1. None of us chanted
it was a straight, sooty summer
the summer we
electrocuted Fort McMurray
Formamurrie
Former Murray
that summer none of us chanted
the fort
the fort
the fort is on fire
that summer we
stopped feeling the Bern
and trembled afore the trump.fern.o
and cheered on first responders
mobilized all hands, left and right ly
so.
and it wasn’t even summer yet
it was barely even spring,
and the ground was even dryer
the fires even hotter
like they said they’d be
begging this question
amidst many more:
fire makes the leap
over river
over road
over highway and exodus;
fire makes the leap over everything, so
why can’t we?
fire makes the leap
even if we don’t, or won’t, or don’t.
The summer none of us chanted
and none of us sang;
but some of us spoke
and said
.not
.convenient
.things.
Otherwise, said my friend in Edmonton,
it’s been a gorgeous spring.
2. Points of view
where
in darkness
this poem like most poetry
falters and stumbles to find its way
where stumbling is falling
but still falling forward
where
to ask about causes
suggests no less compassion, love and concern
than those who swing talking points like cudgels
all the better to bludgeon us with
too soon
how awful
we will rebuild
we will not bend
we will fight fire on the beaches
we will fight fire on the run
we will fight fire with fire
like the fighters we are.
but.
i will not submit
if only to submit to you that there’s something about the inescapable gravity
of riverbanks and dirt and the sweetness of a meadow’s grass;
where, breathing in
all honesty’s senses
the scent of fact
outweighs the deepest wish of fiction
and
perfectly timed reflections on causes
beats
symptomatic handwringing every time
and
direct action
beats legislation
says hemingway
– or was that a character in a book
like i’m a character in a poem
.you sound so cold, Helen says, like you don’t care about the people there.
.it’s not respectful to be political at a time like this.
.we can’t prove a pattern from a single event.
.if you’re not with us you’re aginn us.
yes, you’re with the fire.
and there are things only poetry can figure out
for me at least
for us at most
different voices and worlds considered
scorned and trashed and left behind
and rediscovered and polished and made shiny again
strong and resilient and arising again
there are things only poetry can decipher
like how we truly feel
how we really feel
watching it burn moneyfuckers burn
there are things only poetry can balance and parse
i have no other way
to decipher the churn, measure my words
and offer them up
freely and considered
from a character in a poem
the poem has been drinking
the poem has been drinking
the poem has been drinking
not me.
where stumbling is falling
but still falling forward
3. As metaphors go…
David this is not a metaphor, it’s not a rhyme
it’s people and lives and hopes and dreams
it’s terror and flight and fear
and nothing rhymes with that.
.liberal dreams.
.conservative notions.
.social democratic fictions.
.still industrial potions.
they shoot horses don’t they
they deforest the land around each tar sand facility to make
fire breaks
for precisely this reason
that is not a metaphor, and this is not a poem
by contrast
i extend solidarity
while asking why cities are burning down
i am not confused
i am no more and no less compassionate as anybody else
in fact, on average, i would say that most people, at the end of the day, care the same amount
most people, at the end of the day, during the evening out of all things considered, when we’re resting our simple bones and searching for a true glimpse of our own hearts at the end of our long exhausting stupid stressful day, when we’re opening a bottle or lighting a joint; working out or working in; whatever we do to get a true glimpse of our own hearts for once
just for once
please world
just for one little
piece of
time.
Helen is my editor. She looks up from the page
and says
this is not the time
says
not the time for politics
says
this is not poetical
i beg to differ
say
it’s always time
for telling the truth
it’s always time
for insight and
compassion
it’s always time
for validation
but
says Helen
this is not political (this is a tragedy)
leave politics out of it
you see how poems suffer for it
i say
right
let’s leave it to politicians
to tell us when it’s time to be political
(what could go wrong)
and good for industry to lend that helping hand
and sorry about all those trees and the birds and the bees
Helen, I say, you might have a face that launched some boats,
but you and your heart and your mind are being played
she scoffs and her retort comes mild insistent
economies change, and this will change things!
hmm, I say, this economy doesn’t change, not this one
and besides, if I say I feel
bad
real bad
for the people, will that make it okay?
if i am immobilized by dumb etiquette in service to propriety, and
marginalized for begging to disagree
for begging your pardon
for even suggesting
that more suffering is on the way with every pipeline laid;
that every ounce of tar sands will bite you man;
that more suffering is here and getting hearer – with
every passing day
with every gusting wind
and the dry spark of fear – that
we’re just starting to sing
the blues?
Helen shrugs and repeats herself
This is how things change, she says
Not these things, I say, under my breath, secretly somewhat
wishing I could agree.
4. Control the elements/shitty Buddhist
so here’s my gift of twenty bucks to the Red Cross that is tax deductible,
and here’s my four-part offering that is not.
I click submit, and the Internet whirrs, and takes my cash
while I read the bottom of the acknowledgement page:
“When man finally learns to control the elements… When the winds will be quiet and the earth cannot be torn apart…When there will be no loneliness… no destitution… no war… When the last hungry man, woman or child is fed… Only then will there be no need for the Red Cross.”
So said Albert Schweitzer, Nobel Peace Prize winner
who plain forgot
controlling the elements was never anyone’s specialty.
it’s impossibly ironic, and perfect, and makes me think
the Red Cross will never be out of
business
so long as we are in business
in this way.
And the future looks bright
with its economic infernos gathering in plenary to discuss
new strategies and ways to leap
over ground and under ground
travelling by root and branch, carrying news.
And so in closing, we offer here
some other words
from another fire
why rise from the ashes without asking why we had to burn?
I’m a shitty buddhist trying/nottrying to be
but i know this much
insight without compassion makes you an asshole
compassion without insight makes you a rube
so when it comes to the present and the future:
don’t be an asshole
and don’t get played