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TRUTH

We live in uncertain times and GUEST FEATURE BY thatismoreevidenttodaythanit JOHN WYNN-JONES: has been for some time. Part of TRUTH our insecurity revolves around “Truth” and what it is. In an age Dr John Wynn-Jones is well known in WONCA circles and when the media and in particular immediatepastchairoftheWONCAWorkingPartyonRural social media dominate our lives, Practice. During the COVID-19 crisis, he has been writing a howcanwebecertainwhattruth 'Rural Miscellany' email with poems and resource ideas to reallyisandwhetherwhatweare help and divert us in this difficult time. In this first item of beingtoldistrue. 2021,wepublish"Truth" -writtenbyJohnthismonth. In healthcare, the gold standard hasalwaysbeenthepeer reviewed scientific literature, led by critical thinking and rigorous scientific discipline but during this pandemic, so much of the cited material has been released early before peer review. In addition, two majorjournalshadtowithdrawtwopapersthathadobviousflaws,leadingtoalossofconfidenceinthe sciencecannoningeneral. Most scientific information available to the public at large comes from a multitude of news platforms, competing with each other, where interpretation is more geared to boosting reader volume than reportingaccuratefacts. We have become openly sceptical about information coming from our governments, political leaders and major NGOs, leading to social turmoil, open hostility to disease and public health measures, public unrest and a plethora of conspiracy theories. The promise of herd immunity provided as a result of national vaccination programmes is being put a rick by those who do not believe in vaccination and believe that vaccine will harm them or change their DNA. In the UK, people have been caught taking pictures of empty corridors in hospitals in order to prove that there is no pandemic. The tragic daily figuresofdeathsseemtohavenoimpactbutfurtherprovethatit’sallagovernmentconspiracy Ihavecollectedtogetherpoemsonthethemeoftruth,startingwitha600-year-oldpoembytheEnglish poet, writer and diplomat, Geoffrey Chaucer. To poets then, truth was related more to the nature of one’s faith and spiritual life whereas in recent times, the pursuit of truth has clearly taken much more secularcourse. Enjoy!

Dr John Wynn-Jones

GeoffreyChaucer(1343-1400)

Geoffrey Chaucer was the outstanding English poet before Shakespeare. He has been called the "father of English literature" , or, alternatively, the "father of English poetry" . He is seen as crucial in legitimising the literary use of Middle English when the dominant literary languages in England were stillFrenchandLatin.

His “Canterbury Tales” ranks as one of the greatest poetic works in the English language. He also contributed importantly in the second half of the 14thcenturytothemanagementofpublicaffairsas courtier, diplomat, member of parliament and civil servant but it is his the writing of poetry—for which he is remembered. In his diplomatic career, he was trusted and aided by three successive kings— EdwardIII,RichardII,andHenryIV.

He was the first writer to be buried in what has since come to be called Poets' Corner, in Westminster Abbey. Chaucer also gained fame as a philosopher and astronomer, composing the scientific ”A Treatise on the Astrolabe” for his 10year-oldsonLewis.

Among Chaucer's many other works are “The Book of The Duchess” , “The House of Fame” , “The Legend of Good Women” , and “Troilus and Criseyde” .

The poem "Truth" is 600 years old and is also sometimes called "Balade de Bon Conseil" (Ballad of Good Counsel). In this, Chaucer explores what "truth" is ethically. The narrator of the poem states that we should not seek out the rewards of life, becauseourtruehomeisinheavenandweareonly pilgrims while alive. We are sent here to spread the word about God, live a simple life, not beyond our means, and be kind to others. This poem is based on the Bible Gospel: John 8:32 which states, "the truth shall set you free" . The poem is in Middle English.

Truth

Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothefastnesse, Suffise thin owen thing, thei it be smal; For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tykelnesse, Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal. Savour no more thanne the byhove schal; Reule weel thiself, that other folk canst reede; And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede.

Tempest the nought al croked to redresse, In trust of hire that tourneth as a bal. Myche wele stant in litel besynesse; Bywar therfore to spurne ayeyns an al; Stryve not as doth the crokke with the wal. Daunte thiself, that dauntest otheres dede; And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede.

That the is sent, receyve in buxumnesse; The wrestlyng for the worlde axeth a fal. Here is non home, here nys but wyldernesse. Forth, pylgryme, forth! forth, beste, out of thi stal! Know thi contré! loke up! thonk God of al! Hold the heye weye, and lat thi gost the lede; And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede.

Therfore, thou Vache, leve thine olde wrechednesse; Unto the world leve now to be thral. Crie hym mercy, that of hys hie godnesse Made the of nought, and in espec{.i}al Draw unto hym, and pray in general For the, and eke for other, hevenelyche mede; And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede.

JohnKeats1795-1821

John Keats was an English Romantic poet. He was one of the main figures of the second generation of Romantic poets, along with Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley, despite his works having been in publication for only four years before his death from tuberculosis at the age of 25. He trained as an apothecary at Guys Hospital in London but never practiced as his short life was taken up entirely by hispoetry.

"Ode on a Grecian Urn” is a complex, mysterious poem. The speaker looks at a Grecian urn, which is decorated with images of rustic life in ancient Greece. He is fascinated by the images and the fact thattheyarefrozenintime.Thespeaker'sresponse shifts through different moods, and ultimately the urn provokes questions more than it provides answers. The poem's ending has been and remains the subject of varied interpretation. The urn seems to tell the speaker that ‘Beauty is truth and truth beauty’andtheyareoneandthesame.Keatswrote this poem in a great burst of creativity that also produced his other famous odes such as “Ode to a Nightingale. ” Although it was not well received at thetimeithasbecomeoneofhismostcelebrated.

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty” —that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

EmilyDickinson(1830-1886)

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was an American poet. Little known during her life, she has since been regarded as one of the most important figures in American poetry. Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts into a prominent family with strong ties to its community. I have included her poetry so many times already, that I hardly need to say anythingmoreabouther.

I include two short poems, typical of her style and format.Truthisaconstantthemeinherpoetry.

In the first poem,

“Tell all the Truth but tell it slant” Dickinson says that we should tell the truth – the whole truth – but tell it indirectly, in a roundabout way. The truth is too bright and aluring for us to be able to cope with straight away. We can be overwhelmedbyit.

She likens it in the second verse to the way that lightning and thunderstorms are explained to children in kinder terms, so as not to frighten them. She says that the truth, if shown too directly and has the power to blind us. In the second poem “Truth—isAsOldAsGod”DickinsonpairsTruth,not withBeauty,butwithGod.

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant –Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth’s superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind –

Truth—is As Old As God

Truth—is as old as God— His Twin identity And will endure as long as He A Co-Eternity—

And perish on the Day Himself is borne away From Mansion of the Universe A lifeless Deity.

RudyardKipling(1865-1936)

Joseph Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in India, which inspired much of his work. Kipling's works of fiction include The Jungle Book, Kim, and many short stories, including "The Man Who Would BeKing" .

He is one of the best-known of the late Victorian poets and story-tellers. Although he was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1907, his political views, which grew more toxic as he aged, have long made him critically unpopular. In the New Yorker, Charles McGrath remarked “Kipling has been variously labelled a colonialist, a jingoist, a racist, an anti-Semite, a misogynist, a right-wing imperialistwarmonger;and—thoughsomescholars have argued that his views were more complicated thanheisgivencreditfor—tosomedegreehereally was all those things. That he was also a prodigiously gifted writer who created works of inarguable greatness hardly matters anymore, at least not in many classrooms, where Kipling remains politically toxic. ” However, Kipling’s works for children, above all his novel The Jungle Book, first published in 1894, remain part of popular cultural through the many film versions made and remadesincethe1960s.

Kipling was born in Bombay (Mumbai), India, in 1865 and he spent the first years of his life in India, remembering it in later years as almost a paradise. “Myfirstimpression, ”hewroteinhisposthumously published autobiography “Something of Myself for My Friends Known and Unknown” , “is of daybreak, light and colour and golden and purple fruits at the level of my shoulder. ” In 1871, however, his parents sent him and his sister Beatrice to England, partly to avoid health problems, but also so that the childrencouldbegintheirschooling.

Since his parents could not afford to send him to one of the major English universities, in 1882 KiplingleftforIndiatorejoinhisfamilyandtobegin a career as a journalist. For five years he held the post of assistant editor of the Civil and Military Gazette at Lahore. During those years he also published the stories that became Plain Tales from the Hills, works based on British lives in the resort town of Simla, and Departmental Ditties, his first major collection of poems. He later moved south in India until 1889, when he left India to return to England, determined to pursue his future as a writer.

In the poem,

“A Legend of Truth” , Kipling tells us about how “Truth” shrank from the world, letting her sister,

“Fiction” , go out into the world instead. Thisplanworkswell–untilwarbreaksout… I can’t think of a poem more suited to the world of “Fake News” that we now find ourselves in. Kipling was initially a great supporter of the 1st World War to the point that he bullied his only son to join up, despite the fact that he had been declared medicallyunfit.HissonwaskilledandKiplingnever reallyrecovered. Iwonderwhethersomeofthelast versereferstohischangingviewsonthewar.

A Legend of Truth

Once on a time, the ancient legends tell, Truth, rising from the bottom of her well, Looked on the world, but, hearing how it lied, Returned to her seclusion horrified. There she abode, so conscious of her worth, Not even Pilate's Question called her forth, Nor Galileo, kneeling to deny The Laws that hold our Planet 'neath the sky. Meantime, her kindlier sister, whom men call Fiction, did all her work and more than all, With so much zeal, devotion, tact, and care,

That no one noticed Truth was otherwhere. Then came a War when, bombed and gassed and mined, Truth rose once more, perforce, to meet mankind, And through the dust and glare and wreck of things, Beheld a phantom on unbalanced wings, Reeling and groping, dazed, dishevelled, dumb, But semaphoring direr deeds to come.

Truth hailed and bade her stand; the quavering shade

Clung to her knees and babbled, "Sister, aid! I am--I was--thy Deputy, and men

Besought me for my useful tongue or pen

To gloss their gentle deeds, and I complied,

And they, and thy demands, were satisfied.

But this-" she pointed o'er the blistered plain, Where men as Gods and devils wrought amain-"This is beyond me! Take thy work again. "

Tablets and pen transferred, she fled afar, And Truth assumed the record of the War...

She saw, she heard, she read, she tried to tell Facts beyond precedent and parallel-Unfit to hint or breathe, much less to write, But happening every minute, day and night.

She called for proof. It came. The dossiers grew. She marked them, first, "Return. This can't be true. " Then, underneath the cold official word: "This is not really half of what occurred. "

She faced herself at last, the story runs, And telegraphed her sister: "Come at once. Facts out of hand. Unable overtake Without your aid. Come back for Truth's own sake! Co-equal rank and powers if you agree. They need us both, but you far more than me!"