a list of some of the people who have never started wars, from 'Own Up', a performance poem which is part of the 'How Do Wars Start?' show...
...beekeepers,
book-makers,
road-sweepers,
cake-bakers,
gravediggers,
tree-fellers,
shopkeepers,
street-sellers,
street artists,
sign-writers,
church wardens, `
crime-fighters,
dog-walkers,
rat-catchers,
hat-makers,
roof...thatchers?
an acrobatic troupe,
a chart-topping group,
a collection of bored and pissed off housewives,
dry-cleaners,
home-makers,
pop singers,
wine-waiters,
orchestras,
dog-trainers
cab drivers,
toy-makers...
I trust poets are included in there somewhere!
ReplyDeleteI was struck the other day by figures compiled by Arnold Ludwig on the percentage of prominent figures in various vocations who had experienced at least one depressive episode. The two that leapt out - because they were near the 'poles' of the continuum - were poets
(77%) and military figures (5%). It prompted me to wonder whether there might be a direct correlation between the tendency to follow certain life paths, the tendency toward depressive episodes, and the curse/blessing of being able to perceive the world in a somewhat more nuanced and appreciative way. (I'd also include the ability to think for oneself, but that's such a cheap shot to aim at a military man... so to, er, speak)
Something like: "those who can, write; those who can't, fight"?
I managed to miss this, Pax. What an interesting (and far more peruse-worthy) tie-in to the piece of silliness above.
DeleteHello Pax, Hope all is smash. (not in a plates kinda way) and fab. (so, like smash and grab, only not) in your world. I would have said 'crazy' world, but that would be me projecting my reality on to yours. I hope the writing is going well. Tangentially linked to the above piece of scribblingness is the title for the next collection: 'How to Establish Lasting World Peace' (September 2017, from the award-winning Burning Eye Books; they didn't win an award because I'm on their roster, but, you know - reflected glory and all that). All written, just have to whittle it down from 63 poems to something less unwieldy. I also have a collection out for children/adults who don't make an effort with 'hard' poetry: 'The Thought Which Fell Down the Back of the Sofa'. It's been out since April but because of this, that and the other (mainly 'that', not a great deal of 'this' but a noticeable amount of 'other'; so perhaps should be 'that, the other and this') the official book launch is in September. Or maybe it's a book lunch: the poet had to eat his own words. Still, better late than being eaten alive by a shark or a wombat (like a bat, but with some Womble DNA; obvs. couldn't be called a 'batle' because that's just a dyslexic battle, where people try and shoot each other with gnus, attempt hack each other to death with an ox, fire arrows from bees, and scream in mahogany when they've been hat... which vaguely brings us back to the above post). All the best, Fergus p.s. We now have a cat. She is called Cato - easy personalise (yes, personalise; she has anthropomorphised) all her belongings by buying stuff with 'cat' emblazoned on it, and simply adding an 'o' on the end. (Thinking of calling next cat 'Catbanana' for same reason, i.e. easy to felinificate the belongings: buy stuff with 'cat' on it and simply add sticker with picture of banana after the word 'cat'. It's a winner and I am amazed that no one else has thought of it yet.)
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