heavy-handed rain is
falling
on the tin roof, on
the road
colder as the heart
is crawling
lips as blue as
ancient woad
hear the drumming of
its fingers
hear the silences
between
feel the echoing
that lingers
rain a razor, wet
and keen
over,
over, beating metal
roof sings like a
copper bowl
sound as perfect as
a petal
penetrating to the soul
several grey disfigured bodies
children by a Syrian wall
in the lifeless arms of mothers:
M. Hollande has come to call.
Robbie, Your fine poem reminded me of this old thing of mine, written 4 years ago, when I must have had some similar fret.
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P.S. Palestine
for Ghassan Zaqtan
All that knowledge can kill you
If your day doesn’t begin in
Torrents of breath and blood
Plants get rescued the sprout
Natters on about tomorrow
Ignores odd socks and sparrows
Before us the demonstrations
None of us quite believed in
The final moments wavering
Of course violence mounts slowly
Looking back out there rocks thrown
We practice it too poetry is dangerous.
Thanks Rob, it does sometimes seem futile writing about such matters but I guess it must be done.
ReplyDeleteps found your poem at http://www.ronslate.com/straw_bird_it_follows_me_and_other_poems_ghassan_zaqtan_translated_fady_joudah_yale_university_press
DeleteFunny. I had a long discussion with a mate today about the value of statement. In the end (I think) we agreed that there is nothing futile about it at all, but that the futility actually lies in failing to speak up when certain unconscionable events demand exposure. Not to get all heavy weather about 'political poetry' or ideology...except to say that some writers, who spend much time contemplating injustice, will sometimes find themselves hard up against a situation, when to stay silent is wrong. More kids are killed than poets, sure, and to lob a poem is not the same as lobbing a rock or a bottle, but there are countless writers in prison writing their next poems.
DeleteThat's interesting, that somehow the rhyming makes the situation more ugly.
ReplyDeleteThe ending is unexpected, I guess — it was while I was writing it too.
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