Seven Little Geese and One Little Greek

Seven Baby Geese

 Raphael Park, (May 2024)

 

 

Watching Maria interact with seven recently hatched goslings in the local park, I was reminded of that scene in Lady Chatterley's Lover when Connie encounters the pheasant chicks: 

 

"Life! Life! Pure, sparky, fearless new life. New life! So tiny, and so utterly without fear!" [1]

Like Connie, M seemed fascinated by the adorable young birds; golden-coloured and bobbing about on the green water, whilst watched over by anxious parents.

I only hope she wasn't feeling the same agony of forlornness felt by the former. 

 

(I didn't notice any tears, so that's a good sign, I suppose.)     

 

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires, (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 114.  

 

 

Marxist Musings on Being a Fish Out of Water

Wood carved fish (Raphael Park)

Photo by SA/2023 

 

 

I suppose many people have felt like a fish out of water at some time or other; that is to say, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, surrounded by the wrong people [1].

 

But for some, this is far more than just an occasional feeling of discomfort due to their being in an unfamiliar environment or awkward social situation. For some people, indeed, it's essentially a state of being; they are permanently estranged (or alienated) from others and perhaps even themselves and their own lives.

 

Marx certainly knew a thing or two about individuals not being in their element, although, as far as I'm aware, he never used the English expression [2]. 

 

However, in a collection of manuscripts written in collaboration with Friedrich Engels between the autumn of 1845 and the spring of 1846, and first published as Die deutsche Ideologie in 1932, Marx does say this:

 

"The 'essence' of the freshwater fish is the water of a river. But the latter ceases to be the 'essence' of the fish and is no longer a suitable medium of existence as soon as the river is made to serve industry, as soon as it is polluted by dyes and other waste products and navigated by steamboats, or as soon as its water is diverted into canals where simple drainage can deprive the fish of its medium of existence." [3] 

 

In such circumstances, when existence no longer corresponds with 'essence', what's a poor fish to do? Quietly accept the fact that external conditions have irrevocably changed? See this in terms of an unalterable fate, or an unavoidable result of progress? 

Marx suggests otherwise: he suggests that the fish should - like the millions of proletarians in capitalist society - rise up and, by means of a revolution, bring their existence once more into harmony with their 'essence'.

 

At least, that's my understanding of Marx - which is admittedly limited and may even be mistaken - that via an active, practical alteration of material reality we can radically change the interior life of men (and fish) and end their self-estrangement. We can, in other words, not only make free but make happy and build a world in which everyone feels at home and is able to fit in (i.e., a communist society). 

 

Obviously, I have problems with this Marxist vision, as I do with every other form of utopianism. And as I looked at the above wood carving in my local park, I couldn't help but recall Michel Foucault's remark about Marxism as something out of place and unable to survive in the world today: 

 

"Marxism exists in nineteenth-century thought like a fish in water: that is, it is unable to breathe anywhere else." [4] 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] This expression was first used by Chaucer in The Cantebury Tales (1387-1400) to describe a seaman's awkwardness when obliged to ride a horse and a monk's discomfort when in the world at large rather than safely cloistered in the monastery. 

 

[2] Although German speakers, like Marx, cerainly refer to people not being in their element - nicht in seinem Element sein - I'm not sure they use the idiomatic expression fish out of water. However, I may be wrong about this and I'm happy to be corrected if so. 

 

[3] See Karl Marx, The German Ideology, Part I: Feuerbach. Opposition of the Materialist and Idealist Outlook, B: The Illusion of the Epoch. This can be read online by clicking here.  

 

[4] Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences, (Tavistock Publications, 1970), p. 262.

 

 

On Being Followed by a Seagull

(SA/2023)

 

"It is right for a gull to fly -

freedom is the very nature of its being ..." [1]

 

I. 

 

The other day, walking in the park, I was followed by a seagull. Although it might simply be the case that he was hoping for some food, a poet friend insists on the symbolic (and spiritual) importance of the event.

 

Apparently, these intelligent and beautiful birds are not merely noisy opportunists, but able to travel between realms and bring us messages (or warnings) from the dead. 

 

Normally, I wouldn't give much time to such a thought, but as I'm still mourning the death of my mother - who loved birds - I'm inclined to be a little more receptive to the idea that the gull wanted me to know something. 

 

But what? 

 

That, of course, is the question - and the difficulty. How can one know that one has interpreted a message from the dead carried by a feathered messenger correctly? 

 

I'm not sure you can. But this is my attempt to do so ...

 

 

II.

 

As the bird remained silent, I assume it wasn't telling me to find my own voice. 

 

In fact, I'm keen to speak less and look more these days; to move away from the written text towards the world of images; to put down the pen and pick up the paintbrush; to exchange the computer keyboard for the camera. 

 

So maybe the gull was encouraging me with this; to quietly find my wings, so to speak, as a visual artist and fly above past limitations and the somewhat grim (anxiety-inducing) circumstances of the present (health issues, money worries, threats from Google to terminate this blog because I have violated their community guidelines, etc.).    

 

I certainly prefer to interpret being followed by a seagull as a good sign; as something positive, rather than a bad omen and one recalls the words of Luce Irigaray, who wrote some very lovely lines concerning the precious and mysterious assistance she has received in her life and work directly from birds:

 

"Birds are our friends. But also our guides, our scouts. Our angels in some respect. They accompany persons who are alone, comfort them, restoring their health and their courage. Birds do more. Birds lead one's becoming. The birds' song heals many a useless word [...] restores silence, delivers silence. The bird consoles, gives back to life, but not to inertia." [2] 

 

It may well be that a storm of some kind is approaching and I need to think a little more seriously about the future than I normally do. But somehow, as long as there are birds still nesting and calling in the world, I believe everything will be fine. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, (Macmillan, 1970). I'm quoting this from memory, so it might not be dead-on balls accurate, as Miss Mona Lisa Vito might say. 

[2] Luce Irigaray, 'Animal Compassion', trans. Marilyn Gaddis Rose, in Animal Philosophy, ed. Matthew Atterton and Peter Calarco, (Continuum, 2004), p. 197. I first quoted these lines in a post published ten years ago; see 'Feathered Friends' (9 Jan 2013): click here.