Poesis: Man and Beast by Tonbridge School

THE

TONBRIDGE

SCHOOL

LITERARY

MAGA ZINE

POESIS

MAN AND BEAST ISSUE ONE

MICHAELMAS TERM 2023

Throughout the edition, you may find various beasts like the boar above. These illustrations originate in a Book of Hours attributed to an anonymous artist of the Ghent-Bruges school, and date from 1490s. In the margins that follow, you will find an array of different images, including these superb rainbow-coloured “grotesques”. Feel free to give them names as you find them. (We have.) Source: Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut, United States of America.

POESIS

THE TONBRIDGE SCHOOL LITERARY MAGAZINE MICHAELMAS TERM 2023 • ISSUE ONE

Master-in-Charge Editor Contributing Editors

Cover Illustration Contributors

Jonathan G Reinhardt Philip C Z Dorn Tobé O Onyia George F Thomas Jean F M van der Spuy Ben A J Adams Fergus B Butler-Gallie Alida Y C Chan Rhys D Crosby Philip C Z Dorn Sam J Farmer Jack Isted Ernest C H Lau Konrad M McElroy Tobé O Onyia Arul V Singh Matthew D Smith Stanley R E Southgate George F Thomas Jean F M van der Spuy Henry H Wang T Farlie Willett

POESIS

MAN AND BEAST Michaelmas Term 2023 Philip C Z Dorn

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

Philip C Z Dorn

A FOREWORD

Inspired by Swift, 1726 THROUGH THE ANNALS

Fergus B Butler-Gallie

Gulliver’s Travels A Reverend’s Favourite

Jack Isted

Fifty Shades of Gray...

Henry H Wang

The Odyssey, Book I The Greatest First Chapter Ever?

George F Thomas

Waugh... Delusionary Catholic of the Cotswolds? CULTURE

Tobé O Onyia

There’s a Black Man on the Wall The New Black Vanguard: A Review

Rhys D Crosby

The Defiant Silence of Hailu Mergia A Story of Ethiopian Jazz

Matthew D Smith

Man-made Horrors Beyond Your Comprehension Sci-fi From the Ramayana to Blade-Runner

T Farlie Willett

Fascinations With Surreal Morbidity Phantasm and Its Fantasies

FICTION

Sam J Farmer

Circle POETRY

Jean F M van der Spuy

Best of Both Worlds

Arul V Singh

The Hadean Host & Entire, Myself ANALYSES

Stanley R E Southgate

The Death of the Countryside In D P Mannix’s The Fox and the Hound

Konrad M McElroy

History by John Burnside THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

Tobé O Onyia

George F Thomas

Jean F M van der Spuy

Henry H Wang

Ernest C H Lau

Arul V Singh

T Farlie Willett

Alida Y C Chan

Michaelmas Term 2022: Courage

POESIS

“And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean”. —C P Cavafy, Ithaka

ISSUE ONE

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR On the ninth or tenth night, he realized (with some bitterness) that nothing could be expected from those students who passively accepted his teachings, but only from those who might occasionally, in a reasonable way, venture an objection. The first—the accepting—though worthy of affection and a degree of sympathy, would never emerge as individuals; the latter—those who sometimes questioned—had a bit more preexistence. —Jorge Luis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths

his edition, indeed the publication itself, represents, for me, a plea to the Tonbridgian—a sort of carpe diem call to the (un?)wise, which I felt was well represented in the above passage from Borges’ Fictions. Perusing it on the train at some point in June, after being put onto Borges by the English Society months prior (I am one of those dubious fellows who will be given or even buy a book, only to read it perhaps years later), it leapt out at me as indicating some transcendent truth. In any case, Borges is an author who, in my understanding, has been taken up by nerds. Book nerds. His stories run as if all of Christopher Nolan’s time-independent plots were intertwined and then thrown on the floor: they are puzzles to be solved—not only in terms of having to read and re-read and re-re-read a page or paragraph but also in terms of his references. You must first have a deep understanding of Berkley’s subjective idealism and then a wish to run around your own mind to discover the meaning of axaxaxas mlö, whilst falling through a maze/book that is, in fact, the exact book you are reading. Spooky. But I digress: Borges is not for the faint-hearted. Yet I don’t write this ( just) to brag, just like I didn’t include the book I was currently (not) reading at the end of my Tonbridge email signature just to brag. Borges is an enigma relating to time, philosophy, and the interpretation of whatever is life. As are people. The point is, if you’re lucky, one text might help you interpret the other. So try. This magazine—although not the first literary magazine our school has produced, and perhaps not even the second—is a plea to that very endeavour: what some call “cultural capital”. (Although, I always thought that that term left a somewhat corporate, hollow flavour in my mouth.) I mean some sort of gumption; I mean the ability to understand the references from Borges, or from Milton, or—God forbid—from Shakespeare, or from some lurid but sun-stained paperback you pick up from a dust-covered table in a corner of your house that you had forgotten existed. I feel I lack that. I feel we have lost that as a school, or a generation, or a species. POESIS is here for that reason. Not to be snobbish or elitist (although, these things are welcome within limits), but to attempt to instill in the overly self-conscious and overly selfconfident Tonbridgian a certain joie de vivre, a depth of experience lost by a lack of influence from the past—from hundreds of years of human rumination set down in literature, replaced by mindless self-hatred-inducing scrollage. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. —Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

The call of this publication is for rebellion and individuality. We express that through literature. And being self-professed book nerds, we think you should too. Find that beast within. Set it free. Emerge as an individual from Tonbridge. What have you got to lose? P

POESIS

POESIS INSPIRED BY SWIFT, 1726 A FOREWORD BY PHILIP DORN

y father had a small estate near Athens; I was the second of two children. He sent me to Tonbridge School in Kent at 13 years old, where I resided five years and applied myself moderately to my studies. But the charge of maintaining me, although I had a very scanty allowance, being too great for a narrow fortune, I was bound apprentice to Mr Jonathan Martinet, an eminent cleric and scholar, with whom I continued four years. My father now and then sending me small sums of money, I laid them out in learning rhetorick and other parts of the philosophies, useful to those who intend to travel, as I believed it would be some time or other my fortune to do so. When I left Mr Martinet, I went down to my father, where, by the assistance of him and my uncle Christoph and some other relations, I received 46,740 pounds and a promise of 9,250 pounds a year to maintain me at Oxford: there, I studied Greek three years and nine months, knowing it would be useful in long voyages. Soon after my return from Oxford, I was recommended by my good master Mr Martinet to be translator to the Boar, Captain Jim Friary, Commander, with whom I continued four years and a half, making a voyage or two into the Haysden and some other parts. When I came back, I resolved to settle in London, to which Mr Martinet, my master, encouraged me. And by him, I was recommended to several employers. I took part of a small house in the Old Judde; and being advised to alter my condition, I married Mrs Enitharmon

Blake, second daughter to Mr Urthona Blake, hosier in Newgate-street, with whom I received 400,000 pounds for a portion. But my good master Martinet, dying two years after, and I, having few friends, my business began to fail. My conscience would not suffer me to imitate the bad practice of too many among my brethren. Having therefore consulted with my wife and some of my acquaintances, I determined to go again to sea. I was surgeon successively in two ships and made several voyages for six years to the East and West Indies, by which I got some addition to my fortune. My hours of leisure I spent in reading the best authors, ancient and modern, being always provided with a good number of books. And when I was ashore, I observed the manners and dispositions of the people and learned their language, wherein I had a great facility by the strength of my memory. The last of these voyages not proving very fortunate, I grew weary of the sea and intended to stay at home with my wife and family. I removed from the Old Judde to Fetter Lane and from thence to Wapping, hoping to get business among the sailors, but it would not turn to account. After three years’ expectation that things would mend, I accepted an advantageous offer from Captain Thomas Instant, master of the Farrow, who was making a voyage to the South Sea. We set sail from Bristol, 2 July 2023, and our voyage was at first very prosperous. Throughout that journey, I again turned to literature and accumulated here are a few articles, which I deemed appropriate. These are essays which helped me on my way through ennui. And so, I hope they shall do the same for you. P

THROUGH THE ANNALS

GULLIVER’S TRAVELS A Reverend’s Favourite BY FERGUS BUTLER-GALLIE

ulliver’s Travels is, in many ways, an odd book to have as a favourite. Firstly, there is the strange misconception that it is essentially a book for children. The preponderance of little people, big people, farcical situations, and funny names has led plenty of people to think it a glorified nursery rhyme. Whilst other English satire has suffered a similar fate—Jonathan Miller famously dismissed W S Gilbert’s The Mikado as full of “toilet training names”, and the Wife of Bath from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is more often than not portrayed as a jovial mascot rather than a figure with a satirical edge—Gulliver has suffered it most, suffering the ignominy not only of myriad picture books but also an adaptation with Jack Black. Perhaps more seriously, there are those who have encountered and understood Gulliver and hated it. Bolingbroke called it “a design of evil consequence to so denigrate human nature”. Dr Johnson saw in Book IV of the tome in particular “a depravity of intellect which took delight in revolting ideas”. Thackeray thought the entire book “blasphemous”. If these titans of English criticism hated it so much—no, more than that, viewed it as so dangerous—then how can it be such a favourite? Between it being loathed and misunderstood, I think there is

true greatness in Gulliver. Firstly it is funny, and it is still funny today, no mean feat for a book published nearly 300 years ago, in 1726. The mocking of the scientific method in Book III on the floating island of Laputa is as fresh today as ever and, as well as being perhaps the funniest piece of scatological writing in English, is a good warning against a cultic attitude to progress. The humour of Lilliput is not in the funny little people

FOR SUCH A DELIBERATELY FANTASTICAL AND RIDICULOUS BOOK, I THINK IT SAYS A GREAT DEAL ABOUT PEOPLE, ABOUT WHAT IT IS TO BE HUMAN. but in the mockery of religious and political partisanship. You don’t need to be an expert in 18th century factional manoeuvres in the court of Queen Anne to get the gags: they flow from the genius of Swift’s writing. This is the key reason why Gulliver’s Travels is my favourite book: it is gloriously funny and makes me laugh on every rereading. However, I appreciate its modernity and readability, the profound truths that it tells about not only our humour but also our humanity.

POESIS

Whilst it is the reason why Johnson, Thackeray, and Bolingbroke hated Gulliver, it is also why I am so fond of it. For such a deliberately fantastical and ridiculous book, I think it says a great deal about people, about what it is to be human. Most importantly, it holds a mirror up to the reality of humanity, rather than its aspirations. It does not pull any punches. That said, there is a subtle nuance here. The Yahoos are a vision of humanity rooted deep in an Augustinian understanding of who we are and how we instinctively behave. There can be no denying that Swift has a healthy postlapsarian understanding of human nature; but as a good Anglican, I think this is rooted not only in humanity’s ridiculousness but also in the potential for its redemption. Just as with Thomas Cranmer, who in the Book of Common Prayer emphasises that there is “no health in us” yet still that Christ comes to us with “comfortable words”, there is a paradox here: that the lower—and therefore more accurate—opinion we have of our humanity, the more potential there is for salvation. Gulliver therefore tells us an awkward truth: the nastier we are about ourselves, the closer we get to the redemptive. The fact that it does so whilst being funny is what makes it a work of real genius. P

THROUGH THE ANNALS

FIFTY SHADES OF GRAY... BY JACK ISTED

n the words of Dorian Gray, “each of us has heaven and hell in him”. This duality between human nature and the satisfaction gained from one’s baser desires—no matter how dark they may be—presents the theme of “The Beast Within”. Dorian Gray is a fine specimen, one of impeccable beauty and flawless charisma. However, when concerned with the transience of his attractiveness and his own

mortality, he takes measures into his own hands, submerging his true nature within a portrait of himself like a ship constrained within a bottle. This very portrait, initially conceived to portray his purity, in fact hides a multitude of sins; a demon peers through what was meant to be a testament to an angel, and the Mona Lisa becomes Cabanel’s Fallen Angel. Inconceivable to many of us, acts

of murder, adultery, and substance abuse all lie at the heart of Dorian Gray’s proclivities and compulsions. Driven by his evolution from man to beast throughout the novel, his transfiguration is adopted by the painting. As Gray approaches moral bankruptcy, his animalistic side becomes more prominent; vanity and innate desperation for pleasure push him to find instant gratification in the darkest areas of

London. As he roams the cobbled, masterpiece bears psychotic or lamp-lit streets, unchanged in violent tendencies, it is impossible appearance, the portrait takes on a for the reader to view Dorian Gray life of its own, becoming a physical as anything other than a beast manifestation of Gray’s corruption. by the end. So far detached from Indeed the duality of portrait and the values expected of a man, as man mirrors the novel draws that of the to a close, Gray THERE LIES A HEAVEN Victorian zoning may only be seen of London, with from the reader’s AND A HELL WITHIN “illicit measures perspective as a US ALL, AND IT IS AN located within INABILITY TO SUPPRESS feral and inhumane the East; [and] creature, merely social elegance in THE LATTER THAT DETER- a shell of who MINES THE OUTCOME the West” (Linda he used to be. OF ONE’S DILEMMA BE- Through Dryden). The body the of Dorian Gray is TWEEN MAN AND BEAST. exploration of allowed to remain Dorian Gray’s a man, but the desire to preserve portrait reflects the pollution of his beauty, Wilde tells of a fine his soul, simultaneously reducing line between man and beast, with his motivations in life to that of only one lethal step required for an animal, seeking only short- transition. term survival—a beast in the wild. There lies a heaven and a hell Gray’s movements throughout within us all, and it is an inability to London at once threaten society in suppress the latter that determines the West and cause a self-othering the outcome of one’s dilemma in the East: “the crude violence of between man and beast. P disordered life” in the East End draws Gray away from the rigid morality of “civilised” London, and characterises the East in that most Victorian way “as if it were a troublesome far-off dominion of the Empire” (Paul Newland). Oscar Wilde claims to see himself in the descriptions of Basil Hallward, the creative, solemn artist. A different type of purity beams through the complex layers of such a seemingly simple character. Plagued with being able to see the beauty within his artwork only when Gray is its subject, Hallward remains immune to the temptations that have diminished Gray to an undomesticated being. Ultimately, it is his admiration for Gray and inability to see through his façade that is Hallward’s fatal flaw. However, Hallward displays both humanity and humility; he, unlike Gray, is likeable. Gray is a vain, sordid character whose death we welcome. Unless the reader of Wilde’s

POESIS

THROUGH THE ANNALS

THE ODYSSEY, BOOK I The Greatest First Chapter Ever? BY HENRY WANG

f you were to choose a single literary work to peruse on a desert island, what would it be? Replete with drama and excitement, with main characters at once full of fault yet with a strong moral outlook, plot and setting which twist and turn with the ferocity of a tempest, a message universal yet intimate, and a resolution of great satisfaction to tie it all up, The Odyssey of Homer is my book. True, it is composed by an archaic hand of dubious authenticity in a dialect few could comprehend, yet its very survival and status today (although it has suffered blows unique to classics in modernity) is testament to its singular greatness. Even if you only examine the first book of 444 lines, it is a selfcontained masterpiece. Its subtle foreshadowing and intricate structural considerations make it the perfect start to the perfect epic. Let’s start with a brief summary. Book I commences in the lofty theatre of the immortals,

where “Olympian Zeus... the father of gods and men” (1. 278) addresses the Pantheon, a great majestic setting that duly reflects the book’s epic nature and the crucial relationships that the gods maintain with the mortal characters in the plot, be them of enmity or deep affection. Back on earth, Telemachus, an inexperienced adolescent and son of Odysseus, is despondent with the belief that his father will never return to his homeland Ithaca after more than 20 years away at Troy. The suitors, insolent, immoral, greedy, and promiscuous, are crowding Odysseus’ ancestral home, seeking to marry Odysseus’ wife, Penelope. Athena, as mentor and protector to Odysseus’ family, descends from heaven disguised to urge Telemachus to action, to kill the suitors and to seek “κλέος”, that most unique of Greek values denoting a mixture of fame and glory. Telemachus then converses with the suitors, displaying some

of his newly-gained authority and command. Book I’s setting is compact, containing only one day and two places: the divine palace of Olympus and the mortal palace of Odysseus. It lays out all of the crucial themes underpinning the entire epic early on: the relationship between gods and men, and between the suitors and Odysseus; Telemachus’ growth and coming of age; the interplay of love and greed; morality in the proper reception of guests; and homecoming. The interactions between Telemachus and the suitors are central to the book because it allows for a justification to the seemingly immoral massacre of the suitors later on. They are “wearing away” the household by “consuming” (1.250). In Telemachus’ words, they “will smash even [himself] to pieces” (1.251). The exploitation of the one by the many is a tension that will remain unresolved until the suitors are killed in Book XXII, building up and maintaining this potential for confrontation throughout the 10,000 or so lines in between. The involvement of gods is what defines the epic genre and firmly roots the place and time in archaic Greece. It is also a literary device that makes the impossible possible. If the above analysis amounts to a mechanistic formalism, let’s turn to the humanistic and more artistically induced aspect of emotions. With what grief does Penelope await her husband, more likely than not dead, in her solitary chamber! With what anxiety, what despondency of spirit, does Telemachus seek the reunion of the family that never was! With what deeply restrained antagonism does he loathe and despise the herd of suitors in front of his very eyes! Would that no man should suffer the same fate as them, we are almost compelled to lament. Yet Homer, the ingenious poet that he was, invariably doesn’t paint Telemachus and Penelope as the

angels of holiness. Telemachus is weak and cowardly before the arrival of Athena—no one can deny that. As for how he treats his mother... “Go back... and take care of the loom and distaff”, he orders, when Penelope has ventured to address the suitors. Is this the perfect image of the faithful and pious son? No, but it all adds to the creation of a colourful, dynamic, and “round” character (if I may use that slightly unappealing piece of jargon). We want to see nothing more than Telemachus become

WOULD THAT NO MAN SHOULD SUFFER THE SAME FATE AS THEM, WE ARE ALMOST COMPELLED TO LAMENT. the very epitome of manliness, a journey of growth that modern writers and films still exploit as relatable to the audience’s own growth. Indeed, this would be especially relevant for the classical school-boy—churning over the tables of Greek middle optative forms, only to find out, to his great satisfaction, that it is useful after all in understanding what it takes to grow up—emulating Telemachus in The Odyssey while reading it. Telemachus is beginning on a quest, a journey to discover his father and himself. Book I sets the perfect scene for a lot to go wrong—but also for a lot to go right, exploring the expectations, hopes, dreams, elusions, realities, and sorrows of the human self in Telemachus, Odysseus, and Penelope. Imperfect yet heroic, driven by the poignant forces of love, duty, piety, and devotion. P

POESIS

THROUGH THE ANNALS

WAUGH... Delusionary Catholic of the Cotswolds? BY GEORGE THOMAS

velyn Waugh’s legacy recently re- Sebastian Flyte. With his younger surfaced in the media following sister in a convent and his older the re-possession of his Cotswolds brother a strict adherent to the house. (The current tenants refused sacrament of matrimony, marrying to accept their eviction.) Paying a less-than-appealing older woman, only 100 pounds per week via a Sebastian is the prodigal son of company with shares in the estate, an otherwise high-church house. Helena Lawton and her partner Just as Waugh was an openly Bechara Madi have been living there converted Protestant who began since 2009, despite having no clear to value religious ritual both in his right to do so. While this might house and elsewhere, Sebastian is seem a simple property dispute, perhaps a depiction of the younger the reasoning behind Lawton and Waugh, torn between the hedonistic Madi’s sustained occupancy is far offerings of Oxford and a domestic more interesting. struggle for As a keen Waugh salvation. Eventually WHY DOES IT MATTER graduating fan, Lawton feels an with WHEN IT WAS BUILT, IT a intrinsic bond to poor third, LOOKS PRETTY! the house, begging Waugh realised the a greater question fruits of religious as to how we as readers associate struggle later than Sebastian, who author with place, and indeed how is rusticated during his second year. authors reflect the environments Oxford, both as his alma mater and within which they write. latterly an idealised melting pot of Living out most of his life in changing identities, was a place the Cotswolds, it has been said that Waugh felt inclined to reflect within Waugh’s house not only catered his writing. to his domestic needs but also his These unsurprising parallels spiritual needs. Every year, he would between Waugh and Flyte have invite the local Father to spend a a further grounding in place. In week with him when his family the 1981 Grenada Televisions TV went on their annual vacation. adaptation of Brideshead Revisited, Rising early for the first service Castle Howard was chosen to of the day, Waugh and the Father embody the grandiose Brideshead would purportedly adjourn before in Waugh’s book. Famed for its breakfast to pray before spending golden dome and complete with much of the day in reflection, a circular gallery, the building has eventually congregating for vespers a remarkably similar aesthetic in the evening. to Brompton Oratory and La Such immersive Catholicism Madeleine in Paris—both Catholic has a large part to play in Waugh’s institutions. Upon arriving in this Brideshead Revisited (1945), as the “enchanted palace” for the first time, low-church Charles Ryder strikes Ryder is struck by the neo-classical up a friendship with the colourful and sacramental decor adorning the

marble hall. When he tries to engage with the Vanbrughian history of the house, Flyte curtly retorts: “Why does it matter when it was built, it looks pretty!” Such base appreciation of beauty, free from the labels of style, period, and colour, has coloured Lawton’s argument as to why she should be allowed to remain in her home. Aside from the legal campaigns, maintenance concerns, and mounting bills, she cannot remove herself from a place of such beauty. With many of the local councils weighing in on the debate, boasting a large contingent of Waugh fans, I would propose that a simple legal matter has been complicated by the author’s legacy. If the begrudging tenants were a struggling family campaigning to stay in their family council home, there would be little popular support for their plight. Indeed, if the tenants were exhausted members of the gentry having to face the sale of their ancestral home, it would probably not reach the media. Waugh’s legacy is one of lost nomads who try and hang their hat in various institutions, but typically fail. From Charles Ryder in Brideshead Revisited and Paul Pennyfeather in Decline and Fall to Tony Last in A Handful of Dust, readers of Waugh appreciate not just declining institutions but also the plight of virtuous people who are a victim of circumstance more than anything else. It is in this spirit that Mrs Lawton and her husband have received indefensible support. P

BLACK MAN

CULTURE

THERE’S A

ONTHE WALL THE NEW BLACK VANGUARD A Review BY TOBÉ ONYIA

POESIS

hat do you feel when you look up and see a Black man on the wall? I see someone who looks like me, and I feel proud. Black is beautiful, and it’s about time everyone started to appreciate it. I must mention that I am not an art critic, nor do I claim to have any artistic qualifications that make me worthy of judging the value of a piece of art. (I guess it’s a good thing I’m not doing that, then.) I was fascinated by how the exhibition displayed the blurred line separating art and fashion, and the cross-pollination between the two. (Cross-pollination is a fancy word that makes me sound sophisticated.) All it means is that there are inherent links between these two worlds, and through photography, this synergy is best demonstrated. The use of experimental fashion and vibrantly bright colours within the photos highlight the beauty and richness of the melanated profile. It contributes to the repositioning of the standard and the erosion of racially motivated biases in an art field where the skew has traditionally tended to be White and male. The amazing photographers that contributed to this exhibition display a transcendental ability to “create contemporary portrayals of Black Life that reframe established representational paradigms”. The importance of the recognition and positive representation of ordinary, everyday Black people (by that I mean people we wouldn’t consider to be celebrities) cannot be overstated. It is very powerful, as a young Black person, and for young Black people to come, to be able to look at well-respected, beautiful art and be able to see oneself within it. Black people have come a long way to overcome an oppressive history of incessant hardships. Such hardships have only been exacerbated by the utilisation of

I can see myself within my work. I want to give that platform to young women of colour and show that beauty is not just one universal standard. —Nadine Ijewere

Lagos-based stylist, filmmaker, and photographer, Daniel Obasi uses local styles to achieve “better visual representations” of disempowered communities within Nigerian society, and especially to signify the importance of queer and feminine subjectivity. His darkly lit and boldly fashioned photography is a reflection of what he calls “an Afro-futurist fantasy” that eschews the kinds of ethnographic depictions of Nigeria made by Europeans. —Daniel Obasi

I try to create alternatives. It’s a form of activism. —Daniel Obasi

To convey Black beauty is an act of justice.

blackface in media in the 20th century, which contributed to the spread of stereotypes such as the “happy-go-lucky darky on the plantation”, the “dandified coon”, or more popularly nowadays, the “mandingo”. However, the eye-opening effect of exhibitions such as The New Black Vanguard presents Black people, Black culture, and Black communities from a new perspective. It combats the way Western media seems to continually portray African communities as derelict, and further to that, conclusively inferior. I have included a piece from Daniel Obasi’s collection, as an

—Tyler Mitchell

example of the exhibition’s splendour. Although the exhibition is no longer on show at The Saatchi Gallery where I saw it, I implore everyone to do some research about it because it is truly fascinating. P

CULTURE

THE DEFIANT SILENCE OF HAILU MERGIA A Story of Ethiopian Jazz BY RHYS CROSBY

urmoil often births the greatest talent. From the colourful explosion of sexual revolution after years of conservatism to Borges’ dilation upon postmodern concepts of infinity following World War II, there is something about repression that engages our creative side. Unfortunately, if this talent does exist in the Western hemisphere, it is often forgotten—a fate assumed of the brave artists of Ethiopia who, while caught up in some of the bloodiest periods of the country’s history, pioneered one of the most unique niches within music: ethiopiques. Before the revolution, in the late 60s and early 70s, Ethiopia existed

as a vibrant cultural hotspot. People enjoyed freedoms analogous to those that the people of the West did. Ethiopians bought and listened to Elvis and The Beatles, went out seven nights a week, and danced through the morning, but they had no musical identity of their own. It therefore came as a shock when it was discovered by aspiring artists that Haile Selassie had decreed that any music produced in Ethiopia was stipulated to include nationalistic lyrics and could not serve as anything other than an overt sentiment of support towards the government. This unusually oppressive rule can be characterised alongside those of

POESIS

the Soviet Union: it forced new Ethiopian talent underground for fear of imprisonment. Nevertheless, these musical vigilantes continued to defy Selassie and provide Ethiopia with a small lifeline of illegal music. It is unclear whether this method went unnoticed by the government or was simply tolerated, but for half a decade, Ethiopians certainly did have their own musical identity. However, Haile Selassie was getting old, and the people were anxious for change. The violence of the Ethiopian revolution of 1974 went far beyond what anyone had anticipated. State-sponsored killings ravished the country,

culminating in the murder and mass burial of 60 government officials in Addis Ababa and the consecration of the Derg government. This new order introduced further censorship on non-Ethiopian music, coinciding with the rise to fame of Hailu Mergia and the Walias Band. Even to those unfamiliar with Mergia and the Walias Band, the essence of their story has been told thousands of times: fame, exile, and rebirth. All seemed bleak for them, their dreams of expression and identity crushed by the very regime they believed would liberate them. They would be forced to conform, their lyrics to be the echoes of government propaganda. Instead, Walias Band decided to allow the music to sing for itself. Upon approval from the government to leave Ethiopia to tour America, Tezeta was created, a prototype album to pave the way for future Ethiopian artists. Tezeta pioneered the eerily haunting yet ecstatically lively sound that characterises ethiopiques today. The album serves as an elegy to brighter days, with the vibrant keyboard of Hailu Mergia masking a subtle sadness. The band yearns to sing, yet cannot, their voices suppressed within the political iron maiden of the Derg. Still, Mergia and the Walias Band proved unrelenting in their mission to create an international Ethiopian identity—the antithesis of everything the new Derg regime stood for. Nothing if not democratic, they wore the same suits, were paid the same, and took turns in the role of band leader. The band initially toured to near-empty venues, primarily of Ethiopian refugees, but became famous for moving these small crowds to tears. Finally, Ethiopians could go to see other Ethiopians play music in a country that wasn’t Ethiopia. Word travelled fast. Soon, the Walias Band were packing stadiums and reaching a wider community until

their mounting money problems and internal disagreements caused a rift between the band and Hailu Mergia. Mergia embarked on a solo career. Following the disbandment of the Walias Band, he went on to produce his most famous work alongside the Dahlak Band, Wede Herer Guzo. An amalgamation of soulful, traditional sounds and funky accordion and keyboard, this uniquely Ethiopian creation remains his legacy today. It is shocking to me that this incredible genre went so unnoticed for so long. In the late 90s, however, Francis Falcetto, a musicologist from France, was able to garner the recognition these artists deserved. By this point, many of the old artists considered themselves forgotten to history, taking up part-time jobs as restaurant owners, valets and, in the case of Hailu Mergia —arguably the most famous Ethiopian musician of all time—a taxi driver in Washington, DC. It is saddening to see that the life work of so many was nearly lost. Some catharsis is found in the fact that we now have access to most ethiopiques tapes. But it makes you wonder what incredible art is out there, waiting for a rediscovery that may never come. P

CULTURE

MAN-MADE HORRORS BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION Sci-fi From the Ramayana to Blade Runner BY MATTHEW SMITH

he emergence of the science fiction genre has been one of the most significant developments in modern literature. Despite involving remote planets and the distant future, science fiction has always reflected the zeitgeist in which it was written. Often derided for its “pulp” roots and lurid inventions, science fiction has struggled for acceptance by the

literary establishment, even though it has yielded many beautifully written, thought-provoking, powerful, and frightening works. Even bad science fiction is worthy of consideration—for almost without fail, it contains the hopes, fears, and dreams of the society that wrote it. Parallels can be made between ancient mythology, folk tales (like

POESIS

One Thousand and One Arabian Nights), and modern galactic science fiction. One example is the story “The Adventures of Bulukiya”. In this piece, the protagonist travels the cosmos seeking the elixir of life, discovering strange worlds and alien lifeforms on the way. A passage from The Ramayana, an ancient Sanskrit epic poem, contains descriptions of imaginary

high technology: Swift through the air, as Rama chose, The wondrous car from earth arose. And decked with swans and silver wings Bore through the clouds its freight of kings.

Although there are similarities between these two very different genres, science fiction as we know it cannot really be said to emerge until after the Enlightenment. Some have claimed that fantastical novels of the Age of Reason are early precursors. Space travel is featured in 17th century novels by Cyrano de Bergerac and Francis Godwin. According to Brian Aldiss, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is “the first seminal work to which the label science fiction can be logically attached”. Published in 1818, this novel explores the ethical implications of developing technologies. In the 18th century, scientists began to attempt reanimating corpses, following the discovery of bioelectricity by Luigi Galvani. Shelley imagined the possible ethical implications of using the power of science to raise the dead, and explored the hubris of scientific ambition and the (sometimes dire) consequences of progress. The thematic importance of science, in combination with imaginative elements, gives Frankenstein its title. The 19th century was a time of immense technological progress, with the Industrial Revolution leading to dramatic social change. In the climate of optimism about what mankind could achieve through technological innovation, “scientific romances” became very popular, combining traditional swashbuckling adventure stories with new discoveries. Jules Verne’s scientific romance novels in particular are striking for their remarkable prescience. Years before they became a reality, Verne predicted submarines capable of spending months underwater (and

attacking international shipping, just like the u-boats of World War II) in his 1870 novel 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Verne also came eerily close to predicting the future in his 1865 novel From the Earth to the Moon, which described astronauts flying to the moon in a rocket-shaped craft launched in Florida—over a century before the Apollo 11 mission. Other novels worth mentioning include Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World and

OFTEN DERIDED FOR ITS “PULP” ROOTS AND LURID INVENTIONS, SCIENCE FINCTION HAS STRUGGLED FOR ACCEPTANCE BY THE LITERARY ESTABLISHMENT, EVEN THOUGH IT HAS YIELDED MANY BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN, THOUGHT-PROVOKING, POWERFUL, AND FRIGHTENING WORKS the works of H G Wells, who wrote the first alien invasion story The War of the Worlds in 1897. It is interesting to note that, at the time, observations of “canals” on Mars by astronomers, including Percival Lowell (author of the 1908 non-fiction work Mars as the Abode of Life), led to widespread belief in a Martian civilisation. The science fiction genre exploded commercially in the 20s and 30s with the rise of inexpensive pulp magazines printed on low quality paper. These stories, often lurid and poorly written, were very popular; the first science fiction magazine, Astounding Stories, was founded by Hugo Gernsback in 1926 in the United States. Although little quality fiction was published, the pulp era established

the science fiction genre and created the market demand for further works of greater literary significance. The popularity of science fiction in the interwar period can be attributed, yet again, to the climate of rapid technological development. The horrors of World War I dampened hopes for a bright future of progress. The futurist reverence for the “power of the machine” seemed rather empty now that such power had been directed towards mass slaughter. Nonetheless, the end of the war brought with it a sense of optimism and hopes of renewal for many, a feeling reflected in the science fiction of the era. A few malcontents remained. Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, published in 1932, painted a bleak picture of a world where scientific ideas, including eugenics and Pavlovian conditioning, are used as tools for political repression, and society is constructed around the principles of American industrialist Henry Ford’s assembly line process: homogeneity and predictability. The political turmoil of the mid-20th century led to the emergence of a sub-genre of science fiction: dystopian fiction. This sub-genre mostly consists of novels set in the near future, and often explores the relationship between technology and political repression. George Orwell’s 1948 novel, 1984, introduced the concept of a totalitarian state employing all-pervasive mass surveillance technology, while Raymond Bradbury’s 1953 novel, Fahrenheit 451, introduced the idea of massmarket television entertainment causing widespread apathy. Both have proven remarkably prescient in many ways. World War II ended in 1945 with the use of atomic weapons against the Japanese civilian population at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. To many, this symbolised a loss of innocence; faith in

technology as a force for progress and good seemed naïve now that science had demonstrated its capacity for immense destruction. The inventor Nikola Tesla now seems worryingly prophetic when he warned in 1943, “You may live to see man-made horrors beyond your comprehension”. The 50s saw the golden age of science fiction, when the genre is considered by many to have peaked, commercially and creatively. Strangely enough, golden age science fiction is almost uniformly optimistic about the future; stories abound of technological utopias where the human race has colonised whole galaxies with the power of technology. Perhaps symptomatic of the American Dream, many plots are highly linear and focus on the individual overcoming insurmountable cosmic catastrophes with determination, resourcefulness, and the command of high technology. Significant authors of golden age works include Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, and Arthur C Clarke. Perhaps the overly optimistic nature of golden age science fiction can be viewed as a trauma response to the horrors of Hiroshima, a coping mechanism to deal with the fact that the development of high technology was not only a blessing but also a curse. It is interesting to note how science fiction author Isaac Asimov suggested that “the dropping of the atom bomb in 1945 made science fiction respectable” to the general public. The blind optimism of the golden age would soon be swept away by new and exciting literary genres. A new school of writers firmly believed in the power and importance of the genre, but they felt that it was dominated by increasingly tired ideas and was growing culturally irrelevant. The new wave of science fiction that emerged in the 60s focused less on how technology worked and more on the effect it had on people—

whether on an individual emotional basis, or as a society. This was, in part, a response to the often flat characterisation of more traditional golden age science fiction, wherein many of the characters were “cardboard cut-outs”. The archetype of the traditional science fiction protagonist is that of the “competent man” or “heroic engineer”, a paragon of rationality. The new wave included more complex and multi-dimensional

PERHAPS THE OVERLY OPTIMISTIC NATURE OF GOLDEN AGE SCIENCE FICTION CAN BE VIEWED AS A TRAUMA RESPONSE TO THE HORRORS OF HIROSHIMA, A COPING MECHANISM TO DEAL WITH THE FACT THAT THE DEVELOPMENT OF HIGH TECHNOLOGY WAS NOT ONLY A BLESSING BUT ALSO A CURSE. characters who were often more troubled and less confined by the heroic archetype. Sex also featured in the literature, a subject that authors had previously shied away from. New wave work was often concerned with the conflict between order and disorder, and the force of entropy. Many works involved post-apocalyptic scenarios. While the world would always be saved in golden age science fiction, progress and rationality did not always triumph in new wave science fiction. J G Ballard’s 1962 novel, The Drowned World, is a perfect example of new wave science fiction. Set in a future world where (non-anthropogenic) global warming has turned the world

POESIS

into a primal swamp, the world cannot be saved and many of the characters question whether they would even want it to be. Some feel invigorated by the chaos of the post-apocalyptic world; others feel strangely and perversely drawn to the new order of things. The novel ends with the main character eschewing rationality and travelling south into the inhospitable wilderness, “a second Adam searching for the forgotten paradises of the reborn sun”. The contrast between the two literary movements can be best illustrated by comparing John Wyndham’s 1951 novel, The Day of the Triffids, and Angela Carter’s 1969 novel, Heroes and Villains. The former, in a quintessentially English setting, is described by many as a “cosy catastrophe”. An apocalypse threatens the human race, but the main character resolutely fights the threat and has “a pretty good time (a girl, free suites at the Savoy, automobiles for the taking) while everyone else is dying off” (Brian Aldiss). The latter, a post-nuclear apocalypse story also set in England, is a far more convincing account of a post-apocalyptic world. The main character suffers many physical and psychological traumas, and the restoration of civilisation isn’t on her agenda. The new wave of science fiction was heavily influenced by the zeitgeist of the 60s, including sexual liberation, the drug subculture, and postmodernism. Many writers of the movement chose to eschew linear narratives, as well as reject binary oppositions and single accounts of the truth. American author Phillip K Dick was remarkable for his unconventional style of writing, which was influenced by his schizophrenia and his dabbling with psychedelic drugs. The greatest novel of his was 1968’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, which was loosely adapted

into Ridley Scott’s film, Blade Runner. Postmodernism and science fiction have always gone hand in hand. Widely accepted as one of the great postmodern novels, Kurt Vonnegut’s 1969 semi-autobiographical novel, Slaughterhouse-5, includes many science fiction elements, including time travel and alien abduction. The final major literary development in the genre was the emergence of cyberpunk in the 80s. This movement was clearly influenced by new wave science fiction, with the main characters usually consisting of troubled, isolated individuals. A world apart from the “heroic archetype”, many cyberpunk protagonists are morally grey, criminals, or antiheroes. The coincidence of poverty and high technology was also only explored in detail for the first time by this movement, which is often described as a combination of “high tech and low life”.

YIELDING MANY POWERFUL AND THOUGHT-PROVOKING WORKS OVER THE LAST TWO CENTURIES, THE GENRE ALWAYS REFLECTS THE HOPES AND FEARS OF THE TIME IN WHICH IT IS WRITTEN, AND FORCES US TO ENGAGE WITH THE POWER WE WIELD AS WE DEVELOP NEW TECHNOLOGY. Cyberpunk was almost singlehandedly established by American author William Gibson with the 1984 novel Neuromancer. Influenced by rapid advancements in computer technology, Gibson coined the term “cyberspace” and explored the implications that the rise of cybertechnology would

have on individuals in society. As the name implies, cyberpunk integrally involves computer technology: it is science fiction literature for the Information Age. It also explores the unexpected uses to which users put technology: “The street finds its own uses for things”. It is unlikely that the developers of the internet would have predicted cyber-crime, cyber-terrorism, and the rise of internet pornography— but William Gibson did, over a decade before the internet was even truly established. Cyberpunk is also a significant development in the genre because it often has a more multicultural focus. In Gibson’s novels, we encounter not only the rise of Japanese cultural and economic influence but also Rastafarian enclaves on a space station and artificial intelligences that are created in the image of Haitian voodoo deities. New and stimulating science fiction continues to be written, but there have recently been no major paradigmatic shifts in the genre. Yielding many powerful and thought-provoking works over the last two centuries, the genre always reflects the hopes and fears of the time in which it is written, and forces us to engage with the power we wield as we develop new technology. Since technological development is more rapid now than ever before, and our lives become more and more dominated by technology, the genre has become increasingly relevant. Notably, science fiction literature has also influenced the film industry (many of the highest grossing films ever made have been science fiction films), as well as aesthetics, art, fashion, music, and arguably even our understanding of our place in the universe. The emergence of the science fiction genre is one of the most significant literary developments in modern literature. P

BOOKS WORTH READING THE WAR OF THE WORLDS HG WELLS

FOUNDATIONS ISAAC ASIMOV

2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY ARTHUR C CLARKE

HEROES AND VILLAINS ANGELA CARTER

THE DROWNED WORLD J G BALLARD

DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SLEEP? PHILIP K DICK

BRAVE NEW WORLD ALDOUS HUXLEY

FAHRENHEIT 451 RAY BRADBURY

NEUROMANCER WILLIAM GIBSON

THE SIRENS OF TITANS KURT VONNEGUT

STORIES OF YOUR LIFE AND OTHERS TED CHIANG

CULTURE

FASCINATIONS WITH SURREAL MORBIDITY BY FARLIE WILLETT

eath terrifies. It comes as an abstraction to life that nobody can fully comprehend until they experience it, and thus, to some degree, it is unknowable. I find the horror film to be a fascinating niche within media, dealing with death in a truly captivating manner. Whilst it would be unnecessary to recognise the inherent and cursory links between the analysis of death within horror, the genre itself seems to be conceptually entranced with human expiration (with many arguing that the genre is a lens through which many choose to visualise their own fears). But let us comment more subtly. A particularly interesting

take on these themes comes in the form of the film Phantasm (1979). When questioned about Phantasm and its inspirations for an LA Times interview, Don Coscarelli, the Libyan American director of the film, said this about The Tall Man, the grand villain of the fivefilm franchise: “While it’s frighteningly easy to misconstrue the message of such an idiosyncratic film, I really believe that Phantasm has something real to offer, because Coscarelli isn’t just talking about The Tall Man, he’s actually presenting a thoroughly interesting question regarding the nature of what happens after death—not just in spirit, but in our

POESIS

bodies”. For the sake of context, Phantasm centres around a malevolent alien undertaker known as The Tall Man. The Tall Man steals corpses, converts them to slaves, and then sends them to his planet. The above quote discusses both the character and his inspirations. In the same interview, Coscarelli explains that the idea for the film stemmed from a morbid fascination with funeral rites, as he sees the behind-thecurtain processes (that we don’t) in a mortuary as something to potentially be feared. Thus, he develops the standard mortician into something terrifying, using the 6' 4'' Angus Scrimm, intentionally dressed in ill-fitting suits to accentuate his height, to create a caricature that materialises these fears. However, with this horrific base established, there is still a ways to go. Coscarelli has struck gold in that he has an original take on the presentation of death (and he has the right vehicle), but he was still far from creating the pitch perfect media piece that is Phantasm. The film was far from complete, and there were vital themes Coscarelli had yet to imbue. Within the (incredibly niche) academic film community that discusses the themes behind Phantasm, there is a widely appreciated general consensus on the message it conveys. Generally, film scholars agree on an interpretation of the theme of death linked with masculinity, as it is particularly seen through the eyes of young boys in the series. Coscarelli identifies the franchise as a “predominantly male story” that appeals to a younger male audience. Most obviously, the film centres around a group of male characters. The 16-year-old protagonist, Mike, is played by A Michael Baldwin, and his older brother, Jody, is played by Bill Thornbury.

This is not to exclude credit being given to the women in the film. They contribute to the surrealist imagery, with the Lady in Lavender (another human form of The Tall Man) consistently appearing throughout to heighten the unnerving circumstances in which the characters find themselves. An argument could be made for the Lady in Lavender’s contribution to themes of young masculinity. She provides a further exploration of sexuality in a particularly disquieting scene in which Baldwin’s character spies on his older brother having sex with the woman. Baldwin’s voyeurism, in addition to being incredibly uncomfortable to watch, exposes the idea of young male fascination with sex and sexuality—a theme that persists throughout the series, in true horror fashion, albeit somewhat dumbed down into gratuitous nudity or unsettling body horror. While the nuances of the messages on masculinity throughout the series are more subtly subtextual, the clear philosophical challenge that the film presents is one towards anxiety around death. Most obviously, the film relies on death to drive the plot and subsequent themes forward (as most horror films do), as the surface level story is one dependent on the mystery surrounding both the horrific setting of the Morningside Mortuary and its equally terrifying mortician (who Scrimm argues represents death itself). This comes as no shock. The Tall Man’s masterplan functions by way of both murders he enacts and seemingly-natural deaths that take place across the sleepy California town. One example is the death of Jody and Mike’s parents, which also reflects childhood fears of death. Thus, the plot illustrates the film’s thesis on death. Much like the mist shrouding The Tall Man’s funeral home, death’s thick veil is imperceptible and, more

importantly, terrifying through the eyes of our child protagonist. The whole film is littered with abstract imagery and dreamlike visuals that clutter the mind with conflicting and confusing plotlines that seem nonsensical, transforming our eyes into hippocampi plastered with dreams. The heavy mist itself clouds the film as a surrealist expression of the filmmaker’s. Obscuring itself through a camouflage of interweaving phantasmagorical images that mimic a childlike

WE SEE THESE BIZARRE AND DREAMLIKE VISUALS PURELY BECAUSE WE ARE EXPERIENCING THE NARRATIVE THROUGH THE EYES OF A BOY WHO HAS NOT YET LEARNED TO UNDERSTAND DEATH. AND FOR THAT REASON, THE FILM’S SURREALISM IS ESSENTIAL. misunderstanding of death, the film is almost thalassophobic. Phantasm’s view is that death is so far beyond our comprehension that the mere idea of it becomes terrifying. Think back to your childhood. Years ago, death was that same existential threat, far from you, yet so close to your elders. Think back to a death you remember—a family member, a pet, or someone you loved. Fuzzy. An amorphous blur of vague condolences and sympathies are laid to rest with your family as you struggle to picture the person you are remembering. That pre-adolescent cloudiness is precisely what this film mimics. Yes, the film’s great and incomprehensible surrealism does make for an enjoyable watch, but the primary reason for the utilisation of these cinematic

techniques is the establishment of the narrative lens. We see these bizarre and dreamlike visuals purely because we are experiencing the narrative through the eyes of a boy who has not yet learned to understand death. And for that reason, the film’s surrealism is essential. There is a plethora of films like Phantasm (including its four sequels of decreasing quality) that do not get the credit they deserve. This is especially true when you consider what a masterclass this film is, both in terms of its narrative and imagery. It can stimulate a primal fear of death. On top of that, Coscarelli is masterful in crafting a story that, while at points somewhat illogical, is wildly entertaining for all 89 minutes of its glorious runtime. Under the surface of every simple-seeming film, there are layers that one can pick apart for hours, and I absolutely encourage you to do that. Think about films, especially ones like Phantasm. Fundamentally, they have something to say—if you’re listening, that is. P

“A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.” —Italo Calvino, Why Read the Classics? “Un classico è un libro che non ha mai finito di dire quel che ha da dire.” —Italo Calvino, Perché leggere i classici? Image: Gluyas Williams, “Portrait of a Small Boy Reading” from Life magazine, 12 April 1928

POESIS

“People were talking about the end of physics. Relativity and quantum looked as if they were going to clean out the whole problem between them. A theory of everything. But they only explained the very big and the very small. The universe, the elementary particles. The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about—clouds—daffodils— waterfalls—and what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in – these things are full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks.” —Tom Stoppard, Arcadia 1.2 Image: Anna Atkins, “Detail of Rhodomenia sobolifera” from Photographs of British Algae, ca. 1843–53

FICTION

CIRCLE BY SAM FARMER

POESIS

had agreed to meet Gregor Butler Blake’s intricate mythology is the surrounded us appeared larger, yet, on the westbound platform at embodiment of reason and law— somehow, less imposing. Warm Aldgate East. As my train curved Gregor has scrawled the first verse air filtered through the passages out of the dark, I saw Gregor of “Europe”, which begins with the and the only noise I could hear leaning against a sizeable advert, song of a fairy: was the uneven beat of our own his shoulder propped up footsteps. We enjoyed on a woman’s cheek—a Five windows light the cavern’d Man: thro’ one he breathes the air; an ease of movement Thro’ one hears music of the spheres; thro’ one the Eternal Vine woman I recognised I have seldom had in Flourishes, that he may receive the grapes; thro’ one can look as London’s face of London. Though, now, And see small portions of the Eternal World that ever groweth; fatigue. to recall any specifics Thro’ one himself pass out what time he please, but he will not, Gregor is a quiet of that moment is like For stolen joys are sweet, and bread eaten in secret pleasant. person. Often, even attempting to describe when we are alone, he the beginning of a good will but mumble a few words. He Though it is understood Blake dream, such was the chimera in is a painter. His unchanging black frequently saw angels, it is reported the streets that day. dress is always splattered with his on only one occasion did he see a Gregor pointed us towards The most recent colours. ghost. It took place on the stairs White Swan. The pub is small and On that day, specks of pearl in No. 13 Hercules Building, in easy to miss. It is wedged between white dotted his front. Gregor Lambeth, where Blake lived. He a dreary brick block, which houses worked in a shared studio in was so frightened by the image of Faversham Brewery, and an oldVauxhall, which he travelled to the “scaly, speckled, very awful” style East End building that has from his shared flat in Barking. figure that he ran straight out of an inviting archway. The alley Usually, as to be sure he would the house. Blake thought little of that passes under it is referred go undisturbed, he would start ghosts. He claimed they did not to as Half Moon Passage. The on a canvas in the early hours appear to imaginative men, who White Swan sits on the site of the of the morning. Though he had were instead capable of seeing finer old Half Moon Theatre, founded representation, his work rarely spirits. A ghost was a thing seen by in 1972 by Michael Irving and sold, and he had come to rely on the corporeal eye, not the divine Maurice Colbourne. Their idea his sporadic shifts as a gallery mind. “Europe” is a poem far was to create a cheap space, which technician for income. Typically, removed from humanity. There is provided both room for rehearsal his oils depict subtle shapes layered no single subject or firm resolve. It and living accommodation. It was, on top of one another. Squares lie exalts in the grandeur of the poet’s in part, inspired by the alternative on spheres, and triangles dissect strange vision—a mystifying work, societies that had been promoted in cubes. He considers himself just rich in decoration and symbolism. the previous decade. The theatre’s another invisible artist. The barriers at Aldgate East first production was of Bertolt Plastered on a wall in Gregor’s stand over one end of the track. Brecht’s In the Jungle of Cities and studio is a print of William As Gregor patted himself down, was followed by Will Wat’s If Not, Blake’s The Ancient of Days. The I watched a train weave its way What Will, which was met with a frontispiece for Blake’s 1794 poem, eastward through intermittent degree of critical success. In 1974, “Europe a Prophecy”, it originates domains of light. We took the the auditorium was converted into from Proverbs 8, “when he set passage under Whitechapel High a medieval loft for Henry IV, Parts a compass upon the face of the Street to the corner of Leman I and II. Speeches like Fallstaff’s earth”, and Milton’s “in an orb of Street, which is to the south of the “what is in that word honour” were light surrounded by dark clouds, is station. Turning up in a gradual addressed to individual spectators stooping down, with an enormous spiral, we were met with a low and not hurled at a faceless throng. pair of compasses, to describe the dusky flare, which bounced down Inside, the pub’s walls were world’s destined orb”. the stairs from the street above. It covered with a great deal of wood Blake replicated his original was the last Sunday of May. panelling. Everything felt close, design numerous times. He As we walked along the and subtle touches, like hooks maintained the integrity of the fringes of the City of London, I for patrons to hang their coats composition while altering colour was suddenly overcome with an on, gave the place a “traditional” and definition by hand. There are odd feeling. I had previously only feel. Though it is busy in the week 13 known copies, each one unique. known the area in the full gusto of with those gasping after work, the The print in Gregor’s studio is of a working day, but now, empty as it scarcity of people at the weekend copy K. In black marker pen, to the was, I began to experience the pangs sees the pub stay closed. We right side of Urizen’s face—who in of uncanniness. The buildings that waited alone by the bar until a man

called Lenny appeared and asked if we would like to go upstairs. We placed our phones into a bag he was holding and received an assuring smile. Lenny was a tall man and possessed striking blue eyes. Though his face looked thin and sunken, his eyes coruscated like light on a sprawling wave. Upstairs, the weighty red curtains were drawn, and the tables had been pushed into a corner. Gregor whispered that once it started, we could not leave. I followed his lead and took a seat on one of the three remaining chairs, which were arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. There was a small acknowledgment with the three others we had joined: two middle-aged women and a man wearing a felt fedora. On a small stool, a lamp gave off a dim glow. I could just make out the faces of the others. They looked at ease, and I assumed them fairly knowledgeable in matters of mysticism. There was only silence until Lenny entered the room and sat down on the remaining chair. He asked if we were comfortable and ready to begin. His voice was composed and disarming. He held onto each syllable and developed a cadence whereby each word folded into the next. As Lenny began his first speech, in which he asked the spirits to speak, the lamp turned off. I shut my eyes and felt quite cool in the dark room. Though I tried hard to listen to him (I was interested in the general manner of his performance), my thoughts began to drift, and soon, I had completely forgotten where I was or what I was partaking in. My last memory before the lights came up, about an hour or so later, was of a large and genteel swan that had appeared in my mind’s eye. In 1896, following years of interest in the occult, the artist Hilma af Klint began to meet with four women in order to conduct séances. The women

called themselves De Fem—The Five—and would seek to reach the mystical but definite realms of the spirit world leaders, referred to as High Masters. Af Klint had previously fostered a deep interest in Theosophy, a spiritual esoteric belief system co-founded by the hypnotic Russian medium Helena Blavatsky. It was a period of great reveal: Heinrich Hertz’s discovery of electromagnetic waves and Wilhelm Röntgen’s invention of the x-ray showed how things unseen did, in fact, exist. Hilma af Klint was born in Stockholm in 1862. Her father was an admiral in the Swedish navy and a mathematician. Undoubtedly, little Hilma would have seen him working with charts, and would have learnt from an early age how to plot points with a compass. Having attended the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Stockholm, af Klint went on to produce competent landscapes and portraits, which she could rely on for a steady income. Yet, in 1906, following a séance in which High Master Amaliel commissioned af Klint to paint on the astral plane, the artist began a dual life with the brush. In private, af Klint began work on what she called The Paintings for the Temple, comprised of a number of different series: Primordial Chaos The Ten Largest Evolution The Swan The Dove Altarpieces

As she painted, she felt her hand was guided, enveloped by a cosmic energy and freed from selfexpression: “The pictures were painted directly through me, without any

POESIS

preliminary drawings, and with great force. I had no idea what the paintings were supposed to depict; nevertheless, I worked swiftly and surely, without changing a single brush stroke.” There are 193 works altogether, which move between figuration, abstraction, and minimalism. Some involve the use of text, numerals, and geometric shapes. It is an elusive and complex body of work, loaded with recurring symbols. Since af Klint believed her hand was merely a tool for recording the messages she received, she retrospectively decoded what appeared on the canvas. In a notebook there is revealed how the snail or spiral appeared to represent development, while blue stood for femininity and yellow for masculinity. This was not work for the market but a process wrapped up in a personal search for understanding—an exploration of the spiritual cosmos. When af Klint died in 1944, her will stipulated that her works should not be seen for 20 years. It was not until 1987, however, when she was included in the exhibition The Spiritual in Art—Abstract Painting 1890-1985 (held at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art), that the public—and the art world in general—became aware of her. Since then, her work, which anticipates the abstract pioneers by several years (including Wassily Kandinsky), has been viewed as a potential challenge to the standard narrative of European modernism. Hidden for over half a century, af Klint’s otherworldly oeuvre is filled with an eternal energy. Her light breaks out from the space behind history. Gregor and I did not speak to each other until we stood on the eastbound platform, at which point, he asked me how I had found it. I told him the only thing I could remember was seeing a swan, and that since leaving the pub, I was trying to recall the title

of W B Yeats’ poem about the bird. On hearing this, the corners of Gregor’s mouth curled upward. He revealed the poem I was thinking of was called “The Wild Swans at Coole”, and, as this suggests, it is not about one swan but a bevy of them. The eagerness in Gregor’s voice threw me. It was almost as if he had been waiting to tell me this, waiting since we had first met on the westbound platform. Once home, I searched out my copy of the poet’s collected works. ”The Wild Swans at Coole” is made up of five stanzas. The speaker contemplates the title’s scene in relation to experiences of change. With a repeated syllable pattern of 4-3-4-3-5-3, the final line gives way to uncertainty. The speaker is left to ponder a time when the eternal sight at Coole may no longer be. Spurred on, I decided to But now they drift on the still water, Mysterious, beautiful; Among what rushes will they build, By what lake’s edge or pool Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day To find they have flown away?

read more on the swan’s place in myth and literature. I discovered that Helena Blavatsky had once written it embodies the ”mystery of mysteries” and the ”majesty of the Spirit”. Yet I felt the strongest affinity for the swan’s use in Vedic literature. The Vedas, composed in Vedic Sanskrit, are a body of knowledge texts that constitute the oldest scriptures of Hinduism. Within them, persons who have achieved great spiritual recognition are referred to as Paramahamsa, which, when translated into English, means “supreme swan”. The Paramahamsa are said to be able to travel between numerous divine worlds and possess the ability to eat pearls. Later, I imagined a solitary swan drifting high above the streets of an abandoned city. P

POETRY

BEST OF BOTH WORLDS BY JEAN VAN DER SPUY red-faced Mars sat lifeless on the coarse dusted bedsheets strangled by his blankets, muttering the same lies he didn’t want to hear anyway. they say that Venus once wept cornflowers and moss, that She used to pirouette in the face of Tartarus, sharp-toothed and silver-tongued. like you. but the days are shorter now, and frosted stars on bloodstained walls have each been lost in the dark woollen mist. those torches blaze as Ceres drowns out sirens with ashen sorrows retrograde. i tell myself i’m fine with it all, but these seconds can’t stop tightening like lyred strings. i didn’t tell you, but i saw Her yesterday, face painted with ochres, soft skin and symphonied by black paint. no one remembered that awkward surging summer, but deep down inside i knew that Her spears cut sharper than mine, and whenever we would cross, Deimos blushed and fixed gaze i can’t stop thinking about solstice. why did it have to be solstice? i tell myself it is what it is, and put more sugar in my tea, hoping that things will be different this time round. you told me it would be. but we both know that our orbits will never cross again. shapes don’t believe in happy endings, only ink. and here I stand. eyesblanktwisted now forevermore fading, on the left side of things.

POETRY

THE HADEAN HOST BY ARUL SINGH Nestled within a continent, a town lies dotted with quaint tea shops in heritage-listed houses, woven with a brook that babbles too loud at times. Feel the energy, darkness, and rogue; it can’t contain the stories, nor box them up in four walls adorned with newspaper taglines.

ENTIRE, MYSELF BY ARUL SINGH I use winter as an instrument to pave my way into summer There was a time when the sun bothered me, but now it simply exists, just like I do: L’art pour l’art Non mortem timeo nam et sol mori debet et, superstes luminis, quis ego sum? Moriendum est mihi Mors sola viam dat legato meo Hiems ad me vocat Mirum est, Quod memorem mortis

The Native group applies to five-, now four-, rock pillars, the meeting spot, Five Fingers; this area has never done better than a gathering place for teetotalers, and babbles are louder than the brook. The wind whips up the valley, carries icy flakes from the tops of the mountains, blanketing hill slopes towering over the town with dank air. It isolates chaos that booms across the city; residents cannot hear the Earth’s tales and toils. If any sound skives the people, it could tread the trail of thunderbolts into the city. Down at The Hart, in the firelight’s shadow, drunken rogues cackle against warped wallpaper; Kid Hal’s haunting cries are flung arpeggiated against thunderous skies, the town reverberating a chorus only sung and heard by bushrangers and bogeys. O’ how the angel wails: her shattered heart tore a line in the Blazing Mountain, where the men turned her to stone, spat tears of fire at her. The fire is always burning. Pushing up the mountain are steaming sulfuric veins, coal that still babbles too far, like the brook.

(I do not fear death, for the sun must also die and who am I, the survivor of the light? I must die, only my death paves the way for my legacy winter calls to me it’s strange— I remember dying)

POESIS

ANALYSES

THE DEATH OF THE COUNTRYSIDE In D P Mannix’s The Fox and the Hound BY STANLEY SOUTHGATE

aniel Pratt Mannix IV was an American writer and sideshow performer who lived throughout much of the 20th century, from 1911 to 1997. His most recognised works are Those About to Die (1958)—upon which Ridley Scott’s Gladiator is based—and The Fox and The Hound, published in 1967. Walt Disney Productions purchased the film rights to create the wellknown animation. With its revised plot, the film obscures Mannix’s

message. Mannix foresaw the death of the countryside and the difficulties encountered by those losing their rural way of life. The first two chapters provide exposition characterizing the two alternating protagonists. These are Copper and Tod. The former is a “big half-bred bloodhound”, the favourite dog of a man referred to as the “Master”. The latter is an orphaned fox raised by a hunter, skilled at avoiding packs of hounds and other dogs. Copper fears being

replaced by a younger hound called Chief, who saved the Master from a bear. At the climax of the second chapter, Tod uses a train track to lose Chief, who was hunting him with the other hounds. To the dismay of the Master, the train strikes Chief and kills him. The next six chapters depict the Master’s attempts of vengeance for Chief by unsuccessfully hunting down Tod with various methods, from gassing to formal hunting. He is able to kill the mates and litters of Tod, but cannot find the fox himself. Chapter nine, however, is the first chapter where the decline of the countryside is shown to affect Tod’s experience. The fox describes how he detests the change, which leaves him feeling “lost and bewildered”. His normal route for hunting game is now “cut by highways, new buildings, and other strange objects”. The farms which he usually frequented for his hunts and to tease farm dogs had begun to disappear; foxes abound due to the ease of living on scraps compared to the previous cunning needed to avoid hunters. The foxes become promiscuous, and this can be read as an allegory for the Mannix’s view on the younger generations and the rise of premarital sexual relations in the second half of the 20th century. When Copper, in turn, describes the new people who come

with development, he claims they display a distaste for those who lived the now outdated country life. When they do speak to the Master, they leave him “cast down”. Soon, a group comes to the Master and coerce him into a retirement home. Upon arrival with Copper, he realises that dogs are not allowed, so he storms back to his cabin. This choice vividly shows how desperate people like the Master are to cling on to parts of their lives from the past, especially considering Copper was the last remaining member of the hounds from his pack. Though initially critical of the Master, a rabies breakout amongst the animals (and especially foxes in residential areas) forces the new settlers to turn to him for help. Copper describes how “the Master was always cheerful” now that he could put his fox hunting skills back to use. People often arrived “bringing baskets of food, snacks for Copper, and sometimes bottles that smelled of alcohol”. This short rejuvenation of hunting exhibits the extent to which the Master enjoys being useful again, and able to take back up his old job, mitigating the loss of livestock. Eventually, the Master nurses Copper back to health after the hound chases Tod for an entire day, eventually killing the fox. Following the death of Tod and near-death of Copper, The Fox and the Hound focuses on the impact on the Master. Fewer people visit him, and the Master “began to drink again, more heavily than ever”. Copper becomes bored and waits at the door to show “he was all ready to go hunting again—if there was anything left to hunt”. The hunt for Tod had been their last and is representative both of the foreseen end of fox-hunting and the end of a “country life”. Master and Copper become a part of a new, developing world, separate from any they were used to. Soon the men who took the Master to the retirement home

return with the same people who once had thanked them for curb the rabies breakout, but now “their voices were angry”. They are successful in convincing the Master to go to a retirement home, and Copper “heard a sound he had never heard before. The Master was crying”. The Master then takes down his gun from the wall and loads it before taking Copper outside. He makes Copper lie down and holds one hand over his eyes. Copper does not mind, as he is happy, believing “nothing could separate them”. The novel finishes with a description for how in “this miserable, fouled land there was no longer any place for fox, hound, or human being”. The shooting of Copper is portrayed as one of mercy from the Master, as the world in which they lived no longer has a place for them. Having let go of Copper, the last vestige of his old life, the Master goes to live in the retirement home. Overall, Mannix’s book The Fox and The Hound is imbued with the view that people have lost their identity as humans by abandoning a traditional way of life. As a hunter himself, Mannix uses a foxhunting setting as a background for his criticism of the ways in which we have lost some of what it means to truly be human: our relationship with the land, deep knowledge of animal life, and centuries of local tradition. P

POESIS

ANALYSES

HISTORY BY JOHN BURNSIDE BY KONRAD MCELROY St Andrews: West Sands; September 2001 Today as we flew the kites —the sand spinning off in ribbons along the beach and that gasoline smell from Leuchars gusting across the golf links; the tide far out and quail-grey in the distance; people jogging, or stopping to watch as the war planes cambered and turned in the morning light— today —with the news in my mind, and the muffled dread of what may come— I knelt down in the sand with Lucas gathering shells and pebbles finding evidence of life in all this driftwork: snail shells; shreds of razorfish; smudges of weed and flesh on tideworn stone. At times I think what makes us who we are is neither kinship nor our given states but something lost between the world we own and what we dream about behind the names on days like this our lines raised in the wind our bodies fixed and anchored to the shore and though we are confined by property what tethers us to gravity and light has most to do with distance and the shapes we find in water reading from the book of silt and tides the rose or petrol blue of jellyfish and sea anemone

combining with a child’s first nakedness. Sometimes I am dizzy with the fear of losing everything—the sea, the sky, all living creatures, forests, estuaries: we trade so much to know the virtual we scarcely register the drift and tug of other bodies scarcely apprehend the moment as it happens: shifts of light and weather and the quiet, local forms of history: the fish lodged in the tide beyond the sands; the long insomnia of ornamental carp in public parks captive and bright and hung in their own slow-burning transitive gold; jamjars of spawn and sticklebacks or goldfish carried home from fairgrounds to the hum of radio but this is the problem: how to be alive in all this gazed-upon and cherished world and do no harm a toddler on a beach sifting wood and dried weed from the sand and puzzled by the pattern on a shell his parents on the dune slacks with a kite plugged into the sky all nerve and line patient; afraid; but still, through everything attentive to the irredeemable. —John Burnside, History

recently read John Burnside’s poem “History” and was struck by his presentation of the affective side of human psychology in the aftermath of tragedy. Written shortly after the attack on the World Trade Centre in 2001, as noted in the poem’s epigraph, Burnside explores the “muffled dread” and sense of loss felt by the world, yet he contrasts this with the grounding force of the present, epitomized in his symbolic presentation of an innocent child playing on a beach. Notably, Burnside entitles his poem “History”, yet opens his poem with the word “today”, immediately introducing the first and most noticeable use of his ubiquitous thematic juxtapositions: the past and the present. These contrasting notions are explored further as Burnside alternates between calming narrative descriptions of “sand spinning off in ribbons” and “people jogging”, and first-person reflections as he confesses to being “dizzy with fear”. Ephemeral scenes of natural beauty and the presentation of the innocence of a “toddler on a beach... puzzled by the pattern on a shell” are evoked by Burnside through stark reminders of the world’s tarnished reality and his internal panic. Abstract ideas and concepts are brought back to what the poet can tangibly observe, as he tries to make sense of the world during a time of social turmoil, in a place far removed from the chaos—on a beach with his little son. Burnside’s use of free verse and graphology and the poem’s lack of a discernible metrical pattern, further alludes to the collapsing sense of security and fragmentation of society that Burnside denotes as he verbalizes his internal emotional experience. Simultaneously, the poet is reminded and reassured of the fundamental aspects of the world that remain unchanged, such as his child’s innocence depicted

through the endearing image of “a toddler on a beach... puzzled by the pattern on a shell”. Despite this grounding force, there is, however, a discernible sense of grief within Burnside’s observation of the child’s naivety, as the poet depicts a highly emotive scene of “[kneeling] down in the sand with Lucas” whilst bearing “the news in [his] mind, and the muffled dread of what may come”. He has been reminded of the inexorable flow of time, the transience of innocence, and ultimately, the transience of life. Yet, still, he maintains his composure for his child, asserting THOUGH NOTHING CAN BE SAVED FROM BECOMING HISTORY, WE MUST FOCUS ON WHAT WE HAVE: TODAY. his position in the present moment “with a kite plugged into the sky”, thus bridging the gap between the juxtaposing themes explored within the poem: the past and the present, the known and the unknown, fear and composure. On a beach, poised between land and sea, Burnside creates a setting which mirrors this bridge between juxtaposing themes. The coming in and out of the tide is arguably symbolic of the uncontrollable force of nature, the unchangeable progression of time and of the socially charged events which occur within the world, leaving behind “shreds of razorfish, smudges of weed and flesh on tideworn stone”. The combination of the nouns “shreds”, “smudges”, and “flesh” evokes graphic anatomical imagery of the aftermath of the destruction of the World Trade Centre. Burnside creates an aquatic metaphor alluding to how he imagines rescue teams “finding evidence of life in all this driftwork” in New York City. Ultimately, the poem can be interpreted through the ontological

POESIS

nature of Burnside’s “History” that as individuals we must accept a certain defencelessness in a world in which one’s control often does not extend beyond being “patient; afraid; but still, through everything attentive to the irredeemable”. This poignant final line of the poem, though somewhat wistful, also lifts the melancholic tone of the poem by alluding to an element of hope. The biblical reference to Jesus, “The Redeemer”, whom within Christian tradition, saved the world from sin, serves as a reminder that though nothing can be saved from becoming “History”, we must focus on what we have: “today”. Through his highly symbolic poem, I think Burnside demonstrates a shared bond within humanity. He depicts a sense of togetherness which becomes both more apparent and more precious when reminded of the transience of life and the notion that tomorrow is not promised. The poet’s touching commitment to preserving his child’s innocence is a reminder to the reader that despite life’s metaphorical changing tides, we all share certain roles as human beings and thus we must cherish “the world we own”. P

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE 2022

The following pages showcase entries to last year’s Michaelmas Term 2022 Jonathan Smith Personal Essay Prize. The selection exhibits work by finalists from both the Senior (L6 and U6) and Intermediate (3Y and 2Y) categories. We feel these represent a wide range of possible responses to this year’s prompt:

COURAGE The prize is awarded for an essay that explores the essayist’s personal experience and world of thought by drawing inspiration from poetry, drama, or prose literature. The eminent Jonathan Smith himself, after whom the prize takes its name, chose the winners. The final readings took place in Skinners’ Library. The 2022 Novi Prize winners, whom we have not included here, were decided and announced in advance.

SENIOR PRIZE Tobé O Onyia (FH5) George F Thomas (WH5) Jean F M van der Spuy (FH4) Henry H Wang (MH4)

INTERMEDIATE PRIZE Ernest C H Lau (PS2) Arul V Singh (PS3) T Farlie Willett (Sc3)

NOVI PRIZE

Thomas E Adams (Sc1) William A Whitfeld (PH1) Nathaniel Longe (PH1)

SPECIAL HONOURS Alida Y C Chan (JH2)

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY TOBÉ ONYIA “Jack fell as he’d have wished,” the Mother said, And folded up the letter that she’d read. “The Colonel writes so nicely.” Something broke In the tired voice that quavered to a choke. She half looked up. “We mothers are so proud Of our dead soldiers.” Then her face was bowed. Quietly the Brother Officer went out. He’d told the poor old dear some gallant lies That she would nourish all her days, no doubt. For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy, Because he’d been so brave, her glorious boy. He thought how “Jack,” cold-footed, useless swine, Had panicked down the trench that night the mine Went up at Wicked Corner; how he’d tried To get sent home; and how, at last, he died, Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care Except that lonely woman with white hair. —Sieg fried Sassoon, The Hero

ourage is a funny concept, often misconstrued and manipulated by the media. Although defined as “the ability to do something that frightens one; bravery” or “strength in the face of pain or grief ”, I would strongly argue that such a definition is inherently dangerous. The stereotypical definition of courage to an extent is rooted in a form of masculinity that contributes to our demise. Through a Homeric lens, this is most like one’s arête, commonly—although not exclusively—contributing to their ”manliness”. I acknowledge the existence of the warrior archetype, the character who draws on primal instinct from the Collective Unconscious that Jung introduced1 but Jack was not a binary aggressor, nor am I. He fell victim to the expectation that he had to step up, be brave,

defend his country, go against everything that he is, lose sight of who he is, and die. “And no one seemed to care”—of course they didn’t, because they never do, but in England during the First World War, it was better to give up your life than be the guy who wasn’t courageous enough to fight for the country. I appreciate that I don’t find myself amid a seemingly never-ending war, but a physical death is akin to soul decay. If you look closely enough, the parallels between boarding school and a warzone present themselves. To an 11-year-old black boy, a majority white boarding school in a new country seems incredibly impenetrable and understandably one thinks to compromise their character to appease their surroundings, but that was always going to happen, I was just acting paradigmatically. Boarding school funnily enough was my decision: my parents were reluctant to release me from their grasp, but I felt the time had come to move on, be brave, take on a new challenge and grow. In the same way “Jack fell as he’d have wished”, I willingly threw myself into the Lion’s Den 2. I believe that societal pressures coerce us into feeling like we must put ourselves in situations that frighten us to prove and/or show our bravery. We put ourselves in an unfavourable position to see how far we can push ourselves, all in the name of self-enrichment. Don’t get me wrong though, as cliché as it may sound, the past six and a half years of boarding school have sent me down a path of self-discovery. I would argue that archetypal courage impedes introspection; strength in the face of pain commonly manifests itself as a reluctance to talk, shown perfectly by the negative stigma amongst men around expressing their feelings. My initial reluctance to adapt pitted against the overwhelming force of boarding school culture placed me within my own Hegelian dialectic. My fall from grace catalysed by the stark shift from a near-absolute black majority to a black minority,

1 Collective unconscious refers to the unconscious mind and shared mental concepts. It is generally associated with idealism and was coined by Carl Jung. According to Jung, the human collective unconscious is populated by instincts, as well as by archetypes: ancient primal symbols such as The Great Mother, the Wise Old Man, the Shadow, the Tower, Water, and the Tree of Life. 2

Daniel 6:22.

POESIS

allowed me to liken myself to a tragic hero. My peripeteia immediately presented itself as a humbling twist of fate. However, in the same way the dialectic is never ending, it takes courage to learn from the synthesis it produces and adopt those lessons as you move forward. I should like to understand myself properly before it’s too late. —Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

As a teenager growing up in a largely digital world in which social media perpetually forces us to compete, we’ve created a warped idea of merit. We’re always one step away from reaching a point at which external validation could fill the void within. Whether that manifests itself in applying to the best universities with the best predicted grades, playing in the highest sports team or having the best physique, the point is we’re conditioned to strive to meet societal standards at the ever-increasing risk of losing sight of ourselves. Either way, you just have to have faith in that little thing inside you that separates you from everyone else. Courage is to stop running and think as everyone else continues the rat race; although the institutions we devote years of our lives to provide irrevocable benefits, the underlying danger of coming out as a carbon copy of the next empty fellow still exists. Stop running. Break free from Rosseau’s chains3. Trust your individuality. Just as the boatman sits in his little boat, trusting to his fragile craft in a stormy sea which, boundless in every direction, rises and falls in howling, mountainous waves, so in the midst of a world full of suffering the individual man calmly sits, supported by and trusting the principium individuationis. —Arthur Schopenhauer, World as Will and Representation

Roquentin alludes to the way in which we become carbon copies of one another. As we are conditioned by our experiences, due to fear of acknowledging the fact that we’re changing, we neglect these changes until we’re too far from the person we used to be to see ourselves in what we’ve become. Roquentin implores us to have the courage to learn to understand our emotional responses so that we don’t lose sight of our individuality. Simone Weil stated that “evil being the root of mystery, pain is the root of knowledge”. In a world in which the word courage denotes neglecting pain until our emptiness negates its effects, the only way to learn from pain is to redefine the word. Have the courage to introspect and take it easy. P 3

Jean-Jacques Rosseau, “Man is born free but everywhere is in chains” (1762).

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY GEORGE THOMAS

He shifted his weapons to his left hand and put his right hand round Etáín, and he bore her up through the skylight of the house. Ashamed, the hosts rose up round the king, and they saw two swans flying round Temuir and making for Síd ar Femuin. —Jeffrey Gantz, The Wooing of Etain

Macc Cécht struck off the man’s head. Then he poured the cup of water into Conare’s throat, and Conare’s head recited this poem: A good man Macc Cécht! Welcome, Macc Cécht! He brings drink to a king. He does well. —Whitley Stokes, The Destruction of Da Derga’s Hostel

n this moving translation from the Ulster Cycle, Gantz conjures up a scene where two lovers have the courage to leave community for a life together, eternalised as swans. Casting aside the known social quantities that have kept them apart, complete detachment from the material is the only way for them to be at one—suspended in flight indefinitely. Of conspicuous similarity, the Dream of Oengus captures lovers suspended as swans upon the water. At distance from earthly constraints, mythological courage is leaving the known and moving towards something that can be quantified only by the person you are in motion with. In painful contrast, the constant motion of human life permits us only temporary handlebars to gauge our direction, rendering courage a concept strictly bound to our past experiences. With no option to take flight, mythological courage offers me a retreat from which to appreciate the personalised relativity of human courage. Cornel West framed courage as “accent on our past”,1 and I would propose that mythology will provide you with the stylization for that accent, albeit with no grasp

over the relativity of courage. As a King’s decapitated head pays poetic homage to his servant, this Ulster tale involves a dead man’s eulogy on the character of one alive. Subverting funeral rites, Conare is suspended in a similar sphere to that of the swan-like lovers; freed of earthly constraint yet still emotionally bound to his beloved servant. This is a mythological anecdote for the relationship we have with our past, no longer bound to it but still carrying the emotional weight it accrued. As tense space exists between a decapitated head and the body it once served, a static field lies between a human and their past. While Conare chooses to fill this void with water flowing from his oesophagus, we colour this historic space with more emotionally charged substance. My first memory, family holiday, and singing lesson are common retrievals from this static minefield, allowing me to grasp for a moment the relativity of my existence now. However, this relativising reflex encourages courage to become caution, for the life-changing to become gradual progression. If mythology has taught

1 Tommie Shelby, and Cornel West. “Fear and Courage.” Transition, no. 123, 2017, pp. 104–17. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2979/transition.123.1.12. Accessed 16 Oct. 2022.

POESIS

me one thing about courage, it is that each one of us must behave like a decapitated head, propelling water against the attempts of our past to relativise successful motion. West’s “accent” comes from absolute forward motion that our past is not allowed to touch, only admire from a distant trench in the minefield of life. Then Loki, son of Laufey, said, “Thor, be still! With such foolish words the giants will soon be living here in Asgard if you do not get your hammer from them.” So they dressed Thor in bridal linen, tied the necklace of Brisings around his neck and housewife’s keys about his waist. They pinned bridal jewels upon his breast, and dressed him in women’s clothes, with a dainty hood on his head. Then Loki, son of Laufey, said, “I will accompany you as your maid-servant. Together we shall go to Jotunheim”. —Thrymr’s Poem

Refusing to give his masculine past undue influence over his future, Thrymr’s Poem tracks Thor’s calculated gender-bending as he seeks to recover his hammer. Like Conare’s decapitated head, Thor uses a distinct sense of separateness from his past being to move forward as, for all literary purposes, a woman. McKinnell proposed within his seminal work Essays on Eddic Poetry2 that, while physically polarised from his life as a hammer-wielding hunk, Thor is closer to his true identity. Subscribers to Freud among you might label this to be his “id”3. Here, a great dichotomy exists within mythology; indeed, one that could be of great use to humanity as it seeks “accent” for courage. While Thor and Conare both stray from their past forms, they both take their identity to its final conclusion. Free from the relativity imposed by our past, drastic motion with unquantifiable success is my definition of courage. As a “bridal”, Thor reclaims his beloved hammer and Conare recognises his servant’s worth, courage comes across as neither man had any way to approximate their chances of success. By retreating to mythological courage, humanity learns that the truly courageous lacks precedent and, without precedent, our actions are “accented” in accordance with Cornel West’s conception. The question of when to retreat to mythological courage and, indeed, when not to, is equally pertinent to my understanding of courage. The implication of “retreat” is to shy away from life and seek a temporary

shelter from the obstacles that doubtless come with it. Accordingly, retreat is not representative of human life and an undue amount of time spent in retreat tends to deplete any actions of courage. A balance is to be struck. That night, she slept with Crunniuc. She was with him a long time after that, and there was no prosperity that she did not bring him, no want of food or clothing or wealth. —The Labour Pains of Ulaid & The Twins of Macha

As Crunniuc’s lover goes to bed with him, he is forever pardoned from the challenges of life since she can provide for him. A twee portrayal of love, this extract from The Twins of Macha illustrates how readers should not use mythological courage. The corpus of Norse and Irish mythologies should not become our abodes, but a collection of homilies that can in controlled doses show us what true courage looks life. In a funny way, my appreciation of mythological courage stems from the impersonality of the characters. Cú Chulainn is so far removed from my life experience that reading his courageous acts does not tempt my past to relativize any potential emulation, or indeed inspiration. However, human courage will never guide one towards eternal prosperity, and this is where mythological courage can be misused and become a fatal trap. A susceptible reader may read The Twins of Macha as a sign that being courageous and getting married will bring eternal prosperity... I need not direct you to the Merchant’s Tale. Here we must re-consider West’s belief in “accented courage”. We readers should not emulate the shows of courage described in mythology to the letter—this would render our actions both impersonal and a form of drama. Instead, when we recognise the need for courage in our daily lives, we should “retreat” to mythology to spur into action, occasionally spotting a homily we recognise as personal to us. This is as “accent” on an appetite for courage that exists on a personal level within every human being. So, whether it be those fast-approaching exams or the opening night of a play, I propose that you consider a retreat to mythological courage. Find a translation of the Islendingasögur or buy Gantz’s Early Irish Myths and Sagas. Read one story, then let the copy rest. Take some time to think about how courage is needed in your life, freed from the controlling grasp of your past. Finally, apply mythological accent to your personal courage, flying like a swan around those who cannot quantify your bravery. P

2 McKinnell, John. Essays on Eddic Poetry. Edited by Donata Kick and John D Shafer, University of Toronto Press, 2014. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.3138/j.ctt6wrf94. Accessed 19 Oct. 2022. 3 Freud, Sigmund. “The Origin and Development of Psychoanalysis.” The American Journal of Psychology, vol. 21, no. 2, 1910, pp. 181–218. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/1413001. Accessed 19 Oct. 2022.

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY JEAN VAN DER SPUY

he toothless gesture, the forgotten reply, the awkward silence. Each one of my actions over the last few months has been stripped apart and callously analysed by the tribunal. They say that your mistakes make you stronger, but I could feel the walls tightening. All it took was one paragraph. With one solemn pull of the trigger, it was all over. We sometimes think that recovery is linear, a simple formula, but those leaded shells had cut deep. It didn’t matter where I was. the train, the lunch table, the sports pitch. Hindsight catches up to us all of us eventually. After things ended, I didn’t know how to feel. The truth is, part of me still doesn’t. It felt like I was trying to conquer this impossible mountain, yet, after a few days, I would find myself burrowed deeper into the crust than when I had first started. It felt like, sooner or later, I was going to strike mantle. I had been leaning so long on the back of my chair, looking down, that my neck hurt when I straightened myself up. I went down, bought some bread and spaghetti, did my cooking, and ate my meal standing. I’d intended to smoke another cigarette at my window, but the night had turned rather chilly and I decided against it. As I was coming back, after shutting the window, I glanced at the mirror and saw reflected in it a corner of my table with my spirit lamp and some bits of bread beside it. It occurred to me that somehow I’d got through another Sunday, that Mother now was buried, and tomorrow I’d be going back to work as usual. Really, nothing in my life had changed. —Albert Camus, L`étrangère

When Meursault’s mother dies, he expresses no grief whatsoever. Asked if he wants to see her one last

time, he prefers to keep the coffin closed. He doesn’t even know how old she was. As he follows the funeral procession, our protagonist notes: “I caught myself thinking what an agreeable walk I could have had, if it hadn’t been for Mother”. Marie asks Meursault if he loves her, and he replies, “It didn’t mean anything”. She asks to marry him, and, in turn, he asserts: “It was all the same to me, and that he could get married if she wanted to”. Whether his mother dies or Marie proposes, to Meursault, anything emotional is inconsequential. How can things with so much immense value be perceived with such triviality? Perhaps Meursault is the epitome of a coward, for none of his concerns exceed the physical. Lights are too bright, his stomach is always empty, and the sun’s rays are far too hot. His first nature is passivity and honesty his second. As long as he wakes up the next day in the same body, nothing matters. His mother dies and nothing changes. There was no happiness that she could have brought him that exceeded the value of a cigarette or a cup of milky coffee. By choosing to condemn the protagonist not for murder, but for his refusal to play the game, Camus demonstrates to his audience that there is no courage without sacrifice. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. —Psalm 23:4

Contemplation and late nights are two potent constituents which react violently when combined. It’s so easy to get yourself down by taking a step back and just thinking about everything. From the perspective

POESIS

of a student in the Lower Sixth, your primary aim is to get good predicted grades. Later in the year, you’ll have to figure out what course you want to apply for, what university you want to go to. One blink and you’re five years down the line with exponentially more problems than you had begun with. Meet somebody, have, and raise children, do something that matters. You don’t even have the time to stop and think whether you even wanted any of this in the first place. Talk to your parents, uphold friendships, stay healthy. There’s eight billion people on earth right now. Unfathomable clusters of human beings with their own anxieties and problems. Millions who don’t know where their next meal is going to come from, and you’re worried about some girl or progress test or rugby match? Why should your difficulties override someone else’s? And though the heavens should fall, we must grasp the likelihood that nothing we ever achieve will amount to anything significant in the grand scheme of things. This courage which we possess, to keep going in life, is deeply rooted in ignorance. A willingness to lose yourself in the inconsequential, to care about what food you like or what music you’re going to listen to. Every day, we face this struggle. Every day we walk through that “valley of the shadow of death” comforted by this conscious unconsciousness. Courage is oblivion. Perhaps the valiant hero and the reckless fool are one and the same. And from the first time that she really done me Oh, she done me, she done me good I guess nobody ever really done me Oh, she done me, she done me good Don’t let me down —John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Don’t Let Me Down

We sometimes think that recovery is linear. I know I did. For the remainder of the summer holidays, I tried to spend as much time as I could in Kingston Upon Thames’ city centre. Whether I was by All Saints Church or sitting on a bench in Canbury Park, I found sanctuary there. The silence helped me to just take a step back and recognise that I needed help. Courage takes sacrifice and ignorance but more importantly, it takes self-confrontation. Indeed, these past few weeks have taught me a lot about what it means to exhibit bravery. Courage isn’t reserved for soldiers or artists only. Courage is human. To be courageous is to bend the universe to your own will, to give it better symphonies, higher ideals, and greater autonomy. No matter how many times I might feel anxious, cry, or fear failure: I know that those miniscule expressions of courage in everyday life are innately valuable. Never let go. P

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY HENRY WANG WINNING ENTRY And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods —Horatius Cocles to the Roman Senate, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Lays of Ancient Rome

his is the most poignant exhortation of courage for the Victorians. Generations imbued by the same sentiment as that of these verses had attempted to display them on the battlefield. What Horatius suggested is audacious, reckless, but morally dubious as well. What would man be willing to die for? Would it apply aptly under all circumstances, and for all motives? Perhaps some readers of these lays ignored the fact that Horatius was defending his city from external aggression. Stepping into the 20th century, however, the two world wars would not have been won without them. Very few of us today will ever be confronted by the perils of the battlefield, yet for millennia, this was what constituted the life of many: war, and in it, the courage men must display. The Industrial Revolution and European Enlightenment had not ameliorated the Victorians to beings of more placid nature. Instead, their increased contact with the wider, alien and hostile world sparked many of the trends, tensions, and conflicts which defined the Victorian age, the conquests of the British Empire, and the formidable struggles with Continental powers. The circumstances brought on by this seemingly pre-destined advancement of their world order had molded and compelled generations to think, and fight, as Horatius Cocles did on Rome’s flimsy bridge in 509 BCE, albeit predominantly on the aggressor’s side. Thomas Babington Macaulay, eminent historian, elegant prose writer, acceptable verse writer, and dubious administrator in India encapsulated the concept of courage in a series of lays written about the battles of mythical Rome seen through the Victorian perspective. What we find in these rhyming verses is largely a positive appraisal of the virtue of courage, centred around the legendary one-eyed Horatius Cocles. To counteract this or maybe to just set the scene are archetypal cliches of the misery that comes alongside war:

For aged folks on crutches, And women great with child, And mothers sobbing over babes That clung to them and smiled

This is a complete sweep of the stereotypical “weaker” sections of society. The domestic imageries involving the feminine and the young would have provoked guaranteed sympathy from the more or less conservative audiences. This imagery owed more to their reception of the classics than anything in the ancient world. Women in antiquity, though subordinate to men in social status, often vigorously exercised power in their own spheres. The concept of motherhood in Sparta, for example, was one that commanded respect for feminine strength as ones who would bring up families and secure their households. In Horatius’ address, the invocation to “fathers” and “gods” is of central importance. Religious zeal and solidifying and strengthening the glory of ancestors have always been the most common aims to war. For the ancient Romans, this would have meant their polytheistic mythology and their glorified lineage of founders and heroes all the way back to Aeneas; for the Victorians, this would have constituted the Church of England, and men like the Duke of Wellington who have molded their island race into a unique identity and raised the state to the wielding of might. There seems to be a dichotomy between “father” and “god”, between the world of the immortal and the mortal. “Ashes” and “temples” are paralleled in similar fashion, the former minute and intangible, the latter grand and everyday visible. What binds these two imageries together is that they are both objects of reverence. The blending of the earthly and heavenly renders this reverence universal, transcending the boundaries of human’s narrow field of being and thus elevating the allencompassing significance of courage. I would argue that courage is almost always two sided: what to some would seem the noblest sentiment of human endeavour, to others would be the candid manifestation of our cruel-hearted capacity. The

POESIS

Victorians had no hesitations about a just war. Thus, courage was seen in just the same light, whether it be amongst the far-away plains of the Anglo-Afghan Wars or the deserts of the Mahdist War. Our age is not more antibelligerent; just that the established world order after the Second World War has narrowly constrained each country’s egotistical and self- interested deliberations. Is courage valued today? Yes, of course. But war? The context which had begotten courage since time immemorial, passing down through literary masterpieces such as the Iliad, is undoubtedly and unashamedly war. The Victorians through their assiduous study of the classics had embedded this ancient concept in their national outlook, which differed more from that of the Romans that that of our own. Unsurprisingly, questionable politicians today still invoke and abuse the martial past and an idealised form of courage in their support of conflict today. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?

The art of oratory today has degraded to such a lamentable state (look at American politics) that this phrase may well seem farcical. Yet it would not be for the Victorians, who loved overusing hyperboles, and even less so for (hypothetically) the Spartans, who may well have believed it. One of the most influential speeches from ancient literature is surely Pericles’ funeral oration for the Athenian dead in the Peloponnesian War. Like Horatius’ speech, his was a fanciful conception of the author, but it invaluably mirrors societal values at the time of writing. “For we place our dependence, not so much upon prearranged devices to deceive, as upon the courage which springs from our own souls when we are called to action”, Pericles declaims, referring to the Athenian armed forces. 1 The idea is that courage is a natural strength of the Athenians and its simplicity is more important than elaborate tactics. It is a simple virtue, not a complex one. But it is precisely because of that that it inspires. Most of us think that we are not as courageous as our grandfathers or great-grandfathers. You may well think this is due to people being spoiled by the luxuries of modernity. Yet this idea has existed for a long time. Macaulay writes, “Wherefore men fight not as they fought / In the brave days of old.” In fact, the phrase “in the brave days of old” occurs a total of six times in this poem, illustrating the Victorian preoccupation with this idea. Macaulay in recounting this ancient oral tale of the war of Porsena has not just transported anachronistically this idea that we are inferior to those who have come 1

before us to the past, just that it applied to men of antiquity as well. The whole archaic and ultra- human conception of the world of the Iliad for its godly heroes and battles suggests that the ancient Greeks thought of courage as a virtue which reached its zenith in the past, a past that has become irrecoverable by the 8th century BCE. We may let ourselves relax a little—perception of our own apparent faults and frailties when compared to our glorified forefathers has not altered a bit down the centuries. To a greater or lesser degree, courage is an instinct that comes naturally on behalf of values we deem important. Whether it surfaces or triumphs against the contending instincts of cowardness or weakness depends on the individual. I have never engaged in combat, nor will I probably do so in the future. Thus, I have nothing to offer in the shape of a personal anecdote of courage in war. However, courage comes in many different facets. The moral courage of Christ in crucifixion has inspired millions. The intellectual courage of pioneers such as Copernicus and Spinoza has charted new boundaries for human civilisation. The physical courage of explorers such as Robert Scott and George Mallory has challenged the limits of human capacity. The courage I have to offer is a peculiar one—courage in face of perfectionism. We all wish to be better than we are presently, and often experience regret, even anguish, that our hopes and dreams elude us in the cruelness of reality. We may think our assiduous endeavours to reach for that horizon futile, if we do not achieve that perfect state which is beyond the grasp of mortal men. I as a writer penning this personal essay am vulnerable to fears, fears that the end result may not be what it could have been, that a fleeting moment of ingenuity and inspiration would be lost forever at the turn of a page. Since the true art form has no singular manifestation, so it is that artists and writers are prone to thinking that the best is yet to come and that the current is overwhelmed with mediocrity. Looking back over my essay so far, I recognize and acknowledge the weaknesses in content and style, and pessimistic fears creep up that nothing may be worthy of merit. Counteracting this is my courage in the face of perfectionism, conversing with the other side of my mind which engenders confidence. We should never be let down by our fears of not achieving the best, for if we allow this idea to vanquish us, nothing could be accomplished, and I may just as well crumple up my pieces of paper and throw them in the litter bin. But now we have arrived at the end—the end of my discourse about courage, and of my essay. The ending is always the most challenging to write—but don’t worry, I have the courage to deal with it. So it is that I will end on this final reflection: courage is present in us all, seek it and nurture it, and you will flourish. P

Thucydides, translated C F Smith, The History of the Peloponnesian War.

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY ERNEST LAU He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy little junk-shop in a slummy quarter of the town and had been stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it. At the time he was not conscious of wanting it for any particular purpose. He had carried it guiltily home in his brief-case. Even with nothing written in it, it was a compromising possession. The thing that he was about to do was open a diary... He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second. A tremor had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act. In small clumsy letters he wrote: April 4th, 1984 He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two. For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn? For the first time the magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen to him: or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless. For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. It seemed curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the power of expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it was that he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind that anything would be needed except courage. The actual writing would be easy. All he had to do was to transfer to paper the interminable restless monologue that had been running inside his head, literally for years. At this moment, however, even the monologue had dried up. Moreover his varicose ulcer had begun itching unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because if he did so it always became inflamed. The seconds were ticking by. His eyes re-focused on the page. He discovered that while he sat helplessly musing he had also been writing, as though by automatic action. And it was no longer the same cramped, awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid voluptuously over the smooth paper, printing in large neat capitals— DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER He could not help feeling a twinge of panic. It was absurd, since the writing of those particular words was not more dangerous than the initial act of opening the diary; but for a moment he was tempted to tear out the spoiled pages and abandon the enterprise altogether. He did not do so, however, because he knew that it was useless. Whether he wrote DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER, or whether he refrained from writing it, made no difference. Whether he went on with the diary, or whether he refrained from writing it, made no difference. The Thought Police would get him just the same. He had committed—would still have committed, even if he had never set pen to paper—the essential crime that contained all others in itself, Thoughtcrime. For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began writing in a hurried untidy scrawl: theyll shoot me I dont care theyll shoot me in the back of the neck I dont care down with big brother they always shoot you in the back of the neck I dont care down with big brother— He was already dead, he reflected.

—George Orwell, 1984

POESIS

n the novel 1984, the main character, Winston, has sat down to write in his diary, having spent weeks gathering his courage to do so. He purchased the diary after being “stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it”, despite it being “reasonably certain that it would be punished by death”, but in the heat of the moment, suffers from a sudden bout of writer’s block. Contemplating on what he should write, he discovers that he has unconsciously written the phrase DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER several times over on the pages of the diary. It is at that moment that Winston realises he has committed thoughtcrime, the worst crime possible in the world of 1984. After writing a few more phrases of protests, he reflects on his actions dejectedly, believing himself to be “already dead” at the hands of the Thought Police. From the passage above, Orwell reveals to us through the eyes of Winston that in the face of oppression, it takes much more courage than it seems to express oneself, especially in individuals who desire change. Initially, the actions exhibited by Winston seems like that of crazy, irrational man, someone who navigates the treacherous world of 1984 with his heart instead of his head. Admittedly, that was also what I thought of him when I first read the novel. With Winston doing something as insignificant as purchasing and writing in the diary in full knowledge that doing so had severe repercussions, it almost screams the question—Why would anyone be stupid enough to sacrifice their lives for a few words in a diary? Although to us, expressing political dissatisfaction on the pages of a diary seems perfectly fine, in the context of a radically totalitarian world, these acts seem ostensibly stupid, even suicidal. When purchasing the diary, even Winston himself states that he was “reasonably certain that it would be punished by death”, which is only exacerbated by his commitment of a “thoughtcrime”, effectively a death sentence. It is something which even Winston acknowledges, by reflecting on how “he was already dead”. But after re-reading this particular scene over and over again, I have come to realise the depth of Winston’s decisions. At first glance, there seems to be no real reason as to why Winston would do such a thing. After all, even in the real world, we do not tend to write diaries even if we have complete freedom to do so. However, it is precisely our freedom, and Winston’s suffocating lack of it, which makes his decisions seem so alien to us. While we can do whatever we want, say whatever we want and do whatever we want, of course within reason, Winston’s life is the complete opposite. Instead, he must actively suppress his protest every day of his life, under the fear of being shot in the back of the head. By viewing Winston’s life in this light, it becomes clear that his fits of desire are in truth a gasp for fresh air, a chance to express his pent-up frustration against

Big Brother, albeit in a way that is unlikely to enact new change. It becomes clear that to Winston, the innate desire for catharsis in the form of writing seems to provide him with enough courage, to overcome even the most important instinct of all—to survive. Despite there being nowhere in the world where such extreme totalitarianism exists (although some could argue that North Korea is an exception), I still believe that the passage is relevant regardless, in its portrayal of the true courage required to step out and express yourself. This is because even the freest nations have the capability to suppress their own people. For example, the UK’s own Anti-terrorism, Crime and Security Act of 2001 allowed any non-British citizen to be detained indefinitely—a clear violation of human rights. It was only repealed four years later but serves as a demonstration that even democratic countries may indeed, suppress people. In such a case, you are put in similar shoes to that of Winston, where figures of authority tell you one thing, but you feel otherwise. Choosing to express yourself and push against the doctrine of authority in a private protest requires courage. After all, such thoughts are the seeds of change that allow you to gather your thoughts and build up the courage to act. To bring it on a more personal level, as I am from Hong Kong, I will be discussing the recent political events of my home, which has a notorious history with protesting. Although past protests like the Umbrella Movement of 2014 did gain international traction, none attracted more attention than the infamous Hong Kong protests of 2019. To give a brief summary, the massive demonstrations were sparked by the Hong Kong government’s introduction of the 2019 Fugitive Offenders and Mutual Legal Assistance in Criminal Matters Legislation (Amendment) Bill. This was in response to a Hong Kong man being charged for murdering his girlfriend in Taiwan, a place with no pre-existing extradition laws to Hong Kong. If passed, the extradition bill would not only allow a transfer of fugitives to Taiwan, but also Macau and mainland China. It was the latter term that sparked controversy, as many protestors believed that in theory, the Chinese government could simply demand the extradition of any dissident within Hong Kong and thus severely erode Hong Kong’s freedom of speech protections. Eventually, due to the immense number of protests, the bill was repealed by the government. At first glance, Winston’s own actions seem laughable in comparison to the protests in Hong Kong. After all, how can writing in a diary be comparable to protesting on the streets? But as I have mentioned previously, it is also important to take a step back and formulate thoughts of protest. Even in Hong Kong, the 2 million protestors that took to the streets were inspired by a small handful, who had enough courage

to turn their thoughts into action and publicly oppose what they felt was unjust. In the case of Winston, he similarly takes the leap from thought to expression, in hopes that he may inspire future generations to fight against the tyrannical regime of Big Brother. This active change from thought into action allows for Winston to build up more courage than he thought he had. And when encouraged by other similar minded people like Julia (a similarly rebellious character who appears later in the novel), it emboldens Winston to the point where he joins the Brotherhood (an underground organisation in 1984), an action that may actually enact change. This chain of progression, from thought to expression to action, causes a build-up in the momentum of courage, which is not so different to what happened in Hong Kong. To conclude, I believe that recognising that you feel strongly against something is the most important and courageous step you can take. Although it might not enact any change in the wider world, it can make all the difference to your own life. You grant yourself the opportunity to change your life for the better, to make it so that you do not need to keep your thoughts suppressed and to yourself every day. By gathering enough courage to express yourself and speak out, in the worst-case scenario where change isn’t achieved, the sense of relief and the knowledge that you did your best makes it worth it. In the life of a student, that could take the form of peer pressure, bullying, being treated unfairly by a teacher, and so much more. That’s why instead of just passively absorbing all of it and letting it affect you and your mental health, build up the courage to be assertive and tell them what you think. Although that doesn’t mean being aggressive or being stubborn even in the face of overwhelming evidence, making the informed decision and expressing yourself, even when it is against what is seen as the “norm”, does take courage. After all, time and time again, courage is how progress is made. P

POESIS

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY ARUL SINGH

We are all of us not merely liable to fear, we are also prone to be afraid of being afraid, and the conquering of fear produces exhilaration... The contrast between the previous apprehension and the present relief and feeling of security promotes a self-confidence that is the very father and mother of courage. —Malcom Gladwell, David and Goliath

ear fascinates me. I am in love with the fact that I am afraid to explore fear, it is simply the paradoxical idea of this that enthralls me like a child. For where else can I learn so much about myself other than the abyss of my mind, the abyss that I am forced to confront when I explore Fear? I hate being afraid, but I love feeling fear. Fear causes your mind to enter a state of thoughtlessness, you’re not distracted, you’re not dreaming, and you’re wide awake as your mind races toward a single goal. In some light, the twisted peacefulness of the moment is beautiful; to be able to witness and experience evolution’s finest trait and use it to your advantage defines you as a human. It makes you the same as everybody else, when you are afraid, you are human. When you accept the fact that you are afraid, you live. To further this idea, let’s explore a fearless man’s view on courage. We have to show these men and women freedom by enslaving them, and show them courage by frightening them. —Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

In some manner, I idolize Tyler Durden. In many ways, he is the epitome of what bravery looks like. A man so free of his fears that he now finds pleasure in toying with them. Hence it felt perfect for me to gain his opinion on this conundrum of courage I find myself in. He presents to us mindless consumers’ courage as the

opposite of fear, and freedom as the opposite of slavery. Though Tyler’s intentions may have been somewhat twisted, he does not fail to quantify these massive ideas as simple things that exist in contradiction of one another. To emphasize what I mean let me turn to Plato’s Argument from Opposites: All things come to be from their opposite states: for example, something that comes to be ‘larger’ must necessarily have been ‘smaller’ before. —Plato, Phaedo, 70e-71a

We are intrinsically aware of opposites—life is to death as tall is to short. One would struggle to find a thing that does not have an opposite. Both Tyler and Plato suggest that opposites are necessary, we would not know happiness if we had not been sad. We would not know we are in times of peace if we had not been in times of war. We simply need to feel the lack of something to truly appreciate the presence of it. Just as with courage, we need to be truly afraid before we find bravery. The act of courage lies in the act of conquering fear. One does not exist without the other. Thus to find courage, I must let my fears run free. I’ve tried to ask myself what I’m truly afraid of, and while writing this, I’ve come up with a pretty solid list: Getting buried alive Failing my GSCEs Being an overall failure Losing limbs Losing my vision Death of family and friends Dying poor

Dying before House of the Dragon, season 2 Dying

While this list may come off as satire, it does contain some of the things I’m afraid of. Though most of these I have no control over, I still fear them, albeit not actively. Our thousands of years of evolution have brought us to a time when consumerism is the most active growing lifestyle. And a consumer rarely has something he must actively fear, no danger of a predator making him dinner or him not being able to scavenge food. His greatest fear may simply be running out of ice cream. So after having listed a list of some of my fears, could I call myself brave simply because I choose to still live life knowing that there is a possibility of those things happening? With the odds stacked against me, have I truly ever shown courage? I don’t think so. During writing this, I cannot help but feel devoid of courage. To have finally been faced with the idea of being courageous, am I slowly discovering that I am a coward? The feeling of fear creeps up on me once again, I fight it. Racing my mind to find events and thoughts that battle the norms of society. Forcing my mind to come up with a grain of courage. I find bits of bravery, but none worth remembering. Maybe when I gave up my family’s religion to turn towards Atheism. Was that brave or was it simply a poor attempt from me to stand out, to fulfill my rebelliousness against the norm? I faced no opposition from my family. I was free to choose my beliefs. I was free to pick my morals and my ideologies. Simply speaking, a transition that for most people is hard and life-changing, for me was a simple decision that faced next to zero resistance. Could I then say that I was brave in the first place to look beyond the environment that I had grown up in? I find this way too convenient for the context of this essay. After all, if courage came easy, we would all only die once. On the contrary to my self-doubt, do my acts of courage have to be applauded by others to be considered worthy? The words of Amor Towles from A Gentlemen in Moscow spring to mind: “For what matters in life is not whether we receive a round of applause; what matters is whether we have the courage to venture forth despite the uncertainty of acclaim”. There have been very few times in my life that I have done something for the acclaim of it, though every time I have done something even remotely brave, I have always done it for myself. No matter how small an act, I take pride and courage in the fact that I have done it for myself. And in doing something for myself, somewhere I think I dared to be proud of myself. Somewhere I dared to let myself feel that I had done enough. I do see courage in that, however small. It

is never easy for one to sit back and truly admit his doings, good or bad. For a lot of my life, I have turned to literature for answers. To find my meaning of courage, I will do the same for the last time. So as I stumble upon the idea of me being a coward, a single sentence pricks my mind: “Conscience doth make cowards of us all ” (Hamlet). I think I know what Shakespeare meant when he wrote this. He understood that it is us that define our courage, he knew we were in control. I have let my conscience make me a coward. There is no doubt of it. Though I cannot recall a time where I had been explicitly cowardly, neither is there a time where I had been explicitly brave. That is not the life I wish to lead. It is not my thoughts that control me, it is me that controls my thoughts. I will strive for bravery without applause. If my conscience can make me a coward, it is only a step away from making me a hero. This essay has been a lot more than what I expected it to be. An attempt from me to win a prize has turned into a rather excruciating look into my conscience. Quite frankly, I don’t think the outcome of this essay will affect me anymore. I am grateful to have inadvertently stumbled upon my suppressed cowardice, so now I may have the chance to deal with it. I say this because it is far too easy to lie about courage. After having laid myself barren, I now know the only courage I possess is the courage to suffer. And I also know everyone has the courage to suffer. We must simply stop being afraid of the tears. So to you, my reader I say this. Do not pray for miracles or good times. Pray for the strength to bear the unbearable. Pray for the courage to remember what you have rather than what you have lost. Courage, I have found, is much like power. To attain either, one must be willing to lower themselves to pick it up. Lower yourself to suffering, so when you rise after, you rise with courage.P

POESIS

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY FARLIE WILLETT WINNING ENTRY

“I

f I don’t do it now, I’ll never get on with it”, echoes through my head as I begin to ramble to my keyboard about the prettiest nothings of Romantic poetry. Laboriously rewarding hours have I spent intricately digesting word after word of Poetical Sketches,1 detailing pearls scattered across mourning, love-sick lands, immersing myself in autumns “laden with fruit, and stained with the blood of the grape”, practically begging for William Blake to rise from his dissenter’s grave and unleash unto me a connotation to courage, both to embolden me into writing this, but also simply to bring some substance to my passion for his works. Annotations sprung forth through my weathered Blake collection and weaved between the principally diverse four poems I chose to delve into: “To Spring”, “To Summer”, “To Autumn”, and “To Winter”. Pink highlightings slowly clothing line after potential line that I could strenuously tie to the image of courage, like blood from a stone, until I looked up from my work to appreciate the fact that I had nearly highlighted the entire script of “To Summer”, allowing me to realise the moral of my unwritten essay: courage is not merely one acting boldly in the face of the grave, courage may simply be the wording inscribed on the backs of our minds that reminds us what a challenge it is to be. Are not we all, in our own ways, courageous simply for seeing the year gone by, and allowing ourselves (albeit through hardship) to appreciate Blake’s four seasonal deities that pass us by year on year, bringing renewal, prosperity and relaxation, but ladening us with the burden of the inevitable sunset of this idealistic cycle? The courageous is the nauseously immense recognition that daily life, let alone annual life, is the insurmountably Sisyphean task that we strive to overcome, but the minute the date reaches the 31st of

December, the minute the boulder reaches the top of Tartarus’s mount, as depicted in Polygnotus’2 works, the clock strikes us back to January, and the boulder rolls down the hill, damning our inborn sin into another year. But, much like Sisyphus, we retain that courage and engage that burden, continuing the cycle. The Sisyphean reading of this idea can be extended to include Albert Camus’ conclusion in his essay “The Myth of Sisyphus”, in that “The struggle itself ... is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy”.3 While we are condemned to live this seasonal life, with a level of inherent repetition in its highs and lows, do we not find some satisfaction in the courageous battle through these lows and some pleasure in these highs? Essentially, what I aim to illustrate is the cyclical nature of the year, a nature I believe to be a gift. Just when it gets bad, the seasons pull us up and allow us to recognise that, after all, it gets better. I’m oft-biased to sway to a pessimistic view on the climate, with my last few weeks plagued by existential fears of an uncontrollable threat that the individual can take no grand action against. A dichotomy that boils within me, the concern of a career that isn’t “green” enough, in that one isn’t taking a heavy stance to combat the afflictions our planet faces is one that I believe many face in the modern age. While it may seem as though this shift to a preachy, socio-political tone to my essay is an undue one, I feel a compulsion to highlight the effects that Blake’s poetic works have had on my aspirations for the future. You see, when confronted with Will Day’s deftly prophetic implication that my generation will bear the burden birthed from decades of vitriolic abuse for the only planet we have left,4 I pictured turning tail and running. If I can’t truly effect change as an individual,

‘Poetical Sketches’ by William Blake, written between 1769 and 1777, and published in 1783.

The Myth of Sisyphus’ by Albert Camus, 1942.

‘Nekyia’ by Polygnotus, circa 5th century BCE, reconstructed 1892.

4 While not a direct quote, I derived heavy inspiration from Will Day, (OT) and his Tennant Lecture ‘Scale, Connectedness and Urgency: an illustrated look at a complex world,’ November 2022

why should I be forced, either by my own sick self interest or by the societal hand that, like capital to the one percent, guides me to the slaughter, to contribute to a society I will grow to despise? Surely the most effective way to combat the climate crisis would be to hit a personal net-zero by living in a log cabin in Montana, USA 5, burying my head in the sand, and ignoring my collapsing earth and an atmosphere that seems to tighten and asphyxiate an abusive population. I, like Blake’s Winter, wished to damn myself to an isolated life “beneath mount Hecla”. However, piecing together a deeper meaning behind this damnation allowed me to accept an inevitability of struggle, then progress, then improvement. In Blake’s final lines in his final poem to the seasons, he addresses the conclusion of the monstrous deity of the season Winter, placing the audience surrogate, the “mariner” trapped in the midst of a raging storm, facing the immensity of an unknowable evil. However, the poem’s primary thesis is exposed here, in that, at the end of the season, “the monster is driv’n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla”. At the time, Mount Hecla, Iceland’s most active volcano, was considered to be a gateway to hell by most, with German scholar Casper Peucer writing that the gates of hell could be found within “the bottomless abyss of Hekla Fell”.6 The inherent nature of the volcano is particularly effective for Blake, as it, in and of itself, even juxtaposes traditional Judeo-Christian eschatological views derived from the doom paintings of the medieval church, such as Michaelangelo’s The Last Judgement,7 painted on the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican City, with more subversive images of hell, such as that of Dante’s Inferno, as depicted in art like Gustave Doré’s Inferno, Canto 34 8. The final circle of Dante’s hell is reserved for the cowardly betrayers of society, and contains Satan half frozen in an icy hellscape, in each of his three mouths chewing on Judas, Cassius and Brutus. Blake’s usage of such a juxtaposition of traditional ideas of hell with alternative suggestions of its nature (with the original idea of flaming hell contained below an icy hellscape) to me implies a condemnation of the cowardly, damning them to the same hell that he banishes his grand villain Winter to. This, I see as a wake-up call. There was no clearer way to state it to my stubborn being: I cannot simply live a life ignoring an inevitability; we must all take action against it.

This inevitability, the climate crisis, is not one we face alone, however. It is a global issue, and we must treat it as such, working together to strive for progress, no matter how hard we must work. That solves the issue of ignorance, but I also had to combat my own pessimism, in that an effective, all-encompassing solution seemed so unattainable. However, continued analysis of these poems allowed me to unlock another message that aided me in coming to terms with what I had to face. On top of his vilification of those who lack courageous revolutionary drive, a virtue that Blake was heavily influenced by in his works relating to the concept of revolution as whole,9 the poems also aid in tying into a thesis on the intrinsic nature of rejuvenation in our lives, a thesis devised from further analysis of the first two poems in the series, “To Spring” and “To Summer”. Most importantly, the nature of “To Spring” proves unequivocally that, in Blake’s mind, no matter how hard one has been struck, one always has the capacity to return to form. This promise comes from the guarantee of the seasons changing; Blake is promising us that, while we may struggle, we are also sworn the ability to bounce back. Our poetic year begins in turmoil, with the poetic speaker’s “clime” ravaged by some terror, unwittnessed by the readers (though, since the poem takes place during spring, we can predict Blake’s later attitudes towards winter through this poem.) The poem begins with the invocation of a deity, with the speaker pietistically crying out “O thou,” as if to beg for the holy Spring to show herself and bring rejuvenation to a “land that mourns for [her]”. Interestingly, I picture, while obviously not exactly, the world the poetic speaker here describes as not unlike our own. Clearly the symbol of winter here is a metaphor for tragedy, or dire situations, which I see as not dissimilar to the universal crisis that everyone is experiencing. Nobody is exempt from the punishments that come with Promethean greed10 or Icarean ambition11 that can be traced back to the Industrial Revolution, and we are all to pay the price for these iniquities. However, while all may seem, on a global scale, incredibly dire, this poem promises reconciliation with this fact, and in reconciliation comes growth, growth under the blessing deity that brings regeneration after tragedy. To put this metaphor as clearly as possible, we are in the midst of a Blakeesqe winter, steeped in an incredibly destructive and

See ‘Industrial Society and its future’ by Ted Kaczynski (not an endorsement of his actions, simply a reference to some of his ideals.)

‘The Last Judgement,’ Michelangelo, 1537-1541

See ‘America a Prophecy’ by William Blake, 1793

6 8

Quote, Casper Peucer, circa 16th century)

‘Inferno, Canto 34,’ Gustave Doré, 1857

10 ‘Prometheus Carrying Fire’ by Jan Cossiers, 1636-1638 11 ‘The Fall of Icarus’ by Jacob Peter Gowy, 1637

POESIS

difficult situation, obviously a situation immediately seeming dire, as though there is nothing we can do to change it. However, Blake’s promise here is that we are guaranteed renewal in the face of this adversity. Not all is bleak, in that initiative is being taken and compaines unengaged with the climate are being, quite rightly, left in the dust. Progress is being made towards a greener future through combatting outputs of greenhouse gasses and decreased albedo, limiting the effects of rising temperatures and sea levels, and providing aid to those already affected. However, this is not to say that we need to stop trying. This is not something to be taken lightly. It is my future. It is yours. We cannot afford to wait around for governments and conglomerates to catch on; change must be made immediately. Blake promises that it all gets better, no matter how bad, but he also asks that we strive for help, and don’t expect it to come for us. The implication here is that we must be courageous to, to put it colloquially, stick it out, and be capable of making strides towards progress, much like what I perceive to be the mariner of “To Winter” in Blake’s printwork, which depicts a struggling arm pushing through a raging sea to cry out “Help! Help!”12 We must, through our own courageous necessity, strive through bad times and reach out for help, and struggle towards environmental progress, but, through this, comes the guarantee that it will come to us, and we will be able to make this progress we so desperately need. As spring comes from a promise to winter in Blake’s literature, there is hope in our bleaklooking futures. Blake is there to assure us that, in spite of it all, it gets better. I’ll be honest, my weeks leading up to the writing of this piece have been tumultuous, to say the least. The internal conflict burning within me proved to be a thoroughly frustrating stressor on top of the pressure of (and subsequent procrastination of) writing my piece. Nevertheless, spending my time pouring myself into Blake’s poetry, hunched over my anthology, allowed me to reconcile my worries over my future, and I was provided great respite in my passion for his works. In acknowledging the dire situation we lie in, and the struggles we have ahead, I was also made to confront the light at the end of the tunnel. Blake here is promising us a solution, but we must strive, as a collective, towards it. The moment we stop working toward this common goal, as Mr Farmer eloquently put it for me during a discussion about my essay’s contents, is the moment all is lost. Thus, do think on how you will play a part against the climate crisis. Ponder, consider and interrogate all angles, but by all means, don’t stress: It’s gonna get better with courage. P

12 ‘Help! Help!’ by William Blake, 1793

THE JONATHAN SMITH PERSONAL ESSAY PRIZE

BY ALIDA CHAN C

hina is a proud culture with a history of over five thousand years. As time flowed, many soldiers, emperors, politicians, farmers, businessmen and artists played their part in the grand show of different dynasties. Many of them were heroes, full of courage; they expressed their courage in many different ways: fighting enemies for their country, participating in cultural and intellectual battles, leaving far from home to start businesses, and even having the courage to hold the entire empire on their shoulder—the courage to rile. However, people today are most impressed by three types of courage and admire those who possessed them. They are poets. And these poets armed the Chinese language and sent them to war. In some cases, this could be political; in others, it could be the struggle of the inner mind; in a few extreme cases, they could lead and command an army. The poets in this essay were true heroes who expressed their courage differently. They are remembered for those very moments and their art of short but precise poems. THE LAST CUP OF WINE

Flipping through the pages of history, we first stop in 750 BCE, the prime of China’s Tang dynasty. A poet named Wang Wei arrived at Weicheng (modernday Shanxi province), where he spent a night in an inn. Weicheng was located on the outskirts of the western capital of the Tang dynasty, Chang’an (modern-day Xian). Wang Wei was in Weicheng with his friend Yuan Er. It was a sad occasion. Yuan Er received an order to leave the west gate and go on to take command of the Grand Anxi Frontier. This massive area covered the land of modern-day Iran, all the countries ending in “-stan”, the Tianshan mountains, Tibet and Xinjiang. Its location was crucial for the national security of the Tang dynasty, but more importantly, it was the Silk Road’s gateway, bringing tangible goods on both sides of the west gate (Yang pass). Although it was a very high official position, it meant that Yuan Er would have to leave his hometown. As his colleague and dearest friend, Wang Wei accompanied him out of the capital. Finally, the moment of parting came, and with many tears shed, Wang Wei wrote down a grand farewell.

送元二使安西 Seeing off Yuan Er on his mission to Anxi 唐·王维 Tang dynasty · Wang Wei 渭城朝雨浥轻尘， The morning rain in Wei moistens the light dust, 客舍青青柳色新。 The inn brightened green in the newly arrived colour of the willows. 劝君更尽一杯酒， I pray thee to empty one more cup of farewell wine, 西出阳关无故人。 One goes west beyond the Yang Guan (west gate); without your old friend like me.

This poem is written in ancient Chinese, and we can use the same characters in the poems today without troubling its meaning. The language was so precise that this story was packed into four lines, with only 28 characters. This structure evolved over the dynasties, from the very beginning, four characters per line, into five and seven characters. These regular patterned lines were called Shi, the direct translation of the word “poem”. In the Tang dynasty, not only do the majority of poems rhyme, but they also follow the pattern of vocal and literal couplets. In this poem, the two lines introduce the setting and romantically describe the morning in Weicheng. The following two lines are the highlight of the poem. Wang Wei wrote full of emotion, expressing the sadness of parting with Yuan Er. The figure of wine represents the profound relationship between two men. As they drank many cups, Wang Wei deliberately depicts the weakness in his heart: Stepping out of the west gate is going to be dangerous, and you will not meet a friend like me. I wish you all the best, but it is heartbreaking to see my brother leave. The poet used a classic technique of structuring

POESIS

this beautiful poem practised by many of the finest poets in Chinese history. The first couplet describes the scene and the beauty of nature, whereas the second couplet brings out all of the poet’s emotions. This structure emphasises the interconnected nature and humans. Describing features such as willow and the light morning rain creates a mood that contributes to the intense sadness that follows in the second couplet. This structure works so well that there is not a single character directing sorrow—but as readers, we can infer what Wang Wei was trying to express. This poem made Wang Wei’s courage memorable because both men knew in their hearts that the moment of parting would be the last time they would see each other. With a risky mission and in an age where transport was slow, Yuan Er had a minimal chance of coming back to the East again. Knowing this, Wang Wei still chooses to face this fact with a calm attitude. He fears this moment. The reader can tell, from the plain tone and the rather depressing mood created by the small detail of the last cup of wine. Nevertheless, Wang Wei faced the obstacle between Yuan Er and himself. After drinking the wine, the two heroes set foot on their life journeys. This sentimental mood he created in the poem correlates with many in modern society. We all experience a time when the living pace is breakneck, and we must learn to say goodbye. Wang Wei shows great courage in these 28 characters. His courage was to say farewell and know when to let go. If one knew that this was the last time he would ever meet someone, some people would not have the courage to face the fear of seeing that person leave, but Wang Wei overcame that fear. He dares to follow his friend out of the city to say goodbye. No matter if it was Tang or the modern day, or whether the journey was far or complex, the heart about to say farewell has always been the same since the start of society. There was no record of them ever meeting again, as five years after Wang Wei parted with Yuan Er, Wang Wei died peacefully. Before that, he wrote to the emperor to resign all his titles (including deputy minister) and spent his last years enjoying life in seclusion. This act of retreating from glory and fame again demonstrated his courage. He managed to let go: “I had it all, and I also have the courage to live without it”. This was the courage of Wang Wei. GO WITH THE FLOW

The second type of courage is taking things as they come, even if they are heavy like mountains. In the Song dynasty (960-1279), a poet called Su Shi was active in both the political and the literacy stage. Su Shi was born in Sichuan and educated by his famous writer father. He was the youngest scholar of the entire Song dynasty. Whilst everyone thought he would quickly become a wealthy and influential politician,

his journey in the imperial court was the opposite. Su Shi moved from city to city and “governed” in fourteen places. Although the records state “govern”, he was actually in exile, each time for several years. The exiles resulted from Su Shi’s strong objections to the law reformation proposed by “prime minister” Wang An Shi, and were also due to political infighting among the elites. Su Shi’s personality was very straightforward and perhaps even a bit naïve from time to time. Living in a hypocritical bureaucratic society, his strong language offended many with powers, and therefore his personality doomed his tragic destiny. However, although life gave him hard punches, Su Shi was able to keep a positive mentality, which takes great courage. 满庭芳·归去来兮 Overflowing aroma · Thy going 宋·苏轼 Song · Su Shi 元丰七年四月一日，余将去黄移汝，留别雪堂邻里二三君子，会仲览自江东来别，遂书以遗之。 Subheading: First of April, the seventh year of Yuan Feng, I am about to be moved from Huangzhou to Ruzhou, leaving the honourable men who live near my Snow Hall. My friend Zhonglan came from the East of the river to see me going on my journey; therefore, I am writing this Ci and giving it to him to keep as a memory. 归去来兮，吾归何处？万里家在峨眉。百年强半，来日苦无多。坐见黄州再闰，儿童尽楚语吴歌。山中友，鸡豚社酒，相劝老东坡。 To go back, but to where shall I head off? Home is thousands of miles away in the Emei mountains. Having lived over half a century, sad that my time is running out. Looking at my five years in Huangzhou, the kids learned to speak the local Chu language and sing songs of Wu. Friends that used to travel with me to the mountains have prepared a feast and wine to host me, an old man named Dong Po. They ask this old man to stay. 云何，当此去，人生底事，来往如梭。待闲看秋风，洛水清波。好在堂前细柳，应念我，莫剪柔柯。仍传语，江南父老，时与晒渔蓑。 To say what? I am about to leave. Life appears like pickings on the loom that comes and goes. At leisure, I will watch the autumn breeze and ripples of the river clear. I will think of the willow tree as slender. Will you trim for me its twigs tender? And please tell the fathers and elders of Jiangnan, do not forget to bask my fishing nets once in a while!

This piece of literature is in the form of Ci. It was created in Tang but was popular in the Song dynasty. It changed the regular pattern of Shi but followed a

different Ci Pai, which is the part of the heading before the dot. This Ci follows the pattern of “overflowing aroma”. Ci Pai is not a part of the Ci’s meaning itself, but it is a type of format. Ci is arranged in different sentence patterns because unlike Shi, which is recited out loud, Ci is most often used as lyrics in songs, similar to the western hymns. In this Ci, Su Shi showed enormous courage in accepting life’s obstacles. Su Shi was banished from the capital, and Huangzhou was one of his worst exiles. He was sent to the wild and undeveloped town after a political interrogation that lasted months and nearly cost him his life. Usually, when officers were sent into places like this, their mentality collapsed immediately, the massive contrast of wealth to poverty, civilisation to the uneducated environment, freedom to being watched, and being in charge to being commanded by others. Being far from home, the considerable pressure and the material shortage would often destroy people who lived in comfort for most of their lives. Despite his fear and hate of these obstacles, Su Shi was also one of the influential people who felt the stark contrast of becoming powerless and dared to face all these problems and find beauty in life. The first thing he did as he came to Huangzhou was to build himself an accommodation. The house was small and ramshackle, but he gave it a very romantic name, “Snow Hall”, as mentioned in the subheading of the Ci. It was both to cheer himself up and to maintain the dignity of a scholar. He built his house on a hill south of the village. Therefore he gave himself the title of “Dongpo Jushi”, someone who lived on the South Hill. A title was meant to be a very serious and honourable trait to recognise a knowledgeable writer, but Su Shi decided to name himself after the small hill he lived on. This action is both humorous and sarcastic. Unlike most, with this sarcasm, Su Shi did not complain about anyone. He accepted that he was being punished. Naturally, Su Shi was angry about not accomplishing his political goals, but he resolved the anger in a humorous but courageous way. This takes significant mental strength. In the first part of the Ci, Su Shi uses the clause “to where shall I head off?” This was a very famous quote from a philosopher and writer, Tao Yuan Ming. His study of Buddhism led Su Shi through some of the most difficult periods of his life. Su Shi himself was also a very loyal Buddhist, and historians believe it helped him gain a positive mental outlook and courage during these dark times. Many poets in Chinese history like to call themselves “old men”. It was an expression not only to self-deprecate but also to imply that they have been through a lot in their life. It is undoubtedly true for Su Shi, as he describes his children as having “learned to speak local Chu language and sing songs of Wu”. This detail lets the readers depict the nostalgia of

his own childhood spent with his brother and father. It also describes his mixed emotions of looking at the next generation growing up while he is at the low point of his life journey, slowly getting old. Nevertheless, Su Shi still faces it with a courageous mentality. He makes friends with the locals, who “have prepared feast and wine to host me, an old man named Dong Po. They ask this old man to stay”. This emphasises Su Shi’s courage and the hospitality of the local Chinese people. They did not treat Su Shi differently just because he was sent into exile by the imperial court. For Su Shi, it was even more precious because he was the one that arrived in this alienated environment. Su Shi could completely take off his air as an official. He was approachable just like an ordinary farmer. He made mistakes and feared problems just like a normal marketer. He did not despise the villagers just because they were less educated. This was an act of courage. It was like seeing the scholar disappear—but what appeared was a calm gentleman that humorously named himself after a hill. History sources suggest that he was so passionate that he even became best friends with some local officers, who were meant to keep an eye on him as a prisoner. Su Shi’s extraverted personality perhaps was one of the reasons he survived all the trauma. Whenever he faced challenges, people helped him, even when he was thought to have committed treason. Compelling consuls, including his brother, wrote to the emperor and saved his life by ensuring he would end up in Hangzhou. Su Shi described himself as a man who “cannot live without friends”. It was indeed a sign of courage and virtue to have this perspective, to make friends at the worst time and, therefore, to get through it. In the second half of the Ci, Su Shi expresses his sadness about leaving this town. He had nothing and knew no one when he came, but with his courage and ability, he changed this unfamiliar wild land into his second home. However, in the Ci, Su Shi expresses his unwillingness to leave by describing small and regular details of what was meant to be a miserable but instead beautiful time in Huangzhou. He asked his friend to “trim for [him the willow tree’s] twigs tender”. The contrast between a small action, “trimming”, and the deep emotion contained in the theme of parting emphasises Su Shi’s love and care for Huangzhou. The willow tree stands for yearning and nostalgia in Chinese literature because of its long and thick branches. By describing the trim of the willow leaves, Su Shi leaves his heart in Huangzhou and sends his gratitude to the town’s people. In the end, he humorously requests the villagers of Huangzhou to help him “bask his fishing nets once in a while”. The fishing net represents his work in Huangzhou and his existence. Su Shi chose to end his writing with a request; it again implied his nostalgia for the people of Huangzhou, and perhaps

POESIS

when Su Shi’s regard was delivered, every time his fishing net was hung, the people would be reminded of this great man. As it was hung in the air, the net also represented the absence of Su Shi. This second half of the Ci especially suggests that Su Shi was courageous. By describing minor things, he makes the readers feel his unwillingness to leave. Su Shi came with nothing and therefore took away nothing from Huangzhou. It was only his positivity that remained in the people of Huangzhou. Lots of poets could write about very extraordinary scenery of the battlefield. However, I believe in the plain and insignificant description and questioning of “to where shall I set off?” Su Shi’s courage in facing life as it flows prevails above the other poets using strong language. I want to sum up Su Shi’s courage by using two poems he wrote in different cities he stayed in during his exile. The hidden wisdom can lead to an epiphany in a society of constant change. 试问岭南应不好？却道，此心安处是吾乡。 Lingnan should be rather unpleasant. However, I heard that where there is ease, there is home.

The place that Su Shi describes as “ease” is the world we love. Su Shi spent his whole life on the road, and his emotional home was traceable to where he was born. However, at the same time, it went above that degree of geographical mapping. He explored a much broader, boundaryless hometown, which was contained in his courageous and optimistic mentality. 谁怕，一蓑烟雨任平生。 Oh, I would fain; Spend a straw-cloaked life in mist and rain. 归去，也无风雨也无晴。 Let me go back! Impervious to wind, rain or shine, I’ll have my will.

Su Shi wrote this in a poem to his friend when he was 54 years old. It is a reflection of his heroic life. It provokes the thoughts that we are only different people stopping at different inns of a journey. Our time goes very fast, but it is precious and meaningful. Life is filled with challenges, but in the end, courageous men will make it through just fine. Flow with the obstacles and fears in life. Don’t panic when facing them but remember always to find joy and seize the day: carpe diem. Looking back to an extraordinarily complex life, one should feel the peace in the chaos. Su Shi’s wisdom and courage are admired using a liberal and humorous name, the “Dongpo spirit”.

ROAD OF AMBITION

The last type of courage introduced in this essay is bravery and the spirit to accomplish one’s dream. Wang An Shi, one of the most successful politicians in the Song dynasty, was also a great poet of his dynasty. Having sat in the imperial court with power in his hands, he was determined to rewrite the laws at that time, which were found to be inefficient and unjustified. His mission was complicated. To change the law meant that he disturbed the self-interests of lots of counsellors (officers in the imperial court). Because his ideas of a new system were so daring, people considered it reckless and risky. Wang An Shi, while fearing failure in his ambition, wrote a Ci to show that his courage would overcome his fear and his determination to succeed in what he had just started. 浪淘沙令 Command from the roaring waves of sand (Lang tao sha ling) 宋·王安石 Song dynasty· Wang An Shi 伊吕两衰翁，历遍穷通。一为钓叟一耕佣。若使当时身不遇，老了英雄。 The two elders, Yi and Lu, have been through ups and downs. One was a fisherman, and the other farms were for a landlord. If they have not met a noble leader in their life, then heroes would grow old. 汤武偶相逢，风虎云龙。兴王只在谈笑中。直至如今千载后，谁与争功！ Then they met the dukes Tang and Wu, and they became tigers in the wind and dragons in the cloud. They built a great empire in a few chats and laughs. After thousands of years, until today, who can compete with these elders?

In his Ci, Wang An Shi wrote stories about two great politicians who met their leaders in a late stage of life. Yi, who met duke Tang, helped him to conquer countries that were in chaos and built the second dynasty in Chinese history, Shang. Lu, who met duke Wu, had a very famous story of him fishing with a hookless stick. He assisted Wu in rebelling against the evil last emperor of Shang and started the longreigning Zhou dynasty. In the first half of the Ci, Wang An Shi tells the audience that Yi and Lu had to wait a long time before using their talent. They worked as ordinaries when their time did not come and waited patiently for the right leader. Moreover, if they were not lucky enough to meet the dukes, they would have died and not accomplished anything memorable. He wrote the first half of the Ci to comfort his anger

about not being used by the previous emperor, who died of sickness. He also wrote this to tell the audience that many people filled with talent and ambition do not have the chance to fulfil their dream. It was also to praise the emperor, Song Shen Zong, who largely supported Wang An Shi’s new laws and protected him in a political war. Wang An Shi then wrote when “they met the dukes Tang and Wu” and “they became tigers in the wind and dragons in the cloud”. The figure “tiger” and “dragon” both represent power, especially the dragon, which implies both elders helped the two dukes to become an emperor, the son of the sky. The phrases “in the wind” and “in the cloud” also highlight the achievements of Yi and Lu because only the most successful people can be tall enough to reach the cloud and the sky (the wind) and because they met the dukes, they were able to achieve their goals. The sudden change of role, from a poor farmer, an old fisherman to a consul, a founder and a father, compares and foils the success and fortune of Yi and Lu, who had their lives changed because they met the right leader. The hyperbole of Yi and Lu “built an empire in a few chats and laughs” highlights the magnificent governing skill of Yi and Lu. It also implies to Song Shen Zong, the current emperor, that I, Wang An Shi, can succeed as Yi and Lu did. The key was to find the right leader. For the ones who did, the process of completing their ambition will, of course, still be challenging. However, the chance has shown itself, and those problems can be resolved. Lastly, Wang An Shi praised Yi and Lu’s success and said that in “thousands of years”, nobody could be compared to them. It is an exaggeration, but at the same time, Wang An Shi secretly ended those thousands of years by saying that it is only “until” today. This implies that his ambition can be compared to the elders, and Song Shen Zong can also be compared to two of the wisest emperors in history. The claim and self-expectation presented in this Ci are very daring, which takes lots of courage, insight and confidence to make. Throughout the whole Ci, the audience can feel that after every praise, Wang An Shi seems to say that he is also capable of doing these things. This poem was presented to the emperor Song Shen Zong himself. Wang An Shi had shown his courage and loyalty to his most respectful majesty. Song Shen Zong was younger than Wang An Shi. To him, this Ci was a solemn declaration from his head that he would use all he had studied to serve his country. Wang An Shi’s ambition and courage were honourable, and they were used in a genuinely respectful manner: to be compared to the giants in the past and to give himself to the country he loved. This thought holds him up through years of dangerous and difficult fighting in the imperial court. Finally, after countless nights of overcoming his inner fear, he became a fierce “tiger in the wind” and a mighty “dragon in the cloud”. His law reformation act

was kept for hundreds of years, and some of them even had impacts on modern Chinese and even western laws. Wang An Shi was a man who dared to fulfil his ambitions and challenge all the giants in history; for that courage, he is remembered. Concluding and reflecting on the courage shown above by three scholarly heroes, they teach us lessons in three different relationships. First, Su Shi gave us the wisdom and courage to find inner peace that can help us to accept misfortune and discover beauty in the smallest components of life. Wang Wei taught us to have courage when we have to temporarily or permanently part with friends or family members. This courage can be carried onto broader scales of life decisions, but the bare acts of farewell to people are more and more constant in modern society. Perhaps letting go is a fear everyone needs to accept liberally and try to overcome, and we have to acknowledge that parting is for a better reunion. On the most extensive scale, Wang An Shi represented the act of courage when it comes to fulfilling one’s ambition or serving one’s country. Sometimes to achieve this, one has to risk standing on the opposite side of many powers, but one has to have the courage to determine one’s dreams and make them a reality by taking action to overcome the fear of failing. THE SPIRIT PASSES ON

Despite not being able to achieve what the poets have achieved both in the creation of literature and the recognition of life itself, I have gone through many moments in life, overcoming my fears and demonstrating the courage shown by these great idols of mine. When I first left my home and flew to the other side of this planet, I learned to say farewell to my family and friends and everything I loved about the glorious Shanghai city and the intensely packed Chinese culture that lies within it. It required great sacrifices to enable me to be here and receive the showering of knowledge and experience, both in costly material goods and in mental courage. When I boarded the plane to Heathrow, I truly understood what Yuan Er must have felt when he stepped out of the west gate: the nostalgia of motherland that was carried in every cup of wine they drank. The first month in Tonbridge also made me experience Su Shi’s wisdom of “where there is ease, there is home”. After a period of settling down and making friends, life fell back to a normal pace. The nostalgia faded away as I could keep focused on the busy school-life, and I enjoyed the mental ease with which I got into this diverse and high-achieving environment. But just like anyone, I also endured social and academic pressure. Still, whenever I looked out of the window at night and saw the white moon clear in the sky, I remembered Su Shi’s famous line,

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“I hope all people live long and peaceful; we share the moon even though we are thousands of miles apart”. The courage to take on what’s in life drove me to pay attention to the beautiful things happening around me, like earning the house tie and how the ginkgo tree turned golden overnight. Su Shi has given me strength and courage during a change, and I have accepted and focused on the brightness. Moving into second year, I feel more and more the courage of Wang An Shi. The academic pursuit and the process of achieving positive results in different subjects have motivated me to fulfil all my dreams. Perhaps this is what youth is for, to innovate and to try and to overcome the fear of failing. Therefore I bring this essay to an end. Lastly, I would like to thank my teachers for taking the time to read through my naive language and also for delivering this chance for me to reflect on a meaningful topic. I would also like to respect ancient China’s deep and virtuous culture and the heroic poets that have added colour to the past by writing Shi and Ci with their own styles. They made history prosper, and for that very reason, their courage is the most honourable. P 人生如逆旅，我亦是行人 ---- 苏轼 Life is like a journey, and I am a pedestrian. ---- Su Shi

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HE ENGLISH SOCIETY AND ALL ITS MEMBERS

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In this age of fleeting distractions and transient experiences, your dedication to the written word and your belief in the power of literature have served as a beacon of hope, illuminating the path towards a more profound understanding of our shared human experience. Through your poems, stories, essays, and musings, you have breathed life into our ‘word hoard’, enriching the literary landscape with your unique perspectives, voices, and insights.

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O OUR MOST REVERED TEACHERS, whose INSIGHT and ERUDITION

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nce again, we extend our sincerest gratitude to you, the readers of the first edition

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