This is the story of America. Everybody’s doing what they think they’re supposed to do.
-Jack Kerouac, On the Road
A Soldier:
I want to tell you about myself.
I didn’t do it. I didn’t see who did it.
It isn’t right for me to get in trouble.
Chorus:
There is no place to stand here that is not
the scene of some unspeakable violence.
Ismene:
Your heart burns for things
that have gone cold.
Why seek the living
among the dead?
Father, mother, brothers
gone by one another’s
hand, a city
consumed, and I
alone to mourn one more
cruel act of one more
who thinks he holds the city in his hand
or does not think, but does.
Chorus:
There is no place to stand here that is not
the scene of some unspeakable violence.
Antigone:
The city reeks. Death rises.
Every living thing lies
in the grave while dogs grow fat
on the bodies of our distraction.
Ismene:
I alone. If things
have reached this state
what can I do but hope
the ones who matter
will forgive? I am
forced.
Chorus:
There is no place to stand here that is not
the scene of some unspeakable violence.
Antigone:
Who thinks she holds the city in her hand
or does not think but does.
Ismene:
No matter. No
matter. Power
speaks. Cities
fall. Precipitous
action makes no sense.
Antigone:
Be what you want
to be. But I will
bury what lies
rotting on this city’s streets.
You may wish it were
not. But what lies
there is like us
our mother’s child.
Power speaks. Cities
fall. Be what you want
to be. But I will
bury what lies
rotting on this city’s streets.
Ismene:
Power speaks, and I
will be
what we are. I am
Antigone:
forced. I am not
opposed to war. I am
not opposed to war. I am
not opposed to war. I am
opposed to dumb
Ismene:
war. Power
speaks, and I
will be
what we are. I am.
I am.
Chorus:
There is no place to stand here that is not
the scene of some unspeakable violence.
Our happiness depends on wisdom
every step along the way.
Great words by great men
bring greater blows
upon them,
and somewhere
there must have been
a time when we could have said
no. So wisdom comes
So wisdom comes.
There is no time
like the present.
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flat white bristle
brush, white full
circle
a single stroke
on a field two
shades
bluer
than zinc,
green arcs
on either side
of gray between
rainbows parked
in lines
that would
converge
if they could
find the horizon.
dazzled by sun
you could miss this
slow reflection that is
more than a dance
of rising light
on a bright
moment of water
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Western philosophy is a footnote to Plato.
-Alfred North Whitehead
1
It’s all
a footnote
to Job,
nothing no
where but
the corner
of the eye.
2
Cite book
after book,
Koheleth –
the memory
of them never
ends. We
make scenes
of one Socrates
or an other,
bind
books
and imagine
we should know
every ass
that stands in our way.
3
Satan,
like a god,
is a metaphor,
part of the power
which forever wills
evil and forever works
good. Moscow is
not the only place
where no one is
to be seen.
4
No one is
to be seen
everywhere
one path
crosses
another
posting
notes
to his brother
who is
made of nothing
except loneliness. The other,
who does not know the meaning
of the word, is the perfect witness.
5
Yeshua tells Pilate nothing
he does not already know:
every kind of power
is a form of violence
against people. Even
Ivan is seized by poetry
when the moon is full.
As for Margarita,
who needs light
when you have this
peace that could pass
for understanding?
6
No one but no
one earns
light. No one.
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on the fortieth anniversary of the end of Prague Spring
The only surprise
when Spring
ends
is
the fact
of surprises
that lasted
through summer.
Weeds
overrun the place
when Spring goes on
this long.
If you don’t put them down,
there will be jazz
in the palace,
plastic people.
And you don’t need
a weatherman to know
what that means.
Give cultural
revolutions a brake.
Power takes
time to rebrand them
before they
get out of hand.
Keep poets
in their place,
and all tomorrow’s
parties will
make masses
believe
in change
that sees
that Spring is
never controversial.
Even Red Guards sell
now, clean
articulate
mainstream,
keep
wheels
turning, and
don’t bring down
the house. Time
no more makes
converts than
reason. Time
makes time,
where Spring
dreams of change
are always contained
and you can always bank on
the superficial impression
of things being right.
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(a contribution to the critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right)
too much light
and your eyes
scramble
for cover, cry
for someone
to shed a little
darkness
on the world
so they
can
make it out
with less pain
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we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone
-Book of Common Prayer, Holy Eucharist: Rite II
we conspire
to make a we of us
by repeating
what we have not done
in unison. still
we love our neighbors
as ourselves only
in those dark intervals
when, hearing what we are
saying, we hardly love ourselves
at all
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小心你的头
be careful with your head
…sign on an escalator in Nanshan
mind the gap
a little heart
with your head
no exit
that is all
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Rain must be exhausted
after so many days
of falling. Better to fall
with it, mind the gaps
between drops that shuffle
like tired feet after running
all day and all night than
to take time for an umbrella.
Time will not stop the rain.
In the end you will find yourself
drenched in it, gaps or no. Step into
a luxury hotel that can stop rain and time
falling for now. Tracy Chapman sings
revolution sounds like a whisper. Sounds
like nothing happened here but days of time
falling hard and a flood with no rainbow.
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Watching sparrows
snatch flying things
I cannot see
from air so thick
they swim in it,
it is hard to think of them
as death threats. This patio
is insect-free. The birds
beating wings fast as they can
to be still for the moment
necessary to pluck an
insect from flight
are virtuosos
of fly fishing,
a morning floor show
worth the risk.
They tap dance
on the translucent roof
while mayflies chant
there can be no pleasure
where there is no danger.
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Sun’s everywhere after
days of rain. Not
a point of light,
dawn is a flood
that has been
waiting for a dam
to break.
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