In Deep Agony
*
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows on final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
We are blessed, we skitter from place to place, truth faces derision and they all know better than we do, that vast body of clones, the mechanical monsters who had replaced the general populace. They were weather beaten, gnarled, saddened by what they saw, saddened in a way he could never understand, gripped by a melancholy and sense of futility that on the face of it appeared way beyond their mental capacity. He was constantly surprised by the complexity of ordinary people, the depth of their insights, the way they had their lives together so much more than he did, scattered to the four winds.
The high tide has been reached. The shadows are there, half formed. Unmenacing, at least for now, he was being comforted when all he had ever wanted was to reach into the soul of the common man, to document his struggles, to be in touch with a plainer, more sincere proletariat than he could ever be. He was not clear on this. His desires had been confused not just by lust, but by a chronic romanticisation of the common man. They were there, the labourers, with their fine muscles and their cheerful dispositions, their frank open faces that beamed at him as they beamed at life. Make way, wide load.
The thoughts tumbled out, but he was grasping for some higher cause. He wanted to create, out of all this murky inconsistency, works of art, profound gems to place on the tide. He didn't know where these impulses came from. They weren't sexual, but they involved an almost physical embrace, of the planet, of the surface, of the toiling faces and the distant scribes. In short, of everything. They were stranded here, now, in the 21st century, when so much had changed and so many opportunities presented themselves. But out there, the easily manipulated masses continued as if for eternity, thick, foolish, prejudiced, comfortable. They could be hard to love.
And of course, they never cared for the likes of him. His vast, amorous, unfocussed affection was not returned, or even understood. Kind words sir, as the shop fronts flew up on the High streets of everywhere, but he did not believe them. Batty women sat in the cafes, jotting earnestly into their notebooks, recording everything, people watching as they sipped their slim lattes and their soy cappaccinos, and pretended earnestly that their lives mattered, away from the warmth of family and children and destiny, away from everything biology had intended.
These lonely urban spaces, they were everywhere now. The traffic, thick, choking, frustrating, curled through all their lives. Anger grew. Frustration grew. Despair grew. The televisions flickered ever more remotely in the corners of their lives, and he knew the meaning of fabric hunters, collecting all the colourful pieces of cloth to make into quilts, meaningless hobbies, hidden lives, sad awakenings, too late to make any difference now. He was blessed with a peculiarity of vision, but most days it seemed more like a curse. He would burrow deeper, only to reveal the emptiness of everything.
This state of being, this new, more intelligent despair, came from his city life, the multi-layered parasites that made up modern society, that thing he had struggled so gainfully to comprehend. It was obscure, he admitted that. But nothing was more obscure than the self-referencing language of post-modernism, the deconstruction of narrative, the destruction of decency; and common sense. They were all too clever for their own good, and as a result the toiling masses he had so romaticised suffered fully, even without understanding how deeply they had been ripped off, how utterly contemptuous were their rulers towards them. The daily arrogance continued. It was called governance. The smug faces of their rulers came through on the television screens, the men in the black suits, protesting too much; while no one was told the truth. No one.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/meast/08/19/iraq.main/
BAGHDAD, Iraq (CNN) -- Ten people were killed during several attacks targeting coalition troops and Iraqi police in the past 24 hours, officials said.
Iraqi troops raided the office of Diyala province's Gov. Raad Rashid al-Tamimi Tuesday.
Iraqi troops raided the office of Diyala province's Gov. Raad Rashid al-Tamimi Tuesday.
A suicide car bomber in Anbar province killed seven people late Monday, including five police. The suicide bomber also wounded 11 people, including four police, the Interior Ministry said. The incident occurred in the provincial capital of Ramadi, west of Baghdad.
A U.S. soldier was also killed Tuesday when attackers fired rockets at an operating base in Amara, south of Baghdad, the U.S. military said.
The death is the 17th American casualty this month, bringing the number of U.S. service member deaths in the Iraq war to 4,144.
On Tuesday in eastern Baghdad a gunmen in a car shot at a national police checkpoint, killing one police officer and wounding three others, the Interior Ministry said. Four people were later detained in connection with the incident.
Also on Tuesday, dozens of Iraqi troops raided the offices of the Diyala provincial council, Gov. Raad Rashid al-Tamimi, the deputy governor and the dean of Diyala University, a local official said.
The governor's secretary was killed during a shootout at the offices, a local official told CNN.
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,24214306-663,00.html
BITING attacks by Republican John McCain on Barack Obama have narrowed the US Presidential race to a near statistical tie, polls show.
Ahead of the most intense 2 1/2-month drive to election day in recent memory, Democratic hopeful Senator Obama holds just slim leads in national polls and in several important swing states.
A Los Angeles Times /Bloomberg poll out yesterday gave Senator Obama a lead of 45 to 43 per cent, within the survey's three point margin of error. In June, he led by 12 points.
The new data suggested some voters were still troubled by the first-term senator's lack of experience. His favourable ratings dropped to 48 per cent from 59 per cent in June.
When voters were asked if Senator McCain had the right experience to be president, 80 per cent said yes, while 48 per cent said Senator Obama lacked the necessary experience.
Senator McCain has persistently attacked Senator Obama on economic, energy and foreign policy and even ridiculed his celebrity status, comparing him to Britney Spears.
The deadlock comes amid frenzied speculation about whom Senator Obama will choose as his vice-presidential running mate. He is tipped to pick someone to boost his foreign policy credentials and his appeal to blue-collar workers.
The decision will be made before next week's Democratic nominating convention in Denver, when the pair must be officially anointed.
The White House contender said yesterday he wanted a running mate who had integrity and was unafraid to speak his mind.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/world/our-team-looking-sheepish/2008/08/20/1218911828305.html
AUSTRALIA dispensed with the usual subjects of rugby, sheep, underarm bowling and the Kiwis' risible Olympic medal count yesterday and found a new way to offend New Zealand.
It was a less than flattering description of the NZ Prime Minister, Helen Clark, contained in a briefing for journalists covering Kevin Rudd's visit to Wellington on Monday.
The briefing notes, compiled by the Australian high commission in Wellington, painted Miss Clark as a control freak with archaic foreign policy views.
Miss Clark was "renowned for her managerial skill, the discipline she demands from those around her and her tight control of all things Labour undertakes under her leadership", it says before really warming up.
"She does not trust those outside a small circle in Labour and her chief of staff, Heather Simpson, is known as the second most powerful person in New Zealand (known as H2)."
Miss Clark's views, it says, are "generally left-wing with foreign policy perspectives forged during the Vietnam War".
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows on final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
We are blessed, we skitter from place to place, truth faces derision and they all know better than we do, that vast body of clones, the mechanical monsters who had replaced the general populace. They were weather beaten, gnarled, saddened by what they saw, saddened in a way he could never understand, gripped by a melancholy and sense of futility that on the face of it appeared way beyond their mental capacity. He was constantly surprised by the complexity of ordinary people, the depth of their insights, the way they had their lives together so much more than he did, scattered to the four winds.
The high tide has been reached. The shadows are there, half formed. Unmenacing, at least for now, he was being comforted when all he had ever wanted was to reach into the soul of the common man, to document his struggles, to be in touch with a plainer, more sincere proletariat than he could ever be. He was not clear on this. His desires had been confused not just by lust, but by a chronic romanticisation of the common man. They were there, the labourers, with their fine muscles and their cheerful dispositions, their frank open faces that beamed at him as they beamed at life. Make way, wide load.
The thoughts tumbled out, but he was grasping for some higher cause. He wanted to create, out of all this murky inconsistency, works of art, profound gems to place on the tide. He didn't know where these impulses came from. They weren't sexual, but they involved an almost physical embrace, of the planet, of the surface, of the toiling faces and the distant scribes. In short, of everything. They were stranded here, now, in the 21st century, when so much had changed and so many opportunities presented themselves. But out there, the easily manipulated masses continued as if for eternity, thick, foolish, prejudiced, comfortable. They could be hard to love.
And of course, they never cared for the likes of him. His vast, amorous, unfocussed affection was not returned, or even understood. Kind words sir, as the shop fronts flew up on the High streets of everywhere, but he did not believe them. Batty women sat in the cafes, jotting earnestly into their notebooks, recording everything, people watching as they sipped their slim lattes and their soy cappaccinos, and pretended earnestly that their lives mattered, away from the warmth of family and children and destiny, away from everything biology had intended.
These lonely urban spaces, they were everywhere now. The traffic, thick, choking, frustrating, curled through all their lives. Anger grew. Frustration grew. Despair grew. The televisions flickered ever more remotely in the corners of their lives, and he knew the meaning of fabric hunters, collecting all the colourful pieces of cloth to make into quilts, meaningless hobbies, hidden lives, sad awakenings, too late to make any difference now. He was blessed with a peculiarity of vision, but most days it seemed more like a curse. He would burrow deeper, only to reveal the emptiness of everything.
This state of being, this new, more intelligent despair, came from his city life, the multi-layered parasites that made up modern society, that thing he had struggled so gainfully to comprehend. It was obscure, he admitted that. But nothing was more obscure than the self-referencing language of post-modernism, the deconstruction of narrative, the destruction of decency; and common sense. They were all too clever for their own good, and as a result the toiling masses he had so romaticised suffered fully, even without understanding how deeply they had been ripped off, how utterly contemptuous were their rulers towards them. The daily arrogance continued. It was called governance. The smug faces of their rulers came through on the television screens, the men in the black suits, protesting too much; while no one was told the truth. No one.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/meast/08/19/iraq.main/
BAGHDAD, Iraq (CNN) -- Ten people were killed during several attacks targeting coalition troops and Iraqi police in the past 24 hours, officials said.
Iraqi troops raided the office of Diyala province's Gov. Raad Rashid al-Tamimi Tuesday.
Iraqi troops raided the office of Diyala province's Gov. Raad Rashid al-Tamimi Tuesday.
A suicide car bomber in Anbar province killed seven people late Monday, including five police. The suicide bomber also wounded 11 people, including four police, the Interior Ministry said. The incident occurred in the provincial capital of Ramadi, west of Baghdad.
A U.S. soldier was also killed Tuesday when attackers fired rockets at an operating base in Amara, south of Baghdad, the U.S. military said.
The death is the 17th American casualty this month, bringing the number of U.S. service member deaths in the Iraq war to 4,144.
On Tuesday in eastern Baghdad a gunmen in a car shot at a national police checkpoint, killing one police officer and wounding three others, the Interior Ministry said. Four people were later detained in connection with the incident.
Also on Tuesday, dozens of Iraqi troops raided the offices of the Diyala provincial council, Gov. Raad Rashid al-Tamimi, the deputy governor and the dean of Diyala University, a local official said.
The governor's secretary was killed during a shootout at the offices, a local official told CNN.
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,24214306-663,00.html
BITING attacks by Republican John McCain on Barack Obama have narrowed the US Presidential race to a near statistical tie, polls show.
Ahead of the most intense 2 1/2-month drive to election day in recent memory, Democratic hopeful Senator Obama holds just slim leads in national polls and in several important swing states.
A Los Angeles Times /Bloomberg poll out yesterday gave Senator Obama a lead of 45 to 43 per cent, within the survey's three point margin of error. In June, he led by 12 points.
The new data suggested some voters were still troubled by the first-term senator's lack of experience. His favourable ratings dropped to 48 per cent from 59 per cent in June.
When voters were asked if Senator McCain had the right experience to be president, 80 per cent said yes, while 48 per cent said Senator Obama lacked the necessary experience.
Senator McCain has persistently attacked Senator Obama on economic, energy and foreign policy and even ridiculed his celebrity status, comparing him to Britney Spears.
The deadlock comes amid frenzied speculation about whom Senator Obama will choose as his vice-presidential running mate. He is tipped to pick someone to boost his foreign policy credentials and his appeal to blue-collar workers.
The decision will be made before next week's Democratic nominating convention in Denver, when the pair must be officially anointed.
The White House contender said yesterday he wanted a running mate who had integrity and was unafraid to speak his mind.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/world/our-team-looking-sheepish/2008/08/20/1218911828305.html
AUSTRALIA dispensed with the usual subjects of rugby, sheep, underarm bowling and the Kiwis' risible Olympic medal count yesterday and found a new way to offend New Zealand.
It was a less than flattering description of the NZ Prime Minister, Helen Clark, contained in a briefing for journalists covering Kevin Rudd's visit to Wellington on Monday.
The briefing notes, compiled by the Australian high commission in Wellington, painted Miss Clark as a control freak with archaic foreign policy views.
Miss Clark was "renowned for her managerial skill, the discipline she demands from those around her and her tight control of all things Labour undertakes under her leadership", it says before really warming up.
"She does not trust those outside a small circle in Labour and her chief of staff, Heather Simpson, is known as the second most powerful person in New Zealand (known as H2)."
Miss Clark's views, it says, are "generally left-wing with foreign policy perspectives forged during the Vietnam War".
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