Tag Archives: death

Vaguely Life Leaks Away

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As I battled my way through the crowds thronging London’s Victoria station, following another day working in central London, those lines of W. H. Auden came to me,

“‘In headaches and in worry

Vaguely life leaks away,

And Time will have his fancy

To-morrow or to-day. (http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/i-walked-out-one-evening).

“As I Walked Out” is, in many respects a pessimistic poem. The young lovers under the bridge will, despite the high sounding words of the man be brought low by time. Either their love will wither or, if love persists romance will end in the grave. For Auden an (albeit imperfect)salvation lies in doing the best we can in what, for him is a bleak world. As he puts it,

“‘O stand, stand at the window

As the tears scald and start;

You shall love your crooked neighbour

With your crooked heart.’

I first came across Auden’s poetry while studying for my A-levels and have returned to him from time to time ever since. “As I Walked Out” is, along with “The Shield Of Achilles” my favourite Auden poem.

 

Kevin

 

Stretching Credulity But Entertaining None The Less (Midsomer Murders Strikes Again)

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The growing use of audio description (voiceover during silent sections of programmes explaining what is happening) allows me, as a blind person who is unable to discern the picture on my television’s screen, to enjoy a variety of films, documentaries etc. I am a fan of crime dramas and get frustrated when audio description is lacking.

Yesterday evening I was pleased to discover that the episode of Midsomer Murders, on ITV3 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midsomer_Murders) contained audio description, the audio describer doing a good job explaining what was happening during the silent parts of the crime drama. It has often been said of Midsomer Murders that one would not wish to live in the collection of villages comprising Midsomer due to the number of people who are murdered in the vicinity. Indeed if one where to take Midsomer Murders literally one could conclude that living in London is safer than residing in the (fictional) Midsomer countryside! There is an element of truth in this view but for all that I continue to enjoy watching the series.

Yesterday’s Midsomer Murders concerned 4 (maybe 3, at this stage I can’t remember) deaths and was complete with a believer in aliens who was intent on trying to convince the local police that unearthly forces, in the shape of little green men, visiting earth in UFOs where responsible for the deaths. Unsurprisingly the police where somewhat sceptical!

All of the victims (apart from the last who fell downstairs) where electrocuted although, following the twists and turns of the plot it became apparent that one of the deaths was an accident. As is often the case with Midsomer Murders the plot stretched my credulity. None the less the programme was, as always entertaining.

Halloween

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Halloween is just so much hokum, a trick designed to part the gullible from their money. The fansy dress industry does well. Fake blood and vampire’s fangs fly off the shelves while kids pester the neighbourhood with Trick Or Treat.

At the dead of night we are not so sure. What is that shadow which keeps pace as we walk home from that Halloween Party? That unearthly scream setting the hairs on the back of your neck astir is, surely a cat yowling for it’s mate, isn’t it? You quicken your pace just in case.

Cutting through the churchyard will knock 5 minutes off your journey. In the brightness of day you would have no hesitation so why now do you hesitate to enter? The dead after all can not hurt you, “tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil”.

You enter the churchyard resisting the almost overwhelming temptation to glance over your shoulder. Laughter in the darkest corner of the graveyard. Oh sweet Jesus why did I walk through here. Logic tells you it is merely an amourous couple who, unable to contain their desire have chosen this place to satiate their lust but, still you run blindly tripping over gravestones until at last the gate is reached. Locked! Desperately you climb, trousers rip on the gate’s spiked top, you are beyond caring. You jump down on the other side and with heart racing run the last few hundred yards to home.

Come the bright morning you laugh at yesterday’s escapades. My imagination ran riot but still, somewhere deep in your subconscious the nagging doubts remain.

Abandoned

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Rain sodden corpse, in a churchyard. Abandoned, unclaimed, slowly decay setting in.

Once you wowed audiences. Your music had couples dancing, romancing. Many a love was born as you filled the air with melodies sweet.

Now your heart is still. No more tunes will eminate from your once mighty chest.

An old piano, your notes immovable, choked with rain water, you stand by the church, sadly waiting to be taken away.

 

(On Thursday 2 October my mum, her partner and I came across an abandoned piano, in the church close to my home. When first discovered it still worked. However due to heavy rain the piano’s notes are now immovable. How the instrument came to be in the churchyard I have no idea but, at time of writing it remains there).

A Cup Of Tea

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A cup of Earl Grey, no sugar, just milk. I lift and sip. Bits of china, fragile as a life disintegrate and fall away. Tiny pieces of broken existence nestle in my hand. A chip crater-like decorates the fragile under belly of the handle. I continue to drink. The handle holds. Once finished the plain white cup will be discarded, it’s utility at an end. The landfill beckons.

Hospital

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“You are such a baby Charles” Anna said giving her husband a playful punch on the arm.

“You know I hate hospitals. The smell of disinfectant masking the scent of death” Charles replied with a shudder.

Anna’s smile disappeared, “You are really worried about this aren’t you darling?” she said pulling Charles close.

“Surely you remember what happened last time I went into hospital?” Charles asked snuggling up close to Anna. The scent of her hair, fragrant with apple shampoo calmed his jangled nerves.

“No darling, I don’t think you told me about it” Anna replied.

“I must have done!” Charles said, his whole body beginning to shake afreshe at the recollection.

Anna stroked her husband’s cheek, “I don’t remember, sorry darling. What happened?” she asked.

“You remember when that bloody jack Russell bit me and I had to go into hospital?” Charles said.

“How could I forget there was blood everywhere. You really ought to have made a complaint to the police and had the animal destroyed. It could have been a child rather than you”, Anna said.

“Thanks a bunch! So its OK if I get bitten but not if a kid gets savaged?” Charles said.

“No, and you know that isn’t what I meant!” Anna said.

“Sorry darling, my nerves are all over the place. I know that isn’t what you meant”, Charles said.

“You are forgiven”, Anna said ruffling her husband’s hair.

“As I was saying, I went into hospital and the nurse gave me an injection, I think they call it antitetanus, to kill anything that dirty little mut might have given me. Before leaving I popped into the loo and”, Charles stopped his face turning ashen.

“What did you find sweetheart?” Anna asked massaging her husband’s neck, (she knew how it helped to relax him).

“I opened the toilet door. There was this man leaning over the sink. At first I thought he had just been sick. Then I saw the blood. It was everywhere. The poor man had literally coughed his guts up and was stone cold dead. What a way to die”, Charles said, his whole frame starting to shake anew.

“Oh Charles. You never told me. I can’t imagine how upsetting that must have been. You don’t have to go you know”, Anna said.

“Its important. They are short of blood. I want to donate”, Charles replied.

“Would you like me to go with you?” Anna asked.

“No darling. You have an interview for that teaching job, Charles said.

“You are more important than a bloody job. I’ll see if the school can reschedule”, Anna said.

“No, that would be very unprofessional. I will be fine darling, honestly”, Charles said.

 

—

 

Charles tried to concentrate on the newspaper. It was no good, he kept seeing the bloodless face of that corpse propped up against the hand basin.

“Charles Craven please”, the receptionist said.

Shakily Charles got to his feet and walked through into a small room. The whiteness of the walls perfectly complimented the palor of Charles’s face.

“Please take a seat. Make yourself comfortable”, a young woman in a white coat said with a smile.

Charles gazed mesmerised at the woman’s blood red lips and her ever so perfect white teeth. They where, he thought unusually long and pointed. In fact more like the fangs he had seen on wolves when watching wildlife documentaries.

“You may feel a little prick”, she said advancing on him, the light reflecting of those perfect, sharp teeth.

“As a god self slain on his own strange altar death lies dead”

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As I stood at the Customer Services counter, in the supermarket, the strains of that beautiful hymn, Abide With Me, played by the Salvation Army came wafting through the open door,

“Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;

When other helpers fail and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me. Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;

Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;

Change and decay in all around I see—

O Thou who changest not, abide with me”.

One does not need to be religious (I am an agnostic) to appreciate the power of this wonderful music. As I listened the fragility of life was brought home to me. How, in the blink of an eye that life which is so precious to most of us can be snuffed out.

The message of Abide With Me is that death is inevitable and that Christians call on God in times of trouble “in life, in death” to abide with them. Yet there has, since the birth of story telling been tales of people wishing to avoid death. In Chaucer’s The Pardoners Tale, for example a group of revellers in Flanders incensed at the death of their friend swear vengeance against death. In their quest to destroy him the drunken revellers come across an old man and question him regarding where death can be found. The elderly man tells the men they will find death under a tree. On reaching the spot they discover a pile of treasure and forget all about death. The youngest of the group goes off to procure wine while his 2 friends remain behind to guard the treasure. While the youngest of the group is absent his friends determine to murder him on his return so as to secure the treasure for themselves. On his return they murder him and fall to drinking the wine he has procured. However their friend, wishing to retain the whole treasure has poisoned the wine and the 2 men die in agony.

In The Pardoners Tale all 3 men find death in the form of treasure which leads to their destruction. The revellers perhaps also meet death personified in the shape of the elderly man who directs them to the treasure. However as the elderly man is, himself seeking death some have argued that he is not, in fact death but simply an elderly man who is (as he himself says) in search of death.

The Pardoners Tale derides the notion that one can escape death. Any attempt to avoid “that fel sergeant death” is futile and may actually hasten his approach.

A school of thought known as Transhumanism has grown up which postulates that all human suffering and even death itself can be vanquished by the onward march of technological progress. If we can slow down and (eventually) switch off the gene which causes ageing it will be possible to extend life indefinitely they argue. Other Transhumanists place their faith in artificial intelligence. At some point in the future they contend it will be possible to download (or upload) one’s consciousness into artificial brains which, in time can be placed into new artificial bodies thereby enabling the individual to live on long after there biological brain has ceased to function. Some Transhumanists, for example the inventor Ray Kurzweil believe that people will be able to choose whether to continue their existence (after uploading) in either the real world or virtual reality (I.E. on the internet). Consequently the future invisioned by Transhumanists is one in which death ceases to exist or becomes an option which may be embraced (optionally) by a few Transhumanists in the new utopia.

Will The Pardoner or the Transhumanists have the last laugh I wonder?