Unliterary
This morning is sun bright. My disposition was not so sunny. I felt unliterary. Enthusiasm for life is a reflection of bodily well-being. The older one gets, one’s moods are predictably more somber. Some of that is simple biology. Aches and pains…. The other dimension is the perspective that a higher vantage point, a wider field of vision affords. It frankly appears there is less “running room,” less margin for error, put bluntly: less margin. That is not encouraging.
I glanced at the front page of the New York Times this morning. On the front page was featured an article detailing how antibiotic resistant pathogens are proliferating in Africa. I didn’t read the article but saved it to my computer for reading later. The psychological blow was delivered by the graphic depicting a refuse-heap that appeared to be in the middle of a street, displaying the bodies of two dead dogs. That has to be a ultimate petri dish for breeding very lethal pathogens. Those ever evolving, resilient life-forms will not remain in that garbage pile. The picture was taken in Nairobi, Kenya
So, I really did not feel like writing. However another poem by James Kavanaugh incisively speaks to our situation on this planet. The poem goes back to the ancient Cain and Abel story. I must share it.
Here is a refresher to help you remember the story:
Adam made love to his wife Eve, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Cain. She said, “With the help of the Lord I have brought forth a man.” 2 Later she gave birth to his brother Abel.
Now Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil. 3 In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the Lord. 4 And Abel also brought an offering—fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, 5 but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast. —- Genesis Chapt. 4
I suspect that you recall the murder which follows. Cain is thereby banished to East of Eden, the land of Nod.
Here is the poem.
WITH
CAIN
Come with Cain and me
East of Eden towards the sea,
In desert lands called Nod
Where murderers live and lovers
Grown weary of Abel and his God!
The mark upon our face is sadness
And horror is the color of our eyes.
We have seen the sights too dark for sunlight,
Known pain unweepable by all the waters of the skies.
We are weary men, too mad for mothers to bear,
Too angry to suck breasts of soft flesh
Lest we bite them to be bathed in blood
And drink the redness, sweet and fresh
For thirst unquenchable in Adam’s wells!
A trifling price for such a prize.
Now, cast from the garden’s dullness,
The honest wastes of Nod are Paradise
For men who took a brother’s life to save their own.
He had no life to give, only dullness
And duty with loins as empty as his face
And grinning lips that ate at a father’s table,
Where appetite grows too stale to taste.
Ought but meat and wine of emptiness
And uttered words that lied like the eyes
That laughed and only seemed to listen,
Too stolid to hear another’s cries
Or even weeping!
Come with Cain and me
East of Eden towards the sea,
In desert lands called Nod
Where murderers live and lovers
Grown weary of Abel and his God!
Abel, too weak to kill ought
But the helpless animals in sacrifice,
His body too numb to know ought
But the emptiness of a husbandman’s life,
His passion planted like corn and wheat,
His love as lustless as a bleating lamb,
What life had he, this fair and docile man
Of no surprises? Too sweet to damn
A soul to hell, too listless to hate
The silent father whom he served with joy
And comfort and combed his greying hair,
Content to work and whistle like a boy,
Unaware that his blood boiled and spirit burned,
That his heart pulsed with pain,
To make love possible.
I am glad the pale wretch is slain,
That once before he died he saw the blood
That dripped from my aching hands
And washed the ground that he tilled
And fed the corn of fertile lands
Where hunger is only nourished and
Bodies are only fed to fall in numbness,
Like the animals made fat to die in dumbness!
Come with Cain and me
East of Eden towards the sea,
In desert lands called Nod
Where murderers live and lovers
Grown weary of Abel and his god!
The lonely are here, they are kind,
Wandering men but they are men
Strong enough to lift the weak and love them,
Silent enough to listen once again
When the light of paradise beckon
The broken hearts that only wanted a father
To whisper his love if but for a moment,
To look at a child and reverently to gather
Him in arms that all the ages ached for,
The desert days are torrid but the waters are sweet,
And there are palm trees to challenge the sun’s cruelness
‘Till shadows come at night to thrill the poet
And rest the wanderer in the quiet coolness
Of peace and passion linked in a woman’s arms
Strong enough to hold a man’s heart,
Gentle enough to let him go apart
To dream and wonder.
There is silence in the land of Nod
And peace for lovers brave enough to kill
Come beyond the garden of Abel and his God
Where men not made for time, lie still!
—-by James Kavanaugh
2 thoughts on “Unliterary”
The unrelenting march of age in conjunction with the storm clouds that gather over humanity lead me down a dark path as well. I too read the article about a tenacious and untreatable fungal infection that is 100% lethal and is spread through the air. I felt that we have brought this upon ourselves, not just with our propensity for the overuse of antibiotics, but with a sense of personal entitlement that whispers in our ear that each of us is special and we will not be subjected to the catastrophe of any of life’s potential disasters: be it a global pandemic, nuclear holocaust, obliteration by climate change, or perhaps some other unforeseen insidious incident. There are many who believe that we humans are clever enough to stave off such events and with shear will and determination, find a solution that allows us to survive. They look at the times in history where our species has overcome tremendous hurdles in the course of our evolution, but history can only offer so much information.
We have entered a realm that is heretofore unknown within the billions of years of life on earth. No other species has ever been as bent on self-destruction and the destruction of the world at large as Homo sapiens. No other species has been so obsessed with the “self” and has placed nature on a separate plane of existence, eschewing our interconnectedness with the home beneath our feet and the environment around us.
Each day I want to weep, not for myself, for as you mentioned, we are nearing the final chapters in our own existence, but my sadness is for all the beauty, all the knowledge and all of the extraordinary things we have created and the potential of those aspects of our culture being lost based on our own stupidity. At the same time I celebrate those achievements and revel in their existence, knowing this moment may well be fleeting.
I feel that our generation has been both blessed and cursed. We have been the recipients of the work of Beethoven, Newton, Archimedes, Nietzsche, Gandhi, Bach, Einstein, and thousands of others who have opened the secrets of the world, allowing us to view a light beyond imagination. And then we have chosen to place all of this on the line for the sake of narcissism, greed, and entitlement. How is this possible? How did we get to this point?
Again, sorry to be so bleak on a sunny Tuesday morning, where the birds, unaware of man’s destructive nature, continue to sing and build nests, for their future, at least to them, is not in doubt.
No need to regret bleak feelings. I suppose that everyone has them, at least those who are not mesmerized by some political or religious cult.
I do think that we in general are afflicted with an overweening individual entitlement. I have thought this is inevitable as the post WWII prosperity meant that the Boomer generation rode the rocket of success. Everyone concluded that prosperity and advancement in all areas of commerce and technology was normal, infinite, and Americans had discovered the magic formula. Subsequent generations grew up entitled.
All of those post-war circumstances have changed, and you mention in detail some of the conditions which we now face.
Your question:
reminded me of Homer’s great work the Iliad. Homer’s story is an account of rage, what happens when entitled individuals are disappointed, enraged, and drag others into their maelstrom of self destruction. The Greeks did not expect to spend 50 years on the plain of Troy, and the Trojans did not expect their substantial city to be razed and the survivors enslaved. History seems to repeat itself.