Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Class Song!


I have to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I’m alone
Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home
There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
An ounce of peace is all I want for you.
Will you never call again?
And will you never say that you loved me just to put it in my face?
And will you never try to reach me?
It is I that wanted space
Hate me today Hate me tomorrow
Hate me so you can finally see what’s good for you
I’m sober now for 3 whole months thats one accomplishment that you helped me with
The one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing I won’t touch again
In my sick way I want to thank you for holding my head up late at night
While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight
You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate
You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take
So I’ll drive so f***ing far away that I never cross your mind
And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind
Hate me today

Hate me tomorrow

Hate me for all the things I didn’t do for you
Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what’s good for you
And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave
Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made
And like a baby boy I never was a man
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling “make it go away!”
Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be
And then she whispered “How can you do this to me?”
Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn’t do for you
Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what’s good for you

Sunday, January 14, 2007

SHAKESPEARE’S MACBETH PRESENT A DARK AND PESSIMISTIC VIEW OF HUMANITY.

“In the early hours of the morning, Gardaí found the body of a forty-year old man stabbed continuously in the chest. The victim was lying in his bed and was found by his housekeeper. A man was arrested later this afternoon of suspicion of binge connected to the murder…Gardaí found the body of a young man last night at the side of the Scots Road. The body was found beaten and stabbed by a young boy who claimed the man to be his father. Gardaí have announced that there is an ongoing investigation however, they have no suspects as of yet.”

All of this is occurring in our world. The entire human race has been on a killing spree since the beginning of time when Cain murdered his brother Abel and it hasn’t seemed to stop since. Whether it is war, terrorism, an accident, premeditated…it has all been accomplished by humanity. It seems there are some who wake up one morning craving the taste of blood and end up killing whoever first decided to walk in their path. There are those who itch with curiosity, wanting to know so desperately what it would be like to kill someone, to know that they have the power to suck the very living essence from a human body. Then there are those who wake up every morning wanting to kill and enjoy doing so. And, the further time progresses, the more of these dark souls we see. Macbeth was the odd one who had always thought of murdering someone, yet never proceeded with the task. He wanted power and autonomy and when the ‘imperfect speakers’ predicted that he will be king, he thought that a signal giving the go ahead to put his dark thoughts into action. But, this one murder soon changed Macbeth into the type who wakes up every morning with the purpose of killing, because even though he may have felt remorse at the sacrilegious regicide, he still went on to murder Banquo, Macduff’s entire family and the commoners in between. In my opinion, Macbeth must have had a liking for killing. He was a warrior by nature and unequalled on the battlefield and even though he did declare that ‘full of scorpions is my mind’ and he is ‘in blood stepp’d in so far, that should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go’er’ he still continued down the pessimistic path of murder. It is pessimistic in the sense that it has no good effect on the mind or soul and it has only one obvious end i.e. a very painful death. He follows the path so far that life no longer has any meaning or significance for him and when he hears of his wife’s death, he reacts nonchalant and unemotionally ‘she should have died hereafter’. He had become cold and life is now just a litany of tomorrows. For Macbeth, life is just a ‘walking shadow’ that is but the flame of a ‘brief candle’, a ‘tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing’. We can compare this to humanity in the sense that this is often the mind frame of someone suffering from depression. We have gone so far down the path of the ‘modern day world’ that depression is now considered a disorder and people cannot help themselves anymore. Then, there are those who do not have the disorder, but simply refuse to help themselves. They just wake up day after day continuing on with these thoughts jammed into their heads taking up valuable space. But they can help themselves and so could Macbeth. Humanity has the power of choice, yet it seems only the dark choices of whether to kill or not to kill seem to be the ones considered. Whether to be happy or not to be happy seems unimportant. Our priorities have changed, shifting from the right ones to the wrong. Macbeth changed his priority of fighting and protecting his country to being king, which should have been at the bottom of his list never mind that it shouldn’t even have been on the list. How can humanity live good fruitful lives when our morals are back to front and our minds are the dark corners, which we try to escape? We seem to be going backwards more than anything, just as Macbeth had done. He had learned to love his wife, yet since the murder of king Duncan, he was trying to create a void between them, pushing her further away. The result being that he doesn’t care when she dies. The country that he fought so desperately to protect and build was now going to ruin because of him. His reputation of being fierce and loyal ‘brave Macbeth-well he deserves that name…valiant cousin, worthy gentleman!’ was in one turn being reduced to nothing but a ‘tyrant…hell hound’.
Reputation, marriage, politics…everything was disintegrating because Macbeth didn’t have his morals set straight, which reveals what has happened to humanity and the reason for the violence, killing and never ending wars.
However, killing isn’t the only dark side of humanity. I wish it were. The tongue is more dangerous than any knife or gun. More harm is done every day by just merely uttering a few sentences. Be it a rumour, a mean joke or a lie. Humanity cannot escape from lying. It is the one sin that none seem to be able to eradicate from themselves. Even the goodiest of goodie-two-shoes lie, even if it is just a white lie. Saying you did your homework when you didn’t is the same as saying you didn’t kill a man, when you did. Lying is by far the one trait that places a dark cloud over humanity and makes our future seem very dangerous and wicked. ‘Macbeth’ reveals this trait. It reveals how simple the human mind is, how murderous the soul can be and how humanity can lie with a straight face and not a second thought. Lady Macbeth, for example, lied immediately. When Macbeth sent her the letter telling of the prophesies, there wasn’t even a second thought as to what was to be done. Deceit was her only conclusion. She would plot against the king of Scotland and kill him, and for what? Her own selfishness!-For her own desire to be Queen of Scotland. At least Macbeth had the curtsey to turn around half way through and say ‘We will proceed no further with this business’, but Lady Macbeth once again proves how dark humanity can be and manipulates her husband, bringing all her will to bear upon his moral wavering and challenge him to prove his love to her by regicide. Even the witches had control over Macbeth, acting as a catalyst that brings to the surface the latent evil, which already lies buried in Macbeth’s mind. Their few words of ‘hail Macbeth Thane of Glamis…Thane of Cawdor… thou that shalt be king hereafter’ is enough to make Macbeth kill, to lie, to plot and to be cunning beyond imagination. However, Macbeth is not the only victim. In fact, after the death of King Duncan, Macbeth goes and manipulates two farmers into murdering his best friend Banquo, which shows how evil can spread like wild fire within the human race and how none are strong enough to withstand it. In relation to reality, all we have to do is observe the street gangs, the mafia, wars! They all consist of hundreds, even thousands of people with the same objective, the same thoughts. And they are all lead by one man. A million soldiers are lead by one general, an entire cult is lead by one man. He tells them what to do, how to do it and where to do it, no questions asked. It shows how simply humanity can sell its soul to the devil and Macbeth did just that when he listened to the witches and his wife and plunged the golden dagger into the heart of the king. He became evil, deceiving and bloodthirsty, caring for none but himself and progressed ‘from a brave and loyal general, to a treacherous murderer, to a hirer of assassins, to an employer of spies, to a butcher, to a coward, to a thing with no feeling for anything but itself, to a monster and a hell hound’ as Helen Gardner had said.
Throughout the play, everywhere there is a sign of a lie: when Banquo asks Macbeth had he thought of the three witches and Macbeth replies no, even though it has been gnawing at him constantly: the denial of guilt: Lady Macbeth lying to her guests at the banquet. This proves the point that people live life on a lie and the fact that Lady Macbeth and her husband showed no repentance for their deeds ever in the play, illustrates that the concept of lying is now the same as eating a piece of bread. It reveals the pessimistic side of humanity because of our willingness to do wrong is negative. Humanity no longer is capable of seeing the light and going through life positively. Now its all rape and escape, unfortunately. The ‘we are all interdependent’ philosophy of life has disappeared and been replaced by ‘survival of the fittest’ no matter what the lengths were. Macbeth even complied with this. He had incredible paranoia over the safety of his title and throne and to survive, he went to the one place that had started it all - back to the witches. Macbeth called on the demonic spirits of hell ‘that look not like the inhabitants of earth’ to help him justify his future. He had to survive and he would do anything to do so, even if it meant killing, in cold-blood, the innocent family of Macduff ‘the firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand’. Macbeth has finally decided to allow his baser instincts to override his conscience. Yet, Macbeth forgets the basic rule, which he himself had uttered ‘they say blood shall have blood’
http://www.organelle.org/organelle/cainandabel/cain_and_abel.jpg

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

comparative-lies of silence, my left foot, homesick garden

Each text we read presents us with an outlook on life that may be bright or dark, or a combination of brightness and darkness.

We all already know that life is filled with spots. Spots where one day the sun would shine so radiantly that the light is blinding, yet, on another day would resemble the darkest night where not even your hand before your face can be seen. Or more formally known as the bright and dark areas. In these moments, we feel ourselves slipping slowly away, unable to attain the light. Here, our characters are decided. There is a choice of two actions in this situation i.e. to slip even further from the light, meekly looking at life pass you by, or the second, go down fighting. However, what if the situation stands that you can do neither? What if the main factor in your being in the dark spot is an external factor taking the form of a human?

In “Lies of Silence”, by Brian Moore, we obtain a valuable insight to the life of marriage. Even though we are only adolescents who have to study this book, even we can extract the important mistake which Michael Dillon, a hotel manager of the Clarence in Belfast, made. And that was simply to marry for looks rather than for love as revealed to us in Dillon’s thought “If only I’d been able to love her, to love her, not just her looks”. This decision may have been enlightening for the first few years of marriage for Dillon, however soon turned so dark that he viewed his wife, Moira, as “the enemy of his freedom”. Due to marrying someone purely because they were “tall, beautiful and very flirtatious”, Dillon found himself going down a path wondering what it would have been like to marry for love, rather than physical appearance, and perhaps thus that made him have an affair with Andrea, a twenty-three year old BBC broadcaster. Dillon was unhappy with his wife, that is evident, and because of the fact that he could not even stay with her for the point of staying with her, simply clarifies how daunting and suffocating his marriage was. He could not bear his wife. And as marriage is a lifestyle, it was a unbearable lifestyle for Dillon to lead.
In “Homesick Garden”, by Kate Cruise O’Brien, however, we receive a different perspective into marriage. In fact, we somewhat receive the opposite. Where as Dillon never loved Moira, in Home Sick Garden, Antonia’s father did love her mother, and very much so, for, instead of simply proclaiming a divorce, the father argues with the mother in the hope of getting through to her to stop her addictions i.e. smoking and drinking. Due to there existing an element of love, the two adults work at their relationship and do so willingly. Thus showing that thought marriage is a hard road to lead, it is in fact rewarding because you do have someone to love and to love you. Nothing will ever be perfect, again proved to us in “My Left Foot” by Christy Brown, yet it has it’s bright moments, for example in Home Sick Garden, at Christmas the Father was drinking a little and both he had his wife had a good time.

Acceptance is a huge theme in both the novels of Home Sick Garden, and My Left Foot. Antonia struggles with acceptance by the public, even though fifteen and normal in appearance, she has too different of a personality to fit in at school. I think it is because of her background in having a childish mother and the father’s time is spent solely on the mother. Antonia has had to learn to grow up very fast, yet in some cases still may have the psyche of a child. We clearly see how she has grown by her visit to Aunt Grace’s house, where she starts to clean up and care for her aunt, even though she is perhaps twenty years her senior. This different mind set sets Antonia apart from a normal child who grew up in a loving, secure and safe household because they can relish in being just kids. More is expected of Antonia. This fact is actually quite sad because Antonia will never really know what it was like to be a proper teenager, yet though the matter of her rejection may be a dark area in her life while she is only young, it will eventually brighten up as she grows older. However, Antonia is undoubted loved very much by her family, and what is the point of having the world on your shoulders when your family refuse to call you their own? There is none. Thus, Antonia has the bright love of her family balancing the dark rejection received by her classmates. Also, in the end of the novel, Antonia meets a boy named Stephen who will clearly end up being more than just her friend.
In My Left Foot, the matter of rejection is more at a larger scale. Christy was born with cerval palsy (?), which left him unable to walk, talk or move any part of his body other than his left foot and his head. As a child, Christy was never truly recognised by his father as being a member of the family, particularly noticed when Mrs. Brown had to tell her husband to say ‘good-bye’ to Christy as well as when he says “the child’s a cripple, face facts. Don’t be putting ideas in his head”. Perhaps this is why Christy was so desperate to prove himself to his father, who believed he knew nothing “What would he know?”. Perhaps it was this that drove Christy to pick up the chalk with his left foot and, while the family stood around and held their breath in anticipation, wrote clearly on the floor one word: Mother. This was the only action Christy had to take to prove to his father that he was his flesh and blood, and the message was clearly received by the father who at once shouted “He’s a Brown. He’s a Brown alright. Christy is a Brown…This is Christy Brown. My son-genius!” This was undoubtedly a bright moment for Christy as he had gained the acceptance of his father’s love and proclaimed his own for his mother.
Even in Lies of Silence, Dillon had the issue with rejection, and that was that of his father’s rejection of him. for a reason we cannot tell, Dillon’s father somehow always resented him and thought him not good enough to do anything correctly. However, Dillon does himself admit that his father was proud of him managing the Clarence hotel, that is in fact all that is offered to us to show that there existed some sort of bond. When the Clarence was bombed, Dillon’s father was the first to call him, yet Dillon rebuked the phone cal declaring his father the last person he wanted to talk with.

Another aspect of life we receive is the effect of alcohol in the family. In Home Sick Garden, especially, we see the hardship that is endure by Antonia’s family by her mother’s problem with drinking. Constant fights are suffered, to the point of Antonia thinking that her parents would be better off getting a divorce, It is the reason why Antonia had to grow up quickly, the reason for the feeling of insecurity. It makes life just that bit harder, not just for Elizabeth, but also for her husband and daughter.
In My Left Foot, Christy becomes an alcoholic because he has never truly been accepted by the opposite sex, which creates a definite feeling of loneliness, opposite to Antonia in Home Sick Garden. And even though in his state, even Christy had the moments where he would drink too much and become unpleasant. He would become bitter, depressed and violent when he reached the dark points in his life. With suicide being a failure, drink seems to be his only escape from reality. An escape from the dark spots of life.
Violence also presents itself in Lies of Silence, when Dillon and Moira are held hostage, by the IRA, in their own home from “four-fifteen” to seven a.m. It revealed the harsh truths of the danger that exists in northern Ireland to this present day. Fear is evident in Dillon and his wife, as all that occupies their minds is the possibility that their lives could end there and then. It is a sad thought that so many have to withstand such dark dilemmas in life, and though once scarce, the number of such people is increasing daily.

In conclusion, all novels gives us an insight to the different aspects of life. Aspects which are both dark and bright. Yet, it is up to us to decide upon which to dwell, if we need to dwell. And it is also our choice in live to dwell upon our own dark matters or our times of purest joy. Nothing is perfect, only God, and we are not Him. We were never meant to be perfect and it is with this thought that we strive and fight away the dark spots in life and try as hard as possible to reach the light and once more relish in happiness. We are in charge of what mood we want to be. With strength of character comes control. We are the captains of our own cruise. Whether we go through a storm and capsize or come out the other end a bit battered is really up to us.

anthology on Kavanagh


The Essential Kavanagh

Now, I could write about the man Kavanagh was, the life he lead, the achievements and disappointments he had, yet, how would that be honouring a poet? For sure, is not the soul of a proper poet revealed through their poetry? We can tell exactly the mind frame, the emotions, the phase of life and even the activity of a poet through their work. Thus, through reading the poetry of Kavanagh we know that there are three stages through, which, Kavanagh went in his life.
From cynicism to scornful and finally loving: these are the three main stages of his work. In the first stage, we are presented to a youthful Kavanagh who some what resents the world. He has a very cynical attitude to life and enjoys giving out perhaps a little too much, though he had some tricks up his sleeve and even at such a young age, he could already establish a style within his poetry. This makes his talent seem even greater than is sometimes perceived to be. The second stage of Kavanagh is the poet who is living in Dublin, yet the ‘city people’ have the preconception that he is a ‘farmer-poet’. In this stage, Kavanagh looses his cynicism, however still indulges in complaining about petty things and gains the trait of being demeaning. In the third and final stage, the great poet that was thriving to be realised throughout Kavanagh’s life, is finally seen, as we greet the ‘rebirth’ of a derisive poet.

“Inniskeen Road” is a poem, which reveals to us the one issue that gnawed at Kavanagh’s mind as a young man and that was the division that existed between him and the community of Inniskeen. The poem tells the story of a dance which is proceeding in ‘Billy Brennan’s barn’. Even from this sentence alone, we can tell the tone of the poet. The alliteration of ‘b’ creates an aggressive sound, leading to the eventual thought of anger and resentment: resentment because as we read on in the poem, we learn that Kavanagh has, in fact, not been invited to the dance. Essentially, we realise that he is sitting at his window in his study, watching ‘the bicycles go by in two and threes’, bitter that he cannot understand the ‘half-talk code of mysteries…wink-and-elbow language of delight’. Kavanagh tries to seek for someone like him, who has been left to be on his own, however finds ‘no shadow thrown that might turn out a man or woman’. Thus, he undoubtedly comprehends that he is an outsider from the town.
In the poem, Kavanagh is aggrieved somewhat of his position as a poet because he had ‘what every poet hates in spite of all the solemn talk of contemplation’. People had the preconception of a poet not being able to like common life, common conversation or common activities. It was thought that poets would only feel welcomed and entertained in deep, intelligent conversation and forewent the pleasures of the body. The comparison made in the poem to Alexander Selkirk shows that Kavanagh felt as though he were on an island. Incapable of having conversation even if he tried, bar the one he could have with himself. The poet shows to his readers of his loneliness and solitude.
This last point illustrates the importance of Kavanagh’s poetry and in return Kavanagh himself. Kavanagh was currently writing in the shadows of great poets such as Yeats and Joyce, thus to make himself renowned and not just a cliché, Kavanagh had to write about something different. In doing so, Kavanagh started a new style of poetry in Ireland, and that was to write about everyday life and emotions while the great poets tackled the more the subjects Irish and world wide philosophy. The fact that Kavanagh’s poetry was of himself and the common life made his poetry appealing in later life because they revealed a part of history as well. Kavanagh was different from the start, and even his dislike of solitude set him apart from Wordsworth who thought it necessary to be able to create art in words. Kavanagh hated his isolation from the rest of the community because he never chose it. For him it seemed to choose him and there was no way out of it.
Though this poem is a product from the first stage in Kavanagh’s writing, we immediately see a different style to the ‘essential Kavanagh’ upon the publishing of ‘Shancoduff’ in 1937. This poem was written after Kavanagh and his family purchased a farm in 1925. The different element that strikes the reader in this poem is the fact that it is a ‘love’ poem to the land and farm. However, there is a sure lack of assuredness, which is present in his later works such as ‘The Hospital’ in 1956. Again, in this poem, Kavanagh is attacking the preconception people seem to have of poet’s being poor, yet here Kavanagh proves himself as more observant to beauty than the local people. This is demonstrated by the fact that, to the local people ‘the cattle-drovers’ the farm seems to be ‘hungry hills that the water-hen and snipe must have forsaken’ and consider Kavanagh poor for having such pitiable land in his possession. However, the poet is adamant to these comments ‘I hear this and is my heart not badly shaken?’ because Kavanagh can see the immense splendour, which exists in the hills. In the poem, the poet personifies the hills, giving them character and proving perhaps that they are better than the simple ‘cattle-drover’. Of this Kavanagh is proud, which is shown by his constant referral to the hills as ‘my black hills’. The hills are happy within themselves, as they do not concern themselves with things that are of no interest to them ‘Lot’s wife would not be salt if she had been incurious as my black hills’. They entertain themselves with themselves and see no bother in being worried about what is happening behind their backs, as they have turned it against the sun ‘hills have never seen the rising sun’.
The poet had a deep love for his land because he describes his plight up ‘the Matterhorn with a sheaf of hay for three perishing calves’ showing his dedication to his farm and the extent to which he is willing to go to look after it and all it holds.
I believe this poem rather holds a part of the poet himself. ‘Inniskeen Road’ presented the loneliness of the poet as a young man; however, this poem reveals the poets personality. While people are still stereotypical, Kavanagh has learned to live with it, and in return has turned his back on society. He no longer cares if he is invited to a barn dance or sits seeking out the night for a lonesome soul like his own. He has now discovered that none of it really matters. All that matters is what he sees and what or whom he loves. Nevertheless, there is still a waver in the poet’s manner, for he is still unsure of himself. Though Kavanagh declares he does not care what the cattle-drovers think, the fact that he mentions their opinions shows that it plays in his mind, and still does, somewhat affect him. However, this was not to last long.
The second phase of Kavanagh’s poetry is one that I do not particularly like. From the poem "’On Raglan Road’ we see a side of Kavanagh that the poet could have done without. Kavanagh shows himself to be a very demeaning and bitter person, even though the poem is based on the rejection begotten from a girl named Hilda Moriarty in 1944. Kavanagh goes on through the to portray the relationship between the two lovers. However, the poet had a great pessimism to him when he entered into the relationship. This showing Kavanagh’s perspective of women at this age was not fantastical. In fact, he believed women to ‘weave a snare’: to be of ‘danger’; to lead an ‘enchanted way’. Negativity seeps from the lines of the poem in the first two stanzas as Kavanagh thinks that he will ‘one day rue’ the girl as well as trying to portray himself as self-sacrificial due to daring to walk the ‘enchanted way’ even though he ‘saw the danger’.
Kavanagh tries desperately to explain himself in the third stanza, to prove for some reason that he was the one who put the most of himself into the relationship and did everything, yet he was rejected. He proclaims that he ‘loved too much’ and clarifies that he ‘gave her gifts’. Gift which he perceived to be of a great magnificence because they were ‘gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known to the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone and word and tint’. According to Kavanagh, he gave his dark haired beauty the very secret of all artists, he exposed their talent and hidden code. For once, he spoke the ‘code of mysteries’, yet she rebuked him. He has proven that he gave her everything he had in his power, yet this is where he goes wrong because he gave her gifts of power; gifts of pride. The true disappointment in the poem comes at the end, when Kavanagh demeans the entire situation by being bitter and degrading the woman. He places himself on a high pedestal by referring to himself as an ‘angel’ who tried to woo ‘a creature made of clay’, thus, in fact, placing himself higher than the girl. He also states that ‘when an angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day’ meaning that had Kavanagh continued with Hilda, he would have lowered himself in status and perhaps even morals. He is bitter and is spitting with rage. He believed to have put his entire being into their relationship yet he was rebuked.
Therefore, we can see the second phase of writing was bitter, as this was also the time that Kavanagh was residing in Dublin. He was being seen as a ‘farmer poet’ who was poor, similar to the belief in Shancoduff. It seems, no matter where the poet lives, he will always be perceived with the same state of mind, with the same presumptions and the same attitude. Kavanagh was failing with society: money and with love. Perhaps, then, we can understand the bitterness in his works.
My favourite phase in Kavanagh’s writing is that of the third and final stage. This stage is more commonly referred to as Kavanagh’s ‘rebirth’ as a poet due to the sonnets after the 1950s being the opposite to the previous years. This dramatic change came after Kavanagh got lung cancer and had to have a lung removed. The near death experience made Kavanagh realise that life is too precious to be taken for granted and it made him see the uncomplicated love of the world. The most palpable poem for this statement is the poem ‘The Hospital’. Throughout his works, Kavanagh has made himself known for rendering the ordinary and the ‘banal’ important and fantastic. This talent presents itself again in ‘The Hospital’.
Here, Kavanagh writes about the Hospital while recovering after the surgery. The first true element, which suggests change in the poet’s style, is the fact that he calls the hospital ‘an art lover’s woe’. The importance of this is that Kavanagh once thought himself a great artist, as is seen in ‘Raglan Road’, yet, now he is describing ‘ the functional ward of a chest hospital: square cubicles in a row, plain concrete, wash basin’ with which he ‘fell in love with’. This reveals to us that the poet has opened his eyes, and even perhaps his heart, to love. In addition, he has done so to the extent of finding love in a common place such as the hospital ‘ the common and banal her heat can know’.
It is in this hospital that Kavanagh learned an important lesson, which he should have learned as a child, yet, now that he was fifty one years of age, he finally learned the most important lesson. He learned that ‘nothing whatever is by love debarred’. Love touches everything, affects everything, sees everything but most importantly of all, love excludes no one.
Kavanagh has suddenly gotten back his enthusiasm for life. He is a child again, looking upon the world with innocent eyes filled with wonder and awe at the ordinary things. He sees life as an ‘inexhaustible adventure’ which he has yet to discover. Moreover, to show his new found love, the poet names the common things such as ‘the Rialto Bridge, the main gate that was bent by a heavy lorry, the seat at the back of a shed that was a suntrap’ because he believes it is ‘the love-act’ to name these things. Kavanagh is showing he is grateful for the new perspective on life on naming the local places. All of a sudden, Kavanagh has a deep desire to ‘record love’s mystery without claptrap’ and to ‘snatch out of time the passionate transitories’. Kavanagh is desperate to return the world the proper idea of love instead of the melodramatic clichés of modern life. Love is not some burning lust or sighted infatuation, it is indeed the familiar and habitual that is love. By naming the local places, Kavanagh is creating a bond between him and them, showing to the world that they were of such importance to him and that they lie in his heart.
Overall, we can see the drastic change, which overcame the poet. The effect of this being that his poetry became more appealing to his readers due to Kavanagh having created his own philosophy. He made people think more about the beauty in ordinary things rather than the abstract and impossible. As a man, Kavanagh found the part of life he seemed to have missed as a boy. He found love. Not the love of a woman, but a love that goes deeper than that: the love of life and the world.

I believe that there is no better way for me to explain ‘The Essential Kavanagh’ other than what I have written here. Kavanagh was an excellent poet who had a talent for turning the overt and unsighted into beautiful art. His techniques as an artist are widely recognised and admired by all. In reality, we can clearly see the phases of life that Kavanagh went through, and for such a bitter start, I am quiet glad there was a happy ending, even though it didn’t last long. At least Kavanagh got a taste of the beauty of life. In a way, he got a taste of what it was like to be his own subject. Plain to the common eye, yet he finally found the love within himself. He finally found the innocence and wonder he had been searching for all his life, which makes it the perfect ending.

Macbeth as a weak man causing suffering

MACBETH IS A WEAK MAN WHO BRINGS SUFFERING UPON HIS OWN HEAD

It cannot be denied that Macbeth was a weak character, for why would a man of strength wish to place death, tragedy and suffering in his own future? No man of strength would let his own ambition over-ride his conscience, never mind the fact that no man who was a warrior would have the ambition to kill the king because his passion would fill every inch of him for the honour of defending his country. A man of strength is loyal, brave, trustworthy and respectful. We have no respect for Macbeth, nor is he loyal or trustworthy. True, he may be brave, but even a coward can have its brave moments. Macbeth proved he had was weak in character because he couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t remain loyal to the king, he didn’t have honour and pride or even passion for his country. All he wanted to do was give in to his own desires and rule the country and because of this desire, he was the reason he suffered, his wife suffered and the reason for the demise of both. Macbeth had allowed evil to posses him due to his weakness, and in turn progressed “from a brave and loyal general, to a treacherous murderer, to a hirer of assassins, to an employer of spies, to a butcher, to a coward, to a thing with no feeling for anything but itself, to a monster and a hell hound” as Helen Gardner had said.

In the beginning of the play, Macbeth is seen as a hero in the eyes of all, a man of worth and significance, the saviour of his country, noble and brave: ‘brave Macbeth’, ‘Bellona’s bridegroom’, ‘valour’s minion.’ Yet, it is clear, further on, that even the unequalled warrior has a flaw and is trying desperately not to let the world see past his façade ‘let not light see my black and deep desires’. His wife may have described him as ‘too full o’ the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way’; however, it is evident that there is something brewing in Macbeth’s mind. It is, of course, the meeting of the three ‘imperfect speakers’, which brings Macbeth emotionally to his knees, and reveals his ‘vaulting ambition’. It may be considered that the witches where the source of all this evil and released it onto Macbeth the moment they greeted him with ‘hail Macbeth Thane of Glamis…Thane of Cawdor… thou that shalt be king hereafter’. However, I am of the opinion that, the witches were merely catalyst who brought to the surface the latent evil which already lay buried in Macbeth’s mind and in their salutation, only served to advance the story to reveal the weakness in Macbeth. They do not control Macbeth, but instead, use their ability to manipulate and reinforce the idea of kingship with no use of spells, striking a deal or making a bargain. And as D.J. Enright said “it is going to far to believe that the witches are embodiments of good. The real evil, the truly terrifying things are to be found …in the speeches of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth.” Again showing that it was Macbeth’s weak character which allowed him to be over-ruled by the evil brewing in his mind.
When only a few hours later, Macbeth is made Thane of Cawdor, he gets terribly excited and writes to his wife telling of the prophecies. She is a stronger, more ruthless and more ambitious character than her husband and it is thus that she brings all her will to bear upon Macbeth’s moral wavering in giving in to regicide, knowing that she will succeed. She manipulates her husband with remarkable effectiveness, overriding all his objections, showing what a weak character he is if he cannot even stand up to his wife. And it is the fact that he allowed the witches to water the seed of ambition with their hopeful words of a desired future and his wife to put compost on the growing seed with her manipulating words that Macbeth stood, waiting in the castle for the bell to ring. While he waits, Macbeth already starts to suffer. He is only yet at the stage of thought, when already his imagination has heightened and makes him see a dagger before him, pointing to the king’s chamber. The bell sounds and signals Macbeth to plunge the dagger into King Duncan’s heart, over and over again: every blow being a prediction of pain and suffering for the future. For, the moment he stands back and sees the corpse of the king lying before him in a pool of blood, he hears the words ‘Sleep no more…Glamis hath murder’d sleep…Macbeth shall sleep no more’. Macbeth is torn with remorse with the knowledge that he has committed a crime against nature. He can see Duncan’s blood on his hands and images that it will ‘the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red’. He wishes that Duncan were still alive, leaving no words of triumph, only words of deep remorse.
Therefore, it was Macbeth’s feeble character that committed the deed and broke the bonds that tied him to humanity. The blame does not lie on his wife, or on the witches. Instead, it lies upon Macbeth’s own head for not having the ability to stand firm against his ambition and stay loyal to his country. Unfortunately, even before the deed, I would classify Macbeth as weak because it was only when witches assured him that he would be king that he thought to take the risk. He would not have taken an uncalculated risk, determining him as a somewhat careful character. He did nothing on impulse or spontaneously. Even the regicide was premeditated; however, this was due to change.
From the king’s murder onwards, Macbeth’s walks a steep slope of evil, pathed with suffering and darkness. Macbeth did have the choice to turn to Macduff the next morning, and instead of pretending that he was greatly shocked by the king’s death, could have said it was he, and confessed to his sin. However, despite his remorse and lack of sleep, he still chose to pretend he was innocent and was urged to do so even more when the crown was placed upon his head and he could feel the autonomy flowing through his veins as the nobles bent down at his feet. Now as king, Macbeth rules uneasy, for he cannot forget that he has gained nothing but a ‘barren sceptre’ and a ‘fruitless crown’. Again, it is Macbeth’s ambition, which thrives within him and his inability to control his lust for power, which drives him to kill his best friend Banquo. This is due to the second prophecy ‘thou shalt get kings though thou be none’ made by the witches and perhaps the fact the Banquo was the one who was suspicious of Macbeth ‘thou hast it all…and I fear thou play’dst most foully for’t’. Another factor to be considered in having played a role in the crime is that after the death of king Duncan, Macbeth’s mind began to sink further into lonely darkness, which replays with the image of the regicide repeatedly. For Macbeth, only further bloodshed can erase the memory of his first crime. Pity, conscience, remorse-all these must be erased. Therefore, it is understood when Macbeth declares to his wife that his mind is ‘full of scorpions’ and we feel no sympathy for Macbeth because the fault lies upon him that he kills. In addition, Macbeth’s instinct for self-assertion is so vehement that no inward misery could persuade him to relinquish the fruits of his crime, or to advance from remorse to repentance. Macbeth knew this declaring that he is ‘in blood stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er’, making his deeds even more ruthless and cold-blooded.
Macbeth also affected Lady Macbeth with Banquo’s murder. Instead of involving her in the murder, as was done the first time, he excluded her, thus creating a gap, and because of this exclusion, their relationship started to deteriorate. With that deterioration, Lady Macbeth was left to fend for herself, and she begins her slow slide into madness just as ambition affected her more strongly than Macbeth before the crime, so does the guilt plague her more strongly afterwards. This had the result of Lady Macbeth sleep-walking and seeing Duncan’s blood on her hands while she constantly tried to wash it off. If Macbeth had included his wife in Banquo’s murder, then she perhaps would not have gone mad and in turn, would not have committed suicide. Though this may not have brought suffering on Macbeth’s head, for by this stage he was so far down the path of ruthlessness and evil that life no longer has any meaning or significance for him and when he hears of his wife’s death, he reacts nonchalant and unemotionally ‘she should have dies hereafter’. He had become cold and life is now just a litany of tomorrows. For Macbeth, life is just a ‘walking shadow’ that is but the flame of a ‘brief candle’, a ‘tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing’. Yet, he had brought suffering upon his wife’s head, with the conclusion that, due to Macbeth’s weakness, he did not only bring suffering upon himself, but also onto his wife.
Macbeth suffers the feeling of insecurity in the play, feeling threatened at every corner he turns. To erase this feeling of paranoia and try to validate his future, Macbeth rides to the witches. Already, the dark forces are aware that Macbeth will swallow every word they feed him and believe strongly in their predictions. Thus, Macbeth was so blind that he believed himself invincible when told that those of women born shall not kill him or he shall remain undefeated until Birnam Wood meets Dunsinane. Macbeth’s distrust in Macduff is justified and again Macbeth chooses to kill declaring that ‘the very firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand’.
With all this suffering and torment, Macbeth’s request to fight to the death when faced by Macduff in the final scene can hardly be incomprehensive. Though earlier Macbeth may have ‘almost forgot the taste of fears’, he now is paralysed with fear when confronted with the enormity of his deeds and fuelled even more by the knowledge that he will be slain by Macduff as he was ‘from his mother’s womb untimely ripped’. This fear leads to Macbeth’s downfall because of his inability to cope with his actions due to lack of strength. Macbeth almost metamorphoses back to the hero he was at the beginning of the play, choosing to face death, rather than run from it. This bravery leads to the end of his evil plight; his suffering, his isolation and his thrive for power. Macbeth realised that is was due to his actions that he had lost everything and that the meaningless existence, which he had made for himself, had to end somehow. For, as Lascelles Abercrombie once said “Macbeth had staked everything and lost; he had damned himself for nothing…there is no meaning anywhere; that is the final disaster; death is nothing after that.”

Because we first hear of Macbeth in the wounded captain’s account of his battlefield valour, our initial impression is of a brave and capable warrior. However, it is not long before the truth is revealed about Macbeth’s lack in strength of character. Despite his ambition raging within him, if Macbeth had strength of character, he would have been able to control his urges and dreams, and thus, draw the line somewhere before things got out of hand. Yet, Macbeth had an inability to do so, thus, the ‘brave Macbeth’ was truly a ‘cowardly Macbeth’ and the cause of his own downfall and suffering. He had the choice of not killing King Duncan, yet he chose differently and it was due to this that he lost sleep and had tormenting images planted within his mind. He had the choice to include Lady Macbeth in the death of Banquo, yet again, he chose different and caused their marriage and relationship to disintegrate. Macbeth chose to go to the witches in his desire to know more about his future, he chose to believe he was invincible and gave himself false hope and courage. The final decision was to surrender or be slain by Macduff and he chose the latter. All his decisions were based on instinct and all of them lead to catastrophe. Macbeth held his life in his own hands, a rare thing, and chose to wring out the goodness, happiness and light and leave himself suffering in seclusion, darkness and evil. The only decision he made that brought him peace was to fight to the death, because as the blood drained out of him, evil released its grip and humanity rushed through his veins again. However, it cannot be denied that all of this could have been prevented by a simple word-‘No’. Macbeth’s conscience and moral computations loom as large as his evil ambition and cruelty. The complexity of his character arises from the opposing traits he possesses which create a violent inner conflicted fuelled by his imagination. These opposing traits drive Macbeth to despair and ruin, scorned by all and dying finally: bitter, burned out and desperate.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

essay

The most dangerous stations are the emptiest.

The low G echoed through the white washed room. The followed notes jumping off the empty bookshelves, the bedside table, the window seat, the vanity press and finally the queen size bed. Beyond the echoes of the grand piano suavely playing the Moonlight Sonata, was the accompaniment of a low soft humming of a man. The tall figure stood beside the bed, his back and broad shoulders straight with discipline, his eyes closed and a look of relaxation imprinted on his face as he followed the continuous notes and directed his invisible orchestra with the scalpel in his left hand. He was preparing himself by clearing his mind and blocking out all of the worldly sounds of bird singing, cars passing by, the clock ticking and the muffled screams of anguish until all he could hear was the pulsing beat of his own heart in his ears and Beethoven’s music.
And, as he bent down and hovered above the naked outstretched body on the white sheet-less mattress, he smiled quietly at the thought that Beethoven had written the song as a proclamation of his love for his fiancée. For now, as he stood there, ready for the kill, he could understand exactly the fullness of spirit that the great composer must have felt the day he wrote the sonata. As he sunk the scalpel into the rosy flesh right beneath the sternum and began the incision down to the navel and onto the pelvis, he too felt complete. He felt the world engulf him with love and attention as he took care only to cut the abdominal muscles and not penetrate the organs hiding below, waiting for him to find them. With every inch he cut and every fresh gush of blood, his heart would pound faster. It seemed to fill up with the flowing blood and become fuller and fuller until it could no more and would burst right through his ribs and lie spastically on the floor.
Two hours later and twenty replays of the moonlight sonata, the figure stood by the window. His gaze was fixed on the sun, the sharp rays not affecting his cat-like green eyes. The sun was hovering above the horizon, ready to descend below and abandon the world into the arms of darkness. Its golden glow passed off pinks and bright yellows to the clouds hovering nearby in the azure sky. The last birds were now flying to get their final meal and retire to their nests to sleep through the bitter cold winter night. The figure turned his back to the window and quickly adverted his eyes around the room. He hated this time of year. Every day was cold and bitter, and so, every day would remind him of the day when his parents dropped him off at the orphanage when he was only four. All he could remember now was the terrible feeling of loneliness and emptiness he felt, along with an engraved image of his father’s emerald green eyes and his mother wavy auburn hair. He hated them just as he hated winter. They had left him in that orphanage to die all because they didn’t love him anymore. In the orphanage, the first thing the nuns did was convert him immediately to Catholicism, whether he wanted to or not, and every Sunday mass was attended. It was there that he had heard the words “Love never fails” from 1 Corinthians 13:8 and it was there it all truly started.
Now, looking around the room, he smiled with pleasure, like a child with a new toy. The mattress was soaked through with blood, the deep red contrasting beautifully with the white walls. Around the corpse lay the organs, encircling it. The only organ that was not touch were the emerald green eyes that lay open, staring up at the ceiling and the brain which was still neatly hidden beneath the scalp of beautiful wavy auburn hair. The heart was separate from the circle of organs. It lay on the vanity dresser opposite the window. Careful not to drip any blood, he had washed it free of the blood in the ensuite yellow bathroom, and placed it on the white surface. Now, as the sun was setting and spreading its delicate rays upon the world, as if trying to say a compassionate goodbye before abandonment, the droplets of water on the heart gleamed like diamonds, and reflected off the scalpel that stood erect in the centre of the cardiac muscle.
He sighed, wishing that his heart could one-day gleam like that, if not physically, then at least spiritually. Yet it couldn’t, he knew, and it never would. Even now, he could feel the joy and love he had been filled with earlier begin to drain out of him, as the water does out of a bath. Bit by bit, he could feel the smile fade and the buzz of his mind subside. His heart rate slowed and beat once more with a solemn emptiness as he closed the front door.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“What have we got?” Agent Todd asked with a tone of command.
“The usual,” came a quick reply from the man who was quickly walking towards her to help raise the yellow tape across the doorframe. Todd cringed. It was the dreaded reply as it meant that this was the thirteenth killing in the span of six months. When the first homicide had occurred in early July, it was quickly tied to three murders during the 1980s. All crime scenes had been exactly the same-white washed walls and a dismembered corpse encircled by its own organs. Now, however, it was late January and the killer was still at large. There were never any clues, no matter how thorough the forensic investigation team had been. It was as though a ghost had committed the crimes; yet, even a ghost would not have been able to stomach the killing. Todd looked at the room and sighed. She was tired, physically and mentally. She had hardly slept since the murders had begun and she was hoping that somewhere she would find some kind of evidence that could give her a lead even if it were just for the sake of sleeping again, yet it never seemed to appear. All she got was a big nothing with a side of coffee and insomnia.
“The victim is Irma Sands. She was thirty-four, a mother of two, happily married and works in the orphanage in the city. She’s been dead for approximately 24 hours…” he trailed off as he realised that Todd was no longer listening to him but instead had her gaze fixed on the heart with the scalpel still erect in the centre. It was a common sight. A trademark, which the killer seemed to leave them every time just to make sure they know it’s never a copy-cat, just to make sure that they know it is real. By now only one link had been found between this victim and all the rest-the green eyes and the auburn hair. Other than that, there was nothing. Their races were random, their ages, their life-styles, jobs, fame…everything possible was random except for the hair and eyes. Agent Todd let her eyes dwell around the room and spotted something. She never could decide how it was that she looked out the window, yet she never regretted it because there on the windowsill was a smudge. The entire room was clean except for the smudge.
“Frank, give me some sellotape, would you…I think our killer just made his first mistake.”

Sitting at her desk later that night, Todd was going through the case with her mug of black bitter coffee in one hand and the sixteen files scattered into the shape of a fan across her lamp-lit table with every name visible. She had been through every file so often that she knew them like the back of her hand. She knew every detail, every picture, and every doughnut smudge…but still, there was nothing. She looked over the desk, considering all the names and the innocent people who had to die for someone’s craving of blood. It was disgusting all the sick bastards there were in the world. She sighed and took another gulp full of the cold coffee. Irene Kensey, Isabel Lambert, Lisa Elms, Danielle Thorn, Helen Everies, Michelle Adams, Nicole Damn, Brenda Right, Emily Nox, Dejonay Alwers, Natalie Feder, Orla Xaver, and now Irma Sands. The list had to end, that was for sure.
The idea struck. Quickly grabbing a pen and paper, Todd scribbled down all the first letters to the names, hopping that this was something and not just a nothing like all the rest. I-K-I-L-L-E-D-T-H-E-M-A-N-D-B-R-E-N-D-A-N-F-O-X-I-S-N-E. She saw it immediately- I killed them and Brendan Fox is next.
“Frank?” Todd called over the phone. “Todd here. Look, I have solved it. Brendan Fox is the next victim!”
“What? How do you…” The front door opened.
“Honey, I’m home!” came the salutation.
“The names of the victims spell out a message…look, no time to explain. I am going over to Fox’s hotel, get men out there as soon as possible, ok?”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She slammed down the phone. She rushed passed her husband, giving him a kiss on the cheek, grabbed her coat, gun and keys and shut the door behind her leaving a confused husband in the hall.
* * * * * * * * * * *