A Monkey Reflects upon Eternity

from the Ramakien Mural, Bangkok

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We come back as us. Call it representation.

For so as to comply with time being space

And space time, from one life to the next,

There can be no development. We just exist again,

Each our own link in an undying chain.

Nothing can be altered, no mistake made

Undone. The bees return as bees

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And begin as they begun. What we are on earth

We remain. If I am a rock in the jungle,

That is what I am. If I am indubitably me,

Then I always was, always will be.

No use relying on enlightenment

To get me out of this infernal loop.

Every instant I’ve been one of the troop

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Exists and did exist and shall

So as to maintain the fabric of it all.

From a seed that fell into a crevice

Grows a tree, the seed however

Is once more the seed so that the tree

Growing so crookedly out of its crevice

May become that tree forever.

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The Ramakien mural surrounding Bangkok’s Emerald Buddha Temple

Wat Phra Kaew is the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. Wat Phra Kaew’s importance as a Buddhist temple in Thailand owes to its association with the kings of Thailand, but also because it houses the Emerald Buddha statue.

This temple is also home to a famous set of mural paintings that depict a Hindu narrative. The Ramakien, the Thai version of the Ramayana was written by King Rama I (1737-1809) and his court poets. The reigns of Rama the First and his son Rama the Second are a golden age in Thai literature and art – with the completion of the epic Kung Chang Kung Phaen – and it’s also the time when Sunthorn Pho – the great Thai ‘Chaucer’ – was writing. It is a period where the influence of Western art and literature was merging with the South East Asian tradition: a merger epitomised by Sunthorn’s writing. In the murals one can also sense this awareness of European landscape painting as well as the influence of Chinese art.

The Ramakien centres on Prince Rama, an avatar of Vishnu, who is banished from his father’s kingdom  at the request of his stepmother. To avoid creating discord in the kingdom and in his father’s household, Rama leaves Ayodhya and lives in exile with his wife Sita and devoted brother Lakshmana. In focusing on Rama as an ideal king rather than a Hindu god, the placement of the Ramakien murals in the cloisters surrounding the temple seems appropriate. The kings of the Chakri Dynasty, who adopt the title of Rama for themselves, want to be seen as ideal kings. The placement of the murals outside of the main precinct of the temple  rather than at its centre ensures that they do not detract from the Buddhist nature of Wat Phra Kaew.

I would guess the mural is one, maybe two kilometres long! Each section, separated by wooden rafters, was painted by a different court artist, whose name is inscribed below, as well as the date and the name of any artist who may have restored it. It is a work of mutual art; a project that is over two hundred years old, and, because of its restorations, an ongoing creative work. I worry about the gold restoration, which looks as if it has been done with ‘white’ gold rather than the ‘red’ gold of the original which merges better with the entirety of the picture. Sometimes the restoration seems heavy-handed or unfinished. But these are uninformed observations. Comments welcome. Inscribed on the pillar next to each section is the verse of the Ramakien that is being shown us on the panel. Each panel merges with the work of the next panel, painted by another artist, and so it seamlessly unscrolls – not always as seamlessly as it might – one senses times of artistic rivalry between one painter and his neighbour.

But to my mind, the work is a masterpiece, for all my caveats. As well as giants, demons, angels and armies, there are acutely observed moments of ordinary life: women chatting, wives weeping at the knowledge of husbands killed in action, gardeners with watering cans, a child poking his tongue out at a guard who must stand to attention. My friend came here every day from school and could never get to the end of discovering startling new little scenes – scenes that are utterly charming.

See also Don’t Poke the Bear!

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As they say, guys, Don’t Poke the Bear!

Detail from the mural in what might be termed the cloisters of the Wat of the Emerald Buddha in Bangkok. Created 200 years ago, roughly. It was and  indeed is a Royal commission which has been restored at least once and was in its own day the work of many artists, each allotted a chapter of the Ramayana to set forth on a panel of which the image above is a fragment.

There are many versions of Ramayana in Indian languages, besides Buddhist, Sikh and Jain adaptations. There are also Cambodian (Reamker), Indonesian, Filipino, Thai (Ramakien), Lao, Burmese and Malay versions of the tale.

With its restorations, for the better or the worse, this mural has the thrill of a continuing mutual art – With others, I wrote and signed The Manifesto of Mutual Art back in the early seventies. So for me, it’s like discovering the Bayeaux Tapestry.

And after all, my headline, the saying, was just as true two hundred years ago.

See also The Ramakien Mural

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Rainbow Revolutionary

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With far more roofs than are needed,

Golden eaves, bewildering embellishments,

Porticos held up by pillars sprouting ardent

Angels offering busts and candles, architraves

And window-frames accompanied by legends,

Threshold stairways flanked by snakes

Disgorging snakes disgorging tiger-headed demons,

Ogre sentries glowering at the worshippers,

This affluent extravagance appears to serve

The cementation of their status quo.

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Offerings get bagged up for the monastery

While a sermon’s blasted through the tannoy;

Monks like rows of oranges ripen in front of

The dais while nuns in white kneel humbly

At the back as the widow offers up her snack

Where the playboy monarch shares a gilded shrine.

All this bloody incense burning and genuflection!

Nothing proud or assertive apart from the wat

Itself and that crested and bewattled cock

Strutting around as if he owned the place.

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Henry VIII would dissolve it forthwith, as would

Any self-respecting communist. But I recognise

In myself an overweening prejudice, a thirst

To disapprove, as if I could lay claim

To knowing what is best for folk, aim for

Justice my way here on earth, set up some NGO

To neutralise their mystic status quo,

Yoke the Buddha’s gold to viable

Corporate uses, mine this site and promote

The superiority of the overweight who already

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Occupy the beach. Gadarene swine

With sunshield, fags, cocktails, towels,

Designer bags, Apple phones and afterbite,

Reading Guardian-recommended paperbacks

Or sprawled asleep exhausted after dismissing

The board or taking over a theme-park

In Phuket, while turning as pink as the sunset.

What might make more of a profit than

The palm-oils’ gloomy crypt would be a park

Where Westerners took elephants for rides.

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To be fair, the monks also have i-phones and are in the habit of taking selfies.

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Photographs of Khao Sok

See also my drawings of Khao Sok with the eyes shut.

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Drawing Khao Sok with the eyes shut.

See also my post ‘Photographs of Khao Sok’.

Khao Sok National Park, South Thailand.

Another image of the lake

Drawing with the eyes closed.

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Sitting in Very Large Trees

This gentleman sitting within the folds of a giant Tualang tree reminds me of my very own throne in a Beech in Epping forest.

Here is a closer view:

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THE CAVERN

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Mere slips of girls behind masks are hardly what I am after.

But am I that keen on entering this regal, sleeping vagina?

Look what became of the wild boars, swallowed by an unforgiving

Mountain who’d endured a love surrounded by darkness,

Pregnant and alone, somewhere in the depths of Tham Luang. 

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With her loyal stable hand the princess lost all sense of time.

We smelt the kids before we saw or heard them, said a diver in the party.

Her father had the boy killed. She stabbed herself in the heart

With her hair pin. Dead leaves from above get trapped in newly

Sprouted ones. The bush so threatens modern man it has to be

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Shaved, infantilised, not for the hill tribe villages to utilise as thatch. 

Light trickles in from the entrance at her labia. A myriad cicadas

Intensify my own alarm. And the heir to the throne, the bright, strong

Princess in a coma? Calm. Remain calm. We must conserve our oxygen.

Parasitic ferns fix their antlers to the trees. I have lost all sense

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Of open space, for here time is trapped in a cauldron of stone.

Deep inside, the walls go moist and warm. Tham Luang Nang Non,

“The headwaters of the Sleeping Lady,” happens to be the inner lake

Created from her tears, this wide-hipped princess of a mountain

Pregnant with the ghosts of the ones who have succumbed,

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Drowned in her blood which has become what so fluently now

Flows through her, rising in monsoons, quick to deepen, dangerous,

As their junior football team discovered. Pleased with her mist,

Proud to be forested. Beneath stalactite skirts, the secretive route

They took has many recesses, dead ends, limited passages 

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And tunnels winding under limestone strata. Free to grow unkempt

The wilderness will reassert itself, a fresh havoc will reign

Where there is now some orderly tea plantation. Offerings of fruit,

Incense and candles may be left. But this is a haunted, not a holy cleft.

Genuflect to her image, yes. Do not remove your sandals.Xx

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Jungle

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Does it say ‘Gawow’ or ‘For Real’?

Asian Koel

CHIT CHAT

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For real, for real, for real.

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For real, for real, for real, for real.

Who who who who who who who who

Snipped pips, snipped pips, snipped

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For real, for real, for real?

Who who who who who who who who

Snipped pips, snipped pips, snipped pips?

What? What

Did your poodle do? Did your poodle do

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For real, for real, for real, for real?

Who who who who who who who who

Snipped pips, snipped pips, snipped

What? What? What

Did your poodle do? Did your poodle do?

We are or were, we are or were

Busy fizzing busy fizzing busy fiz

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For real, for real, for real.

Who who who who who who who who

Snipped pips, snipped pips, snipped

What? What

Did your poodle do? Did your poodle do?

We are or were, we are or were

Busy fizzing busy fizzing busy fizzing biz –

Quarrel a lot then, quarrel a lot.

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Ketchup.

Pour it down the bra.

Thank you. Toodle loo

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For real, for real, for real, for real.

Who who who who who who who?

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                                (Translated from the Thai)

Big debate with my Thai friend as to what the birds are saying. Of course, they are speaking in Thai, and Thai speakers (with their five tones) “hear” quite differently to the way an English person “hears” – so this poem is more accurately perhaps a transliteration. It’s a dog that keeps saying “What”.

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