Literature

An 18 year old’s letter to an unborn child

I recently found the below essay on my laptop while clearing out old material. It was a “SAC” (School-Assessed Coursework) for a Philosophy unit in the Victorian Certificate of Education, written in Melbourne, Australia in 2010.

The task was to write a letter to your unborn child, drawing on philosophical concepts from the course. The course was concerned with the good life, and living well. It was taught by the wonderful Dr Felicity McCutcheon, one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, and more importantly one of the kindest and wisest souls I’ve ever met. The letter, at nearly 1800 words, grapples with the philosophy of Plato, Nietzsche, and Schopenhauer, applying it to the 21st century. There’s a lot in the letter I would change and temper with age and experience, especially the prose, but I’ve found the hopefulness and life-affirming tone of the letter to be really refreshing.

It’s remarkable to read something I wrote 14 years ago, especially at such a young age. It’s almost as if it were written by a stranger. At 32 years old now, I am indeed a completely different person. So much has happened since - I’ve lived all over the world, attended university, worked in meaningful and interesting jobs. I’ve fallen in love, made friends, and seen places that have made me feel truly alive. I hope 18 year old me would have been proud of who I have become, and am becoming. The road certainly hasn’t been easy, there has been a lot of pain and disappointment and failure along the way. I suppose this is the same for everyone. It has given me a lot of strength to re-read this letter (at a time when I really need it), and to think of the hopefulness and intellectual curiosity of my younger self, so filled with possibility, and to think of the quiet bravery of how I tried to make the most out my one little life at that age. The letter ultimately calls for a spirit of exploration, creativity, transcendence, seeking something more, and connectedness with others.

The idea of having a child still seems far away, though not as much as when I was 18. Many of my friends and peers are settling down with long term partners, making homes of their own, and welcoming children into the world. I hope all of this happens for me, and that I can be a loving and caring father and husband.

***

Written July, 2010

a)    Write a letter to your unborn child, advising them on the best way to live (with reference to 21st century).

To my unborn,

Perhaps it is fitting that I am writing this letter to you as you unknowingly prepare to be cast from the darkness of your metaphorical cave and into the light of the world. The nature of this letter is one advocating a life of discovery, of transcendence from the darkness to the light, and of leaving obscurity for the dual truth of your existence, if you are so willing. I do not pretend that this life will be an easy one; it will be challenging and uncomfortable. However, the authenticity and satisfaction derived from embracing your humanity and striving for some higher goal, even if it is never attained, will allow you to arrive at a truth of our existence that is greater in depth and dimension than would be able to be obtained if the ‘truth’ of your perceived circumstances was simply accepted and permitted by your indifference to shaping your life.

What merit is there in sourcing and embracing this alluded to eternal propulsion towards something more? I cannot for me say with any tangible validation what exactly this drive is, I can only infer that it exists, and it is innate in every human. It is the desire, drive, impulse, the urge to break out of comfortability in the pursuit of that more. It was the humans who left the Rift Valley all those thousands of years ago, it was man reaching out, however ineffectually, to the depths of space, and it is man searching for his soul mate. Here is an excerpt from Book VI of Virgil’s Aeneid:

“Stabant orantes primi transmittere cursum
Tendebantque manus ripae ulterioris amore”

“So they all stood, each praying to be ferried across first
Their hands stretched out in longing for the further shore”

It is my belief that it is this endeavour, combined with the perseverance and honesty to commit to these chosen enterprises in their full extent, which characterises the human condition. It is natural, and in this case it is right. What is natural here is to be valued over the artificial constructs of society and convention, which have stifled the Will to Power that naturally exists within us, or Schopenhauer’s misconstrued interpretations of the said will. 

Most importantly, with this drive accounted for, I cannot prescribe what your something more will be. Indeed there is no merit in the ‘end’ itself, the merit of authenticity rather lies in the process of discovery and transcendence, and an embrace of these primal drives within us.

It is a truth I cannot prescribe nor enforce, and would not if I could. Instead, your journey is one to be driven entirely by self discovery. First, you must recognise and embrace the paradoxes of our reality, which surpass the comprehension of all men. Perhaps it is the value of our life that lies in this incomprehensibility; the great unknown, defiant of logic and reason, compels us to want life.

Your life will be determined to an extent by circumstances of fate; your family, place of birth, intelligence, appearance etc. All of these collude to form a parameter to your existence. These will shape how you are perceived in the world, and how you perceive yourself. And yet, it is within these deterministic bounds that you must utilize Nietzsche’s Will to Power, your free will, in the hope of one day breaking free of the dictates of your circumstances that deign you to be something that may be wholly incongruent to who you are as a person. Transcending these seemingly undeniable boundaries is remarkably similar to the experience of birth, which you are soon to be subjected to. The process of unveiling the truth or the reality previously kept from us is an abrupt moment of dislocation from your previous consciousness. Such a disruption is irreverent to the rhythmically reliable comforts of complacency and routine that society and Nietzsche’s “Herd” require for social functionality purposes.

Arthur Schopenhauer recognised the will that I have spoken about (terming it Will to Life), but instead of concluding as I have, aided by the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, that embracing the will was rational, he advocated that it was irrational, as the Will to Life in itself is a non-rational force, a blind, striving power whose operations are without purpose or design. Therefore any product resulting from an adoption of our Will to Life will be equally blind and meaningless. To Schopenhauer, life is a vacillation between two conditions: either pain, which is synonymous with drives and wants, or boredom. When we are not in pain, through our drives and wants, we are bored with the mundane triviality of our existence. We are propelled inevitably between the two poles, as each is considered uncomfortable and unhappy. Thus the universal condition of humanity is unhappiness. His ultimate conclusion is that one can have a tolerable life not by complete elimination of desire, since this would lead to boredom, but by becoming a detached observer of one's own will and being constantly aware that most of one's desires will remain unfulfilled.

This can be considered true of the “Herd” as Nietzsche would describe them in our cultural context. As a society, we have never been more dissatisfied with our lives. Is it a coincidence that this emotional and spiritual stagnancy has coincided with a period of history that has seen the greatest provision of material goods and services, that are supposed to make for our comfortability, than ever before in history? The things we surround ourselves with are designed to liberate us from toil, from Schopenhauer’s “want” or “pain”. They have done so successfully. At what cost, however? What we have seen is that they have anaesthetised us into a state of comfortability and boredom, further depriving us of the riches of the soul that the vagaries of struggle, toil, and experience are able to render within us.

Furthermore, Schopenhauer acknowledged that within the Will to Life was the powerfully significant force of the sex drive within us. Our conscious selves are merely a projection of these deep and underling forces within.

Indeed, it is conformity to the dictates of the will that results in more unhappiness, thus perpetuating our eternal condition.

The relative good life for Schopenhauer lies in suppressing and ignoring this blinding Will to Life. There is an underlying stoicism in his philosophy, where he simply accepts our state of existence for what it is. In Schopenhauer’s work ‘The Basis of Morality’, he tells us that ‘the difference of characters is innate and ineradicable.’ Thus, we are unable to change the nature we are born with. The determinism of the Will dictates our character, and thus by extension, governs the fortunes or misfortunes of our lives.

In today’s cultural context, we are too conditioned to accept this as fact, and thus we accept the inevitability of our own mediocre existence. We use the externalities that initially shape us as justifications for everything that is not according to our warped perception of what is ‘extraordinary’ in our lives. We have lost touch with that innate drive within us that screams out for the process of striving for something more. It shouts out to break the concocted societal mould that binds us within a shell of mediocrity, safety, and security; but it is silenced by the soothing call of material comforts.

In our celebration of superficiality, we have neglected that the path to an authentic existence, a path to fulfilling one’s humanity, lies within with our Will to Power. Instead, we idolise and objectify celebrities; we raise them above us as heroes, as definitions for Nietzsche’s higher man (Ubermensch), and thus create an impenetrable barrier between us and what is in any case a false perception of a flourishing human being.

The difference between Schopenhauer and Nietzsche’s philosophies lies in their conviction to their wants, drives, urges and impulses. While Schopenhauer’s stoic man accepts that life is imbued with unhappiness, and that his desires will go unfulfilled, and thus our wants are not worth suffering for. He consequently resorts to boredom, and maintains the status quo.  Nietzsche’s man, on the other hand, values life, rather than resents it, and as a consequence of understanding that pain and suffering are a process vital to the securing of authenticity and truth, perseveres with what is considered unpleasant. Nietzsche is positively life affirming in his advocation that we take creative command of our drives, forces and impulses. We must become commanders and sublimators of our Will to Power, rather than subjects to the nihilistic misanthropy of the Will to Life. 

Despite this advocation of individual authenticity, which has been established to lead to a level of loneliness against the complacent, stoical mob, or Nietzsche’s ‘Herd’, I would like to advocate a seemingly counter-intuitive factor of our existence that at once seems to compromise the first securing of authenticity. Indeed it is our sociality and conviviality that is the second overarching factor of our dual nature and existence. This, combined with the adoption of our innate drives, compels us to arrive at another paradox of our existence. We are condemned to loneliness if authentic, yet cast into another level of inauthenticity if we deny the social nature of humanity.

There is great magic and joy to be found in interaction with other people, what Nietzsche describes as “the Herd”. Your spiritual salvation should not come at the price of loneliness or mocking from others, like Zarathustra. Knowing oneself is an entirely internal thing. Here is a line from Rudyard Kipling’s poem “if”.

“If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch…

You’ll be a man, my son.”

The path ahead of you, should you choose to embark upon such a quest for authenticity and truth, is not an easy one. Again, to quote Kipling, it is a matter of filling the “unforgiving minute with 60 seconds worth of distance run”. The process of this path of transcendence and discovery is of immense value in itself, namely for the depth of understanding it provides one of humanity, and also for the fact that it is congruent with who we naturally are as humans. Any end, which is not to be determined by anyone else other than yourself, is immaterial to the real gain you have attained, that of being a free spirit.

 
 

Yo-Yo Ma, The Middle East, and David Bowie

 
Yo-Yo Ma, posted on Song Exploder Instagram, 21 December 2018

Yo-Yo Ma, posted on Song Exploder Instagram, 21 December 2018

 

What I’m listening to:

  • ‘Yo-Yo Ma - Prelude, Cello Suite No 1, in G Major' in the Song Exploder podcast: This is a very special podcast featuring Yo-Yo Ma, one of the most famous cellists and musicians in the world. The production and audio qualities are sublime. Yo-Yo Ma breaks down the Prelude from Johann Sebastian Bach’s Cello Suite No 1, in G Major. While the episode is ostensibly about the musical work, it’s also a thoughtful meditation on Ma’s life, music, and growth as a performer. Yo-Yo Ma has recorded the Cello Suites several times: in 1983 at age 27, in 1998 at age 42, and in 2018 at age 62. Ma recalls the first time he listened to the original 1936 recording by Pablo Casals, and what he felt at the time, and the personal remembrances about his father who introduced it to him. The listener is intimately stepped through the mechanics of playing the opening notes of the prelude, and it actually feels as if Ma is personally instructing you in a lesson. When reviewing his own recordings, it’s interesting to note the emotional, technical and musical development of Ma as a performer and a person.

“There’s no question that with life experience, as you experience loss and love and tragedy, you are slightly changed. As a musician, you make your living to being sensitised to these changes, and digest them and make sure that you are always giving your full self to whatever you’re doing, which means that any experience that you’ve had has to be revealed in the process of making music. That almost forces you to make yourself vulnerable to whatever there is to be vulnerable to, because that actually is your strength.”

  • Thelma Plum’s cover of Powderfinger’s “These Days”: I first saw Thelma play at Falls Festival in Byron over the 2019/2020 new year period, which feels like several lifetimes ago now. I think she’s one of the most beautiful, powerful vocalists and lyricists in Australia, and this cover is so soothing in these Corona times.

This life, well it's slipping right through my hands
These days turned out nothing like I had planned

It's coming round again
The slowly creeping hand
Of time and its command

  • ‘Cardigan Song’ by Kikagaku Moyo: an insightful YouTube comment describes this song as having “telluric vibes”. After Googling this, I learned that “a telluric current or Earth current, is an electric current which moves underground or through the sea”. Very apt: Kikagaku Moyo are a Japanese psychedelic folk band(!), with soft vocals, delicate harmonies, and exploratory instrumentals, all of which combines to create a cosmic soundscape.

  • Gang of Youths cover The Middle East’s Blood on Triple J’s Like a Version: one of the most beautiful songs ever written, heard as if for the first time with David Le'aupepe’s powerful, honest vocals and the band’s sensitive arrangement. Everyone I speak to about this song has a story about why it’s so moving, and why it often brings them to tears. I remember being 17 and falling in love for the first time, listening to it while sleeping on a mattress we’d laid out on my balcony on a hot summer’s night. Extraordinary.


It was the only woman you ever loved
That got burnt by the sun too often when she was young
And the cancer spread and it ran into her body and her blood
And there's nothing you can do about it now

 
Dale Marsh's painting of Teddy Sheean hangs in the Australian War Memorial. (Australian War Memorial)

Dale Marsh's painting of Teddy Sheean hangs in the Australian War Memorial. (Australian War Memorial)

 

What I’m reading:

  • ‘Behind China’s newly aggressive diplomacy: ‘wolf warriors’ ready to fight back’ by Rowan Callick in The Conversation: I spoke with Rowan about democracy and authoritarianism in China and the fate of Hong Kong in July last year on my podcast Bloom. This piece in The Conversation highlights the growing nationalism and revanchism of the Chinese Communist Party under Xi Jinping and his “New Era”, and how it’s manifesting through “Wolf Warrior” diplomacy.

  • ‘Noticing nature is the greatest gift you can get from lockdown’ by Lucy Jones in The Guardian: A reflective piece which homes in on our changing ways of being in society during the Coronavirus lockdowns. Many of us have found peace in the stillness. The single-tasking has helped us to be mindful of the everyday beauty and intricacy that surrounds us in the living world: from the lives of birds and other critters, to the colours and shapes of plant life. The sentiments remind me of the line from The Doors’ “Tell All the People”:

Can't you see the wonder at your feet
Your life's complete

  • ‘Accounts of WWII hero Teddy Sheean’s act of ‘outstanding bravery’ inspire continuing fight for Victoria Cross’ by James Dunlevie and April McLennan in ABC News: an extraordinary account of the bravery of seaman Teddy Sheean, who died firing an anti-aircraft gun at enemy aircraft which were strafing his shipmates in the water. The evocative painting above gives you some idea of his exploits.

  • ‘Caliban’s speech’ (Act 3 Scene 2) in William Shakespeare’s The Tempest:

Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep
Will make me sleep again. And then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.

Caliban’s speech has always reminded me of a stanza from Pedro Calderon de la Barca’s poem Life is a Dream (La Vida Es Sueño)

¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción,
y el mayor bien es pequeño:
que toda la vida es sueño,
y los sueños, sueños son.”

What is life? A frenzy.
What is life? An illusion,
fiction, passing shadow,
and the greatest good is small,
That all life is a dream,
and that dreams themselves are a dream.

And finally, something beautiful:

  • David Bowie on artistic integrity:

“Never work for other people at what you do. Always remember that the reason that you initially started working was that there was something inside yourself that you felt that if you could manifest it in some way, you would understand more about yourself or how you coexist with the rest of society. 

I think it’s terribly dangerous for an artist to fulfil other people’s expectations. I think they generally produce their worst work when they do that.

And the other thing I would say is that if you feel safe in the area you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being in. Go a little out of your depth, and when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

 
 

Andrea Motis, Helen Garner, and Charlie Mackesy

It’s been a hectic week on many fronts, so I’m pleased to have been able to follow through with last week’s (impulsive) decision to produce a weekly blog. Hope you enjoy a quick summary of the podcasts, music and articles which have stayed with me this week.

What I’m listening to:

  • ‘Stephen Fry: City of Myths’ in the new "We’ll Always Have Athens" podcast. I love anything Stephen Fry, but particularly his podcasts, which distill his best quality for the audience’s pleasure. Also appreciated this new podcast series for its fostering of post-Corona wanderlust.

  • Andrea Motis & Joan Chamorro Quintet playing Box Barcelona Music Sessions. One of the brightest young talents and most brilliant musical groupings going around, the opening rendition of the late Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” is out of this world.

  • Tyler, the Creator’s Tiny Desk Concert with NPR Music. I love these NPR Tiny Desk performances, which allow so much of the artist’s personality to be explored. There’s a lot of joy in this jam, and the backup (lead*) vocalists - Kaye Fox and Kiandra Richardson - are sublime. Worth watching for the Spanish step change alone. While you’re here, check out Tyler performing EARFQUAKE/NEW MAGIC WAND at the 2020 Grammy’s. Verily, The Creator.

  • Snakehips (what the hell are snake hips?) and MØ’s cover of Childish Gambino’s ‘Redbone’ at BBC Live Lounge. Nothing better than discovering new voices through covers of your favourite tracks, and there’s something special about the earthy honesty of the lead singer’s voice and this arrangement, which infuses the words with a kind of meaning I don’t get from the original.

What I’m reading:

  • ‘I wish my single life was enough for me’ in The Outline. Speaks to the loneliness many come to feel in their late twenties and early thirties, with all of the major ‘adulting’ planets in alignment, except for somebody to love and be loved by: “My life is basically the best it’s ever been in every way, but I have not loved someone who loved me back in a number of years now, and the longer this persists the more sorrowful it makes me.”

  • ‘Helen Garner: ‘I may be an old woman, but I’m not done for yet’ in The Guardian. Beautifully rendered, honest piece on ageing, writing and life by one of Australia’s greatest (and funniest) contemporary writers. “What I really mean is: How will I stay alive, if I stop writing?”

  • ‘Wolf warrior’ diplomats reveal China’s ambitions’ in Financial Times. A disturbing read on China’s hardening diplomatic posture, supported by its “lupine envoys” as The Australian later coined them in its 16 May editorial.

  • ‘Rwandan Genocide Suspect Arrested After 23 years on the Run’ in The New York Times. A lucid piece about the historic arrest of a man substantially involved in crimes against humanity in the Rwandan Genocide of 1994. Demonstrates the indefatigable efforts of the International Criminal Tribunal in seeking justice.

  • ‘We feed you’ in The Saturday Paper. Innovative digital storytelling, featuring portraits of low-paid migrant workers in Australia who have not been afforded the same protections as other workers in the wake of the COVID-19 health and economic crisis. Life and dimension is added to their stories through interactive audio files, gifs, cartoons, and beautiful portrait photographs. “Over the last two decades, low paying work has increasingly been done by workers with no right to stay in Australia. It is especially the case in the food system. Temporary migrant workers plant, pick, pack, slaughter, slice, cook and deliver food for everyone else.”

And finally, something beautiful:

  • I’m a big fan of artist and Instagram sensation Charlie Mackesy. I’m going to write a standalone piece on his work and new book ‘The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse’. His sensitive and gentle work reminds me of a 21st century Aesop’s Fables, and it feels so timely with the COVID-19 pandemic. More to come, as they say.

  • You can check out his website here and his Insta here. I’ve also included the first post I saw of his below, which was published just as everything started to dramatically change in Australia in response to the pandemic. There was - and still is - a lot of fear in the community about the future, but this beautiful image reminds us that adversity is easier to overcome with others than on our own.

 
Charlie Mackesy, 13 March 2020, at https://www.instagram.com/p/B9pMt4KHcrO/

Charlie Mackesy, 13 March 2020, at https://www.instagram.com/p/B9pMt4KHcrO/

 

Bluestone and Mother’s Day

I’m trying to get into the habit of writing a weekly blog, rounding up interesting things I’ve watched, listened to, read or written in the past week. Hopefully this provides fertile ground for developing long-form pieces, and gets me into the habit of regular writing and publishing, even if I’m not entirely happy with what I write, or if I leave some things out:

So, here’s the first ~lo-fi~ version -

What I’m watching:

What I’m listening to:

  • Billie Eilish’s rendition of Bobby Hebb’s Sunny from Global Citizen’s One World; Together at Home concert.

  • Mac Miller’s Circles

  • Dope Lemon’s Smooth Big Cat

What I’m reading:

  • This really sensitive photo essay called “Put out to grass: when animals are allowed to grow old”. Most of the subjects have been rescued from slaughterhouses or farms after cases of cruelty. Recalled for me how sickening I find factory farming, and how any kind of animal cruelty makes me uncomfortable even with the idea of being human.

  • The real Lord of the Flies: what happened when six boys were shipwrecked for 15 months, by Rutger Bregman in The Guardian.

  • 10 reasons why COVID-19 favours a Trump re-election victory, by Associate Professor Timothy Lynch in UniMelb Pursuit.

  • This charming piece on Bluestone and Melbourne by Stephanie Trigg, in The Conversation and in longer article form (before her book is published). It explores how bluestone has shaped Melbourne as a city - or as Ben Wilkie put it on Twitter, “the intermingling of human and lithic histories”. It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time. Melbourne and bluestone have always been synonymous in my mind; not because it constitutes so much of our built environment, but because - probably for reasons of synaesthesia - it reminds me of the character of the city: a little bit melancholic, calmer and cooler than Sydney sandstone, and strong and durable. One of my favourite things is the glistening and reflective light of bluestone streetscapes after it’s rained. It also reminds me of the stunning Parisian cobbled roads made up of intersecting concentric circles. I love the texture of these streets, and how they used to feel when driving or riding over when I lived in Paris in July 2012.

 
Parisian Bluestone, Yutaka Yamamoto, 2018 available on Instagram

Parisian Bluestone, Yutaka Yamamoto, 2018 available on Instagram

 

And finally, something beautiful:

  • I’ve been a fan of New York based artist and illustrator Mari Andrew for a long time. I even went to one of her private sketching workshops in Melbourne in 2018; it was a surreal experience to see an Instagram character assume material form.

  • Today is Mother’s Day, and Mari posted this beautiful image from a year ago on her story. Like most of Mari’s work, I think it’s really thoughtful and touching and is particularly welcome for those who find Mother’s Day difficult, lonely and saddening for various reasons. It also adds complexity and dimension to the notion of motherhood, drawing attention to the negative space of idealised, affirmative concepts.

 
Mari Andrew, 11 May 2019, at https://www.instagram.com/p/BxUYs-Bh916/

Mari Andrew, 11 May 2019, at https://www.instagram.com/p/BxUYs-Bh916/

 

Three Poetic Fragments on Love and God: Easter Sunday, 2020

My friend Tess produces a beautiful weekly newsletter called The Other Side, which provides a curation of wholesome, funny, and personal content. It’s a delightful reprieve from the endless blizzard of Corona-news we’ve become accustomed to. I encourage you to read, subscribe and share with your friends here: https://www.theotherside.community/

Today’s Easter Sunday edition included this beautiful poem called The Emperor by Matthew Rohrer, an American poet. It’s a gentle and cosy meditation on love:

The Emperor,
By Matthew Rohrer


She sends me a text
she's coming home
the train emerges
from underground

I light the fire
under the pot, I pour her 
a glass of wine 
I fold a napkin under
a little fork 

the wind blows the rain
into the windows
the Emperor himself 
is not this happy. 

I love the simplicity of the poem: its hardboiled, elemental words, the haiku-like immediacy of the present tense and the mindfulness of each moment, and the way a broad picture of their love and happiness is depicted through a focus on small, everyday phenomena.

 
Japanese White-eye on Persimmon, Ohara Koson (1877–1945)

Japanese White-eye on Persimmon, Ohara Koson (1877–1945)

 

It made me think of the below poem “The Earth Turned to Bring us Closer” by Venezuelan writer Eugenio Montejo. I’ve long admired the poem for its cosmic perspective of the Earth, the way it collapses and interweaves time and space, and how it movingly depicts life and love as music or a dream:

The Earth Turned to Bring us Closer
By Eugenio Montejo

The earth turned to bring us closer

it turned on itself and within us

until it finally brought us together in this dream

as written in the Symposium.

Nights passed by, snowfalls and solstices

time passed in minutes and millennia.

An ox cart that was on its way to Nineveh

arrived in Nebraska.

A rooster was singing some distance from the world,

in one of the thousand pre-lives of our fathers.

The earth was spinning with its music

carrying us on board;

it didn't stop turning a single moment

as if so much love,

so much that is beautiful

was only an adagio written long ago

in the Symposium's score.

 
The last sunrise of the 2010 decade Byron Bay Lighthouse, Australia 31 December 2019

The last sunrise of the 2010 decade
Byron Bay Lighthouse, Australia
31 December 2019

 

The final poem I read today is called Rain. It’s by Hone Tuwhare (1922-2008), New Zealand’s most distinguished Māori poet writing in English who became the country’s second Te Mata Poet Laureate in 1999. I thought about this poem after flicking through A New Zealand Prayer Book. While it’s ostensibly about the natural world, a source of deep inspiration for Tuwhare, notions of love and the divine emanate from the poem:

Rain
by Hone Tuwhare


I can hear you
making small holes
in the silence
rain

If I were deaf
the pores of my skin
would open to you
and shut

And I
should know you
by the lick of you
if I were blind

the something
special smell of you
when the sun cakes
the ground

the steady
drum-roll sound
you make
when the wind drops

But if I
should not hear
smell or feel or see
you

you would still
define me
disperse me
wash over me
rain

Tuwhare’s words drip gently down the page like raindrops. For me, the poem captures the ambient, all-encompassing nature of love, and how it’s able to reach and affect us in so many different ways. Even when we’re not attuned to it, aware of it, or able to experience it, the love is still there.

On Easter Sunday, the religious readers of this post might also think about God’s love in this way.

Happy Easter, and please enjoy Julia Jacklin’s stunning rendition of “Don’t Let the Kids Win”.

 
 

Winnie-the-Pooh in the Time of Coronavirus

 

The protracted corona-lockdown has seen a lot of us - already riven by various internet addictions - spend increasing amounts of time online. One of the more wholesome things I’ve stumbled upon recently has been the Twitter feed of a devotee of A.A. Milne, the famous author and playwright largely known as the creator of Winnie-the-Pooh. Operating from some unknown corner of the world, the account radiates delightful coronavirus-related content like sunbeams which pierce through the squalid, polluted clouds of Twitter.

The nostalgic, sepia-toned nature of E H Shepard’s illustrations makes for very wholesome viewing on its own; when they are accompanied by A.A. Milne’s quotes - which eerily describe the new norms of a world paralysed by coronavirus - it filters the strangeness of these days through a poetic, dreamlike lens. It would probably serve as a good communicative aide to young children in explaining (novel!) concepts such as social distancing, quarantine, and panic buying or hoarding.

The first tweet which caught my attention was this, which depicted Pooh blissfully ‘doing nothing’, a radical concept which our busy world has had to reacquaint itself with in order to (seemingly paradoxically) save humanity. The image was paired with the following quote:

“What I like doing best is Nothing,” said Christopher Robin. “How do you do Nothing?” asked Pooh. “Well, it’s when people call out at you, ‘What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?’ and you say ‘Oh, nothing,’ and then you go and do it.”

Pooh enjoying social distancing and ‘doing Nothing’ in the woods, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

Pooh enjoying social distancing and ‘doing Nothing’ in the woods, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

 
 

In the next illustration, Pooh seems to be drinking in the sunshine on his state-sanctioned daily exercise, pictured with the below quotes:

The sun was so delightfully warm, and the stone, which had been sitting in it for a long time, was so-warm, too, that Pooh had almost decided to go on being Pooh in the middle of the stream for the rest of the morning

Or perhaps he(?) is meditating on the nature of friendship and social connection in an environment where physical contact is impossible:

Pooh began to wonder how Kanga and Roo and Tigger were getting on, because they all lived together in a different part of the Forest. And he thought, “I haven’t seen Roo for a long time, and if I don’t see him today it will be a still longer time.”

Pooh on an island in the stream, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

Pooh on an island in the stream, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

One of my favourite still and quote combinations depicts Pooh hoarding jars of honey, a scene reminiscent of the panic buying and toilet paper hoarding which erupted across Australia and the world in early March:

“This is serious,” said Pooh. “I must have an Escape.”
So he took his largest pot of honey and escaped with it to a broad branch of his tree, and then he climbed down again and escaped with another pot... until there were ten pots of honey...

 
 
Pooh hoarding honey, The World of Winnie the Pooh, A.A. Milne

Pooh hoarding honey, The World of Winnie the Pooh, A.A. Milne

 
 

Below we see Rabbit leaving his warren to look after the young Christopher Robin. This is a fitting metaphor for our health heroes and essential workers (doctors, truckers, grocers, shelf stackers) who head out each day in spite of the health regulations to look after those who depend on them:

He came out of his house and sniffed the warm spring morning as he wondered ... "No, not Kanga's," said Rabbit thoughtfully to himself, as he curled his whiskers ... and trotted off in the other direction, which was the way to Christopher Robin's house. "After all," said Rabbit to himself, "Christopher Robin depends on me.

 
 
Rabbit faces the day to help others who depend on him, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

Rabbit faces the day to help others who depend on him, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

 
 

We also see everyone’s favourite donkey, Eeyore, rebuke his fellow citizens for not being as enthusiastic about the new public health measures as he is:

Eeyore turned round angrily on the others and said, “Everybody crowds round so in this Forest. There’s no Space. I never saw a more Spreading lot of animals in my life, and all in the wrong places. Can’t you SEE that Christopher Robin wants to be alone? I’m going.”

Not social distancing, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

Not social distancing, The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

 
 

And finally, we see a child enjoying nature with the mindfulness that many of us have started to rediscover, perhaps with the intention to never take simple pleasures and freedoms for granted ‘on the other side’.

And there would I rest, and lie,
My chin in my hands, and gaze
At the dazzle of sand below,
And the green waves curling slow,
And the grey-blue distant haze
Where the sea goes up to the sky...

 
 
Contemplating the sublime, The Island, A.A. Milne

Contemplating the sublime, The Island, A.A. Milne

 
 

Thanks for reading!

Stay safe and stay connected, everyone :)