9
Nov
Posted by johnwetherell in dream, poems based on dreams, poetry, tanka. Tagged: 21st century, American, arrogance, Book of Common Prayer, British, Christian, civilisation, creative writing, crumbs, dream, Elizabethan, England, extremes, film, Freud, God, haiku, Hollywood, hubris, humility, imperialism, Interstellar, Jung, magic, Michael Donaghy, nobility, poems based on dreams, poet, poetry, Prayer of Humble Access, Protestant, school, science, self-abasement, tanka, therapy, USA, water. 4 comments
We are not worthy
so much as to gather up
the crumbs — the British
Empire chants in a soft voice
— self-abasing, arrogant
Again, just the tiniest fragment of a dream image, and had to be quite severe with myself to hang onto the notion that even the tiniest fragment is meaningful. I was directing a jet of water towards a collection of crumbs in order to sweep them away. In the background, I was also aware of the American poet Michael Donaghy who taught a class I attended for a year 2001-02. In the dream (and in reality) I wished I could have him as a personal friend: I loved him very much as a teacher and as a poet (he’s dead now). Last night I saw the film Interstellar and quite enjoyed it. This morning’s poem is a reflection on British and U.S. imperialism, whose roots go back to Elizabethan England — and how my own Protestant upbringing implicates me in all those poisonous assumptions on which Hollywood culture seems to rest (around the essential nobility of our entire 21st century civilisation) and which were very much in evidence in the film. The italics are a quote from the Prayer of Humble Access, which always used to affect me quite deeply when I found myself saying it as part of the Communion Service as a child:
We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us.
7
Sep
Posted by johnwetherell in dream, poems based on dreams, poetry, tanka. Tagged: academic, American, autism, creative writing, dream, English, fairytale, happiness, intellect, magic, poet, poetry, science, social interest, theatre, therapy, University of California Santa Barbara. Leave a comment
brief happiness found
scribbling random ideas
— let not the process
become an end in itself —
none of it belongs to you
Again as with yesterday’s poem, this one bears only the most tenuous connection with my dream last night. In my dream I was stuffing a couple of books in my coat pockets to enable me to use both hands on a system of ropes and pulleys which plunged me down an almost-sheer drop at some speed. I was also reliving a week I spent (in real life) in the company of a party of students from University of California Santa Barbara in 1975. They were in London to see as much theatre as possible, as part of their English Degree. They taught me a few basic lessons in how to enjoy human company. My time with them has a fairytale quality in my memory: I’ve rarely been so happy with others in a social group. Most of the happiness in my life has been solitary or else a twosome. Here in this tanka I suppose I’m exploring some kind of tension between solitary intellect (academic and/or autistic) on the one hand and social interest on the other.
sciencegoodmagicbetter 