Posts tagged Poetry

2014 Sydney Anarchist Bookfair +++

I enjoyed attending the Sydney Anarchist Bookfair last weekend. It wasn’t quite Crassmas, but I did pick up a few things: a book — Cartography of Revolutionary Anarchism by Michael Schmidt (AK Press, 2013: reviewed by Gabriel Kuhn here) — … Continue reading

1994–2014 : ¡Viva Zapata!

[January 1, 2014 is the 20th anniversary (BBC) of the Zapatista uprising in Chiapas, Mexico, so I thought I may as well re-post this interview with Subcomandante Marcos, an EZLN leader, conducted in April, 1994. There's another interview with Marcos … Continue reading

McGarrigle’s Glasgow.


    Since posting The Clutha And John McGarrigle I have been touched by the number and content of the comments and emails I have received, below is the latest.
    I found your blog today as I was looking up John McGarrigle. I heard about his death first thing this morning - was the first thing on my radio. I'm a poet too and was struck by his death, so looked him up, and discovered that he was also working class like me. I was struck even more, and wanted to write few lines to commemorate him and his poetry (I've included some references to his work).
    I don't know whether his family would like to see it, but from your blog I note that you knew him. If you think it would be a good idea to show them this, please do. I've attached it and put it below too.
Take care
Laura Taylor

McGarrigle’s Glasgow

One of the scribes was taken tonight.
One of the seers, one of our own.
One of the prophets will write no more lines
in radical rhymes
nor preach them to people like us.

He struggled against his emptying days,
though yearned for contentment and calm.
Thought he had lost that angry young man,
but McGarrigle – words never die;
they’re beyond a stillness of pulse.

You spoke of a Glasgow unknown to the rich,
of the Cross, of a town built on sweat.
In the Clutha, the Scotia, the folk and the verse -
dance of the underdog, lies of the land –
were given a life in tune to your truth.


Tonight in a town made of working-class gold,
in the midst of McGarrigle’s Glasgow -
the artists and players, singers and sculptors,
poets and prophets and pipers and drummers
remember the heat of your heart;
raise their glass to the fire within.

May your flame spark gently in unsurpassed sunset tonight.

Laura Taylor.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

Categories: Anarchism

A Poem In Memory—–


     After posting the article "The Clutha And John McGarrigle" I have received several comments and email, I particularly liked this email and have re-posted it with the sender's permission, she wishes to remain anonymous.

In Memory of John McGarrigle

On his barstool throne he sat content, the southside poet of the Vaults

And on that homely spot he supped his last, amongst the wit and Glesga patter

Amidst familiar words, wae well kent characters an' aw their thoughts

And there was no Waltzing Matilda, just the grit and grime of aw life’s matter

In our first, in our in-between, and our very last beating moments of the heart

Some things can only be measured in spirit and soul

Human warmth, kinship, music, love…………a last dance before we part

Kind words, a helping hand, a prayer, a smile, a story told..........

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk


To Shine a Light On Another’s Suffering.


       To feel the pain and anguish of the other, to see the injustice around us, is one part of being human, but to put those feelings into words and shine a light on another's suffering, is a special human gift.

The City of Beggar Children,

Where do the beggar children come from,
what forces multiply their rags?
Whose heart has never felt those fingers
pecked
by birds with copper beaks?
Who hasn’t stopped to see their bones
and hear their voices
pleading like humiliated bells?
Let there be no beggar children dwarfed in doorways,
chilled by cemetery mist,
pale wall of the city.
Let there be children with toys,
bread
and stars beneath their shoes.
Let them play in the school yard
and catch insects in the grass.
Let them live in their own worlds
among the beings and the things they love.

Roberto Sosa

    From The Return of the River: the Selected Poems of Roberto Sosa (Willimantic CT: Curbstone Press, 2002)
translated by Jo Anne Engelbert

      Every effort has been made to trace the copyright holder. If you can advise us of the appropriate acknowledgement to be made please contact reception@spl.org.uk 

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

Pay the Writers?

Well this post is really only a matter of recording some bookmarks … I didn’t realise this ’til now, but Crikey owner Private Media are launching a new arts site. Good for them. Problem is, current policy is not to … Continue reading

A Bird With Two Right Wings.

     I like this poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, poet and left activist, though he is speaking about America, it fits well with our own political system here in the UK. You can find more of Ferlinghetti’s poems on Poem Hunter.Bird Wi…

Continue reading at annarky's blog. …

#NaBloPoMo Day 6: Bearberry

sneezes come in clusters like bearberries that have stained embarrassed cheeks with nervous laughter

#NaBloPoMo Day 4: Facebook Status Poetry

Purple fingertips Scent of celery seed Giant bowl (the one w/ the lid) Slaw August 19, 2013 at 08:03PM via Facebook Bright, pregnant moon Storytelling Sharing kitchen bounties Fireflies, crickets, & katydids Sacred Circle Temple Night August 20, 2013 at 10:32PM via Facebook Tired; Sleep alludes me. Glow of the magic screen Pulls me, holding […]

I Know People, But Only a Few—



From 325.nostate.net :
      ‘I want Comrades, not the mob…’ by the imprisoned members of CCF, plus Andreas Tsavdaridis and Spyros Mandylas (Greece)


I know people… people silent and chatty,
coward and audacious, humble and arrogant…
People, who live obediently, like sheep and others,
who lurk treacherously, like hyenas.
I know people who dream without fantasy
and others, who live without dreaming… people, whose eyes
are used to staring low and whose ears
are used to taking orders “wake up”, “work”,
“pay”, “buy”, “believe”, “comply”…
People from the lonely crowd, who patiently wait
in the line of life… for the eternal tomorrow,
for the better days, the optimistic future, the answers to their prayers…
They are waiting to believe in every prospective savior
and in any conman of thought, who will promise them a better life.
But those, who wait to live a better tomorrow,
are today, already dead.
I know people, but only a few of them are my comrades.
Slow Death or Insurrection here and Now…
These are the two paths, that unravel before us.
We choose to be there, where the strong ones dare.
The air is cleaner and the crowd, which bows before its false idols,
doesn’t ugly our aesthetics.
It is nice to look down from the mountain Peak of the Unique
even if the crowd secretly wishes for you to fall into the abyss
in order for it, not to be ashamed of its short stature.
Our words, carve today like a blade
and our actions burn the bridges with yesterday…
With tenacity and will, until we murder authority.
For Nicola and Alfredo.
For the Anarchists of Praxis.

Visit ann arky’s home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk



Continue reading at annarky's blog. …

Categories: Anarchism