AS I WAS SAYING...
I write from Limbo. It is now 10.35 on Friday night. The ballot boxes have closed. No indication has yet emerged as to the composition of the next Dail, let alone the shape of the next government. The Opinion Polls have pointed to Mr. Ahearn as the Anointed One, but political reality is very volatile. General predictions can turn to dust in particular circumstances. Your own party may do marvellously well, but your own seat can disappear from beneath you at the same time. Not much consolation there! It can be a very cruel trade.
Expectations of our politicians have always ranged rather widely. French President de Gaulle had lofty expectations indeed. "All politicians are potential statesmen. Chance alone prevents their realisation." The British journalist Katherine Whitehorn was more sanguine in her views: As she watched the swing from Labour to the Tories under the last Wilson government, she remarked morosely: "It's a pity that more politicians are not bastards by birth rather than by vocation." She had obviously trimmed her expectations to the new unpalatable reality.
Surely the reality rests somewhere between these two assessments though, between de Gaulle's overblown rhetoric and Whitehorn's withering cynicism. After all, we select them; we elect them. They are ours. But they are ours in the sense that a pet dog is ours. When things go wrong, we feel at liberty to kick them in frustration. It matters little that they happen to have no connection whatsoever with our bad fortune. But that's what politicians are for: to kick around when things go wrong. Admittedly, some politicians -through their manner and their actions- invite this sort of reaction. Nonetheless, we should be sparing with our tar brushes.
The British Labour politician, Denis Healey, was once described as 'the most gifted politician never to have become leader of his party'. His autobiography, 'The Time of my Life', is an extended reflection on the role of the politician in contemporary society. It ranges from philosophical meditations to practical observations:
It is not easy for a politician to keep a happy marriage. Nothing is more dangerous than the politician who uses politics as a surrogate for an unsatisfactory personal life. In my experience the best politicians are those with a happy marriage, and with children. Unfortunately, it has to be said that the politician may not be the ideal parent!Despite the general low estimation in which the profession is held, a few politicians emerged in recent years to demonstrate eloquently -through word and deed- that idealism and public service are central to politics. I have in mind in particular John Hume and George Mitchell. While it is unlikely that many Humes and Mitchells were elected on Friday last, you can be sure that there were more than a few who would have enough idealism to take as their motto the verse of Blake:
He who bends to himself a joy
Doth the winged life destroy.
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise.
For many men and women, a new dawn began on Friday last. We wish them well. May they serve well and enjoy it! -Dick Lyng.
WRITING HOME
"Mothers: Memories from Famous Daughters and Sons" was launched during the week. With a title like that, a government health warning was not necessary. ("Warning: Cringe factor Very High indeed. Keep out of reach of adults.") 53 otherwise sane men and women unburdened themselves of great dollops of sentimental clichés and mawkish drivel.
Mothers are notoriously difficult subjects. You touch them at your peril, in a literary sense. The distance which objectivity demands is impossible to achieve. In effect, one is writing about oneself. To feign that objectivity is the great sin. And that sin produces many offspring, first-born among them being sentimentality. Norman Mailer, who admittedly was biased in these matters, described sentimentality as "the emotional promiscuity of those who have no sentiment."
Alan Bennett, who sometimes swung on the same literary gate as Mailer, could never be accused of sentimentality, as this diary entry on the subject of his own mother may demonstrate:
"7th July. When I say goodbye to Mam after taking her back to the home at Weston, she gets out of the car saying, 'Thank you for all you've done for me, love.' And she means this; it isn't a remark intended to induce guilt. But in a film the next shot would be me looking down at the shaft of a spear protruding from my belly with the head stuck out a foot behind me."
MORNINGTON SINGERS
Ave Maria
Saturday, 25 May 2002
8pm, Augustinian Church
The Mornington Singers is one of Dublin's premier chamber choirs, comprising a group of between 25 and 30 young singers. Under the baton of Rosemary Collier the choir has established itself as a dynamic, ambitious ensemble, who give regular performances of both sacred and secular choral works. The group has toured extensively throughout Ireland and abroad and will release its first CD this summer entitled: 'Sacred'. The Mornington Singers have firm associations with Galway with Emer O'Connell, Beach Court, Salthill as its manager and Fionnuala Dillane, Limerick, having sung with the Galway Baroques for many years.
The concert in the Augustinian Church on Saturday, 25 May will feature Marian music by Verdi, Britten, Grieg, Tavener and Duruflé amongst others. Special guest David Leigh on organ. Tickets are priced at €10 and €6 concession and may be purchased at the door on the night of performance, or by booking online at: http://www.morningtonsingers.org
Memorable Quotes
- "If you gave Ruth a rose, she'd peel all the petals off to make sure there weren't any green-fly. And when she'd done that, she'd turn round and say, do you call that a rose? Look at it, it's all in bits." -Alan Ayckbourn.
- "My only hobby is laziness, which naturally rules out all the others." -Granni Nazzano.
- "When you have told someone that you have left them a legacy the only decent thing to do is to die at once."- Samuel Butler.
THE MORE LOVING ONE
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now 1 see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
-W. H. Auden.
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