17 Ramadhan, 1441
I learnt a lot about America's involvement in Vietnam from Ken Burns's superlative documentary series The Vietnam War and I also found myself feeling a lot. At times the sense of despair engendered was almost overwhelming, but there was always the playing out of the stories of the individuals involved to give light to the darkness, even when these stories were sad ones, which was predominantly the case. The light came from the humanity involved, ordinary people capable of extraordinary depth of feeling and, above all, courage. If the programmes held such intensity for me, a viewer from an enormous distance, how must the actual participants, on both sides, felt watching them? (By the end there didn't seem to be sides anymore - just those terribly involved.)
The final episode, which I watched earlier today, seemed to me exceptionally well put together - and possibly the most powerful of all in terms of unrelenting impact. I half expected it might conclude with the Americans abandoning their embassy in Saigon, their involvement over, the war concluded. But the other half of me expected that real consideration would be given to the Vietnamese experience of the war ending, given the genuine concern for that experience apparent in every aspect of the series, and so it was. The pain continued well beyond the involvement of the U.S. for so many of the Vietnamese people, again regardless of 'sides', and this was dealt with in some detail - almost all unknown to me. And then followed sequences on the war memorial in Washington, the Wall, and the 'normalisation' of relations between the nations that somehow provided, not closure exactly, but an attempt at understanding the inexplicable pain of human folly.
There were many images and sequences in the final episode that spoke with a depth beyond their surface, but the one I'm remembering now was one of the simplest, and, I suppose, happiest. It involved one of the American veterans in Hanoi in the mid-90's being surrounded by a group of cheerfully smiling youngsters, obviously excited at meeting an American at last and getting to practise their English. I don't know exactly what it 'meant', if anything, but I'm glad I watched it.
Sunday, May 10, 2020
Saturday, May 9, 2020
The Better Half
16 Ramadhan, 1441
Am doing okay but... Can do better. Should do better. And I have the mercy of time to work in.
Plenty of sources of inspiration also. My own Better Half, for example. Holding it all together, and more. Indeed, a good deal better than that.
And various old codgers showing that the flame doesn't have to die. Another example, following on yesterday's welcome news: the Frippster's diary of late has been busier than ever, most fruitfully so. The entry for 8 May being particularly rich. And his offerings of various soundscapes in Quiet Moments mode look to be a source of delight for weeks to come. Quiet Moments 2 is one of the finest I've heard - and I've heard a lot.
Am doing okay but... Can do better. Should do better. And I have the mercy of time to work in.
Plenty of sources of inspiration also. My own Better Half, for example. Holding it all together, and more. Indeed, a good deal better than that.
And various old codgers showing that the flame doesn't have to die. Another example, following on yesterday's welcome news: the Frippster's diary of late has been busier than ever, most fruitfully so. The entry for 8 May being particularly rich. And his offerings of various soundscapes in Quiet Moments mode look to be a source of delight for weeks to come. Quiet Moments 2 is one of the finest I've heard - and I've heard a lot.
Friday, May 8, 2020
The Real Thing
15 Ramadhan, 1441
Happy to get to the halfway point of the fast in reasonable shape. Happily recognising my good fortune in being well-equipped to deal with current circumstances. Happy to be listening to the third of Dylan's astonishing recent releases and happier still to learn that this presages a full new album.
Happy to get to the halfway point of the fast in reasonable shape. Happily recognising my good fortune in being well-equipped to deal with current circumstances. Happy to be listening to the third of Dylan's astonishing recent releases and happier still to learn that this presages a full new album.
Thursday, May 7, 2020
Meeting A Need
14 Ramadhan, 1441
Childish, I know, but I still feel a sense of accomplishment when breaking the fast, even on days like this when I can't claim to be really stretched in any way. I think this is built into the experience at a very deep level. I'm not talking about anything dramatic. I'm not talking about any form of high accomplishment - no, this is much, much quieter than that. Rather a whispered feeling that something that needed to be done has been achieved and things have turned out how they needed to.
Childish, I know, but I still feel a sense of accomplishment when breaking the fast, even on days like this when I can't claim to be really stretched in any way. I think this is built into the experience at a very deep level. I'm not talking about anything dramatic. I'm not talking about any form of high accomplishment - no, this is much, much quieter than that. Rather a whispered feeling that something that needed to be done has been achieved and things have turned out how they needed to.
Wednesday, May 6, 2020
A Sense Of Balance
13 Ramadhan, 1441
I've been thinking about balance today, and the various ways in which this month of fasting acts as necessary balance to our world of plenty - at least for those of us who are fortunate enough to be the recipients of that plenty. I suppose there are other ways of alerting us to the need for such a balance, but fasting is a remarkably robust and efficacious method.
The need for balance has further been on my mind in connection with my current reading of the second volume of Moody's impressive biography of Ezra Pound - The Epic Years 1921 - 1939. It's difficult to think of many other writers whose lives went so spectacularly out of balance as Pound's and Moody helps us understand why this was so without overly indulging in special pleading. Indeed, I'd say that around 1933, without the benefit of historical hindsight, it's possible to see why Pound was drawn to a manner of thinking he assumed to be Italian Fascism. But as the decade moves on the feeling that Pound is losing contact with common sense reality just gets stronger and stronger - and all the more so because he has friends like Basil Bunting and William Carlos Williams who are spelling it out to him.
There's one very powerful segment in which Moody cites some deeply unpleasant and disturbing anti-Semitic nonsense from Pound and follows this with some short paragraphs from Bunting strenuously objecting to the nonsense. The stuff from Bunting brings much-needed fresh air into the text - a reminder of sanity and decency. The mystery is how a man as intelligent and, in his way, generous as Pound could be so wrong-headed.
But then I suppose there's no real mystery with regard to our folly. It strikes at the intelligent and generous as much as it does the narrowly limited of mind. It's when we assume we are free from folly that we are likely to lose balance.
I've been thinking about balance today, and the various ways in which this month of fasting acts as necessary balance to our world of plenty - at least for those of us who are fortunate enough to be the recipients of that plenty. I suppose there are other ways of alerting us to the need for such a balance, but fasting is a remarkably robust and efficacious method.
The need for balance has further been on my mind in connection with my current reading of the second volume of Moody's impressive biography of Ezra Pound - The Epic Years 1921 - 1939. It's difficult to think of many other writers whose lives went so spectacularly out of balance as Pound's and Moody helps us understand why this was so without overly indulging in special pleading. Indeed, I'd say that around 1933, without the benefit of historical hindsight, it's possible to see why Pound was drawn to a manner of thinking he assumed to be Italian Fascism. But as the decade moves on the feeling that Pound is losing contact with common sense reality just gets stronger and stronger - and all the more so because he has friends like Basil Bunting and William Carlos Williams who are spelling it out to him.
There's one very powerful segment in which Moody cites some deeply unpleasant and disturbing anti-Semitic nonsense from Pound and follows this with some short paragraphs from Bunting strenuously objecting to the nonsense. The stuff from Bunting brings much-needed fresh air into the text - a reminder of sanity and decency. The mystery is how a man as intelligent and, in his way, generous as Pound could be so wrong-headed.
But then I suppose there's no real mystery with regard to our folly. It strikes at the intelligent and generous as much as it does the narrowly limited of mind. It's when we assume we are free from folly that we are likely to lose balance.
Tuesday, May 5, 2020
Engrossed
12 Ramadhan, 1441
On the first day of an unexpected break from work I found myself indulging, for part of the day, in what is known as binge-watching something on the goggle box. I was startled to find I had it in me to do so since my concentration span for films and the like is generally limited, to say the least. I suppose the programme in question might be fairly described as the kind that is likely to hold my attention, it being a sort of 'murder', but not of the fictional variety. This was real life crime, or rather, there might have been a crime and there might not.
The series in question, entitled The Staircase, deals with the prosecution for murder of a guy in American who might well have beaten his wife to death on the staircase of their well-appointed house; but it might also have been the case that she fell to her very bloody death down the stairs. After some 13 or so episodes spanning some 15 years you don't feel any closer to a clear-cut answer as to guilt or innocence - or, at least, I didn't. I suppose that's what kept me watching. I don't think I wanted an answer, finding a kind of honesty in the realisation that life so rarely provides them. Answers, that is.
On the first day of an unexpected break from work I found myself indulging, for part of the day, in what is known as binge-watching something on the goggle box. I was startled to find I had it in me to do so since my concentration span for films and the like is generally limited, to say the least. I suppose the programme in question might be fairly described as the kind that is likely to hold my attention, it being a sort of 'murder', but not of the fictional variety. This was real life crime, or rather, there might have been a crime and there might not.
The series in question, entitled The Staircase, deals with the prosecution for murder of a guy in American who might well have beaten his wife to death on the staircase of their well-appointed house; but it might also have been the case that she fell to her very bloody death down the stairs. After some 13 or so episodes spanning some 15 years you don't feel any closer to a clear-cut answer as to guilt or innocence - or, at least, I didn't. I suppose that's what kept me watching. I don't think I wanted an answer, finding a kind of honesty in the realisation that life so rarely provides them. Answers, that is.
Monday, May 4, 2020
Forgetfulness.
11 Ramadhan, 1441
I forgot to date yesterday's post, according to the Islamic calendar. I don't think it's ever slipped my mind before to provide the date of a post in the holy month of Ramadhan when it's usually the case that all my efforts are centred on attempting to conduct myself in a fitting manner and rising to the demands upon me. This year the unusual circumstances in which we all find ourselves have had some impact on my experience of the fast and its attendant obligations. But I hope that in some degree they've served to intensify my understanding of the experience.
I'm thinking here of the awareness I've been afforded of just how unequally the burdens of dealing with the pandemic have been distributed and the need to make some small contribution to easing the burdens borne by the less fortunate around the world. Every day it seems I find myself reading of the extreme challenges faced by others - details of the lives of others that just didn't come to consciousness in the early months of the year, yet were always predictable given the vulnerability of so many.
The plight of migrant workers here, there and everywhere is one example. An excellent piece I read today on their current plight in India being just one example of many that shouldn't be easily forgotten.
I forgot to date yesterday's post, according to the Islamic calendar. I don't think it's ever slipped my mind before to provide the date of a post in the holy month of Ramadhan when it's usually the case that all my efforts are centred on attempting to conduct myself in a fitting manner and rising to the demands upon me. This year the unusual circumstances in which we all find ourselves have had some impact on my experience of the fast and its attendant obligations. But I hope that in some degree they've served to intensify my understanding of the experience.
I'm thinking here of the awareness I've been afforded of just how unequally the burdens of dealing with the pandemic have been distributed and the need to make some small contribution to easing the burdens borne by the less fortunate around the world. Every day it seems I find myself reading of the extreme challenges faced by others - details of the lives of others that just didn't come to consciousness in the early months of the year, yet were always predictable given the vulnerability of so many.
The plight of migrant workers here, there and everywhere is one example. An excellent piece I read today on their current plight in India being just one example of many that shouldn't be easily forgotten.
Sunday, May 3, 2020
Puzzled
10 Ramadhan, 1441
One day we'll know a lot more about the virus currently afflicting so much of the world and we'll be able to assess the extent of the damage it accomplished. But today is not that day, nor even close. Which is why it's both puzzling and fascinating to hear and read of a number of people with no medical expertise at all talking with a strange certainty about the outcomes involved. It must be reassuring to know so much about what is at this point of time fundamentally unknown.
For myself, the single most puzzling feature of the outbreak on these shores is the extraordinarily low incidence of mortality, as things stand. Of course, this is, in its way, something to be celebrated and we're praying it remains as low as it is: just 18 deaths, yet more than 18,000 known to have, or have had, the virus. The numbers are surely significant, yet in the maelstrom of information related to the virus remain curiously unexamined.
One day we'll know a lot more about the virus currently afflicting so much of the world and we'll be able to assess the extent of the damage it accomplished. But today is not that day, nor even close. Which is why it's both puzzling and fascinating to hear and read of a number of people with no medical expertise at all talking with a strange certainty about the outcomes involved. It must be reassuring to know so much about what is at this point of time fundamentally unknown.
For myself, the single most puzzling feature of the outbreak on these shores is the extraordinarily low incidence of mortality, as things stand. Of course, this is, in its way, something to be celebrated and we're praying it remains as low as it is: just 18 deaths, yet more than 18,000 known to have, or have had, the virus. The numbers are surely significant, yet in the maelstrom of information related to the virus remain curiously unexamined.
Saturday, May 2, 2020
No Rush
9 Ramadhan, 1441
Finished C. J. Sansom's Sovereign today, the third in his Shardlake series - and most definitely not the final one for me. I enjoyed the sprawling, unhurried quality of the narrative, which matched the unhurried pace at which I took the novel. I started it back in mid-April and there were a few days when I read only 15 pages or so, yet it remained compelling.
Some critic quoted in the blurb on the Penguin edition says it rates with Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd as a murder mystery, but that didn't seem its strength to me at all. The mystery was fine, don't get me wrong, but not exactly startling in its working out. Sansom's power lies in his convincing evocation of a dark Tudor world, especially in his forensic grasp of how real wickedness works - that, and his balancing sense of genuine flawed decency manifested in Shardlake himself.
The sequence of the king humiliating the hapless lawyer outside York, essentially for the cruel enjoyment of doing so, made for excruciating reading of the best kind.
Finished C. J. Sansom's Sovereign today, the third in his Shardlake series - and most definitely not the final one for me. I enjoyed the sprawling, unhurried quality of the narrative, which matched the unhurried pace at which I took the novel. I started it back in mid-April and there were a few days when I read only 15 pages or so, yet it remained compelling.
Some critic quoted in the blurb on the Penguin edition says it rates with Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd as a murder mystery, but that didn't seem its strength to me at all. The mystery was fine, don't get me wrong, but not exactly startling in its working out. Sansom's power lies in his convincing evocation of a dark Tudor world, especially in his forensic grasp of how real wickedness works - that, and his balancing sense of genuine flawed decency manifested in Shardlake himself.
The sequence of the king humiliating the hapless lawyer outside York, essentially for the cruel enjoyment of doing so, made for excruciating reading of the best kind.
Friday, May 1, 2020
Spring And All
8 Ramadhan, 1441
A week into fasting month and May begins. However, Spring is not in the air. It never is here. But somewhere it will be, appearances to the contrary.
This past April really has been the cruellest month, but I'm thinking of poet and doctor William Carlos Williams who, having dealt with the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918 in his typically low-key manner (up to 60 house calls a day at its height, and almost everyone in his immediate family catching the virus) went on to a typically low-key salute and invocation of Spring and All. Like LOA's President, Max Rudin, I'd never quite made the connection between the grim epidemic and WCW's contagious hospital, but now I have I won't readily forget it.
We've been here before. We're always re-treading old ground. At our best we learn to recognise and negotiate the terrain with some small assurance of the inevitable re-birth.
A week into fasting month and May begins. However, Spring is not in the air. It never is here. But somewhere it will be, appearances to the contrary.
This past April really has been the cruellest month, but I'm thinking of poet and doctor William Carlos Williams who, having dealt with the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918 in his typically low-key manner (up to 60 house calls a day at its height, and almost everyone in his immediate family catching the virus) went on to a typically low-key salute and invocation of Spring and All. Like LOA's President, Max Rudin, I'd never quite made the connection between the grim epidemic and WCW's contagious hospital, but now I have I won't readily forget it.
We've been here before. We're always re-treading old ground. At our best we learn to recognise and negotiate the terrain with some small assurance of the inevitable re-birth.
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