Tag Archives: political art

What You Call It

Note: This poem, written back in the 1980s, was published originally as part of one of the most unique collections of antiwar poems ever created. It happened in 2003, prior to the start of the Iraq War.

nth Position, a well known literary website, put out a call for poets to submit poems to be collected into a free, downloadable chapbook called “100 Poets Against The War.” The resulting chapbook of 100 poems was created in one week from over 1500 entries, and the file was downloaded over 175,000 times; copies were used at readings and protest rallies all over the world.

The poems were eventually collected into a book of the same title by Salt Publishing in the UK in 2004; all proceeds were donated to Amnesty International. I am proud to have been part of this powerful phenomenon.

And I am saddened and angry that it remains forever relevant.  

For the people of Gaza.

T

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What d’you call it
that thing
that thing that came in the night
that hung above our village
and a war fell onto us from its mouth
what d’you call it

What d’you call it
that thing
I couldn’t see it too well in the dark
I think it had grey skin
know it had red eyes
it wasn’t a dragon
it was too hungry to be a dragon
it was too angry

Whatever it was
a thing like that
ought not to be free
ought not to be let loose to do that
ought to be locked up
ought to be somewhere else

What d’you call it
that thing
that roasts your children
that cinders your wife
takes your father in flame
melts your tongue to the roof of your mouth
burns the consonants out of you
until all you can do is scream open throated, only vowels,
nothing to give shape or form to the sound
no words
and what words could you have had before this
to describe — this

what d’you call it?

Yes
I suppose
you could call it
a helicopter
a vertical takeoff and landing armored air support vehicle
an Apache
a Cobra

and I suppose its anger and hunger could be
a mistake
an unfortunate incident
nothing to deter us from our mission

but
HELLFUCKER – SHITCLOUD – DARKRAPER- CHILDBURNER – SKYEATER
STORMSWAN – DEVILROAR – DEATHBIRD – WIDOWERMAKER
FLAME GOD HAMMER –
all work just as well

There are no clean words for some things


Eagle Poem

Twice now
I’ve seen an eagle
flying over the highway
north of the city.

Once when I was northbound,
its white head clear as day;
once when I was southbound,
its flight distinctive as its colors

which I was
unsurprised to see
included no
red or blue.

Nothing patriotic
in the clouds behind.
No hint of war or profit
under its wings.

That’s one big, beautiful bird,
I told myself. That’s one
joy I’d like to see more of
every day.

I keep my eyes open for it
when I drive to and from
my job trying to hold
some hope, however small,

that what is
true and clean
will not perish
from the earth.


About People

Freddy was a cockroach in the corner
I took him down with the toe of my boot
It was that kind of bar
I left him crinkly-dead on the floor
The evidence of blunt and violent cleansing
right there for all to see
Let that be a lesson to your kind, you bug
Was there the next day
Now it’s
the day after that and
he’s still there
Regulars grumbling at the news on TV
Talking about the war
“Again with this shit —
always something with these people”
Freddy doesn’t hear it of course
being too dead for politics

Up the street there are gunshots
or so it would seem from the sound
College kids slumming look anxious
like they wanna run
but who the fuck knows if it’s safe
Regulars look up from their keno cards
Pay it exactly one dead cockroach’s
moment of mind — “it’s always
something — happens all over
Always something with people”

That’s a Thursday enough for me
and my roachkiller boots
Big death on the TV screen —
I could get that anywhere
Big fear in the half-gentrified street —
I do get that everywhere so

I take myself home
to a joint and Snickers bar
Watch TV some more and try to convince myself 
we don’t all hate each other
even more than the modicum amount
of hatred we grew up on
We’re driving into a cold-water pond
drunk or stoned and as for Freddy
he just got eaten by one of his own
back in the corner of the bar
where the regulars grumble 
and the slummers shiver

It’s always something with people


Old Poem, reposted by request…

NOTE:  This is a very old piece that’s been published in at least a couple of anthologies over the years.  I’m reposting it by request of Mike McGee, who has linked to it on his blog here:  http://www.mikemcgee.net/mike-mcgee-ideas-projects/when-is-art-unnecessary-23/

Thanks to Mike for his kind words there, his friendship, and his always thoughtful blog.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


POLITICAL ART

a print of “Guernica” hangs on the foyer wall
above the drink table
here are the famous horse and the upraised human face
they’re screaming as the hors d’oeuvres are passed

and on the facing wall
behind the buffet
hang two photographs
carefully chosen for tonight

in this one is a girl we have seen before
running and burning on a road in Vietnam years and years ago
back then she was trying to fly to safety
on the innocent strength rising along her fiery arms

in this one is a man we’ve also seen before
and despite his death in 1890 he also keeps trying
but he’s frozen awkward and insolent in his attempt
to rise from the snow at Wounded Knee

we are making small talk tonight
clicking our tongues at all these pictures
making crestfallen small talk
because we know we should

handing over money
to save Afghani statues from the guns of rapists
handing over fistfuls of green guilt
for the anesthetic of aesthetics

buying permission to posture unflinching
before those who have fallen
permission to shelter in these picturesque memorials
in the hope of receiving from them some kind of prophylactic grace

as we stare at the burning girl
as we sadly regret Wounded Knee and genocide
as we admire the abstraction of that burning Spanish town
we will click our tongues

while marking the skill of the artist at having those faces
seem so stark in their angled black and white
seem so shot through and through
with an undertone of subconscious red

it’s from this we’ve learned how to watch the news
the news that gives us each day our daily dread
a new crop of victims to be cropped and photoshopped
and we know just what to do when we see the faces

we observe
we regret
we remark
we move on

tonight there’s a gallery fundraiser
tomorrow there will be another
we’ll see the burning girl and the rising corpse again
and we’ll make another print of “Guernica”

why
do we need
all these prints
of “Guernica”?

someday we’ll see
that if we had been changed by all this art
at the first hint of genocide we would smash our cameras
hang our paintbrushes back on the wall

stick our checkbooks back in our pockets
lift the paintings from their frames
and carry them through the streets
to the places of power calling why

why

if the people inside our work could speak
they would tell us that if witness alone could change the world
the world would be changed by now
and we would have no need to learn

that this picture
of that girl
is not
beautiful

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