Last month was the 100th anniversary of the birth of poet Philip Larkin. I have written about Larkin elsewhere, especially the manner in which his verse seemed to exactly chime with my mood in the 1980's. Rather an old head on young shoulders, even in my twenties I identified with a certain sense of loss, of impermanence, of the wistful glance over the shoulder at unsatisfactory years passing.
I owe much of that, I think, to my drifting from Christianity about the same time - a roaming that to this day I cannot put my finger clearly upon. Returning to the faith after almost 40 years was a prodigal act indeed, for which I thank a loving, patient and forgiving God.
Now, Larkin had no expressed religious views that I know of - he writes in a kind of agnostic way - but his verse often had me dwelling on God and the way religion might once again work in the lives of people. I mean, the loss of faith that was apparent in his world view seemed to present some stark choices which had yet to be worked through.
In "Church Going", for example, he wonders what might become of churches once belief has ended. He stands in an empty church, "bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt/dispersed". And yet, in the final verse, he ponders the individual who,
I was sitting at my computer just now when I heard a strange whooshing sound in the distance. It was not unlike a freight or coal train but somehow different. It grew steadily louder, but this was even more perplexing, for the sound became diffuse, as if it was across a broad front.
Glancing outside and seeing that there was no rain apparent, I went out on the back porch and listened. From the general front of sound could now be distinguished individual notes, characteristic (I soon realised) of heavy rain approaching. Within a minute it began to hail and all became clear to me.
I don't ever recall hearing the approach of a hail shower in that way before. The distant but closing clatter of ice on tiles and tin was a one-off. Of course, no two events are identical and you have to be present (in every sense) to make the connection.
Henka is a Japanese noun that has a group of possible meanings including 'change, variation, variety and inflection.' Where it applies to sumo it takes an even more specific meaning, "sidestepping."
A henka is a much frowned upon manoeuvre that occurs at the tachi-ai, the initial charge at the very beginning of a bout. Anyone who has watched any sumo will know that the two wrestlers typically clash head-on. When a henka occurs, one of the wrestlers deliberately steps to one side. This usually means that the other wrestler charges into thin air and is generally defeated either through a katakikomi (push on the shoulder or back) or by simply falling flat on his face. It is not illegal but you can see how it is unsporting.
Henka usually occur amongst lower ranked rikishi who are either desperate to break a losing streak or who are on the brink of achieving their kachi-koshi (more wins than loses) and just want to get over the line. Lately though more senior ranked wrestlers have been indulging, notably the ozeki Takakeisho. During his bout with Hokutofuji, when he pulled the henka, the audience was notably silent at the end, signalling its disapproval.
Things do tend come around though and the following day he ended up on his stomach after Wakatakakage (for it was he) did the same thing to him. I am wondering if one day the henka becomes illegal, given the fact that it so often is considered below the belt in what is upheld as a noble sport.
Acres of print has been spilled on the passing of Queen Elizabeth II and the subsequent state funeral on Monday. Like countless others I watched until I grew too sleepy, then caught up with most of what I missed the following morning. No matter what your sentiments on monarchy, it was a magnificent occasion, something which the British seem to pull off effortlessly. I especially liked the service at Westminster Abbey, the hymns, music, prayers and homily often achieving a heartfelt and genuine beauty that transcended even the occasion itself.
Australia, for those who don't know, is a constitutional monarchy, with the powers of the distant King or Queen devolved to an appointed Governor-General. The GG is largely a figurehead. It is understood that the elected government in Canberra calls all the shots, though the GG does in theory have considerable power. The system has worked well with the exception of the constitutional crisis in 1975, when a wiser and cooler head than Kerr would have led to a better outcome.
I am not a monarchist and at best, I am a coy republican. I can see the value of an appointed head of state though I would prefer that constitutional issues were entirely the purvey of the High Court. A republic is currently off the table in Australia, given the groundswell of feeling for the late Queen. The time may come one day but there is no need to be in a hurry.
Sumo wrestlers have ring names or shikona which mask their real identity. Shikona are often associated with a particular stable or may reflect a wrestlers origins, especially if they are non-Japanese.
Being a person who likes words, I often find shikona to be amusing by virtue of their length or capacity to be pronounced. Remembering that names are quickly alluded to multiple times in a sumo bout, tongue twisters can sometimes get chewed up in the heat of the contest.
Consider Wakatakakage for instance. The talented sekiwake, who has the making of an ozeki if I am not mistaken, is a difficult name to say in the moment. That is Waka-taka-kage with syllables unaccented. Commentators and fans alike get marble-mouthed when forced to utter his name.
I intend to make it a practice exercise prior to going on air.
Image courtesy Tsubame98
The Autumn Grand Sumo Tournament in Tokyo got under way last Sunday. At day five, a small group of wrestlers remain unbeaten, though not a single ozeki is amongst them. In fact, all of the frontrunners are rank and file maegashira. That may change in coming days, especially as Takakeisho and Mitakeumi are showing some promising sumo.
Where is the yokozuna, I hear you ask? At 3-2 Terunofuji is off to his shakiest start in a while, doubtless brought on by ongoing injuries. His knees and ankles are bandaged up and he is lacking the standing power that he customarily displays. But that may change too as the tourney continues.
Yesterday he was defeated by veteran Tamawashi, who at 5-0 is powering along. He has beaten the yokozuna a number of times before so it was not a huge upset, in my estimation. The photo I snapped below shows the two in desperate combat, Terunofuji suffering a thrust to the neck (nodowa) from his opponent. But he will surely live to avenge himself on his fellow Mongolian. Note also the lady in white to the right of Tamawashi's mawashi. She is a regular feature at almost all sumo tournaments.
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Few go looking for trouble and still fewer seek sorrow as their lot. Life being what it is, there will always be conflicts and afflictions, bad luck or loss, that usually mean we will encounter sadness.
The writer of Ecclesiastes had this down pat, it being one of the wisdom books, he necessarily takes a forlorn view of life and human nature. It doesn't make for a cheery read, though his final conclusions are sound enough.
Ecclesiastes 7:3 says "Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us" (Living Bible). Most people would opt for laughter any day of the week in preference to feeling down, but the writer is nevertheless correct.
It is only in moments of sorrow that we can see through the fluff and chatter of life down to the core of what really matters - relationships like friends and family, food and shelter, love, God. Not everyone will agree with me on that, but the winnowing down of the extraneous will almost always lead to deeper thoughts about what is really important in life.
I don't wish it on anyone, but when it comes - the looming darkness for a week or a month or a year - look for whatever lessons may come along too. And don't give up hope.
Yesterday my dear friends Da and Rom got married in a little church down in Castlereagh. Both being Thai, they wore traditional wedding attire, as did the wedding party. I was dragooned into a variety of roles, including MC, photo-gopher, setter upper and so forth. I am only too happy to help such kind and loving people and the day, though long, was very satisfying for all.
The day before the wedding a group of us had spent a few hours setting up the church and reception hall, it being a kind of do-it-yourself arrangement. It was just before the sun fell below the lowest eastern ridge of the Blue Mountains that I took this photo, looking out from the church grounds.
Queen Elizabeth passed away last night and today, many nations around the world have a new monarch. It seemed to many, including me, that the Queen might go on forever, determined to continue in that faithful duty that she had vowed to fulfil seven decades earlier. Consider that she had first become Queen during the (second) Prime Ministership of Winston Churchill, at a time when Britain still had something of an empire, and now, when the boundaries have shrunk to the heartland of the UK, consider, that she spans this huge and troubled divide, and you will better understand the nature of her reign.
I cannot say whether the monarchy and the constitutional government that springs from it will survive. Republican governments seem to do quite well on the whole, notwithstanding some glaring exceptions. Australia may well tip in the next decade or so, or it may not. The example of Queen Elizabeth will be difficult to follow, for will such self-sacrifice not be a challenge for generations accustomed to adoring their own image? I hope not.
My mother is doubtless very upset today and I feel very sad too. The loss is palpable. But the late Queen was a Christian and in this there is profound hope. But for now this is a peace that is well earned.
Said to be the last photo taken of the Queen, receiving the new British Prime Minister at Balmoral. Copyright The Independent
Last night I started Adult Faith Formation classes at St Finbars Glenbrook. This is the next part of my journey with confirmation, all going well, in November. My last encounter fizzled out 40 years ago, much to my shame. But the intervening decades have given me a maturity that I could not hope to have had as a twenty year old. Instead, immaturity and lack of self-esteem led me astray, though not at the first post. It took a few knocks before I fell into worldly ways again.
In Acts 20:22, Paul says,
"And now, compelled by the Spirit, I am going to Jerusalem, not knowing what will happen to me there."
He had good reason to say it, for having been transformed so dramatically from a Pharisee to an apostle of the very faith he had persecuted, he had enemies. I do not have enemies as such and while I do not know what the future holds or where it may lead, I do not fear it on account of faith.
I managed to complete a session of Features Forum at 2RPH yesterday without error. For some reason, every shift I have done since taking up the program as presenter a few months ago has been plagued by a technical glitch - only small, mind you - but not to my standards. This rarely happens on other shifts I have done, despite there being no real differences in the operation. It may be that I have been trying too hard to be perfect, putting too much pressure on myself. Note to self in future!
I have to rush at the end of the program to make my train back to the mountains. This can be tricky as buses, groaning with passengers, negotiated the traffic of the inner city in peak hour. I made my train easily this time only to find that it was delayed, as the announcement went, 'by an object on the tracks at Glenbrook.' 'If it's only an object, why not remove it?' I thought to myself.
It seemed likely we would be stuck for some time at Central so I hightailed it across to another platform where a local train that would get me where I wanted to go was shortly to arrive, only more slowly. Checking the Sydney Trains site again, I read that the object on the tracks was actually a train! Who would have thought?
My wife and her daughter often engage in an animated conversation, in Thai, of course. I thought that it was likely they were talking about the day's events, or odd Western cultural quirks, or even a movie or show they had seen and liked.
But no, every time I have asked, the answer is always the same. Food. They talk about food - recipes they have seen on the internet, things they would like to eat, restaurants they would like to visit.
I thought at first I might be the butt of a mutually-shared joke, or a kind of mind-your-own-business diversion. But no, they really are just talking about food. Every time.
I find the topic of food something that might be worthy of five minutes discussion, rarely to be repeated. I guess that I'm missing something!
