Saying "Goodbye" to our friend Robert as he sets off in his Saab for home in Baltimore...
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Saying "goodbye" to Robert
Saying "Goodbye" to our friend Robert as he sets off in his Saab for home in Baltimore...
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Edmund at Loyola Park
It's July 2, 2016 but feels like an early fall day, windy, grey sky, rain blowing in; cool until the sun comes out. Here is my grandson, Edmund, playing at Loyola Park. "That's fun" he says after coming down the slide...
Saturday, July 9, 2016
Chanting at the Buddhist temple
Out walking in Montreal West when I made a detour back to my own neighbourhood, the borough of Notre Dame de Grace. Passing the old Rosedale United Church on Terrebonne, seeing the labyrinth outside of Dewey Hall, and that the Hall is now a Buddhist Temple. Standing outside the temple and listening to the chanting coming from inside...
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
No Looking Back Now
INTRODUCTION: NO LOOKING BACK NOW
M
|
ark McCawley, who died suddenly in April 2016, was an
Edmonton-based writer, publisher, and critic. Mark published and edited Urban Graffiti, a litzine that has an
international reputation for publishing transgressive texts, including short
stories, poetry, criticism, in-depth interviews with artists, and reviews of
books, visual art, and music.
Writers, as
Margaret Laurence said long ago, are a tribe; we know our own people, we have
friends, and friends of friends, around the world—we have a lineage and a history—and
as members of this tribe many of us came to be friends with Mark. He was, as
Richard Rathwell said, of "the social poet class...", that social
class is our tribe. He was one of us.
I first
became acquainted with Mark McCawley in the early 1990s. He published, with his
Greensleeve Editions, chapbooks for both my wife and I; it was Carolyn Zonailo's
The Letters of the Alphabet (1992)
and my The Divining Rod (1993). In
2008 I published Mark's collection of short stories, Collateral
Damage, on Coracle Press's online site. I also taught his short stories
in my college-level English literature course; the response to his stories was
always positive, the students appreciated his honesty and depiction of
"real life". Mark wrote to me, "I think of all my literary
experiences, I am most proud of the suite of stories you published, Collateral Damage. Even more so that you
used those stories to teach your students." With time, there were other
honours that Mark was also proud of, for instance being published in the Evergreen
Review.
It was in
the early 1990s that Mark and I began to correspond, first by Canada Post, then
E-mail, and for the last few years we also kept in touch on Facebook. Mark
asked me to write a column for Urban Graffiti but personal events in my own
life prevented me from doing this. Mark
also published on Urban Graffiti several essays and fiction I wrote.
Like many
writers Mark was an introvert; my image of Mark is him working in solitude,
listening to the music he loved, going out for a coffee, editing and publishing
Urban Graffiti, and doing his own writing. Mark also had serious health issues
and this is what finally ended his life at age fifty-two; it is much too young
to leave this world.
Mark was a
highly intelligent and articulate advocate for literature and the arts. His
passion was for transgressive literature but he was also interested in and
affirmed the importance of literature in general. Mark and I agreed on many
things about Canadian literature; for instance, that creative writing courses and
the numerous awards for poetry that now exist have ended up promoting mediocre
conservative writing. He was critical of everything fake, false, and
hypocritical; Mark's integrity is part
of why we valued him so much. One time I wrote to Mark that he was one of the
most honest people on Facebook. I wrote, " ... Stay being honest,
although I doubt you can do otherwise..."
If Mark had
a message for writers it is to be true to one's vision, don't sell out, tell
the truth of what you have witnessed. Whenever we think of softening our line,
of selling out what we believe, we need only remember Mark McCawley and we will
quickly return to our authentic vision, one that is at the core of our inner
being.
The title of this essay, "No looking
back now", are Mark's final words taken from his last communication with
me. This morning I was thinking of Mark, I wondered: What will we do without him? And
then, after some reflection, I remembered what Mark said, that there is
"no looking back now." I realized that this is what we must do, move
on to the future, get on with life; that is what he would have said and what he
would have wanted us to do.
Stephen
Morrissey
Montreal,
June 2016
Revised: 19/06/2016
Here is the full text at Internet Archive:
Here is the full text at Internet Archive:
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Review of Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and Her Lovers: A Celtic Archetype of Ecstasy, Addiction, and Healing.
Review of Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and Her
Lovers: A Celtic Archetype of Ecstasy, Addiction, and
Healing. Carrowmare Books, New York, 1999, 490 pages.
By Stephen Morrissey
Before reading Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and Her Lovers, I thought religiosity in my family was mainly found in three prominent and well known priests who were part of my Montreal-Irish family. My great-great-uncle, Father Martin Callaghan, was the first Montreal-born pastor of St. Patrick's Basilica, serving there from 1875 to 1908. His younger brother, Father Luke Callaghan, was the pastor at St. Michael's Church, which was built in the Byzantine style, after Hagia Sophia. Father Luke was largely responsible for raising the funding and overseeing the construction of this church. Their other brother, Father James Callaghan, served at several Montreal churches as well as being the pastor at Hotel Dieu Hospital and The Royal Victoria Hospital. All three of these priests came from a humble immigrant background, were educated at the College de Montreal, and served the community with distinction. Surely they are the kind of men who are models for the spiritual life. But there was also a darker side to my family tree, including some relatives who were alcoholics.
With this background I found Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and her Lovers insightful and provocative. In this book, Perera's thesis is "that modern addictions represent debased forms of ancient rituals." Of course, she is not the first writer to make the connection between alcoholism and a Dionysian-like spirituality. C.G. Jung was influential in helping the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous formulate a spiritual approach to addiction. In a letter to Bill Wilson, AA's co-founder, Jung pointed out that "alcohol in Latin is spiritus, the same word [used] for the highest religious experience." For Perera, addiction is a corrupted manifestation of the old divine energy that was, in its original form, ecstatic and life-affirming. But we have little place for the old gods, such as Queen Maeve, whom Perera refers to as "one of the grandest figures in Celtic lore." Maeve represents the life-energy, the multiplicity and abundance of life, the sacred force lying behind growth, fertility, and abundance.
It is not possible to return to the ancient gods, even if we wanted to. Maeve represents, for Perera, the psychological and spiritual need for wholeness and oneness with the divine, or with what Jung called the Self. For some people, this is a part of the process of individuation. Addiction, in its many forms, is only a shadow of a spiritual experience. Intoxication in itself is not a spiritual experience, it is merely being intoxicated. Within the context of Celtic society, Queen Maeve and other Celtic deities and the myths about them, provided a very deep sense of spirituality that permeated every aspect of Irish life. Perera writes,
The spirits of the dead revisited the homes of the living after dark and on the festivals marking the open cracks in the agricultural year, especially at Samhain and Beltane when the new winter and summer cycles beganŠcaves, mounds, trees and water [were] places where the veil between this world and the next [were] felt to be easily permeable.
This expression of numinosity in daily Irish life was eventually lost. Perera writes, "As the old ways trickled down through the millennia, they became secularized: rites became revels, gods became 'little people', and sacred wine became intoxicating booze. A similar fate happens to the old gods in each of us."
Perera describes the archetype of Queen Maeve, how Maeve provided a way to experience religious ecstasy that had a socially acceptable place in society. This was a part of the process of individuation for certain people at that time. Perera describes the Tara tests that were administered by the druids to the high king, and some of the points raised by this test are still of value to us today. Perera tells us "they describe what happens to confirm us when we are on our destined path." Although in today's society, we aren't high kings and we aren't druids, the tests are and can still be of value to us. Four points are made: We might ask ourselves if we are "traveling towards a goal that the Self supports?" Is there "a fit between the purposes of ego and Self or destiny?" Can we identify a "primeval unity" existing behind apparent opposites, a kind of yin and yang of daily life? The final test is whether one has entered a stage of authority in one's life. If one has, then "it conveys the deep sense of entitlement and charisma that others intuit and cooperate to support."
So far, I have dealt with Perera's description of the positive experience suggested by a belief in Queen Maeve and I have only touched on the negative consequences. Many people who know intoxication do not experience individuation. The book' discussion and description of the psychology of addiction is disturbing. Perera, who is a New York-trained Jungian psychoanalyst, has worked with many addicts and has an intimate knowledge of the psychology of addiction. Anyone wanting to know more about addiction, the behaviour and psychology of addicts, whether it is to alcohol, drugs, sex, or gambling, should read what Perera has to say. However, this is distressing material, as Perera describes manipulative behaviour and a psychology that is probably beyond the ability to be dealt with by anyone but a specialist.
This is an over-long book that would have been well served by the work of an editor. Perhaps there are two shorter books here, one on Queen Maeve as a Celtic archetype with some importance for people today; and a second book on addiction. The book grew out of Perera's insight that "the archetypal form patterns supporting the myths still resonate in deep and embodied layers of the human psyche and affect our modern response." With this in mind we see expressions of spirituality, whether truncated by addiction or in those who have done the work of individuation, all around us. This book helps us to understand more deeply this important aspect of life today; as well as what our ancestors might have experienced; and of the life of some of those we love, who struggle with addiction.
Published: The C.G. Jung Society of Montreal Newsletter, August 2002.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
I'll take a "bad poem" over a "fake poem" any day...
Some thoughts on bad poems and fake poems:
Fake poems are contrived, pretending to be the real thing.
But a bad poem is just what it is, naive, a failed attempt by someone who is trying to write a poem, someone who is sincere.
A fake poem is a pretense that even deceives the author of the fake poem. They think they've created something, they've pulled the wool over our eyes and their own eyes. But it isn't a real poem they've written, it is a fake poem.
A bad poem lacks depth; a fake poem has depth but it's a lie, it's trying to fool the reader into believing it has depth. A fake poem will always be fake, contrived, pretentious. A bad poem is an effort that didn't work; a fake poem is a lie.
We all know a bad poem when we read it, but people don't want to admit that the Emperor has no clothes, they'll sit and admire the fake poem.
Fake poems are contrived, pretending to be the real thing.
But a bad poem is just what it is, naive, a failed attempt by someone who is trying to write a poem, someone who is sincere.
A fake poem is a pretense that even deceives the author of the fake poem. They think they've created something, they've pulled the wool over our eyes and their own eyes. But it isn't a real poem they've written, it is a fake poem.
A bad poem lacks depth; a fake poem has depth but it's a lie, it's trying to fool the reader into believing it has depth. A fake poem will always be fake, contrived, pretentious. A bad poem is an effort that didn't work; a fake poem is a lie.
We all know a bad poem when we read it, but people don't want to admit that the Emperor has no clothes, they'll sit and admire the fake poem.
Friday, January 1, 2016
Monday, December 14, 2015
Girouard Avenue (2009) now at the Internet Archive
2226 Girouard Avenue is the door on the right leading to the upstairs flat |
A few years ago I decided to digitize my out-of-print books and make them available as free downloads online. Only recently have I begun this project, it's long term and I'm slow at getting it off the ground...
I know doing this seems counter-intuitive to most people (especially poets), giving away the books, but I feel it is only common sense. Poetry has a very limited and ever-diminishing audience and "popularity". Copies of my books that I have left, hard copies, are doing nothing sitting in our basement in cardboard boxes.
Putting these books online (as is my plan) gives them a second life. It might even find a few readers for them.
So, here is a link to Girouard Avenue (2009), one of my favourite of my books. It got a lot of positive reaction from people who could relate to the content and I liked this very much. Someone living in Arizona told me it is a "holy" book, and that is how I feel about it. When I was preparing this book to put it online, digitizing it, I realized that it is some of my better work. It is the work I did during the late 1990s and 2000s, my first book since my Selected Poems in 1998. It is poetry inspired by my extensive family history work. There is also an essay that came out of writing this book, "Remembering Girouard Avenue" (also available at archive dot org) that explains something of the importance to me of Girouard Avenue.
In sum, the physical location called Girouard Avenue in Montreal became a spiritual place for me, it is my psychic center. As I wrote elsewhere, "This memoir ("Remembering Girouard Avenue") is an addendum to my book of poems, Girouard Avenue (2009). This is my psychic center, this is where I began in life and where I often return in dreams, poems, and memories."
Friday, December 11, 2015
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Proverb quoted by Chinua Achebe
Until the lions have their
own historians,
the history of the hunt will
always glorify
the hunter.
—Proverb quoted by Chinua Achebe
Friday, December 4, 2015
John Cage, "Autobiographical Statement", 1990
I
once asked Aragon, the historian, how history was written.
He said, "You have
to invent it." When I wish as now to tell
of critical incidents,
persons, and events that have influenced
my life and work, the
true answer is all of the incidents were
critical, all of the
people influenced me, everything that
happened and that is
still happening influences me.
—John
Cage, "Autobiographical Statement", 1990
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
A Place of Contemplation in Loyola Park
Soccer, baseball, exercise machines, wading pools for children, these and other activities are available at Loyola Park just a few blocks from where I live. But, also, the City has created some areas for contemplation and quiet, for instance this quadrangle entered through one of four gates. There was also an attempt to restore a small pond from the lost underground St. Pierre River that runs through the park to Wentworth Golf Course. Plants suitable for an aquatic "garden" were planted. The pond failed but the vestiges of it are still present near the baseball diamond. Acknowledging that not everyone is interested in physical exercise is important; it allows for a greater diversity of activities at Loyola Park and other places in Montreal.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Friday, November 13, 2015
Morning walk in Montreal West
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Poems are reports from inner space
http://urbgraffiti.com/writing/poems-are-reports-from-inner-space-by-stephen-morrissey/#more-6185
This is what is seriously wrong with online publishing. There is no permanence online and what was originally published can be changed, deleted, altered, rewritten, gone. I will repost this essay.
Online publishing is worth about 10% of hard copy publishing.
SM
11/05/2018
11/05/2018
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Poems of a Period, 1971 chapbook
Here is my first chapbook, published in August 1971.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Patrick Morrissy and Mary Phelan, some of their descendants and relatives in Canada
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Remembering Girouard Avenue
This
|
is the history of the Morrissey family of Montreal during their residency at
2226 Girourd Avenue—it includes family history, births and deaths, holidays at
their country cottage, evenings playing cards, the generations of Morrisseys who
2226 Girourd Avenue—it includes family history, births and deaths, holidays at
their country cottage, evenings playing cards, the generations of Morrisseys who
lived there, and the presence of Edith Sweeney Morrissey for whom the door was always
open for any family member who needed a place to live—from the mid-1920s to the late
1960s.
"This memoir is an addendum to my book of poems, Girouard Avenue (2009). This
is my psychic center, this is where I began in life and where I often return in dreams,
is my psychic center, this is where I began in life and where I often return in dreams,
poems, and memories."
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Darrell Morrisey essay on the Internet Archive
The Morrisey Family: Darrell, TL, Syd & Clara outside Hazelbrae, 85 Churchill Avenue, Westmount |
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Review of The Irish Bull God by Sylvia Brinton Perera
The Irish Bull God: Image of Multiform and Integral Masculinity
Sylvia Brinton Perera, Inner City Books, Toronto, 2004, 155 pages
ISBN 1-894574-08-7
Review by Stephen Morrissey
The Irish Bull God is Sylvia Brinton Perera’s most recent book exploring Irish mythology. Perera is a pre-eminent Jungian thinker on this subject. In a previous book, on Queen Maeve, and now in this book, on the Dagda, she has helped bring attention to the relationship of ancient Irish mythological figures to our contemporary society. While her work on the Celtic Queen Maeve dealt with the problem of addiction, The Irish Bull God deals with defining a more balanced, whole, and sophisticated concept of the masculine.
Perera’s book evolves from a period of her life in which she dealt with personal crisis, “the deaths of my brother, father, former analyst, and life partner.” At a less personal level, and as a resident of New York City, Perera also struggled with the “massacres of 9/11”. What helped her during this period of her life was the image of the Dagda, a male figure from ancient Irish mythology. Perera writes from her “personal sense of loss as well as my Western culture’s dishonoring and dismemberment of much that the Dagda represents.” This book, then, is Perera’s endeavour to restore the Dagda, or “the Good God”, the “Great Father”, the “Father of All”, and what he represents as an archetypal masculine figure, to public awareness.
It is too complicated to recount the many stories that make up the legend of the Dagda, but the general theme has to do with his exuberant appetite for food, sexuality, and life. The Dagda is the High King of the Tuatha de Dannan, the fairy folk and supernatural beings who inhabited Ireland before the arrival of the Celts. His famous harp is made of oak, a magical tree for the Celts, that when played puts the seasons in their proper order. He is a figure of immense power who has a magic club with which he is able to kill nine men with a single blow, as well as return them to life if he desires. His cauldron is capable of feeding innumerable numbers of people. He is a protector of his tribe and his family, a father figure, but a figure who is large enough, and comfortable enough in his masculinity, that he is able to embrace equally the feminine. Placed in the context of contemporary American society, it is no wonder Perera finds solace in the Dagda; America has been attacked by terrorists from outside of the country and the masculine archetype is being redefined, and not necessarily for the better, by people inside the country. Placed in the context of her personal life, Perera has suffered the loss of the male presence that was so important for her. The urgency of her message is that we need a renewed image of the masculine and to this end she suggests that the Dagda provides such an image.
For Jungians, one of the central qualities of the Dagda is that he unifies opposites. Perera writes,
aeternus nor a Senex in his archetypal role. In some ways he is a trickster, but if he is a
trickster then it is the kind of amorality suggested by the trickster who ends up revealing
a deeper message or lesson for the one on whom the trick was played. The Dagda’s
lesson is one that unifies opposites and suggests a subtlety to our awareness of truth.
Honour is the Dagda’s morality, and maintaining his honour in the collective
consciousness is important to him. But he is not solely an avatar of power and
destruction; he can restore life to those he has defeated, and he does this. This dual role of
masculine energy, creative and protective, is missing in geo-political conflict today.
The Dagda is, of course, an idealized representation of the masculine archetype. If
one accepts archetypes as a template or pattern for the unfolding and realization of the
dynamics of life—something basic, essential, and preconscious—then the Dagda
provides a very powerful and authoritative ideal of the masculine. The Dagda’s authority
is not restricted to the mundane but encompasses the cosmic. Perera writes, “The Dagda
is master of all the arts that made up druid lore—the technical and magical control of
natural forces, music, poetic incantations, healing and prophecy.” (126)
Perera assumes in her book that the reader has some familiarity with Irish
mythology. Of course, this is not usually the case, and perhaps Perera could have given
more back ground information on the Dagda. Some readers will have to do additional
research to get the full meaning of Perera’s book; however, this research is well worth the
time it takes. An objection to the book might be that the Dagda is really an old fashioned
father figure, albeit an ideal one. I don’t think this is the case at all; Perera writes,
vision of what it means to be truly masculine. It is through Perera’s work—by returning
the Dagda to consciousness—that she restores the masculine to its archetypal definition,
one that contains opposites, nurtures, protects, creates, and recognizes without fear an
equal partnership with women.
St. Patrick’s Day, 2004
Sylvia Brinton Perera, Inner City Books, Toronto, 2004, 155 pages
ISBN 1-894574-08-7
Review by Stephen Morrissey
The Irish Bull God is Sylvia Brinton Perera’s most recent book exploring Irish mythology. Perera is a pre-eminent Jungian thinker on this subject. In a previous book, on Queen Maeve, and now in this book, on the Dagda, she has helped bring attention to the relationship of ancient Irish mythological figures to our contemporary society. While her work on the Celtic Queen Maeve dealt with the problem of addiction, The Irish Bull God deals with defining a more balanced, whole, and sophisticated concept of the masculine.
Perera’s book evolves from a period of her life in which she dealt with personal crisis, “the deaths of my brother, father, former analyst, and life partner.” At a less personal level, and as a resident of New York City, Perera also struggled with the “massacres of 9/11”. What helped her during this period of her life was the image of the Dagda, a male figure from ancient Irish mythology. Perera writes from her “personal sense of loss as well as my Western culture’s dishonoring and dismemberment of much that the Dagda represents.” This book, then, is Perera’s endeavour to restore the Dagda, or “the Good God”, the “Great Father”, the “Father of All”, and what he represents as an archetypal masculine figure, to public awareness.
It is too complicated to recount the many stories that make up the legend of the Dagda, but the general theme has to do with his exuberant appetite for food, sexuality, and life. The Dagda is the High King of the Tuatha de Dannan, the fairy folk and supernatural beings who inhabited Ireland before the arrival of the Celts. His famous harp is made of oak, a magical tree for the Celts, that when played puts the seasons in their proper order. He is a figure of immense power who has a magic club with which he is able to kill nine men with a single blow, as well as return them to life if he desires. His cauldron is capable of feeding innumerable numbers of people. He is a protector of his tribe and his family, a father figure, but a figure who is large enough, and comfortable enough in his masculinity, that he is able to embrace equally the feminine. Placed in the context of contemporary American society, it is no wonder Perera finds solace in the Dagda; America has been attacked by terrorists from outside of the country and the masculine archetype is being redefined, and not necessarily for the better, by people inside the country. Placed in the context of her personal life, Perera has suffered the loss of the male presence that was so important for her. The urgency of her message is that we need a renewed image of the masculine and to this end she suggests that the Dagda provides such an image.
For Jungians, one of the central qualities of the Dagda is that he unifies opposites. Perera writes,
Perhaps the Dagda is a kind of ideal archetypal figure. He is neither a puer[The Dagda] embodies a primal wholeness that vividly encompasses some of the mutually dependent polarities that humans are consciously struggling with today: life and death, nurturance and war, containment and rejection, creativity and destruction, ugliness and beauty, chaos and order, wisdom and ineptitude, male and female, receptivity and aggression, grief and comedy, refined sensitivity and lusty coarseness, ruling and submitting, abundance and deprivation spiritual enlightenment and chthonic power. (143)
aeternus nor a Senex in his archetypal role. In some ways he is a trickster, but if he is a
trickster then it is the kind of amorality suggested by the trickster who ends up revealing
a deeper message or lesson for the one on whom the trick was played. The Dagda’s
lesson is one that unifies opposites and suggests a subtlety to our awareness of truth.
Honour is the Dagda’s morality, and maintaining his honour in the collective
consciousness is important to him. But he is not solely an avatar of power and
destruction; he can restore life to those he has defeated, and he does this. This dual role of
masculine energy, creative and protective, is missing in geo-political conflict today.
The Dagda is, of course, an idealized representation of the masculine archetype. If
one accepts archetypes as a template or pattern for the unfolding and realization of the
dynamics of life—something basic, essential, and preconscious—then the Dagda
provides a very powerful and authoritative ideal of the masculine. The Dagda’s authority
is not restricted to the mundane but encompasses the cosmic. Perera writes, “The Dagda
is master of all the arts that made up druid lore—the technical and magical control of
natural forces, music, poetic incantations, healing and prophecy.” (126)
Perera assumes in her book that the reader has some familiarity with Irish
mythology. Of course, this is not usually the case, and perhaps Perera could have given
more back ground information on the Dagda. Some readers will have to do additional
research to get the full meaning of Perera’s book; however, this research is well worth the
time it takes. An objection to the book might be that the Dagda is really an old fashioned
father figure, albeit an ideal one. I don’t think this is the case at all; Perera writes,
In mythological figures such as the Dagda we find a life affirming and dynamicThe grandeur of the Dagda offers us a perspective to refocus and enlarge our sense of what masculinity could be. We can see that his attunement with relational, flowing process has a very different quality than it holds in patrifocal models. (141)
vision of what it means to be truly masculine. It is through Perera’s work—by returning
the Dagda to consciousness—that she restores the masculine to its archetypal definition,
one that contains opposites, nurtures, protects, creates, and recognizes without fear an
equal partnership with women.
St. Patrick’s Day, 2004
2004
Published: The Newsletter of the C.G. Jung Society of Montreal, 2004.
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