As a child there were bombs in Dublin. We feared the nuclear winter, Reagan and Thatchers maniacal hateful grimness. AIDS seemed a threat to all humanity.. swathes of Africa slaughtered and starved, the stink of Apartheid, the coming apocalypses of disease upon disease… we lived through so many periods of war and hatred, so many periods of fear… But the world somehow seems worse now, the hate seems closer at hand, and the fear is so close to the surface that it seems easy to think that there is no hope… is there hope?
I am an artist, what can I do? Can I do anything? will it matter? must it matter? can it? I cannot write a line or spread some paint and say to anyone….”this is the path…” Twitter and Facebook posts might seem like a place to utter the right words… they are conduits for unity more so than disharmony, but I am not strong enough to compose, in a handful of characters, something that sounds like it can engender change.
I can go into my studio, but right now it feels like I would be locking the door to keep the monsters out….. if I write poetry, it would be a series of screams and sobs.
I don’t know if the world is a worse place, but I do feel more afraid, I have to be honest, there are places that are so beautiful in this world, yet I would baulk in fear at visiting.. does this mean I am terrorised? probably.
I don’t pray, but I carry a heavy heart for every lover and dream-carrier who loses their life for no reason other than the perversion of dogma.
I hope for hope, but I just don’t know…..