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Click hereThose Birds perched on barbed wire
They shall be my requiem
There they are in small black notes
As to all too soon they will fly far far away
Their song fading as a failing falling body
This and the hiss of dissent from hollow lips
Disguised as naked shaven shower heads
These of we who could not conform
So and so erased are our memories
That they live forever against a darkened sky
So sorry I feel sorry for our black comic moment
I am ever always impressed with oppression
And its ultimate futility; the ends always means the same
When it comes to the chorus comes in chiming
Like a century clock ringing out its doleful hours
Amen hallelujah ditto ditto et cetera et cetera
Such is the core of the crime
You will not let me be
So you say so I go
And now you set me free
I am still the I I am
Wherever I will be
Woolen blankets will wrap me in wire
An imperfect insulator from the irony
Rusting in rain razed as razors
Vicious spirals pulled across chain-link lines
Spanning my awakened wide horizon,
Passing whatever past I’ve past
Out beyond the call to every end of it all
My personal blind spot vanishing point,
These gifts they kill me from like kind
Cold, in sensed, and mirth have no value here
Bury my heart under any young laurel
After you walk it it’s mournful miles
Singing all my old songs I’ve left behind
Left as leaves fallen in fall raked with rakes
All we are left with is our faith in words
And sometimes not even that
Such is the end of all things
That final period time
You say stop so I go
And all I have is mine
I am still the I I am
Wherever I will be
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,000 poems.
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In commenting on this poem I could not just look at its qualities but found myself sharing what reading it invoked in me.
In facing this poem you need to take a deep breath. It’s a difficult poem to digest; difficult to comprehend; it’s made of difficult materials. It does not make any efforts to please you or to make it easy on anyone.
At the last station of the seemingly unstoppable victory march of the western civilization, there waited the last stations of the concentration camps, waiting to burn not only the human cargo which the trains fed them, but as the poem correctly suggests also that civilization itself.
Where the western civilization seemed to have determined to self destruct there awaits our poet to examine our state of humanity. Have we improved any? Have we absorbed or learned any lessons as to not to repeat what we have been doing so badly?
If you draw a straight line between the first “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh” and this one, you could be reminded of the chilling expression: ‘in a place where they burn books they will end up burning people’. The truth is, it all starts in a much more subtle way: not accepting other people; not accepting disagreement; other’s beliefs; otherness. The beginnings could be even as subtle as shaming. We all do that at time. We can all decide to change. Now it’s on us to make some serious decisions. We can further loose our souls (call it god call it Yahweh) and put and end to all. Or we can try to regain our faith in… ourselves
Two sentences on lobomao. I can’t think of another poet here who stands with such an open stance towards the world to absorb large spiritiual/cultural vibes, like a metaphysical global positioning device, then broadcast his findings to us through his poems. Lucky are those who read those poems.