The Sun Just is.

Posted on by Opher

Everything is everything cos everything just is.

Give It all You’ve Got.

Posted on by Opher

Give It all You’ve Got.

All the laughs,

                All the love,

                                The agony

                                                And loss.

Will be forgotten,

                Count for nothing,

                                With nobody

                                                Counting the cost.

In the darkness of forever

It won’t matter

That we went for it

                Hell for leather.

All we have is

                A brief moment in time

In which

                We love and shine.

Though it won’t matter a jot.

We’ll still give it all we’ve got!

Opher – 25.6.2022

I often feel that life is a gesture, nothing more.

It is testimony to man’s essential nature that, despite knowing that it is all meaningless and destined to end, we still strive to create.

Pointlessness does not matter.

In the moment we attempt to understand, to express and to raise our puny flags as if staking out eternity.

In this moment there is no death, no aging; no such thing as futility. In this moment all things are possible.

In this moment we can experience everything, fill ourselves with bliss, understanding and love; we can live. Only in this moment.

That is what makes life worthwhile.

Poetry – Jimi

Posted on by Opher

Jimi

A sorcerer

Changing a guitar into a bomb,

A machine gun,

A helicopter gunship,

A roaring machine of death

Or a vehicle of love.

Harnessing feedback

Through a tremolo arm,

With an elbow,

The back of a hand,

Teeth and soul.

Creating sounds

That had never been heard;

A tsunami of emotion

And wonder.

A magician

Towering over

The vibe

Of our alternative

Vision.

Opher – 16.8.2019

I was fortunate enough to catch a look at the film of the Woodstock festival recently. It took me back to the ideals of my youth. We were so naive – but brave, so optimistic and full of hope, so earnest and determined.

This is the new world we built.

We fought for freedoms, nature, equality and an end to racism, sexism and elitism with big dollops of love and fun.

It’s a battle that is still going on.

I watched Jimi play, all those years ago, at Woodstock – not long before his death. He brought reality and Vietnam into the fight. War is the result of all that greed and inequality. He conjured up great emotion.

We had the alternative vision and Jimi was our magician.

He worked his magic in our ears and minds and helped open our eyes to what was wrong in society.

Poetry – Nothing Makes Sense

Posted on by Opher

Nothing Makes Sense

A trillion stars glistening like white salt crystals on black velvet;

The Milky Way a band of circling smoke;

A mind to witness the majestic impossibility;

A mind to ponder all possibility;

A sea of questions to founder in;

Answers like driftwood to cling to;

Facts that are a mirage in a desert of emptiness;

Delight in the wonder and the awe.

Sitting on a warm rock with feet dangling in space,

Staring out to sea as the very last hues of the day’s sun fade on the horizon,

What does it matter?

Suspended here between the breath-taking imponderables of macrocosm and microcosm,

Both of whose mysteries lie beyond our comprehension,

Incompatible in their weirdness,

We bask in the glory of our reality

And breathe its beauty.

Yet still we dare to fathom the reality of quarks, quasars and black holes –

As if any of it mattered.

We dare to stretch back through time to the beginning –

Enshrouded in mystery, like Merlin in his mist, we seek to understand.

With senses limited, experience restricted and minds constrained,

Nothing marries, nothing cleaves and nothing makes sense.

All that’s left is to enjoy the moment of being

And cherish our existence

And cling to the warmth of the rock for as long as we are able.

Opher – 9.8.2017

Sometimes we are overwhelmed by the wonder and majesty of nature, the incredible phenomenon of consciousness and the infinity of the universe.

How did it all arise?

How did we come to be here?

How does this universe work?

The more we come to understand of neuronal nets and brain images, of quantum physics and the birth of galaxies, the more amazing it becomes.

It is fascinating to delve, enquire and discover but ultimately it doesn’t matter. All that really matters is that we are here and that on a warm night with the sky of stars as a backdrop, a companion to share it with and a glass of wine, life is pretty good.

Poetry – Life

Posted on by Opher

Life

Life is a mystery –

An interim of consciousness

In a boundless ocean of oblivion;

A string of moments

That are opportunities;

A momentary awakening

Into an infinity of wonder;

A window into a universe of awe.

Life is a brief ripple

In the river of time;

A chance meeting

With other minds;

A discovery of self,

A sharing of beauty beyond measure;

A moment’s love

Before the cloistered doors close.

Life is measured in seconds.

All we have to do

Is to fill each one.

Opher 12.1.2016

Life

The universe – perhaps a multitude of universes – exist. If there was no consciousness to perceive it then it would still exist?

Yet there is. There is consciousness – and it exists in many forms. It came into creation and has evolved on this planet. It is called life.

We are alive.

We open our eyes into a universe of light, heat and solidity.

But for a few physical laws and chance occurrences this might not have been the case. This universe could easily have merely consisted of dissipating hydrogen, absolute cold and not a hint of substance. Instead it formed stars, light, heat and complex molecules. It created consciousness.

We can see, feel, breathe and experience.

That is the wonder.

In the big scheme of things a lifetime is the flash of a strobe. We are here and gone.

Yet in a lifetime there are many days and much to do, to feel and experience. It is how we fill our time that is the measure of our worth.

It can be a long, drawn-out affair of trivia, routine and dreariness, or a delight of friendship, love, exploration and creativity.

I believe that consciousness is so rare in this universe that we almost have a duty to give it all we’ve got.

Poetry – The Price of Everything

Posted on by Opher

The Price of Everything

Everything has a price –

From a pen to a kidney;

From a baby to a new knee.

If you have the money

You can buy anything –

From a woman to a gold ring;

From a tree to a bird’s wing.

You can buy the land,

The water – even blood.

From a book to a life;

A trinket to a wife.

You can purchase an elephant

Or an elegant diamond stud.

Everything has a price –

From a new heart to a glove;

From a pin to simulation of love.

With enough cash

You can buy everything.

You can set out a new city

Lay it out and plane it.

The one thing you can’t afford

Is a new planet.

Opher – 23.1.2021

We are bought and sold.

Nothing is sacred.

There is nothing that cannot be bought.

The rarer something is the greater its price.

The last elephant tusk will be bought and sold.

Your daughters have a price.

Your life is cheap.

We consume and consume. There is no limit, no rationale, no control.

We consume our souls, our world and every creature and living organism around us.

We are on a sealed unit hurtling through space.

There is no life-raft.

We are buying and selling the very thing we depend on to stay afloat.

We cannot buy another.

Once it’s gone it’s gone.

Poetry -After a fashion.

Posted on by Opher

After a fashion.

I believe

Life is a credibility statement

In which

            Attitudes

                        Ideas

                                    And philosophies

Are the gaudy ornaments

On a plastic Christmas tree.

Opher 23.6.95

Christmas trees and dressing up have their place. They are peripheral to the main event.

The main events are:

The incredible nature of the universe

Nature

Human beings

Consciousness

Creativity

Purpose

Education

Freedom

Friendship

Pollution

Conservation

Reading

Writing

Sex

Fun

Travel

Tolerance

Peace

Preventing cruelty

And a hundred more!! Fashion is trivia.

Poetry – A New Metre

Posted on by Opher

A New Metre

 

I am learning a new metre

To go with the rhyme;

One that can capture the true essence.

 

I am mastering a cadence

To go with the scan;

One that captures the full sense.

 

Yet there isn’t a metre,

Rhyme, cadence or scan

That fully captures something so immense.

 

Opher – 18.6.2020

Peggy Seeger – I’M GONNA BE AN ENGINEER – Feminist lyrics analysis.

Posted on by Opher

Opher's World tributes cover

Peggy Seeger was articulating the plight of women in our society. They were definitely second-class citizens. The song highlights how they were treated at all times. Verse by verse it goes through all the stages in which women were being subjugated, pushed aside, belittled and prevented from participating as equals.

This song was written back in the sixties. How far have we come?

I’M GONNA BE AN ENGINEER

When I was a little girl I wished I was a boy
I tagged along behind the gang and wore my corduroys.
Everybody said I only did it to annoy
But I was gonna be an engineer

Girls were not expected to be lively, boisterous and physical. If they were they were annoying Tom-boys.

Mamma said, “Why can’t you be a lady?
Your duty is to make me the mother of a pearl
Wait until you’re older, dear
And maybe you’ll be glad that you’re a girl.

Dainty as a Dresden statue, gentle as a Jersey cow,
Smooth as silk, gives cream and milk
Learn to coo, learn to moo
That’s what you do to be a lady, now.

They were expected to be decorative, dainty and lady-like. They had to know their place. They were there to get married and have babies. Strangely, just as with FGM it was the women who were the main perpetrators of this impotent image.

When I went to school I learned to write and how to read
History, geography and home economy
And typing is a skill that every girl is sure to need
To while away the extra time until the time to breed
And then they had the nerve to ask, what would I like to be?
I says, “I’m gonna be an engineer!”

Women didn’t need an education, weren’t expected to go for high-level careers, and were directed into the lowly jobs – catering, typing, assistants, shop attendants, receptionists – places where they could look pretty or do mundane, supporting roles.

“No, you only need to learn to be a lady
The duty isn’t yours, for to try to run the world
An engineer could never have a baby
Remember, dear, that you’re a girl”

If women showed great intellectual promise they were usually patronised and put down. It was considered unfeminine. They should shut up and know their places. Smart women were trouble.

She’s smart — for a woman.
I wonder how she got that way?
You get no choice, you get no voice
Just stay mum, pretend you’re dumb.
That’s how you come to be a lady, today.

Well, I started as a typist but I studied on the sly
Working out the day and night so I could qualify
And every time the boss came in, he pinched me on the thigh
Said, “I’ve never had an engineer!”
“You owe it to the job to be a lady
The duty of the staff is to give the boss a whirl
The wages that you get are crummy, maybe
But it’s all you get, ’cause you’re a girl”

Women had to work twice as hard, sometimes doing two jobs, in order to get on. They were treated as sexual objects. The bosses were often sexist pigs. They were expected not to protest.

Then Jimmy came along and we set up a conjugation
We were busy every night with loving recreation
I spent my days at work so he could get an education
And now he’s an engineer!

The prospective husbands were just as bad. They had been brought up in sexists environments where their Dad went to work and earned the money while Mum did all the menial housework. They expected their wives to know their place.

He said: “I know you’ll always be a lady
The duty of my darling is to love me all her life
Could an engineer look after or obey me?
Remember, dear, that you’re my wife!”

Back in those days men felt threatened by intelligent women and the idea of their spouse earning as much as them or having status left they more than uncomfortable.

As soon a Jimmy got a job, I studied hard again
Then busy at me turret-lathe a year or two, and then
The morning that the twins were born, Jimmy says to them
“Your mother was an engineer!”
“You owe it to the kids to be a lady
Dainty as a dish-rag, faithful as a chow
Stay at home, you got to mind the baby
Remember you’re a mother now!”

With parenthood the opportunities dried up with the washing up. There were babies to look after, chores to do. There was no time for a career.

Every time I turn around there’s something else to do
Cook a meal or mend a sock or sweep a floor or two
Listening to Jimmy Young – it makes me want to spew
I was gonna be an engineer.

The intellectual, quality time with adults, faded away. Your mind decayed.

I only wish that I could be a lady
I’d do the lovely things that a lady’s s’posed to do
I wouldn’t even mind if only they would pay me
Then I could be a person too.

What price for a woman?
You can buy her for a ring of gold,
To love and obey, without any pay,
You get a cook and a nurse for better or worse
You don’t need a purse when a lady is sold.

The life of a wife was one of slavery and penury. There was no equality to be found.

Oh, but now the times are harder and me Jimmy’s got the sack;
I went down to Vicker’s, they were glad o have me back.
But I’m a third-class citizen, my wages tell me that
But I’m a first-class engineer!

The boss he says “We pay you as a lady,
You only got the job because I can’t afford a man,
With you I keep the profits high as may be,
You’re just a cheaper pair of hands.”

Even if women managed to get into the work-place they were still second-class. Their pay reflected that.

You got one fault, you’re a woman;
You’re not worth the equal pay.
A bitch or a tart, you’re nothing but heart,
Shallow and vain, you’ve got no brain,

Women were portrayed as unreliable, emotional and hysterical. They gossiped, preened and were light-weight. Why would you employ one? They’d only cause trouble.

Well, I listened to my mother and I joined a typing pool
Listened to my lover and I put him through his school
If I listen to the boss, I’m just a bloody fool
And an underpaid engineer
I been a sucker ever since I was a baby
As a daughter, as a mother, as a lover, as a dear
But I’ll fight them as a woman, not a lady
I’ll fight them as an engineer!

Women have had to stand up and fight for their rights! That is a fight that is still not won. It won’t be until they had secured equal pay and have adequate child-care facilities and having children is not an impediment to their careers. They won’t be equal until they are no longer used as enticing sex objects to sell goods, their brains are fully recognised, they are equally represented in business and politics and they have the respect they deserve.

Looks like there’s a long way to go ladies!! A lot worth fighting for!!

Bob Dylan – Chimes of Freedom – meaningful lyrics.

Posted on by Opher

BOB DYLAN at Mayfair Hotel London 3 May 1966
This song particularly resonated to me. It was written from the viewpoint of looking out over a town during an amazingly powerful storm as the church bells rang and intermingled with the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning. It was so majestic that it looked as if the heavens were putting on a show for all the people who witnessed it.
All the rich and wealthy were probably indoors watching telly oblivious to the incredible spectacle outside.
But the less fortunate were outside watching. Dylan imagined this amazing spectacle being put on for the benefit of all the outcasts and down ‘n’ outs. Most of whom were blameless, had their reasons or were wrongly accused. They were being blessed by a mystical display.

The poetry was incredible. The sentiments hit home. The empathy was there. Dylan and I were part of those outcasts.

“Chimes Of Freedom”

Far between sundown’s finish an’ midnight’s broken toll
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing
As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds
Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing
Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight
Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight
An’ for each an’ ev’ry underdog soldier in the night
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

In the city’s melted furnace, unexpectedly we watched
With faces hidden as the walls were tightening
As the echo of the wedding bells before the blowin’ rain
Dissolved into the bells of the lightning
Tolling for the rebel, tolling for the rake
Tolling for the luckless, the abandoned an’ forsaked
Tolling for the outcast, burnin’ constantly at stake
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail
The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder
That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder
Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind
Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind
An’ the poet an the painter far behind his rightful time
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

In the wild cathedral evening the rain unraveled tales
For the disrobed faceless forms of no position
Tolling for the tongues with no place to bring their thoughts
All down in taken-for granted situations
Tolling for the deaf an’ blind, tolling for the mute
For the mistreated, mateless mother, the mistitled prostitute
For the misdemeanor outlaw, chased an’ cheated by pursuit
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

Even though a clouds’s white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
An’ the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale
An’ for each unharmfull, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

Starry-eyed an’ laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time an’ we watched with one last look
Spellbound an’ swallowed ’til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an’ worse
An’ for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.