Poetry – Infinity – A 1971 poem about reality, mysticism and the universe.

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Infinity

Back in 1973, much to the chagrin of my friends, who thought I was obsessed, I was intrigued with the notion of infinity.

Between any two points there are an infinity number of points. A whole universe can exist between any two points. The distance from the lens of my eye to the end of the sky is infinite. It has no end. But then the distance from the lens of my eye to the centre of my brain is also infinite. There is an infinity within as well as without.

It made me question the whole nature of reality. When dealing with infinity I began to question the whole concept of the finite world in which we live. It no longer seemed real. It seemed tome that there was a mystical element that was like another dimension; that existed throughout and was a more substantial reality than that of the material world.

I suppose now I would have been reading up on string theory and quantum physics. Back then I just wrote poetry about it and bored the pants off my friends.

I remember my tutor,Chris Bryce, reading my poem and thinking I was talking about myself. He said I’d be OK when I’d grown out of my ego.

Infinity

 

I am the distance between any two points.

I am the greatest size that you can think.

I am the point that has no size.

I am the paradox that dissolves beyond logic.

In me is contained all things.

I am the truth that defies all laws.

I am the glimpse that can never be seen.

I am the centre of all things.

I am the fear from which men turn.

Without me there is no meaning.

Opher 1971

Poetry – Whatever happens – a 1973 poem from my book Reality Dreams.

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Whatever happens

I wrote this poem way back in 1973. It was part of my ground-breaking first book that was meant to be a multi-dimensional wonder. It included cartoons, drawings, poems and three surreal sections.

I loved it.

Everybody else found it incoherent and impossible to read.

I have read nothing quite like it – That is probably because nothing like that ever gets published. Publishers have this prejudice against unreadable books that are utterly surreal and uncommercial.

Never mind.

They’ll catch up one day.

I think that book has the distinction of me being the only person who actually read it from cover to cover!

 

Whatever happens

 

Whatever happens

I’ll have been

If not

And back.

With more tales of this and that

To while away

A dreary day

And whisper in the dark.

 

Whatever happens

I’ll see it only once

And never as it was before.

 

Whatever happens

I don’t care

I’ve not been here before.

 

Who cares about tomorrow

Someplace else

To get lost in and dream awhile

And if I think I’m full

I’ll rest a lifetime to unwind.

 

Opher 1973

Poetry – When I take all the time in the world.

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When I take all the time in the world.

This is a poem written by my best friend Pete Smith. He wrote it in 1973 straight out on to a scrap of paper in front of me – ready formed. Not a word has been changed or revised. It was not struggled over and there was not the slightest hesitation.

I read it with amazement.

Pete told me that it had been banging around in his head for some time.

I think it is wonderfully thought provoking and used it as the preface to my first book that I completed that year – 1973.

When I take all the time in the world.

When I take all the time in the world

Me, you and it are all one,

time agoes roundabout whirls

Along distances never run.

 

If I think at the speed of light in my brain

And if my thoughts carry any weight

They’ll have infinite mass and now and again

I’ll be able to speak with some gravity

Which won’t be dependent on brevity

‘Cos infinite’s infinite infinity

And what about now? When?

Now – then.

 

The mono-dimension

Mu-meson dilation

Of infinite extension

Red-shift relation

That memory retention

Is fade out dependention

One way ticket down entropy’s gangway.

 

When I take all the time in the world

And think it all in a second

Has been and will be

Old man and baby

In coracle hairy

Of knowledge and mystery

The facts and fantasy

Of matter and energy

And Einstein’s light

All might

Be the same

But for name

In the rhyme

Of old tyme

Dancing

When I take all the time in the world.

Pete Smith 1973

 

I love this poem and I miss my mate Pete who is the other side of the world!

Poetry – Poet Tree – My Cherry Tree.

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My Cherry Tree

Our garden was shaded by a huge cherry tree. It was there when we bought the house and has lived for decades. When we were buying the house there was a hammock between that cherry tree and an old apple tree. It looked idyllic. I could just imagine lying in it on warm summer days, reading and sipping a beer. I never did. The garden was mainly a place I had to mow trim and work in. I never found the time to laze. The kids loved that hammock though; they used it as a swing.

But I loved that tree. Every spring it would burst into life with fresh green leaves that were like a joyous rebirth. In early summer it was festooned with blossom so that it was a huge great pink candy-floss. In autumn it was covered in cherries. The birds feasted on them and we only managed to get a few. The grass underneath was covered in pips. In winter its skeleton made intricate patterns against the sky.

The birds roosted high in its branches and felt safe.

Then it became diseased and I had to have it sawn down. There is a big hole in the garden where it used to be. There is a stump in the ground.

I have the body of that tree. It was sawn into big chunks that I chopped and sawed into blocks. There is a big woodpile all along the wall.

This winter I am burning those logs. Every time I put one on the fire I think of my tree. It is still giving. The light and heat that it stored through those decades are being given back out. The wood that it made from water, carbon dioxide and sunlight, is now warming my house and giving me pleasure.

There is always going to be a hole where it stood. It’s a hole filled with memories.

 

The Cherry Tree

 

The sun used to shine on my green cherry tree

As year upon year it stored energy

Like a battery –

Water to sugar

Carbon to cherry.

Sunlight captured

For bird, bee and me.

 

It was busy building perches

And changing sugar to wood,

Sugar to nectar

And sugar to fruit

Doing all it could.

 

After many a decade

It succumbed to disease

And was sawn to the ground

And brought to its knees.

 

Now its remains are stacked by the wall

Chopped into logs and blocks

That will all end on my burner

As I work through the stocks.

All that stored up energy

Collected through decades

Released into light

Heat and temperature grades.

 

I’ve lost my cherry tree

Its blossom, fruit, leaf and beauty.

But that glorious

Individual

Is still giving something useful back to me.

I’m grateful

For its great bounty.

I shall miss it in all those seasons

There’s a hole where it used to be

Filled with love

In my memory.

 

Opher 19.10.2015

The meaning of life. Cheryl. Bob Dylan. Consumerism. Fundamental Religion. Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie.

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Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie

Thanks to Cheryl for stimulating this train of thought when she asked about the pointlessness and emptiness of our consumer driven society. I think that its moronic emptiness is driving people into fundamental religion which is even worse.

I am reminded of that incredible poem Bob Dylan did where he talked about god and Woody Guthrie and awe and wonder and ended saying they can all be found at Grand Canyon at sunset. That’s how I feel. I don’t need religion, god or afterlife to do good things, reward or punish, because my life is full and fulfilled, I can find my wonder and awe in communion with others, friendship, love, creativity, and the wonders and majesty of the world around me. If there is a god I am sure that it is not confined to any words written in any ancient (or modern) text. That force would be as much in Bob Dylan’s lyrics as in any Koran or Bible. And I’m sure that any god would not care a jot what I believed in, what rituals I followed, so much as the actions that I’ve done. In my mind any god is more akin to the atomic energy that pervades the universe and everything in it. I do not believe in any moral aspect or interest in human lives. It is an elemental force that we are all part of. We don’t have to believe in it or anything. We have a life and we live it as positively as we can. We try to fill it with love, creativity and assist others and in that way we find our own happiness and fulfilment.

This poem by Bob was so full of insight and wonder. For someone so young it was incredible to see the scope and depth of its content. Woody would have been proud to hear it.

It certainly moved me, inspired me and made me think. In it was a rejection of consumerism, capitalism and the empty, meaningless poverty of lives. Hedonism and pointless, mindless fun were lambasted as a way of life.

No you can’t find meaning and fulfilment by buying, owning, possessing; by pointless fun, or sex, or wealth. There is a deeper experience that flows from love, friendship, creativity and the wonder and awe of appreciating the beauty and majesty of life and the universe we life in. I’d call that spirituality but I wouldn’t put god, religion or any afterlife in that equation.

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie – Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you’re too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin’ behind an’ losin’ yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life’s busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin’ up
If the wine don’t come to the top of yer cup
If the wind’s got you sideways with with one hand holdin’ on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood’s easy findin’ but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin’ and the street gets too long
And you start walkin’ backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow’s mornin’ seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin’
And yer rope is a-slidin’ ’cause yer hands are a-drippin’
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe’s a-pourin’
And the lightnin’s a-flashing and the thunder’s a-crashin’
And the windows are rattlin’ and breakin’ and the roof tops a-shakin’
And yer whole world’s a-slammin’ and bangin’
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
“I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn’t they tell me the day I was born”
And you start gettin’ chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you’re lookin’ for somethin’ you ain’t quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world’s a-watchin’ with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she’s long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they’re fryin’
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell’s bangin’ loudly but you can’t hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes’ve turned filthy from the sight-blindin’ dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an’ fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin’ three queens
And it’s makin you mad, it’s makin’ you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin’ around a pinball machine
And there’s something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin’
But it’s trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin’ in bed
And no matter how you try you just can’t say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion’s mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you’d never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin’
On this road I’m walkin’, on this trail I’m turnin’
On this curve I’m hanging
On this pathway I’m strolling, in the space I’m taking
In this air I’m inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I’m playing, on this banjo I’m frailin’
On this mandolin I’m strummin’, in the song I’m singin’
In the tune I’m hummin’, in the words I’m writin’
In the words that I’m thinkin’
In this ocean of hours I’m all the time drinkin’
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they’re around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
“Cause sometimes you hear’em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin’
And you can’t remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it’s something special you’re needin’
And you know that there’s no drug that’ll do for the healin’
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin’ train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That’s been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don’t bar no race
That won’t laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin’ long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it’s you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you’re sitting
That the world ain’t got you beat
That it ain’t got you licked
It can’t get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope’s just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner ’round a wide-angled curve

But that’s what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
“Cause you look an’ you start getting the chills

“Cause you can’t find it on a dollar bill
And it ain’t on Macy’s window sill
And it ain’t on no rich kid’s road map
And it ain’t in no fat kid’s fraternity house
And it ain’t made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain’t on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it’s funny
No you can’t find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain’t in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you’re bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain’t a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain’t in the rumors people’re tellin’ you
And it ain’t in the pimple-lotion people are sellin’ you
And it ain’t in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star’s blouse
And you can’t find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can’t tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain’t in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain’t in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain’t in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin’ and tappin’ in Christmas wrappin’
Sayin’ ain’t I pretty and ain’t I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can’t even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you’ll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain’t in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who’d turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can’t find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain’t in the ones that ain’t got any talent but think they do
And think they’re foolin’ you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while ’cause they know it’s in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin’, “Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain’t there no one here that knows where I’m at
Ain’t there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN’T REAL”

No but that ain’t yer game, it ain’t even yer race
You can’t hear yer name, you can’t see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin’
Where do you look for this lamp that’s a-burnin’
Where do you look for this oil well gushin’
Where do you look for this candle that’s glowin’
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You’ll find God in the church of your choice
You’ll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it’s only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You’ll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/last-thoughts-woody-guthrie#ixzz3p07kR1g8

Midnight Blue Dragonfly

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If you have not seen Frederik’s beautiful visual poetry you ought to visit his blog and have a look. They are not only visual wonders but have beauty in both words and form. He is very clever and highly original. I have seen nothing like them. Thanks Frederik!

Poetry – Adrian Mitchell – To whom it may concern (tell me lies about Vietnam)

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A friend sent me this link to this incredibly powerful poem by Adrian Mitchell that he read at the Royal Albert Hall in 1965 at the International poetry convention. It was good to see Allen Ginsberg in the audience.

Shining Sun

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Frederik is just wonderful. He has such brilliant ideas. This is fabulous. Check out his visual poems on his blog. You’ll be impressed.

Poetry – I Have Rights – a homage to the Suffragettes.

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I Have Rights

I wrote this after going to see the film ‘The Suffragettes’.

I was surprised to find that women were not given the vote in Switzerland until 1974. I was not surprised to see that equality is only now being considered in Saudi Arabia in 2015.

In Britain we have had a long history of social reform. Our children no longer are forced to work in factories, down mines or on the land. They are all afforded education. All our population over the age of eighteen can vote. We have laws on racial equality. Slavery was abolished. We have regulations concerning employment rights and health and safety legislation.

Nothing was ever conceded without a struggle. Our rights and freedoms have been well paid for in blood, torture and death. The establishment, who control the media, were always quick to put forward the case against reform and whip up hysteria and doubt. They have never been slow to claim that to bring in reform will undo us all. They have always been proved wrong.

Our rights, freedoms and social reforms are precious because they were wrested from the powerful through the spilling of much blood by determined, brave and resolute people.

We should be watchful; they are easily eroded in the name of security and the needs of the economy. In practice this usually means the interests of the powerful, wealthy members of the establishment.
I Have Rights

 

I have rights

Set in blood

We shall win

 

I am equal

Set in blood

We shall win

 

I am free

Set in blood

I shall win

 

We have fought

Set in blood

We shall win

 

What we have

Has been paid for

In full.

 

What we have

Can be taken back

Easily.

 

Our rights, our freedoms and our equality

Are worthy of the blood

Lest we forget.

 

Opher 13.10.2015

Poetry – Lemur and Gibbon – A poem about the callousness and stupidity of environmental destruction.

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Lemur and Gibbon

I cannot get it out of my head that the politicians and business men (invariably men) who are running the show do not care – that the lumberjacks with their death saws have no regard for the agonies they are inflicting – that the fishermen hacking off the fins of living sharks have grown callous and indifferent – that the developers selling off the land for gain see wild-life as a pain – that the politicians who are opening up the wilderness for exploitation see only votes – that the hunters shooting the wild-life for sale see only meat – that the poachers seeking ivory see only profit – that the people in the cities see no need for nature – that no one is thinking of the suffering, the future or the life wasted.


Lemur and Gibbon

Lemur and gibbon

Our cousins in the trees

Shot and skewered

Brought down to their knees

As forests tumble

Soil is washed to the seas.

 

Chimp and gorilla

Orangutan among the leaves

Hacked and slaughtered

As lumberjacks

Roll up their sleeves.

Property developers

Sell to deceive.

 

Nothing is sacred

On the roller coaster ride –

Everything has a price,

No one above a bribe,

And tears will not move

Those who decide.

 

Lemur and gibbon

Gorilla and chimp

Rhino and elephant

Tiger and shrimp.

Nothing is too big.

Nothing is too small.

The big wheels

Of progress

Are gobbling

Them all.

 

Opher 8.9.2015