our own twin
To bear our badness, our historic sin.

Creative life

https://qz.com/938847/john-keats-theory-of-negative-capability-can-help-you-cultivate-a-creative-mindset/

 

“But while establishing a brand is good for business, it may be antithetical to the essence of real creative work. According to the Romantic English poet John Keats (1795-1821), artists of fixed opinions suffered from “egotistical sublime,” obsessing over singular truths to the point that they were unable to produce characters and storylines that convincingly diverged from their personal world views. He argued that the secret to being an artist was to cultivate a mindset he called “negative capability.”

Writing to his brothers in 1817, Keats introduced the concept of negative capability as he discussed Shakespeare’s creativity. “At once it struck me, what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously,” he wrote. “I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.”

Creative genius, according to Keats, requires people to experience the world as an uncertain place that naturally gives rise to a wide array of perspectives. This imaginative experience is what energizes and vitalizes literature, says Susan Wolfson, a Princeton English professor and author of Reading John Keats. Only when artists are able to stay open-minded can they write a wide range of characters and human experiences, from antagonists like Milton’s Satan and Shakespeare’s Iago to romantics like Keats’ Isabella. Holding too closely to one’s own view of the world is creatively counterproductive.

True poetical character, Keats believed, “has no self—it is everything and nothing—it has no character and enjoys light and shade; it lives in gusto, be it foul or fair, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated—it has as much delight in conceiving an Iago as an Imogen. What shocks the virtuous philosopher delights the camelion Poet.” The ideal artist, it seems, is equally enthralled to inhabit the mind of a character who aligns with their personal beliefs and one who is antagonistic to them. For this reason, he made fun of poets who used poetry as a means of constant lecturing and haranguing, including William Woodsworth (Keats’ friend), who told readers how to read his poetry, and John Milton (author of Paradise Lost), who sermonized on the balance of good and evil. Such instructive writing, Keats believed, inhibited the writer’s capacity for nuance.

Keats’ dwelling on the “chameleon poet”—one who “has no identity, [who] is continually filling some other body”—could be easily misinterpreted as a glorification of the weak-minded. But the imperative of negative capability isn’t about being indecisive or making blurry arguments. It’s about cultivating empathy. Artists do their best work when they learn to step outside themselves.

To artists with strong political dispositions, and in times of fierce political conflict, the concept of negative capability may seem threatening. After all, so much of art is driven by political beliefs. However, as Wolfson explains, Keats would not advocate applying negative capability to politics. “Keats was a staunch liberalist, against the monarchy, and a regular reader of The Examiner, a progressive and anti-monarchal newspaper,” says Wolfson. “He had no affection for political thinking on the right wing and viewed it as tyranny.”

Negative capability, then, is an artistic exercise: learning to entertain all sides of a question as a dramatist, poet, or creative thinker. Thus, perhaps the measure of a true artist and intellectual is the ability to embrace both negative capability and personal convictions at once—without letting one inhibit the depth of the other.”

Keats letters

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The thoughts about the nature of human existence that we find
scattered and evolving in his letters, much of this theory and
speculation possesses a remarkable harmony or unity that
derives directly from certain basic qualities of his character.
Perhaps chief among these personal qualities is one easier to
name in negative than in positive terms: the usual and genuine
absence in him of self-assertiveness. The dogmatic tone or spirit
was not his, and he disliked dogmatic men and arguments,
believing that it was more blessed to listen, learn, and explore
than to preach in support of a pre-selected text. Thus we find an
unusual gentleness about Keats’s strength of mind. Because of
the basically explorative thrust of his thinking, he was reluctant
to reach closed-end conclusions.
131
J. Clubbe et al., English Romanticism
© John Clubbe and the Estate of Ernest J. Lovell, Jr

I mean negative capability

  • At once it struck me what quality went to form a man of achievement, especially in literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously—I mean negative capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
    • Letter to George and Thomas Keats (December 22, 1817)

Shock of the day

I can hardly believe this.A Swiss Hotel put a sign up saying Jews must shower before using the pool.And there was me, an English woman thinking  I could pee in a swimming pool, take some soap and have a good wash
Apparently, that is ok for me.But Jews have to shower first.Would Jesus like this? You Christian hypocrites start thinking before  acting
They could have put up a sign asking everyone to shower first.They must be dumb
I can’t imagine how horrible it still is for Jews in Europe.If it was me it would affect my self esteem a lot.

Stay a while here with his holy shadow

Sing a song to help the dying soldier
Sing a song to ease him on the way
Release him from your weary shoulder
And let him sleep in  shadows of dismay

It doesn’t matter that your heart is broken
It doesn’t matter he has got no bed
At last the love you feel has opened
And before he dies, you are by silence wed

Sing a song to help him with his leaving~
Sing as softly as a little bird
There is no evil that he is concealing
And you yourself have heard his final words.

And when his soul flies from the open window
You cannot stop it with your wifely heart
Stay a while here with his holy shadow
And then rise to your feet and so depart

We’re only human we feel sorrow
We’re only human, how we grieve
With trembling legs and  belly hollow
Appearances like this do not deceive

A polyester jump suit for Mary?

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Mary sat in her dining room listening to Sir Michael Atiyah on the Today programme where he was talking about very advanced Group Theory
.Many years ago she had known this great man, though he had scarcely noticed her despite her big blue eyes and skinny legs displayed beneath her home made mini-dress.That was very fortunate as she was there as a tutor not as a marriage breaker.Why her mother had supplied her with such mini  dresses, she had often wondered,
Going online, she saw a sale on at Welvi, the store for larger ladies.There was an orange culotte jumpsuit made of polyester for £10
Look at this, she called to her friend Annie.A real bargain in my view.
Well, said Annie, suppose you were in the country climbing a hill and you needed to have a wee.
I never thought of that, Mary said shyly.
Moreover polyester is too clammy for summer and not warm enough for winter, besides it looks transparent.I don’t think  Stan would like it.
Well, he’s not here now, said Mary sadly.And transparent plastic trousers are in fashion.Do you wear plastic knickers underneath?
No, you’d have to wear a jewelled thong, said Annie.I bet that would make men look at you.Well, not your face…
I’ve never worn a thong.Do they hurt, asked Mary politely.
Yes, I’ve got one on now, said Annie nervously.It’s really hurting me.I’d better ring 999 and ask Dave the paramedic to advise me
Hi called Dave, what is wrong today?
Annie is in pain from a thong, Mary  cried
I’ll be round in 2 minutes
Dave ran up the hall into the bijou kitchen
Where is   the thong ,he asked gently
Where do you think,  Annie shouted?
She lifted up her chambray skirt and showed him her pink lace knicker substitute.
Can you take it off, he asked tenderly?
I have run out of clean knickers, she informed him scientifically.
Well in the past women wore cotton petticoats  but no knickers.It was more healthy.But with short thin  skirts if you fell over all the world would see your mound of Venus
That’s an exaggeration, Annie said.All the world is not looking at me
Ah, but someone could have a video camera and you might be on the News.You’d better go to Marks and buy some more proper knickers.
Now, shall I make you a cup of tea?The NHS is here to care for you.As you know
Lovely, cried Mary.Annie go upstairs and take my knickers and put that thong in the laundry basket.I will wash it for you and you can hang it in your bathroom to give an impression of your taste to visitors.On the other hand, men would be disappointed to see you really wore cotton high waisted pants and not a sort of mini star spangled banner.
All right, said Annie but Stan would have liked them
I like them, mewed Emile.I love you, Annie.I wish I were a man,I would go to bed with you right now.I have got a French letter from Soraya.She’e been in Paris and wrote to me on real paper.
Wow, a cat using the subjunctive and reading French letters said Mary.That is a surprise.
I don’téven know what  subjunctive  is, screamed Annie rudely
And so say all of us

ecg

Although my ears were ringing with its rhymes

I edited  my sonnet sixty times
It didn’t seem so many to my mind
Although my ears were ringing with its rhymes
To criticise myself seems quite unkind

What seemed to be a metre was none such
I could not sing it like Gray’s Elegy
My language late at night seems Double Dutch
But writing will, like loving,  pleasure me.

If only we could edit when we speak
Instead of blurting out “the honest truth”
To stop our malice making others bleak
Or injuring their hearts with words uncouth.

When we reflect, we learn  to see our speech
As something not entirely out of reach.

 

The dignity of worth, the repaired woe?

We are not afraid as once we were
In 1963 when fingers groped
To end the Cuban missile crisis there.

Do we feel unreal or don’t we care
That we are on the edge of loss of hope?
We are not afraid as once we were

Have we so much News we can’t take more?
We struggle in our day life just to cope
Who ends the nuclear crisis that is here?

Have we split off feelings of despair
In case this anguish  blocks our little throats
We are not afraid nor numb, it’s clear

Can we  find again or  now acquire
The dignity of worth, the consoled woe?
Who will navigate such wild desire?

The  envy we seem locked in does require
Destruction of the other as its foe
We are not afraid as once we were
Of  nuclear crisis and its dead dismay

 

Poetry and politics

LangdalePikes-BleaTarn

https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2010/dec/15/poetry-protest-politics

 

“But is protest poetry the preserve of the spoken word poet? In the 1970s, American poet Richard Wilbur, symbol of all things urbane and learned, offered “To the Student Strikers”, urging reflection and calm during the Vietnam war. In “A Miltonic Sonnet for Mr Johnson”, he suggests that Thomas Jefferson “would have wept to see small nations dread / The imposition of our cattle-brand, / With public truth at home mistold or banned, / And in whose term no army’s blood was shed.” However, Wilbur cautions that when “poets begin preaching to the choir, it takes the adventure and variety out of the poetry.”

So is this poetry’s role: to approach unrest and upheaval slant, and not head-on? And has poetry on the page been more effective in documenting the aftermath of great events? Both the late Ken Smith and Sean O’Brien have documented the intellectual legacy of post-industrial and rural communities recovering their identities after decades of decline. Ken Smith, son of a farm labourer, produced a poetry imbued with a melancholy sense of those like his father who, as O’Brien noted in Smith’s obituary, had “left / not a mark, not a footprint”.”

What is mimesis?

penhttps://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/mimesis

 

mimesis

  • 1technical, formal Imitative representation of the real world in art and literature.

    ‘Barth has always detached his use of plot from mimesis’
    More example sentences

The difference between prose and poetry

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https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2012/04/the-difference-between-poetry-and-prose

“Prose is all about accumulation (a morality of work), while poetry as it is practiced today is about the isolation of feelings (an aesthetics of omission). Among other things, prose is principally an ethical project, while poetry is amoral, a tampering with truths which the world of prose (and its naturalistic approach to mimesis) takes for granted. Poetry creates its own truth, which at times is the same truth as the world’s, and sometimes not. Whatever the case, its mimesis is always a rearrangement, at a molecular level, of that axis between the “seen” and the “felt” (that coal chute which connects the childish eye to the Socratic heart), which, were it not for poetry, with its misguided elenchus, would remain obscured. In both classical and modern languages it is poetry that evolves first and is only much later followed by prose “4655668_f260

 

” Poetry’s last major flourishing during the first half of the 19th century was a kind of Silver Age to what came before; it gave us a way to model our increasingly important private lives, as opposed to our public ones. This is its gift. Another Swedish writer, Tomas Tranströmer, last year’s Nobel, laureate, and the first poet to win the prize in sixteen years, when asked about his writing method, said that he doesn’t have one; he hinted at how close to evanescence our contemporary practice actually is: “…it’s hard to know what we really mean by writing for there’s a kind of inner writing that goes on all the time and it doesn’t need to finish up on paper…” *”

 

Even from out hell

My neighbour hears me singing Joan of Arc
The walls are thin ,the windows are right dark
He says I sound sincere
And sets my heart on  fire
When he asks me for walk in the old Park

Leonard Cohen has got something I don’t have
I do not mean what is most obvious
I mean he sings so well
Even from out hell
I love him  though  he’s dead, it’s curious,

So my neighbour is a Jew from Montreal
Yet he never met L Cohen  in the Mall
He said  that L was sad
Really, really bad
So being dead is better, all in all

Well, I differ on my views of this old life
Leonard  loved his children and his voice
He was a  subtle man
Who has told us what he can
And even God won’t tell us more than twice

Its noise  is like ten demons

In my flat, I live unsociably
I  vacuum Kitty  say, one night in three
I know she has got fleas
From climbing willow trees
And 2 am seems quite alright to me

In my flat, I love the wooden floors
I run around in clogs till I am bored
The neighbour underneath
Has asked that I should cease.
So now I do it  more and more and more

On  my flat, I have a heavy door
To keep out burglars, mewing cats  and more
My neighbour down the stairs
Says I slam it  and he hears
I am wondering what I’ll do if I get bored.

I have got this new machine to wash
My denim jeans, my blouses, nighties posh
Its noise  is like  ten demons
I hear my neighbour’s screams
The police just came and beat about the bush.

Into my flat, they came with a machine
To see if I am  neurotically clean
They say to love the neighbour
Wash my clothes and caper
Before 11pm and  not be mean

And in the morning not to start
Till 7 am  in case my neighbour’s  heart
Rate wobbles and  he dies
My fault ,  so they sigh
For I have  quite upset all apple carts

So they howl all night

Dear Aggie

When I got married, I was ecstatic.Well, happy.But my husband has 3 dogs and when he gets into bed they are jealous of me as they want to join him
So they howl all night on the landing unless a ghost is haunting the house
And it has put him off sex with me, so he says.But he’s not bothered
I am not happy, what shall I do
Jody

Dear Jody

This seems like a time when sex before marriage would have taught you a lot.Where were these dogs while he courted you? I think now you are projecting your fear of sex into the dogs.I suggest psycho analysis 4 times a week for ten years.That will help or it will pass the time.I have a vacancy.Email me:
aggie.aunt 1265@ripoff.com for a start date.I charge £3,000 per session.
My web page : richlazyclevertherapist.blogsock.com, Any gender welcome,
Any agenda welcome.

I think I see his shadow where coats lean

The days of loss seem sharper than a knife
A razor blade, a chopping up  machine
They cut my heart and show me I’m no wife.

Yet I am happy with my writer’s life
A freedom to explore what is unseen
The days of loss seem sharper than a knife

I lose my pen, my phone, I do not lie.
I talk  out loud to silence my own screams
Loss cuts my heart and shows me I’m no wife.

I fail again and sometimes  let words fly
I bake the scones but I forget the cream
The days of loss seem sharper than a knife,

On other days I find the lost and cry,
I ask my fountain pen where it  has been
Loss cut my heart and showed me I’m no wife.

I think I see his shadow where coats lean
Or sunlight on  his spectacles will beam
The days of loss seem kinder than a knife
They warm my heart and tell me I’m his wife.

 

My atoms wing like butterflies

 

A map’s a guide to find a world

Knitted by angels, plain or pearled,

And though you need a map as guide,

Keep your own eyes open wide.

I spent a year caught in a map

Until I found a big enough gap

I crawled out through this exit slit,

So here I am , like some half wit

Words can act like heroin,

You live so high, where I have been.

But onto earth, I gladly fall.

The air the sun the rain is all.

My senses are my lovers long-

My ears, my eyes, my skin my tongue.

The winds caress my naked flesh,

To dwell on earth is all I wish.

I’ll live with mice and birds and plants,

I’ll share my food with miscreants

I’ll keep my words inside a tin,

And only, now and then, go in

I’ll live with cats and spiders three.

And like a wild flower grow quite free.

I’ ll give my words to those who hear,

And eventually, I’ll disappear

Earth to earth, then ash to ash

When soaked with rain I shall disperse.

My atoms wing like butterflies,

And to the Flower I’ll fly, disguised

The rulers idle at a Golfers Court

My mind seems overwhelmed by many thoughts
And feelings too about new  Nuclear threats.
What do I do, do I do what I ought?

Like fishermen whose nets swell with fish caught
How to filter out the ones which are mere fret.
My mind seems overwhelmed by many thoughts

They are all  here and none are sold or bought
All made up from just one alphabet
What do I do, do I do what I ought?

 

Where can we find the peace we have long sought
The politicians’ words in   graveyards set
All minds  are  overwhelmed by devious thoughts

The rulers idle at a golfers  Court
The country   churns and grips in moral threat
What do we do, do we do what we ought?

Dead children faces gaze  as  cold men bet
That Christ won’t come,won’t damn their cruelty yet
My mind seems overwhelmed by many thoughts
What do I do, do I do what I ought?

 

 

 

Customer reviews

Photo0024
Photo by me with Nokia 301
Dear Customer

Thank you for buying the haemorrhoid cream from us.We’d love to know what you thought of it.Please do a review on Amazon.
Errhh… No.I am studying Lacan in the bathroom

Dear Customer

Thanks for buying the gold wedding ring.If you like it we’d love to sell you another one with 5% off.

I’ve only just got married.

Dear Customer

Thank you for buying the incontinence pants.We hope you are enjoying your purchase and look forward to a good review.We’d really appreciate it

They were for my auntie ,not me.But Social Services pay for them now.Only 2 per week though.Tell Theresa May I hope she gets incontinent too.I object to paying tax and then subsidising old relatives who do not like to bother me.So they get dehydrated.Do you think people only pee on two days a week?Auntie has stopped going out

Dear Customer

Thank for buying the hiking boots.If you would n’t mind we’d love a good review

I’m up Great Gable.So far so good.I’ll  contact you when I get down

Sent from my  Nokia C 101.

I’d  appreciate some cash for PAYG

 

Why do you call me a fecking lunatic?

 

Because you are Irish? Tell me another

You’re an Orange Man? I’ll do the review now.Otherwise, the government might collapse.I don’t like them but we’ve had  trouble enough.Thank you somuch and please don’t shoot my neighbour or me.Crash!

And that is the end of my life for today

Enchanting poetry

6254518

http://www.theenchantingverses.org/issue-xxi-february-2015.html

Poetry is not dead or dying, as some would have you believe. It is alive and gnashing, and comes fully loaded.

The poets plying their craft in the folds of this issue of The Enchanting Verses Literary Review are testament to that—on, O so many levels and layers. Each from diverse backgrounds and cultures (and despite them—despite too their varied forms and approaches) as an unlikely collective, these poets have one thing in common: they are all writing in a distinctly modern idiom. And, whether the poet works with a clarity of vision or within seemingly feverish abstractions, there are many depths to be plumbed here.

I would rather not pluck an individual poem or poet from this oddly shaped hat. I would rather let these verses speak for themselves—not for any other reason than to let each word nudge its neighbor, each line unfold upon the next in a sweep of cross-cultural synesthesia.  Yes, the cross-section (if viewed with a more empirical eye) is bold and richly diverse. There are poets here who write as survivors of twentieth-century tyranny and oppression; there are those who write from a calm of democratic continents and domestic bliss (although we will be quick to note that more often than not, appearances can be deceiving). There are others taking the scholarly approach who wish to observe their world more anonymously, reinterpreting space in a reinvention of past classics, and others still, who wish to navigate us through the headwaters of post-modernist abstraction. Each approach, of course, is as valid as the next.

Imagine, if you will, that you are far from the madding crowd, alone in a forest or perhaps traversing a mountain chain, deep in an underground cave among stalagmites and their polar opposites—and then, let these poems written by poets from the Everywhere, populate you with their vast protuberances, allow them to seep under your skin and carry you further on your journeys; allow them to become your most singular acquaintances or your oldest friends. And, thank them, honor them (as I have) multiple times, for giving us their versions of the world—and how the words have become their songs, their imaginings, their modern poems.

What a rich, profound, moving armory this is. These poets are very much alive.

Marc Vincenz, Guest Editor (Issue XXI)

The rose by nature of design

Sacred the  love the rose dwells in;
Thorns protect what lies within.
Precious flower designed for bliss
Consummated with a kiss.

Eternity is one moment
When chattering minds are each silent.
The warp and weft of life  itself
Has value more than human wealth.
So passive be, with patience blessed
Focus wide and all relaxed
We wait like this  with music ‘joyed
So quietly played, all hurt’s destroyed.

The rose by nature of design
Gives peace to both the heart and mind.
And so it is with this  green world
Of  blossom,  bush,  and petals curled.

In a storm  small  butterflies
Dance in spaces small yet blithe.
Between the hailstones., they will  live
And of themselves entirely give.

We too  find our sacred space
When with nature we embrace.
We like flowers must grow and die.
We fall to dust and thus shall fly.

In the sunlight dust motes dance
As if by brightness full entranced.
We, like them, do not compete
For  that love which us completes

For as we’re nothing, we are free
For God made you and God made me.
As we have no pride or will
We trust in One who will fulfil.

 

Note : self-abandonment, which is a practice of the mystics .is abandonment to God.This desire for self-abandonment can be used by totalitarian regimes to make the crowd do their will.Like other of our desires, it has to be directed rightly.So we move between this passivity and active thought and will which guides us rightly.We must not abandon ourselves to governments or politicians and leaders,  especially Popes or other religious leaders.