by Sam Rasnake
We are children of our age,
it's a political age.
—Wisława Szymborska, "Children of Our Age"
There's a wind that won't quit.
Sand, given time, levels everything.
Something slips away from us
in the night.
Smoke in Rumaila.
Fedayeen. Madina. Screaming Eagle.
Fox News: Are you apprehensive
Are you apprehensive
Are you apprehensive
Are you
You
A British body here, American there,
Iraqi, Iraqi Iraqi…
Meanwhile, the professor studies
Jewish law, looks out his window
across the Seine, thinking
of a German fable in the line
from Goethe: “I cannot,
I cannot regain my balance” —
making all connections.
Silence is the great and lonely enterprise.
Soundbites. Telewriter. The press
directs the war. And the general,
seasoned in linguistics and
his Pocket Aristotle, explains
the difference between
tactical and operational.
Under sand, the war head looms
in tie and western suit.
There is no school today.
There's no building today.
No child.
Alert: Orange. And oil for food.
Next.
“War in Iraq
And no one gets us closer than CNN
Stay informed”
We love the soundtrack.
The commercial for trucks,
fat burners, and Footlocker,
that's our favorite.
A chance for the refrigerator run.
Kane, his feet on the desk, his shirt,
showing the day at cuff and collar,
presses clanking behind him, says,
“You provide the prose poems.
I'll provide the war.
No question about the outcome.
We're gonna get ‘em.”
And lemurs, steady in deep foliage,
eyes to the one trail,
wait for darkness on their limb.
This is the way the world ends—:
Not a bang, no whimper,
but with a streaming ticker
at the bottom of our screens,
telling us who we are.
— originally published in Poetry Changes People
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I’ll have to rescind my proclamation of not posting anything the rest of the summer – just long enough to post this piece to the Oil group. It’s a poem form 03 that shows – or at least I hope it shows – oil and war as business.
The poem originally appeared in Jackie Sheeler’s wonderful Poetry Changes People – in a series of poems in reaction to the war.
Last one - I promise.
I read through once and it hit me, then read through it again because I think I needed to feel the emotions like a whip. Maybe we all do. Great piece, Sam.
And who wants you to stop posting? Not us!
Well you just blew me out of my chair, Sam, with this one. It's prophetic in the worst (best for poetry) sense. Jammed with soundbites mixed with lush and lyrical lines, you have captured us like flies in amber. Is that to be our civilization's ultimate destiny: flies trapped in amber?
MULTIPLE FAVES IF I COULD
Thanks, Susan G. Glad you experience emotions from the piece - and it's a self-imposed exile.
What a line - Susan T ... "flies trapped in amber" That should be a poem or a story (you'd better write it) or the perfect title for a King Crimson song. Thanks for the comment.
knocked me over.
I appreciate the read, Meg. Thanks.
Oh my.
this is even more painful to read now in 2010. like a foreboding of all the darkness to come streaming along the news ticker that keeps us spellbound in an ongoing orange alert.
thanks for this one.
True and chilling. "This is the way the world ends--: ....a streaming ticker at the bottom of our screens, telling us who we are." Masterful writing.
you covered the worst of the world. What's left to say.
I agree with your point, Dorothee. I appreciate your reading this piece.
And thanks, Tina, for the read and comment.
Thanks for commenting on the poem, Estelle.
We are in the telling.
Agreed, J Mykell. Thanks for the read.
My favorite lines: "This is the way the world ends ... with a streaming ticker at the bottom of our screens, telling us who we are."
A streaming ticker later burned into our brains in the days and weeks after 9/11, especially.
Thanks for the comment, George.
"This is the way the world ends—:
Not a bang, no whimper,
but with a streaming ticker
at the bottom of our screens,
telling us who we are."
I believe this will be my new favorite couplet to memorize and quote to people. And when they ask me if its someone else, I will say "Nope. Sam Rasnake."
I appreciate the read and comment, Kevin. The closing was a risk, but seemed to be what was needed.
The closing is fantastic, Sam. All of this is. Thanks for posting it.
Thanks for your comment about the closing, Kathy - and for reading.
Your closing stanza sends chills down my neck. Gorgeous, and glad you posted. Peace...
Sorry for the chills, Linda - or maybe yay for the chills. Thanks for the read & comment.
"Meanwhile, the professor studies
Jewish law, looks out his window
across the Seine, thinking
of a German fable in the line
from Goethe: “I cannot,
I cannot regain my balance” —
making all connections.
Silence is the great and lonely enterprise."
Lyrically impassioned.
One of my favorites of yours.
*
There’s a knot in my throat for this… *
I appreciate the read and the kind words about this piece, Bill. I was happy with the professor section.
Thanks so much for the comment, Kari.
Great poem. Like,
"And the general,
seasoned in linguistics and
his Pocket Aristotle, explains
the difference between
tactical and operational."
I really hate saying things brought tears to my eyes, because I don't like the way it sounds or what it might sound like I mean, but this did. And that doesn't happen too often.
Ditto to Meg, basically.
fave
fuckshit.
Oh, Sam ... speechless, here.
Thanks for the comment, Matthew. I appreciate you reading the piece.
I know exactly what you mean, Elizabeth. Thanks for your words.
Gary, I'll take that as a yes -
And James, ssshhh. Thanks for reading.
um, yes.
Sam - I'm knocked sideways by this one. Powerful and cutting. Phew.
Thanks for your words on this piece, Claire.
..Sand, given time, levels everything..
There is no school today.
There's no building today.
No child..This is the way the world ends—:
Not a bang, no whimper,
but with a streaming ticker
at the bottom of our screens,
..typically great Sam stuff. Courageous, informed, inventive, showing the power of poetry to speak truth to power and win.
Thanks for your descriptives of the voice in the piece, DP. I appreciate the read.
The last stanza knocked my breath out. Wonderful poem, Sam.
I'm glad you liked the piece, Kim. Thanks for the read.
this is just very very good.
'I cannot,/
I cannot regain my balance' really got me.
the rhythm of the whole piece reminds me stamping boots, or rather like it should be read with the sound of the stamping of soldiers boots approaching in the background, maybe.
*
Thanks so much, Roberta. The sound of the boots is a perfect soundtrack for this.
Whew! Wish I could write this well. But then, nobody else can either, 'cept Sam. Brilliant.
I'm glad you like the piece, Jack - though brilliant should be applied to deserving works - but I do appreciate the thought.
I am in awe here. Makes me wish that the pen were mightier than the sword. Or ia it hope rather than wish? I am deeply moved.
That would be a great wish, Beate. Thanks for the read & comment.
Everytime I read your work, Sam, it makes me hungry to write.
Honestly.
Rene
Couldn't as for a better comment, Rene. Thanks for reading.
Sam-
This knocked me out. Whew! I can't even write... This was absolutely amazing! There are no words. I am speechless. Loved this and boy, a zillion favs for you for this!
I appreciate your comment, Gloria. Thanks.
This is excellent, Sam. Your poem captures this aspect of our times.
Thanks for your take on the poem, Christian.
Fantastic poetic footage, Sam. Loved it.
I appreciate the read, Christopher.
Gosh, this hits hard, then and now. Poetry brings reality home, looking straight down the barrel of the truth. I love the direct message here, even as it is layered with such poetic beauty. I really love how you do that. *** of course. (And I don't like those kind of promises, for the record.)
Unforgettable ending:
This is the way the world ends—:
Not a bang, no whimper,
but with a streaming ticker
at the bottom of our screens,
telling us who we are.
I like your reaction to the piece, Michelle - and your comment about the ending. Thanks.
Late to the party here, Sam, but let me just say this is fantastic.
Never too late, Sheldon - Thanks for the comment and the read.
This is the way the world ends—:
Not a bang, no whimper,
but with a streaming ticker
at the bottom of our screens,
telling us who we are.
Now that says it all. Terrific read.
Thanks for the read, David. Glad you liked the ending especially.
Your comment thread is too long filled with so many compliments that my little bravo seems too late in the coming, Sam.
Under sand, the war head looms
in tie and western suit.
I disconnected from the world when its pain linked up with mine, but you have bravely stayed open to it, reported on it, criticized it, shown it to others. Bravo with a fav.
I appreciate your comments on the piece, Juhi. Thanks.
Truth, distilled.
I appreciate the read and comment, Lou.
And thanks, Arun, to you as well.
"There is no school today.
There's no building today.
No child."
That streaming ticker at the end is a haunting image. The whole piece haunts.
Thanks, Jane. That's how I felt when I put pen to paper with this poem. Still feel that.
This poem socked me in the gut, Sam -- I've been to war and have seen the result. One image I'll never forget: A little Korean boy, about 7 with one arm, piggybacking his little brother who had one leg. Jane's comment brought it to mind.
You paint pictures with words.
That's a powerful image, Ramon. Very strong. Thanks for the comment here.
powerful work, Sam. and that your poem has moved so many gives me hope.
That's an interesting point, Julie. Glad you like this piece. Thanks for the read and comment.
ticker streaming, telling us who we are...
so true and thank you for sharing this.
Thanks for the read, Randal.
Wow.
"A British body here,
American there,
Iraqi, Iraqi Iraqi…"
Not sure even what to say. My heart hurts a little after reading this. Well done. Thank you for sharing it.
I understand the hurt aspect. That was the feeling I had writing the piece. Thanks for the read and comment, Tracy.
Wow, not sure how I missed this. Glad I found it. Stunning, Sam.
Glad you found it as well, Jules. I appreciate the read and comment.
So sad, so true, but not about anything the Modernists may have conjured in their imagination of the fragmentation extant in the life of their time. Sam, you have a way with words so subtle at times yet immediate and true at others. I am in awe of your work. This smacks of Turner's book Phantom Noise. I hope you've read it. It's beautifully sad, as are many of your poems.
I know Turner's work. Gifted writer. Thanks so much for your comment here, Joani. There's a sadness, yes. That's the thread.
There is nothing in it I don't like. Wait... No, nothing. I mean LIKE. And then to go up against Eliot, you know, quel courage. To succeed so emphatically: bravissimo. (Fave, you bet.)
Thanks for the read, Catherine. Appreciate your words on this piece.
Silence is the great and lonely enterprise.
...
And then all that racket from the TV. Lovely and sad all at once. Great stuff, Sam. Thank you for "reprinting" it.
Really appreciate your comment about the noise in this piece, Chelsea. Thanks for reading.
I am in awe. Wow.
Thanks for the read, Misti. I'm glad you like the poem.
Yes. This is a poem that I like.
Glad you connect with the piece, Frankie.
Damn and Powerful are the first words that come to mind...
There is no school today.
There's no building today.
No child.
Loved it... fave!
I appreciate your reading this piece, Robert. Thanks for the comment.
Silence is the great and lonely enterprise.
and
This is the way the world ends—:
Not a bang, no whimper,
but with a streaming ticker
at the bottom of our screens,
telling us who we are.
I love both of these passages. I loved all the passages and the whole poem, it's beats, word repetitions, the sound of the TV like a machine-gun in the background of our lives. Yet anxious people turn it on to "relax." Clinically anxious people learn they can't watch the news. It's the horror of our current world coming to our living rooms with the newscasters' emotional tenor of a sports reporter. At least Dan Rather, Walter Cronkite, Tim Brokaw, Peter Jennings seemed sad and sober about the horror, broken at the worst times, 9/11, Kennedy's death. TV news is both anxiety provoking and numbing and combined with the constant ticker tape, probably brain damaging for someone prone to seizures. To sum up: This poem is genius. Fave*
Wonderful comment, Gloria. The news - especially in times of crisis - is addictive but impossible to watch. Yet, we can't seem to turn away.
Your words about the sound of the tv in the poem is what I was hoping for with this poem. Appreciate the read, and I'm glad the piece connected for you. Thanks.
wow, hits ya in the gut, that ending.
Glad you like the closing, Tantra. Thanks for reading the piece.
Whenever anyone replies to me I always reply back, so it makes my job a whole lot easier when what I respond to turns out to be excellent. This is exactly the way free verse should be written, rhythmically punchy, with no rhetorical pretensions, a direct but unclichéd narrative, and an understated as opposed to overstated political point. No bad line breaks either, and a quiet lyricism lying between the line connections throughout.
"silence is the great and lonely enterprise" is the heart of the poem. Really good line.
I see this one was wildly popular so I'm likely unable to add much of anything that hasn't already been said, Sam, but I always enjoy seeing a poet take on something political and not jump directly on the soapbox to do it. That's a difficult thing to do, and you've done it well here, man.
I appreciate your comment about rhythms here, Iain. Thanks for reading the piece.
Thanks for your comment on the line, Samuel. Appreciated.
And Sheldon, I despise soapbox too. Thanks for reading, and for your comment.
Wow. This is simply stunning. If I were to quote my favourite sections I’d pretty well reproduce the whole poem, but I’ll try.
‘Sand, given time, levels everything.
Something slips away from us
in the night.’
‘A British body here, American there,
Iraqi, Iraqi Iraqi…’ - Just counting them off – chilling.
‘ The press
directs the war. And the general,
seasoned in linguistics and
his Pocket Aristotle, explains
the difference between
tactical and operational.’
‘Kane, his feet on the desk, his shirt,
showing the day at cuff and collar,
presses clanking behind him, says,
“You provide the prose poems.
I'll provide the war.’ - I just loved ‘showing the day at cuff and collar’ vividly descriptive
‘This is the way the world ends—:
Not a bang, no whimper,
but with a streaming ticker
at the bottom of our screens,
telling us who we are.’ - This is so real and visual.
I was fascinated by the Eliot reference at the end because he was already in my mind as I was reading – I think it was when I reached the section:
‘Meanwhile, the professor studies
Jewish law, looks out his window
across the Seine, thinking
of a German fable in the line
from Goethe: “I cannot,
I cannot regain my balance” —
making all connections.’
Just something flashed through my mind which reminded me of him – I don’t know quite what, the pace, the subtle change of tone? I don’t know. I don’t know enough about it to pin exactly, just a feeling I had as I read through.
I hope the Eliot bit of this doesn’t offend you at all, it’s certainly not meant to – he’s one of my favourite poets, more so as the years roll by.
I love this for what you say and even more for the way you say it. Fantastic poem.
And this:
There is no school today.
There's no building today.
No child.
I appreciate your attention to this poem, Ellie. I would say there is a shift in tone - a vertigo-like effect, maybe: the fragments gathering or being gathered, yet distance, then even more distance. The poem is a bit of an Us and Them narrative, as the Floyd might say.
I studied Eliot hard and long in college. An impact.
Thanks for reading.
This predates my time on Fnaut, but found it through the recent activity.
Goodness, goodness, goodness.
This is very powrful and important work.
Goodness.
I think this is weakened by the Eliot reference, it would be better off without it.
Thanks for reading the poem, Sally. It's value is debatable, but it was one I consider necessary for me that I write. I'm glad you like this piece.
You may be right, SDR. Thanks for reading. But, "Cactus Land" is, at least on one level, my way of getting off the Eliot-chasing-rabbits trail I'd been on in my studies and writing. The work is as much anti-Eliot, exposed hopefully in the reality over myth stance of my poem, as it is a swipe against the 1980s US war machine, and the two Bush administrations. For me to remove the reference in the title or the poem's form or its closing - even if it made this a better poem - would be to remove the writing's soul
I can kind of see what you mean :)