William Butler Yeats

On this day in 1865..

No doubt many have many favourite WB Yeats poems...

When You Are Old
       
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.











William Butler Yeats
Born: June 13, 1865, Sandymount, Ireland
Died: January 28, 1939, Menton, France

Poem - Palatic Paraplegic

Palatic Paraplegic

9.Dec.2014

when they said don’t come if you’re palatic

I wondered how fine was the line between palatic and paraplegic

I turned up with an electric wheelchair

completed blocked

my tongue lolling in my head

and me slobbering, literally not metaphorically

the bouncer security person, kind and considerate

waved me right in, no word about having drink taken

people generally smiled benignly

a few bending down to pat my head

then moving to another level

I wondered was wheeling me out the same as throwing me out

could I sue for ill treatment because of direction

I’m just palatic not paraplegic

I told them out straight but no-one understood the slur

--

Poet - Xu Lizhi (1990-2014)

At the Bottom of the Night..suicide beckons

Every life lost in the modernisation of China is so sad, so needless, so futile - one such life lost is that of the young poet;-  Xu Lizhi (1990-2014). 

I would like to extend my sincere condolences to his family and friends and also to thank the friends of the Nao project for the translations of poems by Xu Lizhi (许立志)

Here below his death poem together with commentary, background and links to the full article and more of his work.


“On My Deathbed”

I want to take another look at the ocean, 
behold the vastness of tears from half a lifetime
I want to climb another mountain, 
try to call back the soul that I’ve lost
I want to touch the sky, 
feel that blueness so light
But I can’t do any of this, 
so I'm leaving this world
Everyone who’s heard of me
Shouldn't be surprised at my leaving
Even less should you sigh or grieve
I was fine when I came...
and fine when I left.

-- Xu Lizhi, 30 September 2014


我弥留之际

我想再看一眼大海，
目睹我半生的泪水有多汪洋
我想再爬一爬高高的山头，
试着把丢失的灵魂喊回来
我还想摸一摸天空，
碰一碰那抹轻轻的蓝
可是这些我都办不到了，
我就要离开这个世界了
所有听说过我的人们啊
不必为我的离开感到惊讶
更不必叹息，
或者悲伤
我来时很好
去时，也很好

-- Xu Lizhi, 30 September 2014

Commentary 

For those 'employed / indentured slaves', in emerging economies there may seem to be little alternative. Is a return to the poverty / humility / simplicity of a rural backwater so bad?

Tens of thousands of the young in China are sold the illusion of a better future, glamour enhanced by photoshop in magazines, actors in roles all painted up on television and in film... much of it fantasy, lies and illusion.. sleight of mind. 

Aided and abetted by their American counterparts the Chinese company executives consuming all in their path. The wealthy international corporations engaging in abject dishonesty, studiously avoiding the images and news of the deaths of workers - workers who are treated like dogs at the end of an ornate supply chain.

The reality is that the capitalist system is built on dishonesty, greed and ever increasing consumption, for the majority of workers it is impossible to defeat the system;-

• you will be paid a fraction of what is ever fair
• you will work extra hours without pay
• you will be removed / abused if you complain
• increasing taxation will dilute your earnings
• you can easily waste the best years of your life

This is not unique to emerging economies, all over the world people give their lives in an attempt to gain more money to gain more things.. to gain more money to gain more things.

We do not need more consumers consuming and perpetuating the nightmare of immoral rampant consumption; we need more artists and philosophers and writers and poets...  happy to live simply without consumerist trappings. Only then will we get a reset of a system being destroyed by its own greed.

Des Donnelly..

Background

Xu Lizhi (许立志) was a Foxconn worker who committed suicide on 30 September 2014, at the age of 24, in Shenzhen, China. The full article also includes an obituary and explanatory notes.

Please read the full article on Libcom.org entitled ;-

 The poetry and brief life of a Foxconn worker: Xu Lizhi (1990-2014)


Xu's departing poem 
by Li Fei and Zhang Xiaoqi
10 October, 2014

《我弥留之际》
“On My Deathbed”

我想再看一眼大海，目睹我半生的泪水有多汪洋
I want to take another look at the ocean, behold the vastness of tears from half a lifetime
我想再爬一爬高高的山头，试着把丢失的灵魂喊回来
I want to climb another mountain, try to call back the soul that I’ve lost
我还想摸一摸天空，碰一碰那抹轻轻的蓝
I want to touch the sky, feel that blueness so light
可是这些我都办不到了，我就要离开这个世界了
But I can’t do any of this, so I’m leaving this world
所有听说过我的人们啊
Everyone who’s heard of me
不必为我的离开感到惊讶
Shouldn’t be surprised at my leaving
更不必叹息，或者悲伤
Even less should you sigh or grieve
我来时很好，去时，也很好
I was fine when I came, and fine when I left.

-- Xu Lizhi, 30 September 2014

Shy, quiet, introverted, solitary

In 2010, Xu Lizhi went [from his home in rural Jieyang, Guangdong] to work at [a] Foxconn [electronics factory in Shenzhen], beginning life on the assembly line. From 2012 until February of this year [2014], over 30 of his writings were published in Foxconn’s internal newspaper Foxconn People (富士康人), including poems, essays, film reviews, and news commentaries {…} Xu posted the titles of these writings on his blog in a post called “The Maturation Given to Me by a Newspaper,” indicating his gratitude for this platform for his literary aspirations. The first time his friend Zheng (pseudonym) read Xu’s poetry, he was astonished to discover that this young man could be so talented. Henceforth, Zheng always looked for Xu’s writings in the newspaper.
Zheng’s impression was that Xu was a shy boy, “of few words, but not silent.” “Xu asserted his convictions, but he seemed quite solitary – very much the air of a poet.” When Zheng heard of Xu’s suicide, his entire [week-long] break for [China’s] National Day was shrouded in grief. He could not go outside for days.

Turning feelings into poems; fearing they'd be read by family

Most of Xu’s early poems were descriptions of life on the assembly line. In “Workshop, My Youth Was Stranded Here,” he described his conditions at the time: “Beside the assembly line, tens of thousands of workers [dagongzhe]1 line up like words on a page/ 'Faster, hurry up!'/ Standing among them, I hear the supervisor bark.” He felt that “Once you’ve entered the workshop/ The only choice is submission,” and that his youth was coldly slipping away, so he could only “Watch it being ground away day and night/ Pressed, polished, molded/ Into a few measly bills, so-called wages.”

At first Xu Lizhi found it difficult to adapt to the constant switching between dayshifts and nightshifts. In another poem, he described himself by the assembly line “standing straight like iron, hands like flight,” “How many days, how many nights/ Did I – just like that – standing, fall asleep?” He described his working life as exhausting, “Flowing through my veins, finally reaching the tip of my pen/ Taking root in the paper/ These words can be read only by the hearts of migrant workers."

Xu once said that he never showed his poetry to his parents or other relatives, "because it's something painful; I don't want them to see that."


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William Wall Essay - Riding Against The Lizard – On The Need For Anger Now

An Essay By William Wall

  (© William Wall 2009)

  

“Anger is the political sentiment par excellence. It brings out the qualities of the inadmissible, the intolerable. It is a refusal and a resistance that with one step goes beyond all that can be accomplished reasonably in order to open possible paths for a new negotiation of the reasonable but also paths of an uncompromising vigilance.

Poem - The Languages Of Ireland

in the old days

they trembled for fear of the parish priest

that he might coming storming in

full of ire serving up damnation

for something said or something supported

The Struggle ended that as well...

and so evolved the language of st vincent de paul

full of dishonest platitudes

the fuckers stabbing you in the back at the first opportunity

help everybody tell nobody or vice versa

entropy on a country-wide scale

that did not get us far

but about 2 million left

thus freeing up some cubicles

for those being lined up to get fucked by the catholic church

an event brought to you in association with 

the government of Ireland

there was a good bit of the cattle prod in this process

we hear more about it every year

the weak got prayed/preyed upon

they are not called the weak for nothing

thus they attract the attention of the flies of society

I was schooled by the christian brothers myself

I can attest that they were cunts of the highest order

--
by Des Donnelly  ..written 5.Sept.2014

Note.. language here is never straightforward, people are often  / usually not saying what they mean, you have to scratch at it to get that, Ireland is famous for it. This is the first poem in a series playing upon the various 'languages' we use ourselves. 

Profanity here (in Ireland) is used like diacritical marks in French, sometimes there is no substitute for a word of that flavour.. :-)

.

Poem - Not Kosher

extremist, terrorist,
interesting words
for an interesting phenomenon
the old freedom fighter and guerrilla gone
ISIS a creation of some sort by somebody
the truth of anything becoming more elusive
but definitely a smell to ISIS
paradoxically the whole thing is not kosher




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by Des Donnelly   ..written 2.Sept.2014

Micropoetry #4

Sand Worms

we’re just sand worms 

life passing through us

intricate designs on Darwin’s beach

good to the next high tide

of evolution

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Seamus Heaney Events 2014

Bellaghy Bawn is the main location for the weekend's commemorative events.

Sat 2.30pm, the cemetery at St Mary's Church, poems will be read by graduates of the Seamus Heaney Centre at Queen's University in Belfast.

A procession of celebration will then move through the village to the Turfman sculpture, where there will be choral music in his memory. Under the guidance of Magherafelt's Gino Lupari – of Four Men And A Dog fame – an afternoon of music will follow.

The Sands family will perform a memorial concert from 7.30pm in the Bawn marquee, where invited and local guests will hear a songbook specially prepared for the occasion. Derry man Gerard McChrystal will evoke the poem Mid Term Break through a specially commissioned piece for the saxophone. Afterwards, the public is invited to The Wall at Ballydermot Road to witness an event at Church Island.

On Sunday from 2pm there is an open mic session where visitors can read, write, sing, play or just listen. A series of coach tours of 'Seamus Heaney Country' will also take place with specialist guides exploring in detail the inspirations that framed the poet's life and work.

Full details online at http://www.thepoetryhouseonline.com/




On Home Ground Festival. September 11-14th.

"Highlights of the programme include an exhibition of films made for the BBC and presented by Seamus Heaney, many of which have never been broadcast more than once.

There will be readings from some of Ireland’s finest writers and poets, children’s workshops, a poetry picnic, coach tours of ‘Heaney country’ and In Conversations with special guests – including Snow Patrol’s Gary Lightbody who will read Heaney poetry and perform songs, one of which he has dedicated to the late poet, and musicians Neil Martin, Rod McVey and actress Brid Brennan, will perform a bespoke session on Heaney. Artist Colin Davidson, whose portrait of Heaney was the last painting Heaney sat for, will be In Conversation with writer Glenn Patterson."

Poem ..tomorrow never comes

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we are all only that sand 
blowing in the camel’s wake
little puffs of us rising up 
in slow motion
in our own tiny moment of time
enjoy it
as it passes 
and the foot of destiny
rises 
to fall in another's world




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by Des Donnelly

Micropoetry #3

I saw a man carrying his child out of the shop
here in Aughnacloy it was alive

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by Des Donnelly