Friday, April 20, 2012
Blue State Reds, Red State Blues
In this time of media-mogul control of the once independent and skeptical press, of search engines and social networks, wee speedy gadgets and short attention spans, even a partial working knowledge of history seems, if I may purloin a phrase, “a consummation devoutly to be wished." Yet any such possibility is rapidly receding into the past.
Wearing narrow-focus blinders tricked-up by evil terrorists, fighting hellishly expensive desert and mountain guerilla wars for which we are ill-equipped (no matter how spectacular our weapons and stalwart our soldiers), we are left with an economic Depression, a crumbling education system, a rising tide of random violence
Yet with so many streaming here from nations shaped by the former USSR, still we neglect the curious Putin puppet show enacted behind the tattered Rust Curtain--
Who among the young of America now can discuss intelligently Hegel, Marx, the Manifesto, Communism vs. Socialism (that word the Republican’ts throw around so casually)? What about the Red and White Armies? Or Stalin outmaneuvering Lenin, Trotsky, and others, becoming the savage leader who killed more of his various peoples than the many millions of Jews, Romany, leftists, and others murdered by
But enough. It’s easy for me to get wound up and start hollering these days. But... surprise! This latest addition to the blog is actually intended to house and introduce a love poem… or, rather, an out-of-love poem I wrote when my first marriage came to its bitter end, but couched in the language of the collapsing USSR, with lots of Iron Curtain wordplay and oblique historical references thrown in to keep things lively... suitable for another false Springtime in the Pacific Northwest.
Glasnost, with Fallen Angels
And now in our icebound Baltics
a certain freedom of movement strikes
the alders, as flights of rhetorical starlings
pursue their social revolutions.
Snow that lay like linen
now flows in rivulets
down the steps and sidewalks,
and dissident speech of crows marks
preparations for the May Day coming.
In all the withered-away reaches
of the state, suddenly
budding green workers arise,
throwing off the chains of mothering earth.
It is Progress of Spring all
over, again, the break-up of
our sovereign union, after the Fall
this spirit of no love
and understanding, we brush aside
the dust of bitterness, shed
our heavy coats and, compromised,
walk carefully, negotiating each
step, taking the sun and air…
* * * * *
As I mentioned last week, a pinched nerve in my back is wreaking havoc. Blog posts will be more erratic than usual for the next few weeks. As a deejay friend is wont to say, Thanks for being out there.
I hope you choose to stay tuned.