Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Iraq War Grief Daily Witness Day 7

Smoke rises as a US Apache helicopter hovers over Baghdad's restive Haifa street district. A steady barrage of machine-gun fire and mortars was thundering across Baghdad as Iraqi and US forces battled insurgents in one of the capital's Sunni bastions.
(AFP/Sabah Arar)

Crowds Surround Us

by Tom Thompson


agile founderings and piecemeal flotations.

The crowd constitutes a gravitational field


that slaps back at the ground, numbed

and maddened by ground’s constant suckling.


The crowd embodies a depression in fabric

more than an attraction. Its angled, arteried, fleet


fantasias of need sway in

a loopy, bobbing dance without strings.

It’s this sense of movement the organism uses

to believe in its own existence, the palpable presence


of an intangible parade, uncertain

planetary marches, a supernumerary of stars.

In its mania for artifice the crowd has sewn the sky

with these shiny extras. Embodied


adoration, they snap the organism shut

before tickling it open again


with reedy gestures. Breathe.

The crowd’s louche body


clings and parts in place, an ovation

rigid and adrift, alive. It is the sea


that sweeps the sea.

Broom tight with inner bickering.


A mortal scour. Meaning,

how the crowd hates the crowd.


Outwardly. It admits you or me

as an enormous lidless eye admits glittering


beams. Endless watching, washing us in.

The crowd’s object, its point,


is always vanishing into its own mass. It is a sea

with no concern for us, even as it scores.



8 comments:

RubDMC said...

for peace

olivia said...

peace

morrigan said...

I witness for peace.

"I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."
from Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

roses said...

For peace and consolation

moira said...

For peace...

musing graze said...

Witness.

I Belong There

by Mahmoud Darwish

I belong there. I have many memories. I was born as everyone is born.

I have a mother, a house with many windows, brothers, friends, and a prison cell

with a chilly window! I have a wave snatched by seagulls, a panorama of my own.

I have a saturated meadow. In the deep horizon of my word, I have a moon,

a bird's sustenance, and an immortal olive tree.

I have lived on the land long before swords turned man into prey.

I belong there. When heaven mourns for her mother, I return heaven to

her mother.

And I cry so that a returning cloud might carry my tears.

To break the rules, I have learned all the words needed for a trial by blood.

I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a

single word: Home.

Translation by Carolyn Forché and Munir Akash.

TXsharon said...

Witness for peace

anniethena said...

Peace, and witness