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Showing posts with label barbarians. Show all posts
Showing posts with label barbarians. Show all posts

Saturday, October 22, 2022

KILLING IS IN THE AIR

by David Radavich




                On the murder of Yuriy Kerpatenko


Ours is the age of barbarians.
When life is valued little
as a song.
 
A conductor refuses
to lead the music     
of his oppressors
 
and is shot dead
without his baton.
 
Soldiers who shoot him
fear no lingering guilt, 
no final judgment, 
no cosmic shame.
 
The man who dies
is an ant to be squished,
a former echo only.
 
Let us hope the silence
will accuse forever,
 
that angels will sing
the conductor
to his final place
enhemmed in flowers.


David Radavich's poetry collections include two epics, America Bound and America Abroad, as well as Middle-East Mezze and The Countries We Live In. His latest book is Unter der Sonne / Under the Sun: German and English Poems (2022).  

Saturday, July 02, 2022

WHAT TO TELL CHILDREN WHEN ALL THE NEWS IS SCARY

by Diane Dolphin


“With war in Ukraine, editors help kids cope with scary news.” —News Decoder, February 25, 2022


We have failed you,
utterly.
 
We sold you a fairy tale: Once upon a time,
all children were created equal.
We proclaimed your bodies, your lives
as sovereign. Daughters,
that is no longer true. Black and brown sons,
we know it never was.
 
We have fiddled while the west burns,
the east floods, the poles dissolve.
We watched our elders succumb to pandemic
while we fought over masks. Lost
our children to weapons of death while
we debated the definition of
assault rifles. We wait ­–
we wait—as you are picked off
one by one.
 
Child, the barbarians have breached the gates.
The monster is in your classroom.
Dread seeps into your sleep.
Jabberwock has grown a new head,
is assembling his army of minions.
How can we possibly
console you?
 
You need to grow up,
quickly now. Leave us, the weak-willed
and stunned.
Take up your pen and shield, unleash
your small voices, amass in great numbers.
Demand we step aside.
You are your only hope.


Author’s Note: Above is a poem I wrote in response to the deluge of bad news lately, culminating in the Supreme Court Decision. The poem—and my title—is inspired by the barrage of media articles that always come on the heels of unimaginable news, and which are headlined along the variation of: "What to tell children when the news is scary." 


Diane Dolphin is a poet, writer, and former college instructor from Warwick, RI. 

Sunday, May 08, 2022

FAR FROM THE WAR

by Charles Hughes


Cover of the May 6, 1944 issue of The New Yorker.


Far from the war, days bloom—
Some gorgeously—as in
A sickroom hopes can rise,
Though death must surely come.
Spring’s lust can’t be a sin,
We think, and hide our eyes
 
From war. Not from the war—
Its miseries we see well:
Heroes we meet we cheer,
Barbarians we deplore, 
Shocked by the sights of this hell,
Glad it’s not happening here.
 
Poppies bloomed long ago
In Flanders Fields, but now
The flowers all have gone;
Now few ask where or know
The words to disavow
War’s always dawning sun.


Charles Hughes has published two books of poems, The Evening Sky (2020) and Cave Art (2014), both from Wiseblood Books. He worked for over thirty years as a lawyer and now works at writing poems.

Monday, April 13, 2020

ON BARS

by DeWitt Henry


Source: Cagle


A.G. Bill Barr
should be disbarred
and/or spend time
behind bars or
drinking at them,
both earnest and glib.
doing biddings of
our worst President,
bar none.

For lack of Barack,
step up, be heard;
raise the bar of expectations.
Climb the barricades.
High jump, pole-jump:
clear the bar.
Cross the bar.

Nearly half of us
fear barbarian hordes,
beards and all (unless
us is them).  Seek to
bar the gate, build barriers.
Keep us over barrels, where
barrels are meant for
storing and protecting,
e.g. over Niagara;
or for shooting fish,
or empty ones for noise.

The BAR man sights down
his ungainly weapon
(though Browning Automatic Rifle
has nothing to do with “baros,”
Greek for weight).

Bars of gold, candy, or soap.
Bars of music and rank.
Barcode.  Bar-
gain.  Crow, salad,
barbell and barometer.
Stars and bars forever.

Barbed.  Barred.

Democracy amok.


DeWitt Henry’s most recent prose collection is Sweet Marjoram: Notes and Essays (MadHat, 2018).  A new collection, Endings and Beginnings: Family Essays, is scheduled for 2020 from MadHat.  Poems have appeared in Ibbetson Street, On the Seawall, Plume, Muddy River Poetry Review, Constellations, and Woven Tale Press.  Henry was the founding editor of Ploughshares and is Prof. Emeritus at Emerson College.

Sunday, October 28, 2018

AGAIN

by George Held


Oct. 27, 2018 Squirrel Hill is home to a large Jewish population. Above, Tree of Life synagogue. Pam Panchak/Pittsburgh Post-Gazette/AP via The Washington Post


Jews are being slaughtered again, ho hum –
In serene leafy Squirrel Hill this time

After days of pipe-bomb deliveries
To Dem bigwigs, enemies of the T***p state,

As reported by those enemies of the state,
The media; now the Jews again, those

Enemies out of central casting always
On call for the demented demons

Of domination as they once again
Focus their hatred and execute scapegoats

In the name of some Judenfrei utopia
That can never exist, because once

Judenrein, those left will turn on the weak
And most despised among them

And the executions will begin again…
So don’t look for barbarians at the gate

They already are right here inside –
Inside our borders, inside our hearts


George Held, a longtime contributor to TheNewVerse.News, writes from New York. His twentieth collection is Dog Hill Poems (Seattle, 2017). Under the Escalator, his dark fantasy for children, came was released last month.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

FEARFUL FOR MY GOVERNMENT JOB

DREAMING OF RETIREMENT
I THINK OF DU FU

by Maryann Corbett



NPR Headline, June 27, 2017: “President Trump Looks to Slash Nearly 4000 Interior Department Jobs”

Tell me, venerable poet, how did you cope
with changes of regime?

Did you hear, in the gardens of Chang’an,
when men in new silk robes
spoke your name and snickered?

Did they practice, in their graceful calligraphy,
the characters for cutting the fat?
For starving the beast?

Did you watch as others suffered,
like you, demotion and disgrace?

You, too, longed for peace,
for a farm, a thatched cottage, the sound of a stream.

Teach me how you mastered yourself
so as to leave us poems of a thousand years
of rivers, moonlight, compassion.

Teach me how you knew it was time at last
to flee before the barbarians.


Video by the Bureau of Land Management published on Nov 10, 2016. In June 2017, T***p's Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke told lawmakers . . .  "that he plans to shrink his department’s sprawling workforce by 4,000 employees—about 8 percent of the full-time staff—as part of budget cuts to downsize the government’s largest public lands agency. . . . 1,000 jobs would be lost at the Bureau of Land Management—which manages hundreds of wilderness areas, two dozen national monuments and other protected lands in addition to issuing leases for livestock grazing and oil and gas extraction —according to an email its acting director sent to employees last Friday." —The Washington Post, June 21, 2017



Maryann Corbett is grateful that in fact she's already retired from almost 35 years of work with the Minnesota Legislature. Her newest book Street View: Poems is available from Able Muse Press.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

THE SURVEYOR'S REPORT

a belated Pi Day (3.14) poem
by Karen Greenbaum-Maya




It's a cruel people.
Barbarians, they keep dead trees
among the struggling living, shocked green,
though they must know
the hate they cause.

They ignore the stars,
prefer five-armed simpletons,
castrated travesties
of those scalding selves.

Not utterly beyond redemption, though.
They worship pi,
even dedicate a day,
prepare charmingly symbolic pastries.

These, also called pi, are imperfectly round,
contain round foods,
and, like these primitives,
are perfectly irrational.


Karen Greenbaum-Maya's first book The Book of Knots and their Untying came out last fall. She co-hosts Fourth Sundays, a poetry reading series in Claremont, California.

Monday, March 02, 2015

CONTEXT

by George Held





Barbarians come and go
with history's ebb and flow.

IS are the new iconoclasts
in a long line of enthusiasts.

Remember the Alexandria library
built by the pharoah Ptolemy?

Among those who burned it
was a pope of the Coptic

persuasion, 300 years
after Julius Caesar's

arson there. So remember,
while some wait for the barbarians,

others welcome them with honor
and others react with horror.

History's all about context:
burnt books precede new texts.


George Held, a regular contributor to The New Verse News, has a new book out from Poets Wear Prada, Culling: New & Selected Nature Poems.