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Irony differentiates. Cynicism never does.

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Telephone Conversation

Wednesday, January 23,2008
Week 10: Telephone Conversation by Wole Soyinka

Week 10 Dividing lines: Differences in Class, race, Gender and Ideology

Telephone Conversation
by Wole Soyinka

The price seemed reasonable, location
Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
Off premises. Nothing remained
But self-confession. 'Madam, ' I warned,
'I hate a wasted journey—I am African.'
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick coated, long gold rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was foully.
'HOW DARK? '... I had not misheard... 'ARE YOU LIGHT
OR VERY DARK? ' Button B, Button A.* Stench
Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar box. Red double-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed dumbfounded to beg simplification.
Considerate she was, varying the emphasis-
'ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT? ' Revelation came.
'You mean-like plain or milk chocolate? '
Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted,
I chose. 'West African sepia'-and as afterthought,
'Down in my passport.' Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
Hard on the mouthpiece. 'WHAT'S THAT? ' conceding
'DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.' 'Like brunette.'
'THAT'S DARK, ISN'T IT? ' 'Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but, madam, you should see
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
Are a peroxide blond. Friction, caused-

[...] Read more

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The Irony of Love

Irony is a literary or rhetorical device.
The essayist Henry Watson Fowler wrote:
“any definition of irony
—though hundreds might be given,
and very few of them would be accepted—
must include this,
that the surface meaning
and the underlying meaning of
what is said are not the same.'
He left out that any definition of
Irony must include that it is cruel.

I never understood
The meaning of irony
Or how cruel it can be,
Until you told me,
That though you may love me,
You find it difficult to
Hear the words
“I love you” from me.

You see, some three years ago
You jokingly said
'I love you' to me,
And I begged you
Never to utter those words again.
Not because I did not want to hear them,
But because they were difficult for me.
They carried heart-felt consequences
That I did not want to face.
So, I shut out my heart and followed my head.
And in life filled with so many regrets,
It was the biggest mistake I ever made.

The irony,
After some thousand days have past,
You uttered the same
Imprudent sentiment to me.
This sentiment is the definition of irony
The surface meaning
And underlying meaning are not the same.
Because although I asked you not to say
“I love you”,
It is all I wanted to hear.

The cruelty,
That now that heaven has at last
Blessed, cursed me with
Clarity of the heart,
And I want to say what I mean

[...] Read more

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The Prisoner

A misfit who is old before his time
Poverty has turned him to crime
Boredom gives him too much time to think
He pours another drink.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
He wonders why his landscape looks so strange
Burger bars are home on the range
An empty bottle falling from his hand
He does'nt understand.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
A cork unlocks the door to other lands
Of battles won and destinies in hand
A half-remembered state of liquid dreams
Where things aren't what they seem.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
A naked savage dressed in shirt and jeans
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.

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Real art is without irony. Irony distances the author from his material. Irony is a product of something. It's not the reason for doing something. Irony is a cheap shot.

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Justify

To add justice,
I did not scream nor cry,
I instead called,
Irony.”
Yes,
Irony.
The strange noun that bites and slaps when least expected.
So, to justify,
I called Irony.
I would like it to be shown, to the court at least, that I did nothing wrong,
nor nothing right.
I called his name,
when he was gone from sight.
I whispered my wisdom,
to a deaf and blind old fool,
I gave my only love,
To one who would never love at all.
So,
To justify,
I believe I did not lose,
I just didn't win.
That is often the case with irony.

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Charles Baudelaire

L'Héautontimorouménos (The Man Who Tortures Himself)

L'Héautontimorouménos
Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher
Et je ferai de ta paupière,

Pour abreuver mon Saharah
Jaillir les eaux de la souffrance.
Mon désir gonflé d'espérance
Sur tes pleurs salés nagera

Comme un vaisseau qui prend le large,
Et dans mon coeur qu'ils soûleront
Tes chers sanglots retentiront
Comme un tambour qui bat la charge!
Ne suis-je pas un faux accord
Dans la divine symphonie,
Grâce à la vorace Ironie
Qui me secoue et qui me mord
Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde!
C'est tout mon sang ce poison noir!
Je suis le sinistre miroir
Où la mégère se regarde.

Je suis la plaie et le couteau!
Je suis le soufflet et la joue!
Je suis les membres et la roue,
Et la victime et le bourreau!

Je suis de mon coeur le vampire,
— Un de ces grands abandonnés
Au rire éternel condamnés
Et qui ne peuvent plus sourire!

The Man Who Tortures Himself

I shall strike you without anger
And without hate, like a butcher,
As Moses struck the rock!
And from your eyelids I shall make

The waters of suffering gush forth
To inundate my Sahara.
My desire swollen with hope
Will float upon your salty tears

Like a vessel which puts to sea,
And in my heart that they'll make drunk
Your beloved sobs will resound
Like a drum beating the charge!

[...] Read more

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In Days to Come

IN DAYS TO COME

In days to come when, dumb, I’ll strum no more
rhymed witness to timed world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest unblessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections poet pours
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ scores
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Self is both root and cause of fatal flaws.

My memory, wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
may shadow search vain answers to Life’s game.

20 May 2005 revised 16 November 2006 and 25 March 2009
robi03_1257_robi03_0000 SXX_DIZ


for previous versions see below variant of Unjaded Sparkle 6 July 1991

In Days to Come

In days to come when, dumb, I’ll bear no more
to Time rhymed witness, world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest twice blessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections one would pour
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ score
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Within oneself is found the fatal flaw.

My memory - wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
while others, vain, search answers to Life’s game.

20 May 2005 and 16 November 2006 revised 23 November 2008
- for previous versions see below

In Days to Come

[...] Read more

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Withitness

Some people love the experimental in poetry
Poetry, in the experimental, love some people
Love poetry, experimental people. Some
Lovesome

Challenging all preconceptions
Preconceptions all challenging…
Preconceptions challenging all
All-challenging

Playing with outmoded language
Language playing outmoded
With playing language
Language-playing

But with an implicit social critique
Critique but social
An implicit but
Critique-implicit

In the spirit of post modern irony
Irony modern in spirit
Spirit in modern
Post-irony

Look Ma I can stand on my head
Stand Ma on head
Stand on my Ma I can
Can-head

All-challenging language-playing
Post-irony
Critique-implic it
Lovesome?

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Irony of Things

It is an irony to believe that Ayothya
Is the birth place of Rama, as by the time
When Rama lived around 1450 B.C.,
Aryans never crossed Punjab or beyond.

It is an irony to say that Mathura
Is the birth place of Krishna, as by the time
When Krishna lived around 900 B.C.,
Aryans never reached up to Mathura.

It is an irony to establish that Durga,
A Dravidian origin, fostered later by Aryans,
Is the destroyer of Sura padman,
An asura, a co-dravidian, among Dravidians.

It is an irony that the very Dravidian
Movement has landed in the hand of a Brahmin
And then at a hand who too had mortgaged the interest
To Aryan for sake of his dynasty.

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Song: Spell Out The Blues

There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
No ruthless go-getter,
With the dumb luck of youth.
There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
A fashion trend setter,
Who's never uncouth.

My life's such a clutter,
But what can I do?
I've pulled down the shutters,
And choked off the view.
The world is a gutter,
A foul smelling brew.
And my writings still stutter,
To spell out the blues.
Spell out the blues!
They spell out the blues!
All the words that I splutter,
Spell out the blues!

There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
I'm your prisoner in fetters,
Though you're never cruel.
There's no-one that's better,
Better than you!
No grudge or vendetta,
To play me the fool.

There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
I am dry cheddar,
While you are just smooth.
There's no-one that's better,
Better than you!
You sent me those letters,
So I'd walk in your shoes.
Walk in your shoes!
Walk in your shoes!
I'd pound out the leather,
And walk in your shoes.

My fragile self shatters,
Yet you flatter me.
My attention is scattered,
I fall to my knee.
How can it matter,
If satyr I be?

[...] Read more

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I think we too often make choices based on the safety of cynicism, and what we're lead to is a life not fully lived. Cynicism is fear, and it's worse than fear - it's active disengagement.

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I Stop And Wait/For A Poem

I Stop And Wait/ For A Poem

I stop and wait
For a poem.
The poem does not come
The city says ‘Morning beauty’
The silence is a sadness unsayable -
Light is lovely
Isn’t it?
Irony Irony Irony-
I write these lines
As if I actually believe
I am writing poetry
And doing something.

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The Language Of Poetry Is Metaphor

The language of poetry is metaphor
And irony and ambiguity
And beauty-

Beauty is the language of poetry
And metaphor and irony and ambiguity
And irony -

Beauty is the language of metaphor
And poetry without beauty
Is like poetry without metaphor
Like poetry without simile-

Poetry is poetry
Like beauty is beauty
And metaphor, metaphor
And language language -

Ironically
Without themselves they are something else
Or perhaps another variant of themselves
Ironically.

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A Natural Reaction

A reprobate? Who, me?

What's up with that?

Don't ask me to cozy up
and be your pal, please!
If I wanted, I could wreak
havoc on the whole crew!

By the way, can you define
irony for me?

Yes, I said irony!

I don't think you understand
the uses of irony, do you?

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Wedded Bliss at Christmas Time

Irony of Ironies there is wedded bliss
The time of giving and receiving
The time to see the down-troddened, the disenfranchised

Opening presents with gleefulness
Bringing change to family systems
Whoa what a christmas

Enveloping riches, embracing harmony
Loving, hating, giving, receiving
Oh Irony of Irony

Lets celebrate the day withe gladness and joy
Gratitude and mercy
Finding unity in our family of choice

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Spoonful Of Sugar

I adore a confrontation, and I should be ashamed
A carnival of complication, everyones to blame
We can see the rockets red glare
Pipe bomb bursting in the air
As we proudly hail our taxis out of the fight
Singing born of this nation of white bread foundation
Were taping a king, beaten of his crown
My country tis of thee, sweet land of irony
Spoonful of sugar to wash it down
I have seen the hungry faces, and I have been removed
Evidence in welfare cases, never being proved
Weve written books on education
Summoned federal regulation
Skeleton hid deeply til its bones turn to dust
I know an old lady who swallowed a fly
I dont know why exactly, I guess shell die
My country tis of thee, sweet land of irony
Spoonful of sugar to wash it down
And God save the queen, oh, and pardon the king
And our ballots well stuff, then drink till we drown
My country tis of thee, sweet land of irony
Spoonful of sugar to wash it down

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Can't Really Get Enough Of Love Babe

once i have it, there is this irony, i give it away,
i wish, i dream, i work to have what i do not have yet
once it is in my hand, there is this irony, i throw it away.

the paradox of feelings, i had this joy, long time ago, and
i let it go, and i wish it comes back to me, like a memory of someone
too far away, i spend life like it is not life at all, i wish death, like death is life,
like it is not like, this is the irony of my life,
hating and loving and hating and loving, until, everything is gone

i have nothing and then i feel so complete.

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Every Single Sound I Listen To; Patience.

Asphyxiated with filthy airs and warmth.
Not knowing and unable to recognize freshness no longer.
Every single day and night..
Smothered by pungent consisting filth and warmth.
Every single day and night.
Engulfed by the filthy filth surrounding my space between anxiety and worries.
Every single day and night.
Adding up to hopeless believing.
Beliefs in oneself to stay strong to survive.
Every single day and night.
Irony, irony, irony.
Nothing comes nothing goes.
Everything comes, nothing left.
Every single day and night, it attacks.
With such might i didnt possess which i wish i did.
Trying to calm my tears rather than my nerves.
Calming my tears and holding back my nerves.
Holding back my tears and calming my nerves.
Calming those tears and holding back my nerves.
Holding back my tears and calming my nerves down.
Deprived.distort.discontinoushit.
Eve ry single day and night.
Patience rooted deep in my head.
Rooted deep in my brain; patience.
Patience in this brain for this filth i breathe.
Patience in this brain excites this filth and triggers the angst.
Every single day and night.
Wisdom to enrich intelligence.
Wisdom to empower failure of being cheated.
Cheated over the matter of time.
Patience once again present for the time.
Every single day and night.
Distracted by comfort of souls.
Closely souls in my heart and in my eyes.
Converse vivaciously.
Souls that lingers almost 20 hours of my time.
Every single day and night.
Every single day and night.
Every single day of nights' day.
Patience.
Pays off.
Every single time.

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Fate's Irony

I’m deep in love, with the girl of my dreams
Who’s deep in love with the guy of her dreams
As fate would have its’ sense of irony, it seems that guy is not me
Fate it seems loves to play tricks
Fate it seems has its’ own little hits
Irony is around us all around
Like the love of the one who is in love with another
Or the love of money when money is outmoted
But love will never be outmoted, just forgotten
Just Forsaken
Forsaken Irony, Forgotten Helms
Love is lost and new love found
Or for some of those unwilling to let go
Love is lost and the soul grows cold
Forsaking love and comfort
Caring or passion
It is darkened by the past, the ironic twist of fate
This once gentle soul now is black a night
This once soul of love is full of fright
But Not all is lost, for there is a remedy,
A cure to the pain, a cure for the forsaken
What that cure is I still do not know
I just hope I find it, so maybe I can grow old..

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Irony And Unthinkability

Just like football helmets that create
illusions of invulnerability
irony can’t truly mitigate
the trauma of unthinkability.

Lacking helmets football would not be
the game it is, but they do not protect
the wearer any more than irony
protects politically the incorrect.

The trauma that’s inflicted when a skull
is fractured is no less than the concussion
that’s suffered by those people who are dull,
but miss the irony of a discussion.


Inspired by an article in the WSJ on November 11,2009 (Is It Time to Retire the Football Helmet? New Research Says Small Hits Do Major Damage—and There's Not Much Headgear Can Do About It, by Reed Albergotti and Shirley S. Wang) :

This football season, the debate about head injuries has reached a critical mass. Startling research has been unveiled. Maudlin headlines have been written. Congress called a hearing on the subject last month. As obvious as the problem may seem (wait, you mean football is dangerous?) , continuing revelations about the troubling mental declines of some retired players—and the ongoing parade of concussions during games—have created a sense of inevitability. Pretty soon, something will have to be done. But before the debate goes any further, there's a fundamental question that needs to be investigated. Why do football players wear helmets in the first place? And more important, could the helmets be part of the problem? 'Some people have advocated for years to take the helmet off, take the face mask off. That'll change the game dramatically, ' says Fred Mueller, a University of North Carolina professor who studies head injuries. 'Maybe that's better than brain damage.'
The first hard-shell helmets, which became popular in the 1940s, weren't designed to prevent concussions but to prevent players in that rough-and-tumble era from suffering catastrophic injuries like fractured skulls. But while these helmets reduced the chances of death on the field, they also created a sense of invulnerability that encouraged players to collide more forcefully and more often. 'Almost every single play, you're going to get hit in the head, ' says Miami Dolphins offensive tackle Jake Long. What nobody knew at the time is that these small collisions may be just as damaging. The growing body of research on former football players suggests that brain damage isn't necessarily the result of any one trauma, but the accumulation of thousands of seemingly innocuous blows to the head…
Nonetheless, the strongest argument for the helmet may turn out to be an economic one. The NFL is shaped around the notion that players can run into each other at high speeds without consequence. It's the same sort of idea that has made Nascar the nation's most popular form of motorsport. And beyond all this, there's the very real question of whether the prospect of serious mental impairment later in life will ever discourage people from playing the game—let alone watching. 'Without the helmet, they wouldn't hit their head in stupid plays, ' says P. David Halstead, technical director for the Nocsae, the group that sets helmet-safety standards. But without helmets, the game 'wouldn't be football, ' he says.

11/11/09

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