Weekly Edition #32
Photograph by Shahidul Alam
Place by Shahidul Alam
No heaven, no hell, no everafter, do I care for when I’m gone
Peace here I seek, in this sand and soil, this place where I was born
As oceans deep, as deserts wide, as forests and fences loom
As children die, as lovers sigh, no cross, no epitaph, no tomb
As bullets whiz by, as shrapnel shard, as hate pours from above
As blue skies curse, the wounded I nurse, as spite replaces love
It is home I long, as I boundaries cross, a shelter that I seek
A world for us all, white brown short tall, the boisterous and the meek
If my bosom is raised, or my beard is long, or I sleep with the ‘wrong’ kind
If my politics isn’t yours, nor my country of birth, a terrorist you will find
You return my boat to the cruel sea, back to the wars you wrought
Walls you will raise, to keep me at bay, my children in danger fraught
I love the land I was born in, the tree that gave me shade
My broken home, my shattered dreams, slain lover that goodbye bade
My slanted eyes, my dreadlock hair, my tongue though strange may be
I bleed red blood, as flows in your vein, Is there a place in your heart for me?
Other poems I read this week:
"This is just one of the leathery eggs
the scuffed-up, dirty turtle of the moon
buried early in spring, her eyes like stars
fixed on the future, and, inside its red skin,
whiteness, like all of the moons to come,
and marvellous, buttered with light." -A New Potato by Ted Kooser
"For the present there is just one moon,
though every level pond gives back another.
But the bright disc shining in the black lagoon,
perceived by astrophysicist and lover,
is milliseconds old. And even that light’s
seven minutes older than its source.
And the stars we think we see on moonless nights
are long extinguished. And, of course,
this very moment, as you read this line,
is literally gone before you know it.
Forget the here-and-now. We have no time
but this device of wantonness and wit.
Make me this present then: your hand in mine,
and we’ll live out our lives in it." -The Present by Michael Donaghy
"My son calls to tell me
he held the two rabbits
he’d raised and was
about to kill close
to his chest, their hearts
racing, his heart full
of the blood of necessity
and qualm, his heart
filled with a song
of holy lullaby
to calm the creatures,
their warm bodies pulsing
against his, and I think,
as he falls silent on the phone,
that he will, some day—I’m
sure of it—make a good father."
-Allurement by Athena Kildegaard
"It sits with itself in its arms. Out of
the depth of its shame it starts singing
a hymn of pure shame, surging in the throat.
To hold a true note could be everything.
Getting the hang of itself would undo it." -An awkward lyric by Denise Riley (Found on Griffin Poetry Prize)
Recommended Listening:
On Being: Maira Kalman - Daily Things to Fall in Love With (I just finished her book The Principles of Uncertainty and I feel my life has changed manifold) This Is the Day - The The Comfort - Julia Jacklin Susan Cain — How to Overcome Fear and Embrace Creativity Something Holy - Alice Phoebe Lou
Links of the Week:
'More Sweetly Play The Dance' - William Kentridge (must watch/listen)
The Art of Book Covers (1820–1914
Meditations in an Emergency by Frank O'Hara
Announcing: The LensCulture Visual Storytelling Award Winners Marina Abramovic presents a world first for her latest performance: ‘The Life’ in Mixed Reality