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Candia Comes Clean

~ Candid cultural comments from the Isles of Wonder

Category Archives: Crime

Expulsion from Eden

19 Wednesday Feb 2020

Posted by Candia in art, Bible, Crime, mythology, Personal, Photography, Relationships, Religion

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Adam and Eve, encaustic floor tiles, Expulsion from Eden, Gloucester Cathedrsl

IMG_0117

Gloucester Cathedral

by Candia

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Lady Macbeth Dreams of the Crown

03 Monday Feb 2020

Posted by Candia in art, Crime, Literature, Personal, Photography, Relationships, Supernatural, Theatre

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

ambition, crown, dream, Lady Macbeth, phantasmagorical, Shakespeare, tragedy

IMG_0005 (4)

A fantasy photograph by Candia Dixon-Stuart

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The Red Chamber

12 Thursday Dec 2019

Posted by Candia in Crime, News, Poetry, Social Comment, Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Chaupadi, gahut, goth, Kalidasa, menstruation hut, Red Chamber, Saraswati, Vasant Panchami

Masai village by Day

Giclee Prints available of above image.

Another young girl’s death reported after being banished to a menstruation

hut.  She inhaled toxic fumes from a fire.

This poem is my outraged response to the barbarity of the practice:

 

 

 

My turn in this red chamber, wrapped in jute,

drinking bovine urine, for I’m impure.

I may not touch a plant, food, or a man;

I may not milk a buffalo, or bathe.

I’ve come here from menarche to this goth

and I’ll come here until my menopause.

 

I look at the night sky; try to count the stars;

wonder why Saraswati is angered

if any of us wants to touch a book.

She sits, pen in hand, on a white lotus

and leaves no trace of menstrual fluid,

her clothing as unstained as mountain snow.

The swan at her feet drinks milk at its will.

I’m told she is the best of mothers and

she dwells upon the tongues of poets too.

I pray she will preserve me from lightning;

keep all snakes away and send me to school;

pray that my mother will hand me flatbread

and not fling it at me, as to a dog.

 

Chaupadi.  I study my child’s face

and sip gahut to purify myself

from drunken animals who molest me.

I pray the rats will not come here tonight.

It’s cold – cold enough to kindle a fire,

but I must stay alert, for my sister

was found lifeless, smoke-choked, six months ago.

 

Tomorrow will be Vasant Panchami.

I hope the goddess will help my baby

to learn some alphabet, so she’ll read

how to rebel, without bringing bad luck

from past generations into the next.

Then her destiny will no longer be,

what we’ve all shared: the lowly cattle shed.

 

The Blood Moon has arisen over the peaks.

I pray for synchrony; for company

and hope that, at the chaupadi dhara,

I’ll meet another girl who’s not a ghost.

Oh, that Kalidasa would take a dip

with us one day and share our suffering!

 

Don’t sleep standing up. Just one more day now.

.

 

 

;

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Don’t come out, Mr Cameron!

28 Sunday Jul 2019

Posted by Candia in Crime, Humour, Nature, Nostalgia, Photography, Politics, Satire, Social Comment, Summer

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Brexit, Conservative Prime Ministers, Cotswolds, David Cameron, Referendum, shepherd's hut, writer's retreat

IMG_0297 (3)

… all is not forgiven.

Photo by Candia Dixon-Stuart. All Rights Reserved

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The Grinch

05 Wednesday Dec 2018

Tags

Cat in the Hat, children's literature, Christmas, Dr Seuss, Grinch

IMG_0005

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Posted by Candia | Filed under Crime, Humour, Literature, Nostalgia, Photography, Satire

≈ Leave a comment

The Equivocation of the Fiend

30 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by Candia in Crime, History, Literature, Psychology, Religion, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Assizes, Colchester, Dame Alice Lisle, Ellingham, equivocation, Habeas Corpus, John Hickes, Judge Jeffreys, Kings Bench, Lord Chancellor, Machiavelli, Monmouth Rebellion, Moyles Court, Nelthorpe, oysters, Ringwood, The Eclipse, Tower, Wapping, Whigs, Winchester Castle

 

 

THE EQUIVOCATION OF THE FIEND

Maybe a writ of Habeas Corpus will liberate me from my confinement

and then I can steal away from this loathsome Tower and gain passage

abroad, but there is no Court competent to assist me in this wise and now

I am fast losing strength.  I am supposed to be thankful for the protection

I have, while the country demands that a retrospective Act of Attainder

should result in my condemnation for multitudinous murders.

The wheel has come full circle.  A mob had congregated outside my

house in Duke Street and mocked the bills which announced the sale of

my property.  Women screamed, offering me their garters, so that I should

hang myself thereby and men raged, advising me to cut my own throat.

I glugged another bottle of brandy to shut out their clamour.

However, I seemed to have one remaining friend – someone who knew of

my predilection for Colchester oysters.  A barrel had been left for me at

the Tower and I burst its bands eagerly.  Inside there was naught but

shells and a halter.  I apprehended its hint. The delivery youth jeered:

“Canst tell how an oyster makes its shell?”

He is not so dim as he looks.

Photo of the top of an oyster

Imagine! Chief Justice of the King’s Bench at thirty five and Lord

Chancellor before my fortieth birthday.  I followed orders and to this

attribute my rapid promotion and even more sudden declension.

I had another birthday recently and there was none to exercise common

charity towards me, or to share a celebration. I stand accused of a

lack of the milk of human kindness.

I will never be permitted to forget the trial of Dame Alice Lisle. In

contrast, she was deemed to have shown exemplary, even saintly,

compassion and hospitality towards distressed fugitives, but there was

considerably more to the case than was imputed.

I was compared unfavourably to Nero, Satan, Cain and Judas, but I only

sent Whigs to Heaven. It was common practice to lash rogues with the

tongue and, after all, I had cross-examined some of the deepest-dyed

criminals in the land. Their weeping and cries for mercy only served as

an irritant, much like the grit in an oyster shell, but without any valuable

outcome.

How difficult it was to extract the truth from Presbyterian liars! I grew

adept at sniffing one out at forty miles. (Hence the posy of herbs that I

was wont to hold to my nostrils.)  Severities may be properly used, I

believe, in common with Machiavelli.  Particularly in times of threat t

national security.

Portrait of Niccolò Machiavelli by Santi di Tito.jpg

Yes, Dame Alice, I turned a deaf ear to your pleas and you could not hear

the foreman’s delivery of the verdict, by virtue of your three score years

and ten’s consequent infirmity.

A witch, I thought, whose husband had been a regicide and now the old

crone was denying knowledge of the nature of the indictments against

John Hickes and Nelthorpe, initially denying their presence in her house,

Moyles Court. Subsequently she pleaded that she had understood Hickes’

offence to be merely illegal preaching. She stressed that she had no

sympathy with the Monmouth rebellion, but I persuaded the jury to re-

consider their verdict and, on the third occasion, she was pronounced

guilty, and rightly so, for the Law recognises no distinction between

principals and accessories to treason.

“Let the old witch burn,” I ranted, “and let it be this very afternoon.”

The interfering Winchester clergy made an appeal to me on account of

her age and sex and they gained a respite. Our sovereign commuted

the sentence to beheading, out of his merciful bounteousness.

Now the populace desire that I should share her fate. I am eclipsed – ha!-

a play on the title of the marketplace inn where she spent her final night,

before walking out of the first storey window, onto the scaffold. They

said it should be ever after “The Eclipse,” as it drew all attention from its

neighbouring public house : “The Rising Sunne.”

Barter gave us the information. She had entertained, concealed,

comforted and maintained the fugitive rebels. The Devil had inspired her

to quibble, as do all witches. Equivocation is the nature of the Fiend and

all his subjects. I have oftimes heard his voice in the courtrooms and the

serpent-tongued dame tried to move me by a reminder that she had bred a

brat to fight for James, but if she had been my own mother, I should have

found her guilty, notwithstanding her prevarication that she was being charged

with sheltering Hickes before he was convicted of treason. She stated that

subsequent evidence should not be admitted, since it had not been available.

Very clever: but anyone who harbours a traitor is as guilty as any who bears

arms, I believed, and I hold fast to the same conviction to this day.

“Nay, peace thou monster, shame unto thy sex,

Thou fiend in likeness of a human creature

See thyself, devil!

Proper deformity shows not in the fiend

So horrid as in woman.

Shut your mouth, dame,

Or with this paper shall I stople it.”

The reference was lost on most in court.  Fools pity  villains who

are punished.  Know this: that men are as the time is; to be tender-

minded does not become a sword.

WinchesterCastle.jpg

It is more than three years since that fateful day in August in the Great

Hall of Winchester Castle.  Some say that a lady in grey haunts the inn

and that a driverless coach has been seen in the grounds of the Dame’s

Ringwood estate, drawn by headless horses and containing her phantom.

What is that nonsense to me? Her head and body were given up to her

family, for burial at Ellingham, and now the Whigs have all but canonised

her, raving about judicial murder.

Yet, when I attempted to escape from this hell-hole, no one would shelter

me in a cupboard, nor a malthouse, and I was discovered at Wapping and

my disguise removed. No port is free to me; no place that unusual

vigilance will not not attend my taking. So, here I lie, and suffer the

agony of passing these stones: a pain as sharp as the gravel of her drive,

or an oyster’s grit.

Yet I still resort to my brandy. I am bound upon my own wheel of fire.

My reins are rubbed with sulphurous flames. The gods are just and of

our pleasant vices… I waken to hear myself cry in the night and then a

distant rumble of carriage wheels approaches, or is it a more horrific

apocalyptic explosion? Who is it that dare tell me who I am?

“What is that wailing?” I shout to the guard.

“It is the cry of women, my good lord,” he replies through the grille, most

caustically. “Come here, most learned justicer.” And then he laughs,

showing black tombstones in place of teeth.

“I have almost forgot the taste of fears. I have supp’d full of horrors,” I

remark, before I remember the context. How malicious is my fortune that

I must repent to be just.

Equivocation – the only means of survival. She was more skilled in its

employ than I.

 

(The grave of Judge Jeffreys was bombed by German aircraft during the War and his remains scattered.  The grave of Alice Lisle can still be visited in Ellingham churchyard.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Mansplaining Quennet

11 Wednesday Apr 2018

Posted by Candia in Crime, Language, Poetry, Psychology, Social Comment, Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

euphemism, Father of Lies, generic, mansplaining, quennet, rhetoric, smokescreen

Females also guilty – should be ‘Mankindsplaining!’ (New generic?)

 

Hot air   forked tongues   terminal inexactitudes

filthy whitewash

tranparent smokescreens   inexcusable excuses   unmitigated untruths

hollow rants

iniquitous insinuations  criminal understatements  overblown rhetoric

smooth sham

Father of Lies

sweeping evasions

Master of Deceit

euphemistic gloss

hyperbolic tirades

Hath God said?

rash incitements

hollow rhetoric   smooth tongues  transparent excuses

iniquitous inexactitudes

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Guernsey Guidelines

06 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by Candia in Animals, Crime, Environment, Humour, Nature, Poetry, Satire, Social Comment, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Fishing Regulations, Full Moon, Guernsey, haliotis tuberculata, Lihou, Lissroy, New Moon, ormers, Sark, snorkelling

Poetic ordinance regarding the Fishing Guidelines for

harvesting of certain shellfish in Guernsey and, for all I

know Sark too!

 

Haliotis tuberculata (not a nice name!)

Photo by Hans Hillewaert, Creative Commons attrib.

 

You must not collect

ormers, except on days of

the Full, or New Moon

and two others between

January 1st and

April the 30th.

 

This is a mere guide.

Please contact Sea Fisheries

for further information.

Don’t take the small ones.

In your possession you may

have cooked, pickled ones,

but eschew the deep frozen

and don’t cull while snorkelling.

 

If submerged partially,

it’s still a no-no.

The onus of proof is yours

to show innocence.

If you’re dining on a boat,

you’ll have to prove that

you didn’t dive for ormers.

(What the heck is an ormer?)

Anyway, don’t shuck them.

As for exporting –

except the cultivated –

only with permission

from Sea Fisheries!

Don’t even think about it.

That goes for importing too.

 

Please return the rocks

to their original sites.

Move crabs aside and

don’t stamp on fragile creatures.

Don’t frighten roosting

birds at Lihou, or Lissroy.

 

Park where you’re told

and take your rubbish with you.

Beware of the incoming

tides.  Don’t get stranded.

Do not degrade habitats;

minimise impact.

Apart from that, try to have

a relaxing holiday!

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Salisbury Collage

24 Saturday Mar 2018

Tags

collage, found objects, poisoning, Salisbury, Skripal, spy, subliminal, trefoil radiation symbol

IMG_0040

I have never noticed that there is a kind of ionising radiation

trefoil symbol on one of the buildings in the roofscape.  Unintentional,

I’m sure.  In line with ‘found objects’ and the subliminal, I only saw it after

I had pasted it on!

 

 

 

 

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Posted by Candia | Filed under art, Crime, Media, News, Politics, Social Comment

≈ 11 Comments

Collage with Lipstick Background

22 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by Candia in art, Crime, Humour, Media

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

dalmations, Deco jewellery, Edwardian society, Jeremy Corbyn, Stalin

IMG_0027

I painted the background in Lipstick, or Bordello Red.  It gave the

whole thing a decadent, seedy look and I managed to add Jeremy Corbyn,

Stalin and some Dalmations to the original.  Don’t ask me why!

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← Older posts

My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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