Living Wittily

"...what I heard was my whole self saying and singing what it knew..."

Near the end of her life Denise Levertov's poetry became much more interrogative about her own place and purpose in the world. Indeed some of her deeper questions were about the role and the place of the poet in the world, that phrase being the title of one of her best know essays.

Amongst the enriching and provoking themes that run through Levetov's poetry is a deep questioning of what poetry is for, why poets write what they do, and asking whether the poet has any practical contribution to make to the messiness and tragedies of a world broken and jagged at the edges. There isn't a shred of arrogance or overt self-confidence in Levertov's later poetry, but there is a growing sense of a poet who believes, with increasing confidence, that carefully and compassionately shaping words is a necessary precursor to shaping and changing the world towards  more compassionate structures.

In The Poet in the World she writes, "Literature is dynamite because it asks - proposes - moral questions and seeks to define the nature and worth of human life." The metaphor of dynamite is a telling choice of word. Levertov saw herself as a peaceful but determined revolutionary, one whose work aimed to change the way people think, to offer alternative views of the way the world of human affairs is organised, who challenged the status quo precisely because status implies stasis, and such fixity of thought, worldview and political arrangement, is a road block on the way to a more just, humane and joyful world.For her the question is whether the poet "is an observer or a participant in the life of his (or her) time." By observer she meant bystander, by participant she intended active engagement.

Allowing for non inclusive language when the essay was written in 1965, her words apply to every poet, in each generation: "The interaction of life on art and of art on life is continuous. Poetry is necessary to a whole man [or woman], and that poetry be not divided from the rest of life is necessary to it. Both life and poetry fade, wilt, shrink, when they are divorced."

All of us use words. Not all are poets or read poetry, and perhaps that is part of the malaise in public discourse and the erosion of civility as a common good in the language, conversation and journalism of our culture. But while all of us are responsible for the words we speak and write, it is the poet who can help us have a care about words, and to treasure and conserve the currency and value of words as life-changing, life-enhancing, life-directing sounds and symbols of human exchange and humane communication.

One of my favourite late poems of Levertov is a poignant questioning of the value of her work, her life's work. How do you begin each day as a blank sheet, pen in hand but mind not yet engaged? Where do poems come from? Will they come? Do they matter? Will any one else care enough to read them? What is a poet's vocation? Out of such questions comes the struggle to write, to speak, to bring into being, to articulate the thoughts of the heart and the feelings of the mind. 

Preachers are not poets. But preachers would do well to ask the same questions as the poet, because they too are stewards of words, curators of language, tellers of truth for its own sake, treasurers and conservators of human speech in the service of humanity and in love with the world. And whether preacher or poet, journalist or politician, human life is the richer or poorer for the ways we use or misuse or abuse the miracle that is language.

Variation on a Theme by Rilke.

A certain day became a presence to me;
there it was confronting me --a sky, air, light:
a being. And before it started to descend
from the height of noon, it leaned over
and struck my shoulder as if with
the flat of a sword, granting me
honor and a task. The day's blow
rang out, metallic -- or it was I, a bell awakened;
and what I heard was my whole self
saying and singing what it knew: I CAN.
(Denise Levertov)

"And the Darkness Comprehendeth It Not..."

"The light shineth in the darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not. (John 1.5)

Light and darkness, truth and lies, good and evil Jesus and the world; woven throughout the Fourth Gospel are the oppositions and contrasts that swirl around "the Word become flesh". From the very start John sets light and darkness within the frame of the cosmic drama between the Eternal Creative Word and the history of a universe called into being - "All things were made by him, and without him was not anything made that was made."

There is brilliant irony in John's choice of words as he describes the opposition of light and darkness. The word translated "comprehendeth" could equally mean "overtake", "overcome", "extinguish". Darkness cannot smother light, cannot extinguish it at source, cannot overshadow it, cannot put it out. All that is clear enough. But 'katalambanein' is also about comprehension, understanding. Using contemporary language John could equally say, "The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot get its head round it"; or "The light shines in the darkness and the darkness just doesn't get it."

Hence my preference for the older English translations which, quite intentionally, use the ambiguous "comprehendeth it not". Light cannot comprehend, understand, make sense of, light. Light baffles, confuses and finally dazzles darkness. Darkness, ultimately and finally, is at a loss as to how to defeat, extinguish, overcome, negate, the true light of the world. In that one verse, concentrated and compressed into that one negative term, "The darkness comprehendeth it not", is the diamond truth that glitters with unintimidated clarity all the way through the Gospel of John.

Light is inexplicable to darkness however brightly shining and clearly demonstrated; love is a closed mystery to hatred however embodied and eloquent; life is vitalised by the life that is the light of all people, and death is at a loss; truth shines with a persistence and permanence that no amount of lies can occlude, obscure or obfuscate. And the reason? The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has no idea that its own strategies are self-destructive, or that its existence is an absence not a presence. Darkness is blind to its own penultimacy, hostile to the creative purposes of eternal love, and invincibly ignorant of the fundamental truth that God is light and eternal light is prior and primary to all else, even its opposite.

Much of this I have thought and prayed, in a contemplative engagement with the texts of John's Gospel while working this tapestry, called "The Darkness Comprehendeth It Not." I began stitching on the edges and moved to the centre, all the threads mixed and varied and no thread self-coloured, each being mixed mostly of three colours of two strands each. The strong colour spectrum of the rainbow ellipse is deliberate, a striking and unsettling contrast, even though its darkest colours though muted, are woven through the darkness. The rayon threads of the rainbow are startlingly bright, and glimmer against the duller cotton; this is an attempt to capture the incomprehensible brilliance of the light that shines in the eternal Word become flesh, and whose light illumines all of life.

The pervasive recurrence of red signals the cost and consequence of light penetrating into the darkest places, and the promise of redemptive love expensively and expansively present no matter what. The rainbow evokes a whole spectrum of scripture, from Noah in Genesis, to Ezekiel's vision to the throne scene in Revelation 4. In Genesis it is promise, in Ezekiel majesty, in Revelation the it flares in the throne room, and in the midst of the throne, "the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world". The red that permeates the darkness serves metaphysical and theological notice on all other accounts of reality and all other attempts to impose or banish the meaning of human existence. Stated with unabashed wonder by that other John in John's Gospel, the Baptist sees eternal truth incarnate in human history, "Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world."

The rainbow ellipse encloses much more muted shades and shadows, while nearer the centre still the metallic gold and silver inner ellipse surrounds the inner space in a chain of light. God's created world, fragile but fraught with divine purpose, fallen but not forsaken, is central to the redemptive purposes of the Father. The surrounding darkness is not absolute, but relative; the encircling rainbow is God's yes to his own purposes and the purpose of the Word become flesh, "I have come that you might have life, and have life more abundantly."; and that inner chain, the shining glory of love, truth and life resurrected, encircles a universe in which redemption is gift, reconciliation is accomplished, and life triumphs over death. And in that universe, the light goes on shining in the darkness, and the darkness has not, and will not, overcome it.,

None of this was thought out in detail beforehand, but evolved over the 10 weeks of working the tapestry. Looking at it now, as a finished piece of needle art, it offers another way of exploring the disconcerting ambiguity of John's text. Given the power and works of darkness in our own time, John;s words come to us again and again as words that see the world through a different lens.

Darkness is real; evil, lies, violence, cruelty, greed, death, all are real enough. But they are not ultimate, and their power is not final. Each has its antithesis, so that goodness, truth, peace, compassion, generosity, life, these are of the light, and these are the true reality..."and the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."

What is it that makes a book "enjoyable"?

It's a while since I enjoyed a book so much. Beautifully written, honest about life experience and those inner levers that move us, the story of a search within the heart and mind, and out there on the moors of Assynt and around the Green Loch. It's also a memoir of Norman McCaig and that rich vein of mid to late 20th C Scottish poets whose work gives affirming depth and gently questioning pause to the experience of Scottishness.

What makes any one book especially enjoyable? If I start with this one, still fresh in my memory and much of its narrative drive and the sense of the characters still clear and defined, it has much to do with the writer's use of language. Other things, of course, matter. Content, structure, the pace and interest of the narrative drive, the attractiveness of the genre whether memorable memoir, perceptive life reflection, idiosyncratic tour guide, knowing and generous literary criticism - these are all important contributory factors.

But this book is well written. There are sentences that are all but unimprovable. There are longer descriptive paragraphs of landscape, or of observed human behaviour, or of remembered events that turned out to be life-changing, that invite the reader into areas of intimate experience and in which the writer trusts the reader to understand, or at least to respect what he is trying to put into words. All of this Greig does in this book, and to read it is to enjoy the use of words, to appreciate the necessary nuance and entrusted confidence required of a writer to bare his soul, and bear the consequences; that entrusted confidence has to find an answering sympathy from the reader, and when it does there is joy in the reading.

Woven into the narrative fabric of the book are episodes of Greig's own journey to the place where this book was written. These autobiographical reminiscences are neither self-indulgent nor superfluous. They are stranded together with recalled conversations with Norman MacCaig in Edinburgh, with the shared memories of the three friends who find their way to the Green Loch on a fishing quest, and with occasional poems and personal reflections of a writer at home with philosophy and with fly fishing and much in between.

But enjoyment of a book also has to do with its reflexive impact, with what it does to the reader. Reading at its best and most effective is a transformative experience of having our minds opened to new possibilities and perspectives; of being invited and at times compelled to think again about what we thought we were clear about; of being taken into confidence as someone tells us a truth they have found to be both new and necessary for a richer life; of being included in the story of three friends, their interwoven lives, and their hopes and failures, regrets and gratitudes.

In both these senses I enjoyed this book. The writing is warm and humane, learned without being fussy, moves easily from autobiography to landscape description, is written by a lover of Scotland and one who knows the feel of heather and hailstones, likes the taste of whisky and chocolate, is realistic about what a small country is and can be. Along the way Greig is disarmingly frank about his own journey through heather and hailstones in his personal life.

I bought it as a second-hand hardback and am glad of that, because there's something substantial in a HB book. It's a statement of intent to revisit a book made more durable to ensure the writing is protected and preserved for future reference. Often I compile my own index for a book I've read - this one has several page references well worth re-reading.

Remembering MLK and Those who Walked With Him

Two quotations from two remarkable human beings whose paths crossed in the struggle for civil rights in 1950's and 1960's America. Martin Luther King remains the defining activist in a movement replete with moral courage, hopeful humanity and the determined patience of those whose silence could not be bought, or enforced.

Abraham Joshua Heschel, a Polish immigrant to the United States just before the Second World War, and a man of profound faith, compassion and commitment to all that enhances human and humane life.

In the picture they are marching together at Selma, Rabbi Heschel the second from the right, garlanded with flowers, and the two of them linked arm in arm, and armed with convictions defining of their faith and humanity:

"I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. That is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant". (Martin Luther King)

"For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying! (Abraham Joshua Heschel)

Why Public Libraries Matter, Now More than Ever

Public libraries cost money. In fact, public libraries are expensive. No surprise then that when it comes to cutting the cost of public services our public libraries and their budgets are also up for grabs. I posted an article on Facebook this morning lamenting the loss of 900 public libraries in England and Wales in the past decade.

I introduced the link by widening the discussion beyond economics, budgets and public fund priorities. Or at least I wanted to suggest that public fund priorities, i any responsible deomcracy, have more criteria than financial savings on what they cost. The return on investment in public libraries can't simply be measured by balancing annual costs with annual footfall. If a library running at a loss provides the books that set a young Stephen Hawking asking questions, or provides internet access so that over the year hundreds of job applications have been filed online and 30 people are now in employment, how is that computed over and against cost? Or if a single parent finds some respite by their child attending story time, or a book group run by older people on a weekly basis provides friendship, human contact, mental stimulus and a few hours warmth and comfort - what price these things?

And we've hardly started talking about the importance of reading, books and ideas as the sub-soil of a healthy culture. Libraries provide resources for self-education, encourage social exchange, create space and resources for cultural stimulus, offer a public service dedicated to helping people learn, problem solve, interact, dream dreams and fund hopes. Public libraries are a recognition that knowledge should not be privatised or priced beyond the poor; they ensure a local supermarket for ideas, enabling and nurturing imagination, and if all that isn't enough, libraries are repositories of civic mutuality and social capital.

The observation that libraries close because of lack of use is, in my view, an argument based on limited data and even more limited criteria for their usefulness, value and necessity as one of our most important public institutions. Even if it is true that library footfall is down, as noted above, that is only one criterion of value, and one quite insufficient to justify widespread closure and removal of a resource vital to a community's social, intellectual and cultural life.

I'd also like to hear the views of librarians about so called 'lack of use'. Public spending priorities are themselves culturally driven, and in turn become cultural drivers. That means politics. Given that public libraries are effectively experiments in literary socialism, it would be easy to find a rationale to close or limit library resources. If a primary driver is saving public expenditure on the assumption that people should provide their own internet access, books, and other social and educational benefits libraries provide. But that is also a political standpoint.

Going back to the question of lack of use. I am aware of various reviews of footfall in libraries here in Scotland, inlcuding Aberdeen city and the Shire. These tend to be about numbers using them, not the socio-economic makeup of the number of people who still use libraries and their facilities, and for whom they are essential resources. Interestingly a couple of broadsheets had column inches devoted to the growing importance of public libraries in a time of austerity, especially for children and young people who cannot afford to buy books, or who don't have internet access.

I wonder if part of the problem is that those making the decisions to keep or close libraries neither use them nor need to use them. I hold as a matter of deep social ethics and therefore justice, the rights of people regardless of economic or social circumstance, to have access to educational resources, basic internet facilities, and sources for ideas, imagination and intellectual development. A library is so much more than premises stuffed with books; and the social importance of a public library is as a net contributor to community health, social wellbeing and intellectual resources for human development.

My own educational journey began and was given decisive impetus through the various public libraries I used and haunted in my growing up years. My love of literature, instinctive curiosity, intellectual taste and interest range are traceable to books borrowed and devoured; to reference books lifted and thumped on the desks under reading lights; to friendly knowledgeable librarians who could spot a reader a mile away. And yes these are now bygone days, and if libraries are to survive they will need to adapt the services they provide, develop the space and resources, be innovative in services and seeking new valued roles in the community. But they will do this as libraries, as repositories of learning and wisdom, as factories for ideas and dreams and hopes and strategies, as spaces where people meet and social exchange becomes part of that deep education which is at its best in the humanising context of shared interest, the pursuit of learning, the joy of reading, and as a reliable source of essential internet access for those we dare not leave behind, and that for our sakes as well as theirs.