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Poetry

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“Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.”

Ibn Battuta

Almost exactly eleven months ago The Girl and I set out on the journey that is not to be mentioned. Since then my only contact with airlines and airports has been to drop off or to pick up those who have themselves been traveling.

The Girl took a much needed break in Mexico at the end of last year, but I was teaching and could not abandon my students. Since then all of the excursions that have taken place have featured her alone. The new job (concerning which I will shortly be able to divulge more) has taken her – since the New Year – to New Westminster, Vancouver, Kamloops (twice), to Seattle, to Prince George and – most recently – to Fort St. John (practically up in the Arctic circle!). That’s a lot of running around…

Now, though, it is finally time for us both to set forth together again on an expedition that has already been trailed in these postings. We leave in a few days time for Scotland – land of my forefathers – for three weeks of touring.

I liked the Ibn Battuta quote that heads this piece not only for its astute reflection on the manner in which foreign lands can initially overtake one’s power of speech, but also for the notion that we return from such expeditions laden with incidents, encounters and experiences which we are just bursting to share with the world. We are able to do this through the medium of storytelling – in any of its various forms. The subject has been in my mind a fair bit of late because Anam Danu’s recent musical creations have included meditations on the importance and relevance of storytelling. That may well indeed prove to be the key topic of our nascent album (regarding which much more later)…

I feel moved to include here a second quotation – this time from Rainer Maria Rilke (a poet whom I have long admired most highly) from the ninth of his Duino Elegies.

For when the traveler returns from the mountain-slopes into the valley, he brings, not a handful of earth, unsayable to others, but instead some word he has gained, some pure word, the yellow and blue gentian. Perhaps we are here in order to say: house, bridge, fountain, gate, pitcher, fruit-tree, window – at most: column, tower. . . . But to say them, you must understand, oh to say them more intensely than the Things themselves ever dreamed of existing“.

More scribblings – and images – to follow…

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I watched a fascinating program the other night on the ever reliable BBC on the subject of Hubert Parry’s setting of some of the lines from William Blake’s poem – ‘Milton‘ – the which in this form is considerably better known as ‘Jerusalem‘. This great ‘hymn’ – particularly in the stirring arrangement by Edward Elgar – has the power to reach parts that other anthems cannot, to the extent that some demand that it should be adopted as the English national anthem in place of ‘God Save the Queen‘.

Sadly it takes but a few moments of searching on the pernicious InterWebNet to discover that the very rousing qualities with which the piece is imbued can have unfortunate side-effects. It is one thing being moved to feelings of patriotic enthusiasm, but the border between this sort of positive resonance and a considerably less acceptable jingoism is porous in the extreme. It is but a short step to the sort of exceptionalist national ‘pride’ that is indistinguishable from xenophobia – particularly in the light of the ongoing and deadly saga of Br**it!

Those who feel moved to leap to their feet upon hearing the familiar introduction and the opening gambit – “And did those feet…” – chests jutting and bursting with nationalistic fervour regarding the unconquerable nature of the British spirit might care to take a slightly closer look at the mast to which they have chosen to nail their colours.

Back in 2014 I posted two missives to these pages on the subject of that other great national favourite – Sir Cecil Spring Rice and Gustav Holst’s “I Vow to Thee my Country” (with the second part here). Those posts sounded a note of caution regarding the unthinking adoption of the piece as an anthem to patriotism. The hymn is certainly a lament for the fallen but can also be read as a warning of the perils of misguided idealism.

In a similar fashion ‘Jerusalem‘ demands closer study to if we are truly to understand both the work itself and the intentions and motivations of those who created it.

William Blake was a complex character but he was very clearly not a nationalist. He was in fact a revolutionary and – along with other radicals of his age – eagerly endorsed the French revolution. Living through both that other insurgency – the Industrial Revolution – and the Napoleonic wars, Blake was horrified that his ideal of a society of universal peace and love was being corrupted by the ‘dark Satanic mills’ of an industry churning out the weapons of war and that the poor and downtrodden were being used as fodder both for the military and economic machines. ‘Jerusalem‘ is thus clearly actually a revolutionary call to build a better society, rather than a peon of praise for the nation as it was/is.

Hubert Parry was himself a man of liberal views and a moderate outlook. Having set Blake’s words to the now famous theme in 1916 for ‘Fight for Right‘ (a movement that had been formed to reinforce the idea of British cultural values during the Great War) Parry rapidly became disillusioned by the jingoistic tone that that body adopted and withdrew the tune from them. He agreed instead that the rights should be given to the suffragette movement, who held them until women eventually won the right to the vote in 1928, upon which they were passed to the Womens’ Institute. The song was also regularly sung at labour movement rallies. It is only in more recent times that it has taken on its current chauvinistic overtones.

Now – there is no denying the power of the piece to move the soul. In the Elgar arrangement in particular the second verse is so very stirring that for many it is impossible not to be moved to tears and for the hairs to stand upon the back of one’s neck.

That one be moved in body and spirit, however, is no excuse for disengaging the mind! If we be stirred then let us indeed be moved – as Blake intended –  to try to make the world a better place.

 

 

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThat great national favourite amongst English hymns – Sir Cecil Spring Rice and Gustav Holst’s “I Vow to Thee my Country” – is apparently no less popular at funerals than it is at weddings, having been intoned during the solemnities for no lesser luminaries than Winston Churchill, Princess Diana and – no surprise – Margaret Thatcher.

The hymn itself is – however – the subject of considerable controversy.

These attacks emanate from more than one quarter. There are those to the left of the political spectrum who are perturbed by the jingoistic overtones of the piece – the thinking being perhaps that such patriotic sentiments are but a short step from something considerably more akin to imperialism.

This nationalistic tenor also seems particularly offensive to some members of the Anglican congregation who perhaps deem it impious to make such vows to earthly powers rather than to god. Some amongst this ecumenical number further point to the fact that the ‘hymn’ actually makes no reference to god at all. In 2004 the Anglican Bishop of Hulme called for the canticle to be banned as being heretical – a view that I find – frankly – itself more hysterical!

In an article in the Church Times in 2013 the Reverend Gordon Giles – Anglican vicar of St Mary Magdalene’s Church in Enfield in the UK – suggested that Spring Rice’s poem should be re-written to make it more acceptable. His doctrinally ‘correct’ version replaces – for example – the original’s opening couplet:

I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love

…with this – er – improved variant:

I vow to thee, my country, the service of my love,
in full and free devotion, all lesser claims above

Oh dear!

What these strangely earth-bound zealots seem to have missed is that what Spring Rice originally wrote was a poem! To insist upon a literal interpretation is to completely misunderstand the purpose and meaning of art. Ambiguity is essential – the pursuant intention being that each of us should discover our own meaning in the work.

This truism is made manifest by the variety of views that are to be found on the InterWebNet. The first stanza of the hymn may be read as a peon to militaristic imperialism, but just as readily as a lament for the fallen of the Great War. Those with an axe to grind might detect in the second verse either proof positive that ‘another country‘ – ‘most great to them that know‘ refers to the kingdom of god, or conversely evidence that the poem is nothing more than a puff of secular doggerel – in decidedly dubious taste.

I would like to proffer another interpretation…

Unlike that other great patriotic chorale – “Jerusalem” – “I Vow to Thee my Country” actually makes no explicit reference to England or to Britain at all. If the ‘other country’ of the second stanza can be taken as a metaphor for heaven, then why should the ‘country’ of the first verse be interpreted literally? It could – of course – refer to any country, but taking it further – it might not refer to a country at all. The metaphor could stand for a race – a community – a faith – an ideology…

What this first verse surely alludes to is the notion of tying one’s colours to the mast – to making the ultimate sacrifice for something – anything – that one believes in.

The second verse then adds to this – with a glance back over its shoulder to regard again the lessons of history – a terrible warning of the costs of misguided beliefs – be they patriotic, spiritual or ideological. Spring Rice must have been acutely aware when he re-wrote his original verse in 1918 of the paradoxical nature of the war that was shortly to end – caught between the fervour of patriotic support for his country and the knowledge that the powers of Europe had sleep-walked senselessly into an unforgivable and avoidable calamity that had resulted in the tragic and pointless loss of a generation of young men.

In this centennial year of the start of the Great War it is perhaps no surprise that I was overcome by emotion the other day in St Paul’s Cathedral, when attempting to sing this most moving of compositions. This is – after all – what good art does.

And if you should doubt that Spring Rice’s verse and Holst’s powerful melody – accidental partners though they may be – do in fact represent the highest forms of their respective crafts, then you need only look at the suggestions that others have made to ‘correct’ what they see as the hymn’s shortcomings.

If you have no understanding of the power of poetry this might not be a bad place to start.

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe School’s annual outing to St Paul’s Cathedral to celebrate its foundation took place late last week. I was – as ever – an eager participant in this expedition.

My pleasure at being able to re-visit what has become such a significant symbol in my own personal mythology (a grateful prayer of thanks was once again offered on the spot directly under the centre of the dome) is always augmented by the slightly perverse delight that I take from the absurdity of transporting the entire population of two schools (our sister school joins us for the day) across the breadth of London in a fleet of coaches for a fifty minute ceremony. The logistics are a nightmare and the journey takes at least three times as long as the service itself.

Apparently in days of yore the pupils were simply instructed to make their own way to the cathedral – being given no more than a time to be outside the west door and a strict admonition not to be late. I find it rather sad that such a practical course is – in these health and safety obsessed times – no longer viable.

The form that the service itself takes barely varies from year to year. Having in my pre-pubescent existence played the part of the boy chorister, I do still enjoy the chance to belt out some of the hymns with which I fell in love and which were largely responsible for my later and lasting involvement with music.

One such much-loved chorale is the setting of Sir Cecil Spring Rice’s 1908 poem – “I Vow to Thee my Country” – to the music of Gustav Holst – specifically to an extract from his “Jupiter” movement from “The Planets” suite. This stirring hymn makes frequent appearance at our Founder’s Day ceremonies largely because Holst was for an extended period employed as the Musical Director at our sister school.

Spring Rice’s poem – written whilst he was serving at the British embassy in Stockholm and originally entitled “Urbs Dei” (“City of God”) – was at first quite unlike the version that we know today. In 1912 Spring Rice was appointed Ambassador to the United States of America and in that role played an instrumental part in persuading the US to abandon its neutrality in the Great War. Shortly before returning to the UK in January 1918, Spring Rice re-wrote and renamed the poem, significantly altering the first verse to reflect the huge losses suffered by British soldiers during the intervening years. What had been the first verse morphed to become a second verse that is now widely disregarded.

In 1921 Holst was commissioned to set the poem to music. He was, at the time, extremely busy and was relieved to discover that – with only minor modification – the grand theme from “Jupiter” fitted the lyric well enough. Upon such small ‘accidents’ great moments of genius do often seem to hang.

Finding myself in harmony with a two thousand voice impromptu choir for  “I Vow to Thee my Country” in the sublime setting of St Paul’s Cathedral last week proved such an unexpectedly emotional experience that I found myself struggling to give voice at all to the second verse. I was sufficiently moved that I find I must needs say more on the subject…

…but that can wait for a second post…

 

 

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