Winding down, in an age of coronavirus

"I had a little donkey

He wouldn't go,

Did I beat him?

No! No! No!

I put him in the stable

And gave him some corn;

The best little donkey

That ever was born."

This little song has been trotting around in my head since we first met Oliver: our grandson, and just a month old. As far as I know, it was his first "garden party," and I am pleased to say that informality ruled. The sun was shining, the food and wine were plentiful, and from time to time there was speculation as to what the little fellow was up to: was he smiling, or just doing a pooh in his pants.

As for this nursery rhyme, (that comes with is own jaunty little tune), it spans the generations; it takes me back to "Foyle Street", to "Grandam", and to one or other of our three maiden aunts. Bridie was quiet and hard working and kept her childhood memories to herself, while Maura, cultured and refined, could really make the little donkey do its stuff on the piano; while Kathleen, for her own amusement, and ours, having chalked a tailless donkey on the kitchen floor, would have us, blindfolded and disorientated, "put the tail on the donkey." And happily at that time, no one asked why the little donkey "wouldn't go," or dared to suggest that at its heart, this little song wasn't really about a donkey, but something altogether more profound: the unconditional nature of love.

Now if Oliver's visit was symbolic of the easing of the "lockdown" restrictions, what about this, "Self Isolating Notice," that has been on our front door for the duration:

"If you are delivering a parcel

please ring the bell and

leave it on the doorstep.

             Thank you."

As a consequence, and in this period, only two outsiders have made it past the front door, and then, only into the hall, with the delivery of two "state of the art" vacuum packed  mattresses: standard size double bed mattresses, that at the factory were folded into a quarter of their normal size, and then, with the life squeezed out of them, vacuum packed for delivery. Once delivered, and with the men long gone, it took time, and patience, to work out how to safely release the mattresses from their reinforced plastic shrouds; but, once released and spread out on the floor, slowly they came back to life: (No! not as air beds, but mattresses).

So all in all we have done our best to stay safe. Letters and packages, are quarantined, and groceries delivered, not through the front door, but to the garage, and I make a point of being on hand, at the window, to show our appreciation as the delivery drivers take their leave. After that comes the sorting: deciding what foodstuffs should be quarantined in the garage, and what brought into the house for immediate use, but before they can be stored away, these packages have to be sprayed, (disinfected,) and left to stand for a time before being dried off and put away. And sometimes, in all this business, we lose track of where we are in the process of cleansing, or find that we have to go back to the garage for something that was overlooked, which can mean, more disinfecting: spraying of bolts and handles and yet another washing of hands.

All of this said, and living in comfortable circumstances, there is a sense in which our experience of Covid 19, is far removed from what is the reality for most people. so much so, that at times I have had to remind myself, that the threat is real, and that the virus has had devastating consequences for many people. And I have had to stop myself from becoming irritated by the daily news briefings from the government, that are often, or so it would seem, less than truthful. When a government minister stands there and tells me that they have taken possession of three million plus, "pieces" of protective equipment, for those working on the front line, I smell duplicity. What I want to know, and what the minister knows, and fears, that I want to know, is not, how many "pieces" of equipment have arrived, but how many, full sets of protective clothing are represented in that number, and how that relates to the total need. So in the end, I stopped listening to the government briefings.  

And so as to keep my own world fresh and interesting, I have gone back to baking bread, (though a machine does most of the work), and I have purchased a radiogram: a 1930s look-alike radio, that besides providing the "Wireless", (you have to turn the knob to get the stations), also plays vinyl, cassette tapes, CD's and has a blue tooth facility. And my friend Arthur, who features in my poem "Friendship", has just last week, sent me a CD of the Ballyclare Male Choir. Grounded by the Covid-19 restrictions he is missing not just the singing, but the social life that goes with it. And the Parish Priest has written to remind us that the Church will be open on Sundays in future; and, that we are to look out for a further e-mail explaining how, in the light of continuing restrictions, things will be managed.

And full credit to ZOOM that has kept going throughout, and via which we have had our monthly poetry meetings. This month the theme was food. "The Walrus and the Carpenter", by Lewis Carroll, in which oysters, unsuspecting, get eaten, was one of them, Another was "The King's Breakfast", by Alan Alexander Milne, which provoked some discussion as to whether it was simply a nonsense poem, or a political statement, about power and privilege. What the king wanted, and got, after messages were passed down and up the line, was, a "little bit of butter"on his bread. As for myself, I brought along the opening lines from Chapter XXII of The Odyssey, by Homer, in part because I felt inspired to bring along some Epic poetry; and, having read both the The Iliad, and The Odyssey, some years ago, I especially, in the context of the theme, recalled this particular moment in the poem. But before we get to the poem, some background detail.

Having fought in the Trojan War, (and for a variety of reasons), it take Odysseus ten years to make his way back home to Ithaca, only to find that in his absence, a bunch of hangers on, (suitors), have been abusing the rules of hospitality and eating him out of house and home, while they wait for Penelope to accept that her husband Odysseus is dead, and in the hope that she would accept one of them in marriage. Unaware that Odysseus has returned, (disguised as a beggar), the drama unfolds in the banqueting hall, where he has decided to take his revenge. The first to fall victim to his bow is Antinous, as he indulgently lifts a loving cup to his lips:

"Full though his throat Ulysses' weapon pass'd,

And pierced his neck. He falls, and breathes his last.

The tumbling goblet the wide floor o'erflows,

A stream of gore burst sprouting from his nose;

Grim in convulsive agonies he sprawls:

Before him spurn'd the loaded table falls,

And spreads the pavement with a mingled flood

Of floating meats, and wine, and human blood. . . ."
__________

Now as I began with a donkey, it seems appropriated to end with one, in what is my final coronavirus blog. In the Medina in Fez, (Morocco), I have seen them, as beasts of burden, heavy laden, making their way quietly and obediently through crowded passageways, and again, divested of their cargoes, standing quietly, and I couldn't help but wonder how long they might have to stand there, ignored, until their next assignment. Well in this poem by G. K Chesterton, we are seeing and hearing the world from the point of view of the donkey, who, amidst scenes of  jubilation, is carrying Christ, in triumph, before his passion and crucifixion, into Jerusalem. 

"When fishes flew and forests walked

And figs grew upon thorn,

Some moment when the moon was blood

Then surely I was born.

"With monstrous head and sickening cry

And ears like errant wings,

The Devil's walking parody

Of all four-footed things.

"The Tattered outlaw of the earth,

Of ancient crooked will:

Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,

I keep my secret still.

"Fools! For I also had my hour:

One far fierce hour and sweet:

There was a shout about my ears,

And palms before my feet."

__________ 

    ©  Cormac E. McCloskey

   "Foyle St"   

   "Grandma"   

   "Friendship"  

   "The Odyssey" Translation, Alexander Pope, BOOK XXII

   "The Donkey"  A very effective reading  YouTube.