Stephen Lennon Makes Me Think Of Red Knickers

Stephen Lennon was, until yesterday, the leader of the English Defence League (E.D.L), who liked to go by the name Tommy Robinson. Stephen is from Luton, which is not his fault, and has an Irish mammy. The movement he spearheaded always made a particularly thoughtful contribution to political debate and race relations in the U.K. Below are some geysers at an E.D.L. rally considering the issues.

Yesterday, Stephen Lennon announced that he is no longer a right wing extremist and has nothing at all against Moslems, as long as...He had a few qualifications to that statement which he will no doubt expand on at length in the coming days.

“English Defence League leader Tommy Robinson [real name Stephen Lennon] has announced his intention to set up a new anti-Islamist movement after he dramatically stepped down from the party he founded, branding it too extreme.

The 30-year-old, who has become a familiar figure leading anti-Muslim protests around the country characterised by racist chanting and frequently scarred by violence, said street protests were “no longer effective” and that he “acknowledged the dangers of far-right extremism”.

Robinson, from Luton, made the surprise announcement through an anti-extremist organisation, the Quilliam Foundation, which said it had been helping the EDL founder and his co-leader, Kevin Carroll, who is also leaving the party. It called on extremists on all sides to follow suit.”

This announcement has been greeted with much skepticism. But for me it is an occasion of unrestrained joy and calls to mind, well, red knickers.

Pictured below is Colin Jordan, one time leading light of British Nazism.

In the early Summer of 1975, as Derby County celebrated winning the League Championship, Colin Jordan was already on the outs with most of the other leaders of British bootboy fascism when further misfortune befell him. Jordan was arrested for shoplifting three pairs of women's red knickers from Tesco's Leamington Spa branch in June 1975. Magistrates fined him £50 for the offence, which was quite a lot of money back then. 

It was a happy day. And so was yesterday. Stephen Lennon's departure from the English Defence League will mean that some of the energy these apes put into targetting and harrassing Moslem communities they will now put into (hopefully) kicking the shit out of each other for a bit.

In a spirit of celebration I offer you a picture of Tesco's Leamington Spa branch

and a poem, 'Amongst Aliens'  which, though set in Ireland, is perhaps relevant.

Poem In Three Languages In Support Of Supreme Court Challenge By Joan Collins T.D. To Bank Bailout

Joan Collins T.D. today began a Supreme Court challenge to the promisory note which was the means via which billions of Euro of Irish taxpayers's money was handed to the bankrupt Irish banks.

No vote was ever taken in the Dáil (Irish parliament) on the issuing of the promisory note, by the far the biggest financial decision ever taken by any Irish government.

I wish Joan well with her challenge.

Below, in three different languages, is my poem 'Austerity Mantra' which as well as being published here in Ireland has also appeared in translation in journals in both Greece and Italy.

Austerity Mantra

Everything must be on the table.

Your ninety seven year old granny

is no longer cost effective, would

benefit greatly from being brought face to face

with a compassionate baseball bat.

The figures speak for themselves and will

be worse by morning. The paraplegic

in his insanely expensive wheelchair

will have to crawl as God intended.

Here are the figures that won’t stop

speaking for themselves, this is the table

everything must be on. Yesterday my name was

Temporary Fiscal Adjustment.

Tonight, the insect in the radio calls me

The Inevitable. When the economist

puts his hand up, take care not to cough.

Everything’s on the table and

the table’s tiny. I’d send you a pillow

to hold hard over the child’s face

‘til the kicking stops, but at current rates

there’ll be no pillow. I am the unthinkable

but you will think me. Pack her mouth

with tea towels, hold down firmly

your old mildewed raincoat,

‘til there’s no more breath.

Tomorrow I’ll be known as

Four Year Consolidation Package.

Lock the cat in the oven and bake

at two hundred degrees centigrade.

Tie your last plastic bag over

your own head. The figures speak for themselves

and there is no table.

Greek translation

Το Μάντρα της Λιτότητας

ΜΕΤΑΦΡΑΣΗ: ΛΙΝΑ ΣΙΠΙΤΑΝΟΥ

Όλα πρέπει να μπουν στο τραπέζι
η ενενηνταεπτάχρονη γιαγιά σου
δεν είναι πλέον οικονομικά αποδοτική,
θα είχε όφελος αν την έφερναν καταπρόσωπο
με κανένα πονόψυχο μπαστούνι του μπέιζμπολ.
Τα νούμερα μιλάνε μόνα τους και θα ‘χουν
χειροτερεύσει ως το πρωί. Ο παραπληγικός
στην  εξωφρενικά ακριβή αναπηρική του καρέκλα
αναγκαστικά θα έρπει, όπως το θέλησε ο Θεός.
Ορίστε τα νούμερα που δεν σταματούν
να μιλάνε μόνα τους, αυτό είναι το τραπέζι
που πάνω θα τα βάλουμε όλα. Χθες το όνομά μου ήταν
Προσωρινή Φορολογική Προσαρμογή.

Σήμερα, το έντομο στο ραδιόφωνο με αποκαλεί
το Αναπόφευκτο. Όταν ο οικονομολόγος
σηκώνει το χέρι, πρόσεξε μην βήξεις.
Όλα είναι πάνω στο τραπέζι και
το τραπέζι είναι κούτσικο. Θα σου ’στελνα μαξιλάρι
να το κρατήσεις γερά πάνω στο πρόσωπο του παιδιού
μέχρι να σταματήσουν οι κλωτσιές, με τις σημερινές τιμές όμως
μαξιλάρι δεν έχει. Είμαι το αδιανόητο
όμως εσύ θα με διανοηθείς. Στούμπωσε το στόμα της
με ποτηρόπανα, πάτησε κάτω γερά
το παλιό σου μουχλιασμένο αδιάβροχο
ώσπου να μην έχει άλλη ανάσα.

Αύριο θα με ξέρετε ως
Τετραετές Πακέτο Σταθεροποίησης.
Κλείσε τη γάτα στο φούρνο και ψήσε την
στους διακόσους βαθμούς κελσίου.
Δέσε την τελευταία σου πλαστική σακούλα
γύρω από το κεφάλι σου. Τα νούμερα μιλάνε μόνα τους
και τραπέζι δεν υπάρχει.
Kevin Higgins
Μετάφραση: Λίνα Σιπιτάνου

Italian translation

Mantra dell’Austerità

Tutto deve essere messo in conto.

La tua nonnina di 97 anni

non è più redditizia, trarrebbe

enormi vantaggi dall’essere messa faccia a faccia

con una compassionevole mazza da baseball.

Le cifre parlano da sole e

staranno anche peggio domattina. Il paraplegico

sulla sua sedia a rotelle assurdamente costosa

dovrà strisciare come Dio comanda.

Queste sono le cifre e non smetteranno

di parlare, questo è il conto

tutto deve esservi incluso. Ieri il mio nome era

Correzione Fiscale Temporanea.

Stasera, l'insetto alla radio mi chiama

L'Inevitabile. Quando l'economista

alza la mano, attento a non tossire.

Tutto va messo in conto e

il conto è davvero esiguo. Ti invierei un cuscino

da tenere premuto sulla faccia di tuo figlio

finché non smetta di scalciare, ma ai tassi correnti

non potrà esserci alcun cuscino. Io sono l'impensabile

ma tu mi penserai. Riempile la bocca

di stracci, tieni premuto saldamente

il tuo vecchio e ammuffito impermeabile,

finché non smetta di respirare.

Domani sarò conosciuto come

Pacchetto di Consolidamento Quadriennale.

Chiudi il gatto nel forno e cuocilo

a 200 gradi centigradi.

Legati l’ultimo sacchetto di plastica

in testa. Le cifre parlano da sole

e il conto è ormai esaurito.

SHOCK ANNOUNCEMENT: Smith to be Dublin Euro Election Candidate for People Before Profit

Kieran Allen, supreme head kicker of the Irish branch of the Socialist Workers Party (SWP), has had an idea. Or rather, Alex Callinicos had one and then, as is his way, Kieran Allen immediately had it too. It goes like this: stand a People Before Profit (aka SWP) candidate in the Dublin constituency in the 2014 European Elections. Such a candidate would have no prospect whatsoever of being elected. But that, comrades, is not the point. To understand this, one needs to think dialectically, as Kieran Allen does, especially when he's flushing the toilet.

The point of this particular flush is not to elect a socialist to the European Parliament but to split the vote and so cost Socialist Party MEP Paul Murphy (pictured below) his seat in the process.

Kieran Allen and the man whose hand makes his mouth move, Alex Callinicos, would prefer a Fianna Fáiler, or some Labour or Fine Gael gobshite, to be elected in Dublin next June. If you don't understand this, that's because you're not thinking about it dialectically.

 Alex Callinicos

The loss of Paul Murphy's seat in the European Parliament would cost Kieran Allen's deadly rivals, The Socialist Party, somewhere in the region of one million Euro per annum. It would mean many redundancies among the Party's full time workers. It's a win win situation for the man who has been described, mostly by himself, as the Irish Lenin.

I recently met the person who recruited Kieran Allan to politics. I told said individual that, when the time came, he should plead guilty and throw himself at the mercy of the Hague War Crimes Tribunal. I said I'd be happy to be a character witness for him come the knock on the door from the international community.

This poem 'Being Vladimir Ilyich' is a result of that conversation, which took place at the Over The Edge / Galway Pro-Choice fundraiser in August, to which not one member of Galway Socialist Workers' Party turned up, presumably because I was involved in organising it and I'm an evil reactionary. On that point at least both the SWP and SP agree. I always like to do what I can to bring people together.

The People Before Profit candidate who has been handed the task of taking young Paul Murphy out goes by the name of Smith, Martin Smith. An excellent candidate indeed.

People Before Profit 

Vote Smith!

Okay, the candidate is actually Bríd Smith. But wouldn't it be such fun if it was Martin.

For more on this see Howie's Corner & Harry's Place

Deform Alliance Celebrates No Vote With Guest D.J. Cora Sherlock

The Deform Alliance of former Fine Gael T.Ds & Senators is the most exciting thing to happen in Irish politics since Finian McGrath last let wind at the Leinster House plinth.

A couple of months back, they were sad because they'd been booted out of Fine Gael because they couldn't be doing with abhortion, holy mary mother of god and all that.

Last night, in the wake of the defeat of Enda Kenny's proposal to abolish the Seanad, they were ecstatic.

This blog has been informed that the group gathered for a wild celebration in the crypt of a tridentine church somewhere in Peter Matthew's Dublin South constituency. The D.J. for the evening was their pal Cora Sherlock of the Pro-Life campaign, who played a range of her favourite nineties sounds. Cora Sherlock is the new nice girl of the ultra-right in Ireland. My sources tell me she spent her college years giving hope to fellas from Killybegs who really had no hope. But sure so it goes.

The evening got a little out of hand at one stage, when Cora departed from her usual nineties reportoire, and got the whole group down on the floor doing Rock The Boat. Ah, The Hues Corporation, we shall not see their likes again. At one point, during the group's raucous rocking of the aforementioned boat, Peter Matthews became separated from his rosary beads.

However, the night ended well when Cora Sherlock led the group in a seance during which they tried to contact the spirit of Fine Gael's first leader, Eoin O'Duffy.

At first they could get nothing. His mobile was engaged. After a couple more tries, though, success. Eoin  O'Duffy told the group he'd been on the phone chatting with the equally late Hermann Goering about the good old days. In particular, himself and Hermann had been reminiscing about O'Duffy's offer to organise an Irish brigade to go and fight on the side of the Third Reich during Operation Barbarrosa.

Eoin O'Duffy told the group that his spirit is with them, one thousand per cent of the way, and that if he weren't dead he'd be a Reform Alliance member of the Seanad. At which point, it's rumoured, actual tears were shed. I dedicate my poem, What The Virgin At Knock Would Say If She Could Speak, to this admirable group of expunged ex-Fine Gaelers.

Guest post by Quincy R. Lehr: 'The Secret Adventures Of Carlos Danger'

Quincy R. Lehr

THE SECRET ADVENTURES OF CARLOS DANGER

               I start to fuck you so hard your tits almost hit you in the face.   
               You reach behind and spread your ass.

                        --former congressman Anthony Weiner

Who is the incognito

    man behind the phone,

the shape made out of pixels,

    the bone that's not a bone?

You always liked a challenge

    and running up the score

and gave a both/and answer

    instead of either/or.

No Carmen Sandiego--

    the flag's beside the point.

Fire another rocket

    and roll another joint

as settlements, like roaches,

    crowd against a street

in multitudes, exploding

    in artificial heat--

a Palestinian village

    or mercenary dive

that lands you straight in prime-time

    this thing is going live

like money shots in Quicktime.

    The leader grasps his rod

to satisfy  a stranger,

    enact the will of God,

and underneath the scepter,

    danger is displaced.

A baby's born in London.

    A leader is disgraced.

Whence the hooded axeman

    as Henry's wretched freight

sent his wives' eyes wandering

    towards men of lesser weight?

Where's Catherine in the saddle

    or Caesar in his bed?

Where can we find a Borgia

    to give us daily bread?

Carlos--you're more foolish

    than even we suspect,

on Friday almost frisky,

    the next day circumspect.

Another lucky lady

    forlornly at your side

mouths pieties to newsmen.

    The viewers will decide.

Quincy R. Lehr is the author of several poetry collections, most recently Shadows and Gifts (Barefoot Muse Press, 2013). His poetry and criticism have appeared in numerous journals in North America, Europe, and Australia, and he lives in Brooklyn, where he is the associate editor of The Raintown Review and co-curates the long-running Carmine Street Metrics series.