What do you think?
Rate this book


384 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2001
This otherworld, partaking as it does of the eternal, provides a deeper perspective on reality than the temporal world of normality. Normality proceeds from the mythopoetic rather than the other way round. The mythopoetic is more fundamental. I think that this is terribly important: it is why, ultimately, the true bard does not just compose poetry. Rather, she or he is gripped by it at the gut level of cultural genesis. Poetics makes the bard. As such, to be poet is an outrageous calling, not a judicious career move. The bard at most invokes awareness or opens up consciousness to that which is already present in mythopoesis. As such, the bard mediates between consciousness and the ungian collective unconscious. This is why Scotland's greatest modern bard, Hugh MacDiarmid, was able to say: 'We must return to the ancient classical gaelic poets. For in them the inestimable treasure is wholly in contact with he inner surface of the unconscious’.
If it is the case that many English people today take landed power for granted and even admire 'their' aristocracy, some explanation might lie in the fact that, as folk singer Dick Gaughan reminds us, 'It is easy to forget that England is the most colonised nation in history'. High land prices (which we all pay for in rents and mortgages) are really no more than a tax by the rich on the poor. And whereas most people will pay income tax, national insurance and VAT on their leisure activities, the rich employ armies of chartered accountants to show that their estates are 'businesses' and therefore tax-deductible. You can bet that the Land Rover from which the pheasant shoot takes place has usually been put through the books.
There was talk in the villages about dropping old cars into the sea to snag their nets. But it never happened. As the inshore fishing became more and more pointless over the course of just a year or two, the reason why nobody acted dawned with what, for me and my naivety, was a gentle horror. These were our boats: not east-coasters, not the marauding Spaniards, but local trawlers. There was nothing anybody could or would do.
Extinction is a crime against all time. It makes the world a poorer place, forever. The process is not new in human history. It has happened whenever there has been a period of major human change. The arrival of people in Australia 50,000 years ago, and in the Americas 11,000 years ago, coincided with large-scale extinctions of hunted species. It is important to remember this because, in rightly valuing the wisdom of indigenous peoples, we must not idealise them and thereby subject our readily maligned postmodern selves to unrealistic comparisons. The harmony with nature that we have come to associate with settled indigenous peoples has been in part a learned harmony. It has been kept in place by technological limitations, by totemistic respect for other life and by taboos against disrespect. But the fact that some societies have managed to achieve ecological harmony in the past is important to us today. It offers hope, showing that sustainable ways of life can, indeed, be compatible with human wellbeing.