Harpin’ with th…Harper … The Rock Opera

This website is an ongoing story in the making of a rock opera. The author and main character is a Canadian-Celtic Granny elder who does art and takes life one day at a time, juggling ideas and trying to find her place in a strange modern world. Her silent and sometimes faithful companion is an Irish Magpie named George.

MaggieQuinn is the eternal youth that Granny hardly experienced and never really wished to leave behind but leave she finally did, and Maggie found herself frozen in nowhereland somewhere between the wishful dreaming states of wannebe and might-have-been. Maggie was the one always looking forward. Grannie is the one now looking backward. Grannie is crazy for Peace.

Wonky

Wonky

Eureka
Hello hello

Thank you to a fine Australian who gave us a story this morning. Please read his story at http://wp.me/p5rgVm-2V
He got me to thinking. My response became much too long to post as a comment on his page. Here it is:

Now … I do believe this sounds much like stories I’ve heard about any-town, Canada. It seems long ago immigrant families were moved into certain parts of a town that the powers-to-be decided were not much good for anything else. Somehow, some entrepreneurial “wonky” had managed to pass off the odd former garbage dump or heavily polluted industrial area as a good place to raise a family or house seniors.
The seniors would only die anyway so why did it matter how they spent their final years. The immigrants were slightly more valuable because they would be expected to pay taxes and supply low-wage labour.
When the immigrants managed to succeed despite their less than ideal conditions more and more immigrants were forced into the same space. Soon they began to fight each other in order to protect the little plots they each needed to raise ther families.
The “wonky” meanwhile became greatly admired for his ability as an entrepreneur. He had shown superior ability to profit from a tract of crown land that was there for the taking. As everybody knows, or thinks they do, crown land is land that once belonged to a king or queen who already had way way too much land stolen from aboriginal people all across the world. Besides nobody was bothering to keep track of all that land any more and many plots in anytown, Canada had gradually been forgotten and sold off.

The council, or elected representative of the people as some like to call themselves, had the power to decide what to do with all that Crown Land. With the help of the “wonky” the council would make everybody happy. Soon it came to pass in Canada that her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II would no longer need to worry over all this land because it would all be gone, parceled out to deserving immigrants and other approved groups who could afford to pay for it.

As time went on the “wonky” would get rich, richer, richest, the immigrants would have homes and what passed for local business development agencies could brag about all the cheap labour they held in their local pool. Best of all, council would be able to raise more taxes from the immigrants and approved others. Then they could build themselves a beautiful big new chambers in which to plan new ways to raise taxes and votes.

Ars Usque Ad Mari

Canada’s motto is A Mari Usque Ad Mare … Now how is art supposed to fit into that?
As I sit myself down and think about it … This is what I manage to come up with
… Ars usque ad mare … Art from Sea to Sea
ahhhh … Enhhhhh … OK so please excuse my Latin … By the time this artist reached high school … Guess what … Latin had already died.

Ars

Hey … An International Arts Event is being held in Vancouver this coming May.
So far they have no artists from Chaleur Bay. There is still time … January 31 2015 is the deadline for artists to get in on the show. Check it out … http://www.artvancouver.net

Maybe all our local artists of Chaleur Bay are busy preparing for the upcoming Arts Symposium scheduled for next September … You suppose? http://www.symposiumbdc.com

Shak

  • -hahnameh

    But but but …
    What about the queens?
    Well …
    Been talking to Brigid …
    Says maybe …
    The lady harper
    This time around …
    Well …
    Almost Imbolc again …
    The old hag? Will she be …
    Gone gone gone
    Replaced by
    Catrin
    The beauteous Finch

    And what says she, the old hag?

    From out across the centuries
    Come her shrill poem:

    “The maidens rejoice
    When May-day comes to them:
    For me, sorrow the share;
    I am wretched, I am an old hag.
    I hold no sweet converse.
    No wethers are killed for my wedding-feast,
    My hair is all but grey,
    The mean veil over it is no pity.
    I do not deem it ill
    That a white veil be on my head;
    Time was when cloths of every hue
    Bedecked my head as we drank good ale.”