You are my terrible twin.
We were knotted together even as I slipped,
womb-blinded, from the darkness into light,
the cord severed.
We will always be as Janus was,
selves torn between the ancient face that looks forward from the doorway
and the young one that looks back, into the shadows.
different sides of the same shiftless coin.
No closeness has ever felt further.
No mirror glitters so cruelly
with false promise
as the one you hold up for me, alter ego.
It is because you left me,
that I cannot relinquish you,
must needs carry you
like a dog-eared copy of a sad book I do not want to read.
Pushed over by a careless hand,
choices tumble like dominoes, maze-makers,
staking out a future I struggle to claim.
When I was small you laid your head
upon my chest, listening to my heart
as if it were the only sound in the world.
Now, from far, I trace your faint presence
as a cardiac monitor might mimic a waning pulse,
needle ready to mark a small final
endpoint on spooling graph paper.
13.11
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Journeys
'Describing Love' and 'Winter' to appear next year April in Journeys, anthology brought out by Creative Saplings in India - forty poets from all over the world. Yay!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Alice Walker's letter to Obama
Open Letter to Barack Obama from Alice Walker
Nov. 5, 2008Dear Brother Obama,You have no idea, really, of how profound this moment is for us. Us being the black people of the Southern United States. You think you know, because you are thoughtful, and you have studied our history. But seeing you deliver the torch so many others before you carried, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, only to be struck down before igniting the flame of justice and of law, is almost more than the heart can bear. And yet, this observation is not intended to burden you, for you are of a different time, and, indeed, because of all the relay runners before you, North America is a different place. It is really only to say: Well done. We knew, through all the generations, that you were with us, in us, the best of the spirit of Africa and of the Americas. Knowing this, that you would actually appear, someday, was part of our strength. Seeing you take your rightful place, based solely on your wisdom, stamina and character, is a balm for the weary warriors of hope, previously only sung about.I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life. To make a schedule that permits sufficient time of rest and play with your gorgeous wife and lovely daughters. And so on. One gathers that your family is large. We are used to seeing men in the White House soon become juiceless and as white-haired as the building; we notice their wives and children looking strained and stressed. They soon have smiles so lacking in joy that they remind us of scissors. This is no way to lead. Nor does your family deserve this fate. One way of thinking about all this is: It is so bad now that there is no excuse not to relax. From your happy, relaxed state, you can model real success, which is all that so many people in the world really want. They may buy endless cars and houses and furs and gobble up all the attention and space they can manage, or barely manage, but this is because it is not yet clear to them that success is truly an inside job. That it is within the reach of almost everyone.I would further advise you not to take on other people's enemies. Most damage that others do to us is out of fear, humiliation and pain. Those feelings occur in all of us, not just in those of us who profess a certain religious or racial devotion. We must learn actually not to have enemies, but only confused adversaries who are ourselves in disguise. It is understood by all that you are commander in chief of the United States and are sworn to protect our beloved country; this we understand, completely. However, as my mother used to say, quoting a Bible with which I often fought, "hate the sin, but love the sinner." There must be no more crushing of whole communities, no more torture, no more dehumanizing as a means of ruling a people's spirit. This has already happened to people of color, poor people, women, children. We see where this leads, where it has led.A good model of how to "work with the enemy" internally is presented by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that, kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of us, lighting our way, and brightening the world.We are the ones we have been waiting for.In Peace and Joy,Alice Walker
Nov. 5, 2008Dear Brother Obama,You have no idea, really, of how profound this moment is for us. Us being the black people of the Southern United States. You think you know, because you are thoughtful, and you have studied our history. But seeing you deliver the torch so many others before you carried, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, only to be struck down before igniting the flame of justice and of law, is almost more than the heart can bear. And yet, this observation is not intended to burden you, for you are of a different time, and, indeed, because of all the relay runners before you, North America is a different place. It is really only to say: Well done. We knew, through all the generations, that you were with us, in us, the best of the spirit of Africa and of the Americas. Knowing this, that you would actually appear, someday, was part of our strength. Seeing you take your rightful place, based solely on your wisdom, stamina and character, is a balm for the weary warriors of hope, previously only sung about.I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life. To make a schedule that permits sufficient time of rest and play with your gorgeous wife and lovely daughters. And so on. One gathers that your family is large. We are used to seeing men in the White House soon become juiceless and as white-haired as the building; we notice their wives and children looking strained and stressed. They soon have smiles so lacking in joy that they remind us of scissors. This is no way to lead. Nor does your family deserve this fate. One way of thinking about all this is: It is so bad now that there is no excuse not to relax. From your happy, relaxed state, you can model real success, which is all that so many people in the world really want. They may buy endless cars and houses and furs and gobble up all the attention and space they can manage, or barely manage, but this is because it is not yet clear to them that success is truly an inside job. That it is within the reach of almost everyone.I would further advise you not to take on other people's enemies. Most damage that others do to us is out of fear, humiliation and pain. Those feelings occur in all of us, not just in those of us who profess a certain religious or racial devotion. We must learn actually not to have enemies, but only confused adversaries who are ourselves in disguise. It is understood by all that you are commander in chief of the United States and are sworn to protect our beloved country; this we understand, completely. However, as my mother used to say, quoting a Bible with which I often fought, "hate the sin, but love the sinner." There must be no more crushing of whole communities, no more torture, no more dehumanizing as a means of ruling a people's spirit. This has already happened to people of color, poor people, women, children. We see where this leads, where it has led.A good model of how to "work with the enemy" internally is presented by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that, kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of us, lighting our way, and brightening the world.We are the ones we have been waiting for.In Peace and Joy,Alice Walker
Cutting back
A storm coming, but
teeth gritted, he slashes back the sweetness
of the yesterday-today-and-tomorrow border
between the neighbours’ house and his,
before it grows too tall, and dwarfs him.
A cool rain falls, forgives,
yet still his scythe arcs against the green.
Soft purple and white petals pile at his feet,
reminding him of all that will never return.
But he cannot destroy the fragrance,
it lingers like the smell of her hair,
the sound of her voice, calling ‘daddy, daddy.’
as he walked away,
refusing her.
5.11
teeth gritted, he slashes back the sweetness
of the yesterday-today-and-tomorrow border
between the neighbours’ house and his,
before it grows too tall, and dwarfs him.
A cool rain falls, forgives,
yet still his scythe arcs against the green.
Soft purple and white petals pile at his feet,
reminding him of all that will never return.
But he cannot destroy the fragrance,
it lingers like the smell of her hair,
the sound of her voice, calling ‘daddy, daddy.’
as he walked away,
refusing her.
5.11
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Mid-Cycle (reworked)
In the clothing chain store my unborn children
crowd my consciousness like ghosts,
tug at my heartstrings with the delicate determined strength
of a baby’s kick in the womb.
I wait to pay, not for a small skirt
stitched with the shy pink heads of flowers,
but for a four-year old best (only) boy’s vest,
a bull and rider patterned dark across its flaming front.
Yearning in a queue full of strangers,
I feel the secret spirals of my ovaries pulse,
then a prick of pain, sharp as the Epidural in my back at the birth,
as the ovum, unseeded, is released.
Another possibility
yields.
4.11
crowd my consciousness like ghosts,
tug at my heartstrings with the delicate determined strength
of a baby’s kick in the womb.
I wait to pay, not for a small skirt
stitched with the shy pink heads of flowers,
but for a four-year old best (only) boy’s vest,
a bull and rider patterned dark across its flaming front.
Yearning in a queue full of strangers,
I feel the secret spirals of my ovaries pulse,
then a prick of pain, sharp as the Epidural in my back at the birth,
as the ovum, unseeded, is released.
Another possibility
yields.
4.11
Monday, November 3, 2008
Mid-cycle
Sunday afternoon in Ackermans, at the Pavilion,
a faux mediaeval castle shopping mall in Durban,
and I veer towards the little girls’ clothes,
though I am long grown and my only child is a son.
Small pink flowers shyly raise their heads
from skinny-hipped denim skirts
ready to blossom
beneath bright ceiling lights.
Instead, I choose Cars Inc. summer pajamas for boys.
Across the T-shirt front, a red Lightning McQueen gleams smugly
under a unbelievably turquoise American sky
(the corporation reaches even into the world of dreams).
Also, I take an orange vest with a bull and rider
bucking their way across its front,
pull it over my four year old’s beloved head,
and watch him run to the till point, his gait, subtle, solid,
the same as his father’s, my ex –
shelves of poetry books keeping him company this Sunday afternoon
in unassailable La Lucia.
My unborn children
crowd my consciousness like ghosts,
tug at my heartstrings with the delicate determined strength
of a baby’s kick in the womb.
The old man, with a belly already distended from the cancer
that would soon kill him, said to his wife,
the mother of his seven children,
‘at least we did not waste your eggs’.
Waiting to pay, in a queue full of strangers
I will never get to know,
I feel the secret spirals of my ovaries pulse,
then a prick of pain, sharp as the Epidural in my back at the birth,
as the ovum, unseeded, is released.
Another possibility
gone.
3.11
a faux mediaeval castle shopping mall in Durban,
and I veer towards the little girls’ clothes,
though I am long grown and my only child is a son.
Small pink flowers shyly raise their heads
from skinny-hipped denim skirts
ready to blossom
beneath bright ceiling lights.
Instead, I choose Cars Inc. summer pajamas for boys.
Across the T-shirt front, a red Lightning McQueen gleams smugly
under a unbelievably turquoise American sky
(the corporation reaches even into the world of dreams).
Also, I take an orange vest with a bull and rider
bucking their way across its front,
pull it over my four year old’s beloved head,
and watch him run to the till point, his gait, subtle, solid,
the same as his father’s, my ex –
shelves of poetry books keeping him company this Sunday afternoon
in unassailable La Lucia.
My unborn children
crowd my consciousness like ghosts,
tug at my heartstrings with the delicate determined strength
of a baby’s kick in the womb.
The old man, with a belly already distended from the cancer
that would soon kill him, said to his wife,
the mother of his seven children,
‘at least we did not waste your eggs’.
Waiting to pay, in a queue full of strangers
I will never get to know,
I feel the secret spirals of my ovaries pulse,
then a prick of pain, sharp as the Epidural in my back at the birth,
as the ovum, unseeded, is released.
Another possibility
gone.
3.11
Saturday, November 1, 2008
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