Saturday, July 17, 2021

 


Asylum Island Video

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQ0LmxSh1I8


Our country Australia was a welcoming country when our family arrived

decades ago. Aussies were happy to greet you and have you belong.

These poor boat people sought to escape inhumane political regimes in their own country

yet have been greeted by similar treatment here ie. inhumane. Many are now certified refugees

yet have been placed in detention, some in excess of 7 years, and for what?

Seeking solace. Seeking humanity's embrace. And love.

You wouldn't treat a rabid dog like this.

They have become political footballs.

Is this who we are?


The song, based upon an old Irish rebel song which my cousin Chris McGloin and I performed

many years back, I rewrote about seven years ago. Sadly it remains true today.

Many thanks to Oblique Productions, The Big O for a magnificent job.


Pacific Solution Revisited - Asylum Island

To the tune of the Irish rebel song,  “Join The British Army” (Trad. ArrBarry McGloin)

AM

Well I was young and proud and free

G

They took my home and family

AM

And now you see a refugee

C G AM

Searching for asylum


Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

They’re looking for monkeys up in the zoo

Said one if I had a face like you

I’d stick you on an island


Australians all let us rejoice

We have a hope we have a choice

We have a vote we have a voice

Not searching for asylum

 

Too ra loo ra loo ra lee

We'll process youse eventually

We'll stamp your bum and test your pee

While checking on your history…


Ah don’t complain this ain’t the Ritz

It’s Alcatraz not St Moritz

If you can swim out to the ships

The sharks can be relied on

 

Too ra loo ra loo ra lie

A pat on the back and a poke in the eye

They're looking for monkeys in disguise

Out upon the island


The privileged and the disposed

One is cursed and one is blessed

Which one are you, I bet you've guessed

Out upon the island


Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

Not Sanctuary Point, nor Woolloomooloo

They’re looking for monkeys up in the zoo

To stick upon an island


The privileged and the disposed

One is cursed and one is blessed

You have fuck all, well now it’s less

Out upon the island


Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

This government will do for you

They'll scrub your face and change you to

A number on an island


Well I was young and proud and free

I loved my home and family

But now you see a refugee

Searching for asylum


Too ra loo ra loo ra loo

They’re looking for monkeys up in the zoo

Said one if I had a face like you

I’d stick you on an island



Saturday, May 15, 2021

Autumn

 


The old chap, he stood in the laneway on this side of the gate listening to the young girl say ' I'm on an adventure' and his eyes, bright and alight said Can I, can I? But he couldn't say it. 

She knew, she reached up and took his hand, and they slowly walked down the laneway, the old chap and the young girl. 'Adventure,' said the old chap.

It was an Autumn mid morning, crisp and bright with a clear blue sky, and trees festooned with magical colours hung over the laneway and dropped a carpet of leaves in yellow, orange, gold and various shades of red.

The smell of bacon and eggs came from behind a fence.

'Yum' said the young girl, 'but we're on an adventure...'

'An adventure', repeated the old chap with a chuckle, 'yes, an adventure.'


Loud voices came from a house.

' And if you think you will ever make an idiot of yourself and a fool of me again...'

'I swear on my mother's grave that I'm off it for good from now on, you'll see... I'm reformed...'

'You are a prime fool, there are times I regret marrying you.'

'Bad boy' said the old chap.


They rounded a corner and a dog barked and tried to leap

the fence. It jumped a number of times scrabbling for a footing, and finally

managed to haul itself over, fall on its back and grogily came to an upright

stance. It made as though to bark.


'Oh my!' said the young girl 'Good boy. And such a good guard dog!'

The old chap had frozen. The dog barked once, half heartedly, then again.

'Such a good boy' said the young girl. The dog wagged its tail.

'Wife' said the old chap. 'Annie.'


A voice yelled 'Rufus! Rufus! Where's that bloody dog?'

A gate opened. 'There you are. Come here you useless mutt.'

Rufus put his tail between his legs and cowered.

'Get your arse back in here. Now!'

'We're on an adventure,' said the young girl.

'Not with my bloody dog. Come here, I won't tell you again.' And he went to

grab the dog collar but the dog bit him.

'Bloody bastard, it's bleeding! It's all your fault!' he yelled at the girl.

And suddenly he dropped to the ground.

The young girl and the old chap peered over him. The dog whimpered and backed away.

'You shouldn't yell at people,' she said.

'Bad boy!' said the old chap.

'Can't move...' replied the man.

'You'll be fine in a while,' she said.

'Adventure' the old chap chuckled. And the young girl and the old chap hand in hand again walked on, followed by the dog and warmed by the sun in the crisp Autumn air.


'Rufus' said the old chap. And the dog nudged his hand, looked up and smiled, as dogs do.

And the old chap smiled back.

An elderly woman scurried along the laneway and came to the prostrate man.

'Oh dear, oh dear are you well?'

'Can't move.'

'Oh dear what to do? Have you seen an old man, I've lost my husband?'

'Can't move.'

'I can't stay here, I must find my husband. I told him not to open the gate...

Not the river, not now, not the river.'


The young girl, the old chap and the dog walked slowly down to the willows

on the banks of the wide river. The flowing water sparkled its warm welcome

and the dog barked twice in excitement.


'Ah, here we are,' said the young girl, walking towards a boat on the bank under a willow tree.

Between the two of them they managed to ease the boat into the river, leaving the grass flattened at that spot. Once aboard, the current pulled them out and the dancing light lit their eyes and reflected on their faces. The young girl slipped a coin into the water.

'Adventure, Annie.' said the old chap 'Adventure Rufus.' And the dog barked again.





Friday, January 08, 2021

And now I live, and now my life is done.

 

From my previous Blog:

Another poetry collection I bought is Poems That Make Grown Men Cry by Anthony and Ben Holden. The second one of the 100 listed was 'Elegy' by Chidiock Tichborne which was written in 1586 on the eve of the poet's execution. I was astounded. The poem is perfect, and I wondered how he could produce such a gem and be so reflective in the face of the morrow's coming brutality? More than that, it opened so many questions, but principally how a person who was surrounded by the love of his wife and his five sisters and the love for his young child could risk everything to murder another woman, his monarch?  The poem also appears in the Paul Kelly poetry compilation of favourite poems Love Is Strong As Death, and in both of Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes's excellent poetry anthologies, The School Bag and The Rattle Bag.

On 20 September 1586 fourteen of the Babington Plotters were executed. They had sought to assassinate Queen Elizabeth and replace her with the Catholic, Mary Queen of Scots. The plan had been foiled by a double agent.




On the night prior to his execution for his part in the plot, the 24 year old Chidiock Tichborne composed his own perfect elegy, to be sent to Agnes his wife together with a letter of loving farewell to her, and to his five sisters and his child.


Thou shalt not kill, the sixth commandment was not a consideration in the assassination plan. It was given papal imprimatur, the affirmation to rid the nation of the wicked heretical Queen, to damn her recusant Protestant soul straight to hell to weep and moan and be tormented forever in eternal fire; of this Catholics were certain. The Pope, Sextus V was chosen by the Almighty, and those who died in attempted regicide were assured a swift lift to those Heavenly gates.


By crikey there was hatred and fear back then. Blood and guts literally spilled over English Christendom and the fate of the treasonous was to be dragged on a tray by horse to the place of execution, then hung and while still alive, eviscerated, that is disembowelled, the bits to be thrown on a fire. Then they were quartered, each quarter to be placed as a warning in a strategic location. Those Tudors did execution with a flourish. And sometimes they lopped off other bits too, reproductive organs, that sort of thing. I wasn't going to mention it in case anyone is squeamish, but we need to reveal the full picture.


So, to return to the condemned Chidiock Tichborne at night in the Tower of London. He somehow found the strength to write his own elegy knowing full well that he would suffer the most brutal of deaths on the morrow alongside thirteen accomplices. How did he do it? Well religion, aside from causing his predicament could also bring solace. Maybe that was it? When all is lost gimmie that old tyme religion. The Bible holding Trump in front of the church knows it.


Back then in 1586 the Christians were at each others throats as they had been since the reign of King Henry V111 and his imposition of the Church of England. Bloody Mary (Queen Mary 1 of England) had reclaimed Catholicism with gibbets and the sword, then Elizabeth 1 had reinstated the Church of England and Protestantism, and more was to come. In the name of power, wealth and the True Faith, the heads of aristocrat and commoner fell to the axe, bones cracked, blood flowed and live flesh fed the faggots.


It was indeed a bloody brutal age. Religious wars in Europe, Holy Roman Empire vs the Islamic Ottoman Empire, torture, trial and executions at various inquisitions to unearth heresy, and then witchcraft.


Witchcraft trials alone were 80,000. At least 35,000 were executed in Europe between 1450 and 1750, mostly women. It was a dangerous time to be out plucking a few herbs for the pot, la la la.

I know... but sometimes a little black humour helps with the horrific. Besides it was so long ago, and we're different folk now. Or are we? Are we? A thin veneer of civilisation?



You know... sometimes I think that humans just need a banner to rally behind. Its a fault in the design. Robert Graves' book Count Belisarius, about a sixth century Roman general recounts how

Rome had two factions, the Green and the Blue. Non political, non religious. They became religious later but initially they followed charioteers and slaughtered each other in the thousands.


My wife Denise and I visited the Great Uncle and Great Aunt in Glasgow in the early 70s. On the way we had to stop for the (Protestant) Orange Day parade. Fife and drums, hard faced slit eyed skinheads, and I suddenly became conscious of my green jumper, our green car... We departed. Later that night the Great Uncle Hughie stopped my Aussie song, The Wild Colonial Boy. 'You'll nae be singing that in this hoose laddie.' He was tall, imposing with a sharp fine nose, bristling eyebrows and flashing eyes. You wouldn't cross him. I didn't. The Great Aunt explained in the morning that it is regarded as a 'Party' song ie. Catholic, and there had been a recent stabbing close by of someone singing a similar 'Party' song. The Irish 'Troubles' which killed 3600 fortunately did not spread to Scotland, apart from minor outbreaks, but the sectarian divide was strong, you were either green or orange.



My Dad told me that his three uncles, Hughie, Harry and Tiny, all well over six foot, would go down to the fine Proddie house on the corner each Orange Day while the Orangeman was out marching, and snip the heads off his roses. Aye, they were tall and feisty with a brutal sense of humour.



Back to Chidiock Tichborne, our condemned poet. Sir Thomas More, the great Catholic humanist (and Protestant persecutor?), now saint and martyr was beheaded for treason 51 years prior, in 1535. He refused to recognise the supremacy of Henry V111 over the Pope. He comforted his executioner with the words 'You will give me this day a greater benefit than ever any mortal man can give me. Pluck up thy spirits man. And be not afraid to do thine office.'


And Chidiock Tichborne, he too had that faith, that he would soon be with God, his purpose in life completed. The True Faith. At the least, he believed so. And we can only hope that it served him well at the end.


The Babington plotters were executed in two groups. Chidiock was in the first group. The Queen, Elizabeth 1 was informed that the public were starting to sympathise with the plotters, due to the barbarity of the execution stages. Her Majesty then pronounced that the second group should be hung until they were 'quite dead' (prior to evisceration and quartering...).



Tychbornes Elegie, written with his owne hand in the Tower

before his execution


My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of paine,
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares, [weeds]
And al my good is but vaine hope of gaine.
The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.


My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,
My fruite is falne, & yet my leaves are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut, and yet it is not spunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.


I sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
And now I die, and now I was but made.
My glasse is full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.



To the most loving wife alive, I commend me unto her, and desire God to bless her with all happiness, pray for her dead husband, and be of good comfort, for I hope in Jesus Christ this morning to see the face of my Maker and Redeemer in the most joyful throne of His glorious kingdom. Commend me to all my friends, and desire them to pray for me, and in all charity to pardon me, if I have offended them. Commend me to my six sisters, poor desolate souls, advise them to serve God, for without Him no goodness is to be expected. Were it possible, my little sister Bab, the darling of my race, might be bred by her, God would reward her; but I do her wrong I confess, that hath by my desolate negligence too little for herself, to add a further charge unto her. Dear wife forgive me, that have by these means so much impoverished her fortunes; patience and pardon, good wife I crave—make of these our necessities a virtue, and lay no further burthen on my neck than hath already been. There be certain debts that I owe, and because I know not the order of the law, piteous it hath taken from me all, forfeited by my course of offence to Her Majesty, I cannot advise thee to benefit me herein, but if there fall out wherewithal, let them be discharged for God's sake. I will not that you trouble yourself with the performance of these matters, my own heart, but make it known to my uncles, and desire them, for the honour of God and ease of their soul, to take care of them as they may, and especially care of my sisters' bringing up the burthen is now laid on them. Now, Sweet-cheek, what is left to bestow on thee? A small jointure, a small recompense for thy deserving, these legacies following to be thine own. God of His infinite goodness give thee grace always to remain His true and faithful servant, that through the merits of His bitter and blessed passion thou mayst become in good time of His kingdom with the blessed women in heaven. May the Holy Ghost comfort thee with all necessaries for the wealth of thy soul in the world to come, where until it shall please Almighty God I meet thee, farewell loving wife, farewell the dearest to me on all the earth, farewell!

By the hand from the heart of thy most faithful loving husband.








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