Art

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The Charge of the Trite Brigade

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The Charge of the Trite Brigade

By Altered lord Tenement

Half a plague, half intrigue,

Half a rogue honoured.

All in the alley of debt

Strode the quick hungered

Homeward, the trite brigade!

Charge for the goods he said:

Into the alley of debt

Strode the quick hungered

Homeward, the trite brigade!

Was there a deputy dismay’d?

Not tho’ the elders knew

Some one had blunder’d:

Their’s not to give the eye,

Their’s not to clean the sty,

Their’s but to milk and vie:

Down a blind alley of debt

Strode the quick hungered.


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Theatre Review: Olwen Fouéré Performing Book 4 of Finnegan’s Wake at Centre Culturel Irelandais, Paris

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Theatre Review: Olwen Fouéré, riverrun, (Book 4 of James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake), Centre Culturel Irelandais, Paris, February 8-9

Many's the more than million readers who bravely started on the journey “riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us…” and perhaps made it as far as the terrible, multilingual thunder bolt announcing the Fall of Man

(bababadalgharaghtakam

minarronkonnbtonntonnerronntuonnnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntohoohoordenenthurnuk!)

before folding their tents and heading home. More's the pity because Finnegan's Wake is first and foremost a tipsy, cock-eyed, hallucinatory, verbal performance, full of trap doors and staged scenes. (No chance, really, that such a text could be published in enlightened times.)

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Samuelbak

BEARING WITNESS

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Published to highlight the big antifascist mobilisation in Greece on the 19th January and which is seeking international support.

BEARING WITNESS

My name is Samuel Bak.  I am an artist.

I am Jewish and I live in the United States.

But I was born in Vilnius, when it was Poland.

At the time of my birth Hitler was seizing power over Germany.

In 1933 he was carried by waves of grave discontent and maddening nationalism.

Huge crowds cheered him, as if he were God.

They preferred to ignore the dear price that came with such a terrible choice.

In the late thirties I was a boy of five or six.

And all these ominous events were happening beyond the border of my land.

In my lovely and warm home, life went on as usual.

Often I seat at a well-furnished table, surrounded by a loving family,

And heard these words:

“This could never, never happen here . . .”

Two years later the Nazis burst into our flat.

They dragged my Mother and me into the Ghetto.

They murdered my father, my grandparents,

They murdered many loving members of my family.

They murdered about 95% of the Lithuanian Jews, the highest rate of the extermination of 6 millions European Jews.

They did not spare innumerable Russian prisoners of war, Gypsies, Homosexuals, Communists, and civil populations at large – in short – all the ones who obstructed their march to universal power.

Today I am one of the few lucky survivors, who can bear witness. I do it in my art, in my lectures, and in my writing.

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