To read this epic in progress, please click this Heyzine link.
I suggest expanding the image and turning off the sound. Click the bottom corner of the page to turn the pages, and the bar below the book allows you to scroll to whichever book you want to read. Contents pages at the beginning tell you the page number of each book.
I’ve now got to page 511. But there are always lots of adjustments made and polishing previous books being done as I continue my journey.
The Fortnightly Review has migrated to SUBSTACK – and here is the link to my review
Books one to twenty of my epic poem The Runiad are available to read on this Heyzine link.
From Book 20
x
This blessed Paul, Paul of Thrace, had opted to live in
The most remote cave in the wilderness, so that the Word could be
Heard by any, possibly fleeing from justice, more probably
Fleeing from injustice; yes, even if their flight took them to the
Furthest, most desolate reach of all. Paul had already lived
On earth for a hundred and thirteen years. Antony,
x
At the age of ninety, occupied another place esteemed remote
(As he himself was wont to declare). Having successfully coped
With his demons, Antony was feeling good. He lived a life
Of solitude that earned him respect. When the thought occurred
That there lived no holier man in the waste; no one more hermetic
Than he, he slept the whole blessed night. No demons.
However, in the stillness of a later night it was revealed
x
That there was, further into the wilderness, a hermit more
Hermetic than he: a certain hermit Paul, who hailed from Thrace.
And since Paul served the Lord in the most desolate of places,
Antony ought to pay him a visit. So then at break of day
The venerable Saint, supported by a staff, started out:
But what direction to choose he knew not. The point was simply
To start. Scorching noontide came, with a broiling sun overhead,
x
But still he did not allow himself to be turned from the journey
He had begun. Said he, I believe in my God: some time or other
He will show me the fellow-servant He’s promised me.
He said no more. All at once he beholds a creature of mingled shape,
Half horse half man, called by the poets Hippocentaur.
At the sight of this he arms himself by making on his forehead
The Sign of the Cross, and then exclaims, Holloa! Where in these parts
x
Is the cave of a servant of God? The monster after gnashing out
Some kind of outlandish utterance in words broken rather
Than spoken through his bristling lips, at length finds a clearer
Mode of communication, and extending his right hand
Points out the way desired. Then he rears, next he careers
Through the trees and vanishes from the sight of the astonished
Saint. But whether the devil took this shape to terrify him,
x
Or whether it be that the wilderness which is known to abound
In monstrous shapes engenders also that hybrid strain,
We cannot decide. Anyway, Antony was astounded.
Mulling over what he had seen, he continued on his way.
Before long, in a small rocky valley shut in on all sides,
He meets a mannikin with hooked snout, horned forehead,
Cloven hooves like a goat’s. When he saw this, Antony
x
Militarily seized the shield of faith and the helmet
Of hope: the creature none the less began to offer the fruit
Of the palm-trees to support him and, as it were, offer
Pledges of peace. Antony perceiving this asked who he was.
The answer he received was this: I am a mortal being
And one of those inhabitants of the desert whom the Gentiles,
Deluded by varieties of error, worship under the names
x
Of Fauns, Satyrs, and Incubi. I am sent to represent my tribe.
We pray you on our behalf to entreat for us the favour of your Lord
And ours, who, we have learned, came once to save the world,
And ‘whose sound has gone forth into all reaches of the earth.’
As he heard such words from the creature, the aged traveller’s cheeks
Streamed with tears, the sign of his deep rapture;
Tears he shed in the fullness of his joy. He rejoiced over
x
The Glory of Christ and the destruction of Satan.
Marvelling all the while that he could understand
The Satyr’s language, and striking the ground with his staff,
He said, Woe to you, Alexandria, prostrate before
Unholy beings! Woe to you, harlot city, into which
Have flowed together all the demons of the world!
What will you say now? Beasts speak of Christ, and you instead
X
Of God worship monsters! He had not finished speaking when,
As if on wings, the Satyr fled away. Let no one scruple
To believe this incident; its truth is supported by
What took place when Constantine was on the throne,
A matter to which the whole world was a witness.
For one half-man of that kind was brought alive to Alexandria
And shown as a wonderful sight to the crowd. Afterwards
x
His lifeless corpse, to prevent its decay through the summer heat,
Was preserved in salt and brought to Antioch that
The Emperor might see it. Just as freaks were brought to Peter
For his Kunst Kamera in Saint Petersburg. I love to trace
The trajectories of these souls, on earth, back in those early days:
The trajectory of Christopher, of the Centaur whom he meets,
Of Antony, in the vicinity of the cave of Paul of Thrace.
xx
xxx
xxxx
xxxx
xxx
Anthony Howell, 2025
The interlock between the mob, crooked Jewish oligarchs, crooked Christian oligarchs, crooked US, British and European politicians, crooked Gulf dictators, crooked real estate moguls, crooked media magnates, crooked defense industrialists, and the security services – it’s just hamstrung by its own web – it can only resort to lies because attaining power by venality is all it knows.
Whereas those who stand against the rise of Banderite Nazis in Europe do rely on the protocol of international law and on telling the truth, the West simply cannot negotiate in like manner. Our whole system is just too corrupted. Those in power are too crooked to be able to do anything but lie. Therefore all negotiations will break down.
So this is an existential struggle – not just for Russia. It’s existential for us. Our Augean stables are mired so deeply in shit it will take the people, bonded together into one mighty Heracles, to cleanse the west – but I despair. I doubt that this is possible – without war.
We need to organise our resistance, because in the next great war the West will be the fascists, Israel will be our chief ally and totally Nazi. Yes, I know, this is deeply difficult for those of us with any vestige of integrity to get our heads around. But we must face up to this, admit it to ourselves, otherwise our culture is doomed.
Very excited to have obtained a copy of this wonderful film made by Jayne Parker in 2001.
Choreographer Anthony Howell
Starring Quincy, Marcus and Ruby
Composer and Trombonist John White
Dogs trained by Mary Ray and Karen London
Producer Sally Thomas
Thanks to the BBC
Further credits at the end of the video.
And here is my Homage to the composer John White
Thousands of farmers are expected to join a rally in Whitehall as they protest against the Labour government’s extension of inheritance tax to agricultural property.
The government intends to impose inheritance tax on farmers. Previously, farming businesses qualified for 100 per cent relief on inheritance tax on agricultural property and business property. Changes could undermine investment as farmers will be wary of increasing the balance sheet as they will be liable to pay inheritance tax on it. There are also concerns that it could affect tenant farmers if landowners no longer benefit from having a tax exemption for farmed land. While farms may have a high nominal asset value – the value of their land and business assets – the returns from farming are often very low, so farming families may not have the reserves to pay for inheritance tax liabilities without selling off assets.
If anything explains why Keir Starmer met with Bill Gates recently, this terrifying change to farming land rights is it. Farmers will be unable to hand on their farms to the sons and daughters. The traditional family-owned farm will disappear. Industrial farming on a colossal scale will thus be ushered in. All livestock will be artificially altered to increase yield and comply with ridiculous Gatesian obsessions – seriously endangering the well-being of consumers. Hedgerows, coppices and coverts, meandering streams, all the distinctive characteristics of British farmland will disappear. The rotation of the crops will abandoned, and within fifty years, Britain will be a wasteland.
I am very much looking forward to this concert with poetry in Cambridge on Saturday 15 February!
A fine concert, but, for the record:
“Rail” travel in Britain has become so picturesque and seventeenth century. They should advertise it as such to tourists. Went to Cambridge for the concert yesterday by train to Audley End, then coach to Cambridge North (because of planned engineering work), train to Cambridge, and finally taxi to the venue. The trip back on the last but for 40 minutes the only means of transport began with coach at 11.55 to Royston, to find in Royston (wherever that is) the last train into Finchley Park – the only one into London – had been cancelled because of either a faulty train or a fault on the line or the sad death of a driver. There were (luckily) only three other passengers that cold and lonely night (which it was) we waited in the waiting room for an hour until the cab ordered for us by an intrepid young member of staff in a yellow jacket arrived for us and we piled in. We travelled for many miles through the deepest countryside with no mention of London on the signs as the driver played us Indian House. Finally at Finsbury Park, I changed to the tube, then at Seven sisters I changed onto a nightbus. Home by 3 am. If they changed the coaches to coach-and-horses type coaches it would have been the most perfect adventure.
Books 1-19 of the Runiad, my epic poem-in-progress, can be read here
Unfortunately, since the very sad demise of Denis Boyles, editor of the Fortnightly Review, the review itself is being re-structured and may not appear again until March. So the excerpts published there are falling behind.
So, for readers who wish to follow my progress, the link above brings you up-to-date with where I have got to now.
When the Fortnightly recommences, I will publish links to the extracts.
The contents pages give the page number for each book, and underneath the book is a scroll line. As you move your cursor along it the page numbers come up.
And what you are reading is only the first “fair” draft. The process of writing this poem is one of constant re-reading. Every time I re-read a book I discover things I need to change. In time I hope it will all be honed, but first it has to be “got down”.
*****
Other books of mine which can be read for free can be found on this link
It is no good. I can’t just publicise my own activities at this time. What is going on the Russian border and in the Middle East, as well as in the Sudan and elsewhere, demands to be addressed. I will be eighty this year. 2024 was most definitely the worst year I have ever experienced in terms of the state of the world. Yes, I have known worse years in terms of personal tragedy, but as far as I am concerned the world itself is in the most pitiful condition that I have ever known (and that includes the years that brought the destruction of Yugoslavia and the invasion of Iraq). Most of these tragedies are caused by the West. Both the USA and the UK are run by a two party system where there is actually very little difference between the two blocs.
How do we rescue genuine democracy from the deep state that enforces a uniparty upon us, however we vote? Politics has become a career that you embark upon if you wish to become a billionaire. In my view, things will only get worse unless we refuse compromise. Vote for Reform if you must, or vote for the Workers Party of Britain. But for heaven’s sake let’s get rid of the two smug middle-of-road entities which force a corrupt establishment regime upon us. To vote either for the Tories or for Labour is to cement to status quo that has got us into this mess. Kemi Badenoch, Keir Starmer – Yah Boo Sucks!
The Liberal Democrats were wont to occupy the middle ground between the Labour and Conservative parties. They always attracted far fewer votes than the two ‘main parties’. And yet today, it is precisely that middle ground that both Labour and the Conservatives seek to occupy. The theory, if you can call it that, is that unless you resemble the opposing party as far as you possibly can, so as to attract their swing voters, you haven’t a chance of getting into power. But if that is the case, why were the Lib Dems not the biggest party? To aim strategically for the middle ground leads to a form of communism by statistics. When dissatisfied, we kick the buggars out and get the other buggars and the same policies.
First-past-the-post democracy works best when there is a radical difference between the two major parties. This suggests that democracy should be a risky business. A genuine left gets in and implements genuine left-wing policies. Should these go too far, in the opinion of the majority, then, at the next election, the genuine right gets in and reverses the more unpopular policies, and then it may well implement right-wing policies, some of which may prove unpopular. And so it swings, between ideologies at variance with each other. Risky as it is, this is how it should be. It reminds me of Robert Graves’ wonderful poem, Flying Crooked:
The butterfly, the cabbage white,
(His honest idiocy of flight)
Will never now, it is too late,
Master the art of flying straight,
Yet has — who knows so well as I? —
A just sense of how not to fly:
He lurches here and here by guess
And God and hope and hopelessness.
Even the aerobatic swift
Has not his flying-crooked gift.
Forever relying on caution and compromise renders democracy innocuous. A beltway elite, or a Westminster mob, get accustomed to running the show, installing their civil service apparatchiks and going hand-in-glove with shady security services. Matters rapidly become corrupt. On either side, they know that they are playing the same game. I say, avoid all persuasion that would have you vote strategically. Vote with your heart, however small the number of like-minded people may be who choose to vote the way you do. This is democracy’s only chance. Uniparty democracy is one colossal sham.
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