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Lezen
Geen zin vandaag om te fietsen. Buien, koud, vroeg donker; 'Weer of niet, ik ga,' is eventjes geen optie. Wat dan? Lezen, koken en dit stukkie schrijven (foto's van woensdag gebruiken).
Eén van mijn voornemens voor dit jaar was DWDD over te slaan. Ik zakte meestal na het eten achter de buis voor weinig zeggende interviews, domme dubbelzinnige filmpjes, leedvermaak en spraakmakende emoties. Dit alles opgediend met een vol lucht geslagen saus, zodat het toch makkelijk te verteren was. Gaat me makkelijk af.
Andere 'nieuwsprogramma's' laat ik ook liever staan. De toon, de sfeer, het nieuwsmaken, het maakt me nauwelijks wijzer en flink beroerd. Maar hoe kom ik dan toch aan mijn portie hoe-valt-het-nieuws in de Nederlandse samenleving? Meer de krant lezen? En wie is eigenlijk de samenleving? Mijn kinderen kijken nooit TV, lezen geen krant, halen vermaak en informatie van het internet. Ieder heeft zijn eigen aanbod. Er lijkt niets anders op te zitten dan meer te lezen, te vragen en meer naar anderen te luisteren.
“Het aanvankelijke succes van de demonstraties op straat [tijdens de Arabische lente] leidden tot zelfoverschatting en te grote afhankelijkheid van spontane acties; de behoefte aan leiderschap, organisatie, eenheid en beleid dat verder ging dan een vaag beroep op een humanitaire agenda bleven achterwege.”
“Syrische en Libische intellectuelen leefden in de echoput van het internet. Slechts enkele hielden zich bezig met stappen in de toekomst.”
Omdat het boek loopt tot oktober 2014 print ik nog wat recente artikelen van Cockburn uit. Dan ben ik ook bij wat betreft zijn recente visie op het conflict (zie hieronder), want met de interventie van de Russen, de dalende olieprijs en beter bewapende Koerden is er nogal wat veranderd. (Je kan ook het stuk van activist en Midden-Oosten deskundige Ed Hollands lezen. Ik vond dat bijzonder helder.) Voor mij ligt het volgende boek al klaar. Wat dichterbij huis, geschiedenis en geen oorlog. Komt later.
- Istanbul attack: Isis may be concluding Turkey is no longer a place where it need tread carefully, 12/01/16
- Prince Mohammed bin Salman: Naive, arrogant Saudi prince is playing with fire, 10/01/16
- The Arab Spring, five years on: A season that began in hope, but ended in desolation, 09/01/16
- Isis may be weakened by co-ordinated attacks but it is far from being overcome, 02/01/16
- The 500-mile front against Isis: Jihadis cannot shock and terrify as they did at the time of the fall of Mosul, 11/12/15
De foto's kan je aanklikken voor een grotere versie ervan.
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Kate Tempest is muzikante van de week voor mij en dit nummer zet zonder omhaal uiteen, wat in Shipbuilding poëtischer werd betoogd. Zie hieronder de tekst:
Ballad of a Hero
Your Daddy is a soldier son,
Your Daddy’s gone to War,
His steady hands they hold his gun,
His aim is keen and sure.
Your Daddy’s gone to War,
His steady hands they hold his gun,
His aim is keen and sure.
Your Daddy’s in the desert now,
The darkness and the dust,
He’s fighting for his country, yes,
He’s doing it for us.
The darkness and the dust,
He’s fighting for his country, yes,
He’s doing it for us.
Your Daddy’s coming home soon though,
Not long now till he’s back,
We’ll dress you in your smartest shirt
And meet him down the track.
Not long now till he’s back,
We’ll dress you in your smartest shirt
And meet him down the track.
He’ll put you on his shoulders and
You’ll sing and clap and laugh,
I’ll wrap my arms around his waist,
And hold him close at last.
You’ll sing and clap and laugh,
I’ll wrap my arms around his waist,
And hold him close at last.
Your Dad ain’t left the house again,
Your Dad ain’t brushed his teeth,
Your Dad keeps getting angry son,
At nights he doesn’t sleep.
Your Dad ain’t brushed his teeth,
Your Dad keeps getting angry son,
At nights he doesn’t sleep.
He’s having his bad dreams again,
He seems worn out and weak,
I’ve tried to be there for him, but
We barely even speak.
He seems worn out and weak,
I’ve tried to be there for him, but
We barely even speak.
He can’t think what to say to me,
He don’t know how to tell it,
Won medals for his bravery,
But just wants to forget it.
He don’t know how to tell it,
Won medals for his bravery,
But just wants to forget it.
He’s drinking more than ever son,
Before, he never cried. But now,
I wake at night and feel
Him shaking by my side.
Before, he never cried. But now,
I wake at night and feel
Him shaking by my side.
He spoke to me at last my son!
He turned to me in tears,
I held him close and kissed his face
And asked him what he feared.
He turned to me in tears,
I held him close and kissed his face
And asked him what he feared.
He said it’s getting darker,
It hasn’t disappeared,
And I can see it sharper
Now the sand and smoke have cleared.
It hasn’t disappeared,
And I can see it sharper
Now the sand and smoke have cleared.
There was this kid he’d got to know,
Young boy. Just turned eighteen,
Bright and kind, his name was Joe,
He kept his rifle clean.
Young boy. Just turned eighteen,
Bright and kind, his name was Joe,
He kept his rifle clean.
Joe’s girlfriend was expecting,
Joe loved to joke and laugh,
Joe marched in front of your old man,
As they patrolled a path.
Joe loved to joke and laugh,
Joe marched in front of your old man,
As they patrolled a path.
Everything was quiet until
They heard the dreaded blast.
The man that marched in front of Joe
Was completely blown apart.
They heard the dreaded blast.
The man that marched in front of Joe
Was completely blown apart.
Some shrapnel hit Joe in the face,
Gouged both eyes at once,
The last thing those eyes ever saw
Was the man in front:
Gouged both eyes at once,
The last thing those eyes ever saw
Was the man in front:
Limbs and flesh and bone and blood,
Torn up and thrown around,
And after that – just blackness.
The taste, the stink, the sound.
Torn up and thrown around,
And after that – just blackness.
The taste, the stink, the sound.
I tell you this my son because
I know what you’ll be like,
As soon as you’ve grown old enough
You’ll want to go and fight
I know what you’ll be like,
As soon as you’ve grown old enough
You’ll want to go and fight
In whatever battle needs you,
You’ll pledge your blood and bone,
Not in the name of good or evil –
But in the name of home.
You’ll pledge your blood and bone,
Not in the name of good or evil –
But in the name of home.
Your Dad believes in fighting.
He fights for you and I,
But the men that send the armies in
Will never hear him cry.
He fights for you and I,
But the men that send the armies in
Will never hear him cry.
I don’t support the war my son,
I don’t believe it’s right,
But I do support the soldiers who
Go off to war to fight.
I don’t believe it’s right,
But I do support the soldiers who
Go off to war to fight.
Troops just like your daddy son,
Soldiers through and through,
Who wear their uniform with pride,
And do what they’re told to do.
Soldiers through and through,
Who wear their uniform with pride,
And do what they’re told to do.
When you’re grown, my sweet, my love,
Please don’t go fighting wars,
But fight the men that start them
Or fight a cause that’s yours.
Please don’t go fighting wars,
But fight the men that start them
Or fight a cause that’s yours.
It seems so full of honour, yes,
So valiant, so bold,
But the men that send the armies in
Send them in for gold,
So valiant, so bold,
But the men that send the armies in
Send them in for gold,
Or they send them in for oil,
And they tell us it’s for Britain
But the men come home like Daddy,
And spend their days just drinking.
And they tell us it’s for Britain
But the men come home like Daddy,
And spend their days just drinking.
2 opmerkingen:
Aangrijpend het gedicht/song. En ja, Zandvoort.
Haar drummer speelde op Eurosonic. Ik heb een beetje bekeken wat daar speelde. Zo kwam ik bij Kate Tempest. Vooral door mijn oudste zoon hoor ik veel rap. Dat maakt dat je er makkelijker naar gaat luisteren. Dit is Southeast London in de tijd van de enduring war. Zo past alles toch weer bij elkaar. En Zandvoort? Het silhouet in de verte past bij mijn zwemmen op woensdag. A.s. weekend naar Texel.
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