[Ann Drysdale]

Thanks Ralph and RogerBob. This was written in the first few days after the boat tragedy, a way of coming to terms with the powerful feelings the overnight change of headline photograph generated.

The little one was "Aylan" then (phonetically copied?). I thought about changing it retrospectively to "Alan" after I heard an interview with his father explaining he'd been named after a footballer but decided not to. The whole point was that I was reflecting the editorial reality at the time. It matters to me that the poem should remain true to its moment. And to Ghalib.

Thus it has stayed as it was written and Twitter will stay Twitter; it will not become X. Let posterity do the research, eh?

Meanwhile - more wars, other pictures...
.

[Jim Moonan]

.

Originally Posted by Ann Drysdale

Lost Boy

Not long after your picture had been filed
the press began to circulate another.
Your brief appearance as “drowned Syrian child”
was superseded by your little brother.

The media reviewed the human damage
and Don McCullin with his Magnum eye
explained why Aylan’s was the single image
your tragedy will be remembered by.

You were too clearly dead; he seemed asleep.
He was the Twitter “Ooh”, the Facebook “Aww”.
His was the picture that they chose to keep;
an easy icon for a distant war.

Your likeness now is difficult to find.
Not quite so cute, and yet a lot more true,
uncomfortable, best put out of mind.
This poem, Ghalib Kurdi, is for you.

Wow and Ooh and Aw is right but far short of the expression you give to the sorrow and the tragedy of injustice.

This is, and will be, the only perfect poem I will read today.

.

[Yves S L]

"A voice is heard in Ramah,
weeping and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because they are no more."
Matthew 2.18


A shadow play of falling and falling blades
continued on each side of the house; we watched
for a while. The TV talked to itself while we talked

about the rise in income tax, the guy who tried
to kiss you at work, and what to say
to your mother when she calls. She will call.

She always calls. We went back inside. The TV talked
to itself about Jennifer Aniston’s heartbreak, while we
talked about cashew nuts, Beethoven bagatelles

and the guy who kissed you at work. Outside
wails went up and down like virtuoso violin scales
and blood sprayed like water over dry garden.

Now we’re on the landing and all the doors are ajar.
You enter first, you were always braver, and I hold
onto your hand. Our son is content. He is sleeping

and he will stay content. You lift him
and place him in a little bulrush boat
and we kneel on the floor to kiss him.

You place a note on his chest. The note,
like us, moves up and down with his breathing.
We go downstairs, open the door, and leave him

on the doorstep, and we go back inside
to talk. A soldier came by, his knife panting
like a lion that had finished more cattle

than he dared imagine and was now soaking
in the sun before further testing his stomach.
The sight of a baby presented like a gift

startled him from frenzy and when
he read the note, he was so overcome
that his blade got up and devoured him.

Another soldier came upon our door:
our baby is no more, no more.

[Ann Drysdale]

The Bigger Picture

9th April 2003

You saw it on TV – the footage showed
the mighty Ozymandian overthrow,
the falling statue and the cheering crowd –
and probably believed that it was so.
But see the picture taken from above
in black and white, a single grainy still
which irresistibly reminds one of
the early work of Cecil B De Mille.
The close-up cheering of a small élite
was caught on careful cameras, but not
the roadblocks at the end of every street
lest uninvited extras spoiled the shot
of History being created there
in one small corner of an empty square.
.

[RCL]

Yes, indeed, perspective matters when it comes to Saddam and company.

[RCL]

The Guns that Kill

Guns Don’t Kill People, People Kill People.
—NRA Bumper Sticker

To kids, the guns in TV’s shows
with cowboys killing Indians
say, White men’s guns beat red men’s bows.

First real shots from cool Red Ryders,
let children’s tiny BBs
kill small birds and sting bike riders.

Real guns, 12 gauge and 22,
teach white militias skills,
help killers know what they can do.

Guns urge cops on urban beats
to kill with high-tech specials,
in the country’s states and streets.

But these guns win the most renown:
war’s guns that kill and maim;
the racists' killing Black and Brown.

The original version, "Guns that Made Some," was put up by New Verse News. This version has been significantly revised.

[RCL]

Boots That Wore John Doe

A baby, too-tight booties wear him.
At ten, it’s second-hand clodhoppers
saying, We’re poor and we can’t win!

A teen, skips school and hears about
the low-cost Army Surplus stores,
where he’s loved by combat boots.

School tosses him when he wears camo
boots, and parents lock their doors,
but boots keep walking this John Doe.

Led by boots to Army Recruiters,
his physical and mental scores
kill his dream of being a warrior.

A drinking pal hypes armed militias,
and new boots march him with the killers
sent to deny the bogus POTUS.

At the Capitol he shoots
with traitors worn by bloody boots.

USA 2021

[Jack Land]

Deleted December 28

[RCL]

Jack,

Thanks for the reminder!

As Frost also wrote,

“War is the natural state of man.”

In L. Untermeyer’s edition of The Letters of Robert Frost (p. 373)

[RCL]

Back on the bone pile.

Agreed, the poem on “Hate” was “for the birds.”

His Totem Bird

Ray learned his birth month has a totem bird
with wide wingspan and very sharp hooked claws.
At first, it seemed like nonsense and absurd.
But learning that his birth month has a bird,
defining him as rarely self-assured,
he still thinks his are wisely patient claws.
So, learning that his birth month has a bird,
Ray’s guessing wingspan rules, and not the claws.


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