Practising Death.

mayo | anti-war / imperialism | opinion/analysis

Thursday July 27, 2006 12:27

by Chris Murray

Cultural Lamentations.

One of the intimacies of war is death and lamentation.
It was one of the intimacies of civilised society too, before the issue of
death becme a taboo, something to be fought and dominated. Especially
within the capitalist framework, wherein a few days entitlement to remove yourself
from the rat-race is the nod to the process of grief.
Wakes, in the houses of the head were a common practice in Irish society. They were
structured rituals which involved every member of the family and extended family
in their individual capacity as mourner, story-teller, Keener and waiter.

The body was never left alone and words were said. The Christian materialist
rationalisation of universal love had created rituals that allied the nature of the death
and resurrection to the Christological mythology, but the folk memory pervaded
in rural areas and is becoming resurgent in urban areas. It's good to see.

Grief is above all , a process or journey which has an individual core, then a community
one and then it waves out into the wider country/society.

In some cultures /philosphies and indeed situations , the burial has to be accomplished
as soon as possible. This is to do with belief (and often in wars or cataclysmic events
with the prevention of disease). It is expedient. and wholly necessary.

The lament in all cultures or the chanting and saying of words in the presence of the dead
is something that seems operably missing from Irish Urban society, wherein funeral homes
embalming :and the official registering process removes the intimate family/community
aspect of the reality of a loss. However, visiting graveyards and seeing families
with picnic chairs and talking in little groups suggests that the rituals are returning.
Sunday afternoon in an urban graveyard has the strangest quality.
There are solar lamps, toys, personal items on the graves. Children run around or
visit with their lost sibling/uncle/auntie/mam/dad. There is a familiarity with and acceptance
of death that is amazing to see. They tell you that they are here to spend time with 'nana' or
'grandaddy' and there is a naturalness about it that is comforting, given the ritualisation-
which does have a place in the community belief system, a formality.

The wake , then ,happens after the formal farewell. Few are carried out in Irish homes, though they
do happen. The business of death is pervasive.

The keeners , described in Mary Lavin's Island stories always fascinated. They have literary parallels
in Eliot, In Greek Chorus, in Shakespeare(or Bacon, as some claim). They are the witnesses, the singers, the official lamenters, and the 'performance' , usually, by women- is structured and strong.
The grief is real and tangible , but the lamentation is universal and ultimately civilising. The women in 'Murder in the Cathedral' by Eliot provide a counterpoint , to the prophetic voice. A reconnection to
the ordinary , despite upheaval, fear and pain.

This is a Lamentation :

Inanna's Lament to Enlil on the Loss of Her House:

Me the woman he has filled with dismay....
has filled me, the queen of heaven, with consternation
I, the woman, who circles the land- tell me where is my house,
Tell me where is the city in which I may live
I who am your daughter.... the hierodule, who
am your bridesmaid-tell me where is my house....
The bird has it's nesting place, but I, my young are dispersed,
The fish lie in calm waters, but I, my resting place exists not,
The dog kneels at the threshold, but I- I have no threshold.

One of the effects of cultural debasement- or not seeing the individual
as: family, community and nation is the cut-off from rituals that comfort and stories that sustain
and create generational links- a companionate order-not a hierarchical order.

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Lament

by Excerpt

Tue Aug 01, 2006 14:32

By Amaranth Pavis.

(from Left Curve no29)

"Oh, jews of the world, who are these who busily re-build
the death-trap over and over?-in their sleep,
in their dead-end logic, the zombie lust
the only destiny beloved is death.
They are killing the tree of life,
they have carried a disease from Europe,
they who whisper to each other in their beds,
in the empty halls, under their prayers,
"if only they could all go, if only they would dissappear"-
as if the smoking chimneys do not come to mind
as if not speaking the word"solution" stops the shadow
of their hand from meeting the shadow
of the heart within a blossoming seed"

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Practising Death.

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