I have just returned from Spain. And while driving through the country side in Andalusia I noticed something odd about the landscape that made me think of Picasso. The landscape was cubist. The slope of the plouged and harvested fields was such that they appeared to come at your from different angles as if you were looking at a hill from all sides. I don’t know if this is an original insight but it appears to me that what might have shaped the thinking of Picasso was – geography.

murder – The End

June 5, 2010

That is the end of my tale. I am off to Spain. For a month. With my girl. The lovely Mieke. If you are interested, here are two other blogs.

http://powerofh.wordpress.com/

http://powerofh.blogspot.com/

and here is my ebook called Trash

http://trashpoems.wordpress.com/

Also I have another sight where a lot of my visual work resides. http://www.behance.net/DavidHalliday

murder – epilogue

June 5, 2010

For several years after the second war, my philosopher professor as a young man (he guided my Master Thesis) had a Mass said every year for Adolf Hitler. It was not that he admired the tyrant. Just the opposite. A man of great faith, (perhaps naively) felt that every human life was of value. And he felt that if no human could forgive Hitler, perhaps God could. A murder trial and its final judgment puts to test all of our basic values. Should we show mercy for someone who would not show mercy? Do we have the right to take the life of a human who felt that he had the right to take the life of another? Why are we killing him? Are our reasons without malice? Does it matter? Can we hold contradictory values? I don’t know. But we had better be willing to face those questions when we decide to judge another.

epilogue

after the execution

buildings spawned shadows

after the mob unravelled

tears turned into snow.

outside

the courthouse in the yard

television……………………..two kids

gathered………………………..were

the day…………………………..flying

16 mm. cans……………………a kite

spools of film…………………..tugging

prisoners………………………….at the moon

of light……………………………..with

bleeding inside…………………..the wind.

The book ‘murder’ is characterized by a surreal filter. Examining human nature and behaviour without a sense of humour is too painful. And so the images and the poems have a jogular feel to them. The surreal is a function of horror. I’m thinking of Dante’s Inferno, Goya, Bosch, Coppola (Apocalypse Now). It is not merely an exercise in pointing out the characteristics of human nature. Something else. The horror of a world in which ‘reason’ takes second place to chaos. Where we operate/live/exist in the shadows of the true meaning of our existence. And that true meaning may be… nothing. We cry out to God or perhaps to an empty cosmos and declare that we deserve better than this.

judgement brought down

the jury slouched… back into the room

all 12 hung…………..their heads

the foreman fell apart

on the floor

and apologized.

the judge’s forehead cringed

tapping his thoughts

shaking his head

he washed his hands in gravel

‘I will not cast

the first stone.

the prisoner will be released into

the custody

of the mob

so that after his

lynching…………………..suspended sentence

no one

can claim he was robbed.

about the hanging

the courthouse poured out the crowd

who carried the accused

upon

their finger tips……………beneath

………………………………….cracked plaster sky

a violin and the moon passed

twisted shaken trees

a sailor trembling on the beach

handcuff’d peasants on their knees

crystal tears silver smiles in a cage

haunting wailing choirs

a french girl

pointed………………………… to the flag pole

the mob unravelled him

and hung him

from the

top

where he waved in the wind

‘IT WASN’T ME.’

spectators (10)

a priest watched the crowd move away

sewing up their hearts

an emptied courthouse

mortar drifting between bricks

a bell tower that floated

like a buoy

the moon melted on the roof

its warm worried tongue

licking the night’s wounds.

a priest ascended into the sky

his mannequin fingers brushed back

his white straw hair

that wrote on his slender shoulders;

‘if we let it all be

it will surely freeze to death.

if we draw too close,

we melt it with our breath.’

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