The Compendium: A Selection of Poetry, Short Stories, Plays and an Essay

By Brian Corvin

The Compendium is author, Brian Corvin’s third published work. Where his first two – The Dream Journey (2010) and The Unity Project (2016) – were books of poetry and verse, the present volume is something different.
The first section consists of a selection of neo-haikus and social verse while the second introduces the reader to some quirky short stories, taking on tales of the macabre, offering unexpected twists. This is followed by a trilogy of related one-act plays, offering variations on a theme and looking at the suffering caused by clerical child abuse, questioning whether redemption and forgiveness is ever really possible in these kinds of scenarios. The volume finishes with an essay or autobiographical fragment (Towards a New World Order), in which he discusses how he came upon the Baha'i Faith and how it has guided and influenced his life.

Brian Corvin was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1937 and he continues to reside there. He considers himself however, to be a world citizen as, "the world is one country and mankind are its citizens".
His first book of poems, The Dream Journey, was published in 2010 having taken, he says, 'the best part of 50 years to produce;. His second, The Unity Project, took five which, Brian said at the time, 'shows progress of a kind'!
The Unity Project completed the cycle that he set out to achieve with his first book. His third book, The Compendium, offers something a little different and reveals a hitherto unknown quality to his writing, including his ability as a short-story teller and dramatist.
His work is characterised by keen insight and an intuitive grasp of the thought processes that go on at an individual level, influencing people in their lives, in their actions and in their attitudes toward others. He has been inspired, in his world outlook, by Bahaullah, the prophet of globalisation but feels that his writing should be grounded in the here and now of the world he finds around him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Manuscript Publisher
• Release date: Dec 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370682676

Brian Corvin

Brian Corvin, was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1937 and continues to reside there. He considers himself, however, to be a world citizen as, “the world is one country and mankind are its citizens”. His first book of poems, A Dream Journey, was published in 2010 and took the best part of 50 years to produce. His second, The Unity Project, took five, which, Brian suggests, is progress of a kind. The Unity Project completes the cycle that he set out to achieve with his first book.

Book preview

Introduction

My first two books were traditional, slim volumes of poetry: The Dream Journey (2009) and The Unity Project (2016). My third is something a little different – a literary compendium which brings together a selection of poetry, a number of short stories, three one-act plays and an autobiographical essay.

The poetry here is a varied selection. There are one hundred and fifty neohaikus. The neohaikus is a freewheeling version of the traditional three-line Japanese Haiku. This is followed by a number of social issue pieces. The first of these, The End of War, expands on an earlier anti-war meditation. It makes, what I consider, a very reasonable plea for an end of all war by the end of the century. At this particular time, with the armistice date in mind, we need to look forward, with a positive vision to inspire, not simply back, with memories and songs to console and accept.

The second, Promises, Promises, looks at some of the extraordinary promises made by Donald Trump in his pursuit of the American presidency. The third gives a voice to the ‘New Woman’, who has emerged in recent decades and offers an engaging new perspective. While the last piece, No Place Like Home, deals with the waves of desolate and desperate migrants flooding into Europe from Africa and beyond. It offers a glimpse of those for, against and especially those involved.

I move on, in the second part of the book, to offer short stories, which I first wrote in the early nineties. I wasn’t altogether satisfied with them and left the work aside. Looking through this work recently, I found the stories were a good deal more effective and interesting than I remembered so, I have rewritten most of them and feel that it would be a shame to lose them completely.

The next part contains three short plays, which have a collective title. I wrote these two years ago, back to back, inspired by the work of Harold Pinter, shortly after watching a selection of his plays on YouTube. I found that, while working on them, I found myself asking a considerable number of disquieting and perplexing questions about political correctness, inappropriate legalism, kangaroo courts and the way we compartmentalise our memories and beliefs within a framework that looks at clerical abuse from different perspectives.

Finally, in the fourth part, there is an autobiographical essay, Towards a New World Order. I wrote this several years ago for the Bahai website, UK Histories Project. The essay tells how I became a Bahai while living in Devon, England back in the 1960s. I am still a Bahai though, these days, I sometimes describe myself as a Neo-Bahai. I have never regretted my move to Bahai though, when writing about it, I sometimes feel that I can see similarities to Graham Greene’s sardonically tinged attitude to Catholic beliefs and practices. I still believe that Bahai offers an unmatched vision for the future of the species, though we seldom live up to its aspirations and, I certainly feel that it is worth considering in this confusing, pessimistic and negative transitionary period.

Finally, I want to thank my son, Andre, for his splendid work on the book jacket of this and the two previous books, and to my sister, Brenda, for the great job that she did in typing and editing The Compendium.

If anyone would like to contact me with feedback on the book, or any of the issues brought up by the work, you can reach me at my e-mail address, [e-mail].

Yours

Brian Corvin

October 2018

Part I

~ Poetry ~

NeoHaikus

On New Year’s Day,

I lay on my bed, dreaming

Of my broken promises.

Our lazy cat

Squats there, waiting for

The first mouse to appear.

Sad to find

A frozen kitten

Under our winter rose.

She had her body coated

In rich, creamy chocolate,

For a good licking.

Pink blossoms fall

On the lake water

And a dead dog.

Watching the children

Mitching from school

To play on Dollymount Strand.

A tiny snail

Crawls over the baby’s head,

Then disappears.

Spring rain

Runs down my face

To wet my tongue.

After we lost the match,

He covered the television

With the national flag.

The night can be long

When you are out prowling

And catch nothing.

Our twins, Penny and Ruby,

Cut their first teeth

On the same day.

Kaye, next door,

Looks half dead

From the feet up.

I need to know

If you love me,

Or are just being pleasant.

The birds have deserted

My mother’s garden

To holiday abroad.

I love my father

And hate my mother:

Am I an unnatural son?

My sick dreams

Wake me up shaking

In the early morning.

This time next week,

Christmas will be a memory,

Thank goodness.

That Chinese nurse,

Cloying and fussy,

Embarrasses me.

The cold weather

Is playing nasty games

On my back parts.

Hungry bodies

Seeking each other

For solace, succour, sex.

Why do you imagine

That God listens

To any of our prayers?

If God really loves us,

Why does he leave us

In this crazy world?

She follows me round

Starved, sniffing and unhappy.

Not my kind of dog.

Why can’t I escape

From the dreamland

Of your mind?

Great artists steal;

Others merely borrow.

I do both.

If you tell a lie

Often enough, it can become

Part of your truth.

I never appreciated

Her true power

Until she died.

She is not

Half as fat

As she thinks.

Simply ignore the critics.

Keep on smiling.

Do what you have to do.

I will dance tonight,

Even if I do so alone,

With the music in my head.

Walking ’round town,

She listens to herself;

Ignores everyone else.

My feet move

In opposite directions.

Who’s in charge?

Love can conquer all,

If you want to believe

In fairy stories.

Why do I continue

To dream of you

After that dreadful fight?

My mother tells

The same sad stories,

Over and over again.

Your mind distorts

Our love life

By distorting memories.

I feel we should

Ignore one another,

Now that we’ve split.

At Mrs Crummy’s funeral

Half-remembered faces

Popped up like ghosts.

She is absolutely obese

But everyone says, she is

Absolutely delightful.

In the bad old days,

People smoked in pubs

And spat on the floor.

Looking back at the photos,

It’s difficult to believe

So many friends are dead.

When I was younger,

I never knew why so many

Old men carried sticks.

Would you want to live

The best part of your life

In this godforsaken country?

Come this summer,

I’d like to meet

That splendidly obese woman.

Swinging and singing,

Madly in love;

Dying to the light.

Our whole family

Spent too many Sundays

At my mother’s grave.

Sometimes, my bedroom

Catches the moonlight

To tease me.

What a pleasure

To be able to sleep

In my own bed again.

Your hair growing long,

Wild and tangled:

If mother could see you now.

Better to forget yourself,

Than to think of questioning

The mysterious ways of God.

The Angelus bell

No longer rings at noon:

Another tradition dies.

This spring, the rain

Comes into the bungalow,

With a hungry rat.

Loneliness spreads slowly;

Seems to affect us all:

A world-wide epidemic.

The damp and loneliness

Creeps from the wall

To cover our bed.

I cannot see

My lucky green star.

Where has it gone?

Telling my pupils

About sex and relationships

Bores the pants off them.

Firmly, I tell the dog,

Stop barking and go home.

Strangely, it works.

Why do you snore

So loudly and annoyingly,

Right through the night?

Why do you pray

On bended knees

To an unresponsive God?

On my election trail,

I am continually asked

The most foolish questions.

Why did you burn

All those women and children

In that locked church?

I don’t like to hear

My parents joking

About enjoying sex.

It was a misty morning

But, everything shimmered

After we made love.

I never thought

I’d lose my legs to diabetes,

As an old man.

The ditch out back

Is a wonderful place

To hide from work.

How do the birds know

Where to go,

When they emigrate?

A strong wind blows

Round my wooden hut,

All night long.

Stupid to sit around,

Spending my twilight years

Waiting to die.

Why couldn’t she

Leave the light on

When she saw me coming?

I never realised

I was an Ikea man

’Till I tasted their meatballs.

Now he is old,

Even the dogs move away

Because of his smell.

The Mormons are coming

So, we’ll sit here quietly

’Till they go away.

Listening to our friend,

Your voice changes,

Sounding positively American.

She has no idea

That death is approaching

As it creeps up behind her.

After the cat disappeared,

The house was strangely quiet,

Much to my relief.

I cheer every time

I hear you people have

Blown up another bridge.

I caught a glimpse

Of a dead man walking

Up O’Connell Street.

My father lied to me:

He never found a dolphin

On Dollymount Strand.

Breathing is the only function

Through which we can influence

Our involuntary nervous system.

Nature seldom hurries

Yet, everything is accomplished

In its own good time.

A street seller approaches me,

Selling boxes of cigarettes

Much too cheaply.

I can see nothing

But the intense blue

Of the summer sky.

When you pay attention

To boredom, it can become

Increasingly interesting.

Too many

Obese bums wobbling

On Grafton Street today.

On the sixteen bus,

I heard somebody roaring

At his mobile phone.

Why am I surprised

To see another rat

Scurry across the lawn?

I am hopefully waiting

For Danno to disappear

Down a rabbit hole.

Pilgrims without shoes

Offer loud prayers

To an alien God.

Dublin is my home,

Where I was born

But, I am a world citizen.

My wife, Mary

Is the best Catholic mother

On our estate.

The twin stars,

Glowing green and red,

Follow me around.

Why do the trees

Lose all their leaves

Year after year?

Is the Big Bang

The moment of creation,

Or part of a process?

I don’t understand myself

So, how can I possibly

Hope to understand you.

My mind says one thing,

My feelings another.

Which do I follow?

Why do you expect

The moon to show up

For your birthday party?

My son enjoyed

This three-day Star Wars

Birthday party.

You can call her cuddly

But, to be perfectly honest

She is grossly obese.

I’m sure my husband

Really loves me

But, he rarely shows it.

My father came home

Rolling, half drunk,

Expecting a royal welcome.

My foolish neighbour

Left her son to fry

In Tesco’s car park.

When the light died,

I dreamed of you again,

Dancing on the beach.

Climbing Croagh Patrick,

I saw some pilgrims

Praying on rugs.

Did I really see

Children playing with turds

On the beach?

Remains of a headless dog,

Found by a courting couple,

In the middle of Shaw’s Wood.

My mother and father

Voted for the same gangsters,

In election after election.

Do these half-dressed girls

Not feel the cold,

Even in mid-winter?

Newspapers and landlines,

Cheques and small coins

Disappear before our eyes.

I admire that tree

Maimed, stark and misshaped

But, fiercely tenacious.

Will I ever hear

Your voice again

Or, should I forget it?

The snow clouds sit

On Dublin mountains,

Waiting to be called down.

A young woman reaches

To pick a flower,

’Till I disturb her.

Was that laugh

An echo of my father,

Or simply my imagination?

Inside St Michael’s,

Candles are burning

Every day and night.

A box of old letters

Read and examined,

Analysed and discarded.

Lying in the high field,

Under the oak tree,

I can’t help laughing.

Growing wildly obese,

His body keeps spreading.

Will it possibly explode?

Slowly growing old,

Almost without awareness.

Not quite what I expected.

My grandchildren have

No difficulty in telling

Andre to fuck off.

No easy answers

To my questions;

Only more questions.

My friend, Monty,

Is a dreadful liar

But, he makes me laugh.

I can hear it clearly

But, I can’t see a sign

Of the lonely cuckoo.

Little to eat on board

But, if they send me back,

I will definitely jump ship.

My brother, Danno,

Disappeared last month.

Hope he stays away.

I cannot bear

The smell of my wife

In bed with me.

I’d love to see

That obnoxious dog die

But, I love animals.

On the train to Derry,

I saw the snow fall

On cows in a field.

Two cats live with us:

One in the house;

The other under our shed.

An overpowering smell

On this spring morning:

Must be those lilies.

I watch the news

At regular intervals

But, little happens.

The bus moves off

As the straggler arrives

To hammer on the door.

In the heavy snow,

The cars on our road

Seem to disappear.

I felt sick

When I saw the remains.

How do you kill children?

I could kill the bitch

Though, I hardly know her.

The urge is there.

An earring falls out

When I shake

My old great coat.

She loves to eat

Hamburgers and chips.

Will she outlive me?

Why should you

Enjoy torturing me

With your enthusiasms?

The End of War

Module One: The Past (a consideration)

Sometime between

The First and Second World War,

Three of the greatest

And most influential minds

Of the Twentieth Century

– Namely, Sigmund Freud

Albert Einstein and Bertrand Russell –

Pondered and seriously considered

The following perplexing question,

"What can we do

To halt, stop and eliminate

The madness we call War?"

Freud felt that this could

Best be addressed

Through the paradoxical use

Of collective action.

He believed that

It is sometimes necessary

To wage war

Against the warmongers

Though, he very much doubted

That this would work in all

Or even most cases

Because, he thought

That aggression and strife

Are endemic features

Of the human condition.

Einstein considered

That science could not

Satisfactorily explain

Why we, as humans,

Feel the need to kill

Or torture our own species

On such a horrifying scale

And in the most ingenious ways.

It is something

That few, if any

Of the other animals

We share the planet with

Have ever adopted,

Emulated or achieved.

Not only this

But, we have managed

Our killings,

Dedicating vast resources

To this unnecessary

And unenviable task,

Often in ritualised

And elaborately organised ways.

Then, when we had finished,

We proceed to celebrate

The destruction, madness

And our heroic victories,

If we have any.

However, like Bertrand Russell,

Einstein believed that, when

All the other options

Had been considered and debated

That some form

Of World Government,

Or Global Federation,

Was the most realistic option

We could adopt

To prevent future wars

And suicidal international battles.

Do we honestly think

Or believe that

We should leave

Matters like this?

Are there no other

Options or openings

Available to us?

Are there no plans or beliefs,

Ways or means

That would help us

To limit, halt

And finally roll back

This deadly and pernicious

Man-made disease?

Or would we prefer

To leave this business,

With all its poisonous

And crazy side-effects

For our children

And our children’s children

To finally decide?

Can we not see

That we should regard

War as a virus

Or an infectious disease?

Can we not focus

Our minds and intelligence

On waging war

On war itself?

Do we really think

That it’s good enough

To shrug our shoulders

And file it away

For further consideration,

Sometime in the future?

Do we really want

To continue muddling along

From one crisis to the next,

From Yugoslavia to Iraq

And from Syria to beyond?

Is some form of World Government,

Or Global Federation,

The best and possibly,

The only feasible answer

To this particular question?

Module Two: The Present (a meditation)

Why do we still

Love War so much?

Why are we so enamoured

By its acts of madness and violence?

Why are we so enthralled

By thoughts of battle

And the need

To kill each other?

Where does this collective urge

To murder and maim,

To injure and torture

Our fellow men come from?

Why do we continue

To do it again and again

When we have so little

To show for our effort?

By now, we must be

Aware of what we did,

And what happened

In the past.

So why do we need

To wander along

This absurd and suicidal path,

In cycle after cycle

Of communal vandalism

And needless bloodletting?

Do we not realise

Exactly what we are doing

Or how foolish it seems?

Do we somehow believe

That there is some obscure need

To repeat our mindless mistakes

Without even trying to answer

Some of these curious

And awkward questions?

Is there a genuine,

Or plausible reason

Why War seems to sweep

Over us like a plague,

Again and again,

In generation after generation,

With no end in sight?

Sometimes, it seems to come

In the most unexpected ways

And sometimes, it starts

In the most expected places,

While we do nothing

To halt the slide

Towards another manufactured disaster

(In the ‘national interest’,

Of course).

Can anyone explain

Why we continue to sing,

Write about and celebrate

Those battles of long ago?

Why do we honour

Those who fought and died

For mainly absurd

And forgotten causes?

Why did our ancestors

At the beginning

Of the twentieth century,

Take up arms to fight

A war to end all wars

And then return

To fresh battlefields

Every single day,

In one part of the globe

And then another,

To play the same

Foolish and degenerate games

All over again?

What positive lessons have we learnt

From these futile exercises?

As the song has it,

When will we ever learn?

We need to look hard

And ask serious questions

That deserve sensible answers.

One needs to find answers

That make recognisable sense.

We need to know,

If we fight to the death

Because, we can’t stop

Or help ourselves,

Is it because

War is rooted

And remains lodged

In our genes and DNA?

Is it because

We see War

As a special kind

Of ritual game?

Is it because

War raises our adrenaline

And our energy levels?

Is it because we enjoy

These periodic bouts

Of rough and tumble?

Is it because

Some people with

Influence, intelligence and money

Make a great deal of profit

In the training and use

Of weapons of war?

Is it because we regard War

As a necessary evil

And part of the human condition?

Is it, possibly, a form

Of population control

And an evolutionary mechanism?

Is it the best way

To deal with bullies

And bellicose warmongers

Who only understand

Brute force and direct action?

Is it because

Our leaders and betters

Feel it necessary

To make grand gestures

To right old wrongs?

Is it because

We need more living space,

Or feel our nasty neighbours

Deserve to be taken down?

Is it the best

And only way we know

To halt and deter

International terrorists

Of all stripes?

Or, do we honestly believe

That War is ultimately

A moral and civilised way

In bringing the natives

To their senses

And that it’s how

We should conduct

International business

Or national affairs?

Perhaps, it’s possible

To make up fresh reasons

And go on and on

Because, each generation

Devises a fresh formula

Or manages to recycle

Old causes with fake news.

But, is there honestly

No way to stop all this?

Are there no options,

Alternatives or suggestions?

Is it too much to ask

Our wisest and most enlightened,

Our commentators and critics,

Our artists, gurus and geniuses,

Our resident academics,

Our philosophers and prophets

To find some time

To look at the question

Of war and its causes

And finally deal with

This lumbering elephant

In our livingroom?

Is it really beyond

The wit, the intelligence

And wisdom of man

To come up with ways

Of limiting, stopping

And ultimately eliminating war,

By this or any other name

For, if we are not serious

In dealing and finishing

With these gruesome hostilities

There is more than a fair chance

That War will put

An end to all of us

In a final and decisive

End Game.

Module Three: The Future (a reflection)

I have watched

As some of the most

Enlightened, influential

And respected minds

Of this generation,

As they have been wiped

From the history board

Because they could not

Accept or make the changes

That the zeitgeist demanded.

Many were not even aware

Of what was required

From all of us

At this particular

Point in time.

When do you think

We will be prepared

To move forward,

To play our part

And help to realise

Our evolutionary potential?

Can you see the day coming

When we will begin

To clear away the debris

That others have left behind

And move forward to consider

The agenda of the present century?

Will we be prepared

To face up to

The problems and difficulties

That previous generations

Had not considered,

Or even conceived.

Will we manage

To join up the dots

That history has provided?

When will we

Begin to see

The Big Picture

In new and exciting ways?

Will we make the effort

To transform the whole globe

Or, will we let

Things fizzle out,

Going not with a bang

But a whimper.

How long must we wait

’Till we see the tide of nationalism

Recede into a fading memory?

When will we succeed

In bringing an end

To those harrowing

And obscene migrant trails

Caused by famine,

Drought and war?

When will we see

An end to Climate Change,

International terrorism

And the addled rantings

Of fanatical fundamentalists

And misguided zealots?

When will we

Finally shake off

The excesses of narrow-minded

Economic Globalism,

With its greedy gobbledygook

And neo-liberal theories,

Which have allowed

The rich grow richer

And the poor grow poorer

For far too long?

As far as I can see,

There are still many

Great causes around

To live and die for.

Why can’t we see

That the world is one country

And that mankind

Are its citizens?

When will we move