Tag Archives: history

NOT DRINKING THE CURRENT COOL-AID

NOT DRINKING THE
CURRENT KOOL-AID

was drinking
some Nazi Germany
orange soda drink

fantasizing a la
the high castle science fiction alternate history
Californian imagination
of Mr K Dick

easier to
drink Fanta than
chew on the nose cone
of a V2 revenge
weapon, of doodle bug

physically
      impossible, also
politically incorrect if
not total verboten

which
     nevertheless, does
suggest an interesting point
of entry
from which to
launch into a Gravity’s Rainbow
type World War two
darkly surreal
satirical fantasy

now more than ever
apt for our age

and yet
    as for that war, its
truth (if such a thing)

after so many remakes,
hand-held camera moments
of Normandy carnage,
historical revisits,
re-
interpretations

have any
clear (not constantly
shifting) sensible
appraisal of
what it
      meant (and means).

for
  if yesterday
is different era

must be
ancient history, dawn
of man we
are talking
about here

tickling my palatte
these soda bubbles
         not gas
in a canister
produced to required
specifications by
FARBEN I. G.

TO SAY

TO SAY

history rhymes
this, being said, be
careful how
you recite

always here
a terrible price

need to
figure out
what you are doing there

reading
   from a hymn sheet
adding to the chorus

the words just pouring
out in fine tune
not a thought about
the whats
and whys

so much structure
in the music

out there
chaos, perfidy, deception,
entropy

serving the interests
of what now calls itself
to assume power

stripping me here
of anything, everything,
all I have got to say

LEARNING CURVE

LEARNING CURVE

you tried to
bomb history
whilst
   we weren’t watching
looking the other way

some fog of
war,
        this,

given how you smokescreened
the whole of humanity

whilst you
gave it your best shot
blowing the social, the economic,
the political foundations
of our world
(last faint possibilities of
a rational world)
horizon to horizon
to kingdom come

first take you had
was that you
might decapitate us,
a single bomb to do it,

as the logic deepened
carpet bombing persuaded
devastate everything
send back
to the stone ages
before boots on the ground

they are reading
about you now
       the kids of the future

of gross military stupidity
you have become
a cautionary tale

history
     rewriting you, how
best to set up
the punchline

last laugh as always, hate
to be
    the one
(steepest ever learning curve)
to give away the game
    


CEMETERY ROAD

CEMETERY ROAD
“may not mean to/
but they do”

I’ve read that
this be the Larkin poem

by any metric
it’s a real shocker

give it its due
painfully spot on
must have
begun somewhere

with Adam and Eve
tragic trace elements
springing out
of the big
bang
catastrophic for
the happiness of our species
wherever they
happen to
eke
out their existence
East, West
North, South
of the Continental shelf

and so me
not yet teenage

about to be whisked, nay,
catapulted to Africa
and apartheid
South Africa
at that

far from this little British
cul-de-sac
joy there in the sweet
English place of
pastoral they
call
a pastoral

where my father dutifully
taught me how
to ride
a bicycle
along the tiny tarmac roads
that slither like
snake trails
(not
weave their way)
between the graves

not much interest in my
life this broken life

scheduled to crack somewherw
along the line
pre-
programned like watch with
Mother, heartache,
failure
sex sharp and sweet/bittersweet
vanilla, spiced, chocolate,
salted caranel
melting pot and
set
to repeat but
not quite
liks clockwork

before which
(and before
post cigarette or
thin after mints)

my father’s little dream
of upping
roots, defining
his Empire somehow not

translating

finding purchase, believers,
means of manufacture

will not
let this poem end as
dead at
point blank range
as (fuck him!)
Larkin’s does

hard to
top him for
negative inspiration

THE ODDS

THE ODDS

threw a
Hail Mary

what are
the odds
       historically

it be caught for six points
or fly to the Moon
on the wings
of Apollo?

less or
more
    always a risk factor

must check those sacred pages
in my father’s manifesto
of social disconnection

great-grandchild of
some famine immigrant
sold a dream story
of opportunity

progeny of some child
of Africa transported
across the Atlantic
chained
       in the hold
to work
those prosperous fields

out there in the touch zone
holding the victory ball
or still waiting
          receiver by trade
and set
to receive

the crowd ecstatic that we
have a
Sitting Bull ambush, have
a Wild Bill
          shootout

have some music demigod
to serve the half-time feast

red zone
hell hole

too far ahead in
space and time
for me
      to ascertain with
degree of
certainty

the shifting nature of this game
cowboys, packers,
miners, and most
typically
      raiders, chiefs and
buccaneers

see in its logic
          all we need to know
must
     now envision

the spectacle
         telling its truth, making

the ambition of its
        intentions clear

SOLVE

SOLVE

to comprehend the lie
you would have
to go back
to the beginning
of life
before
the fetal position

read everything scan all
those media flashes and
opp ends
from before the
dawn of time
masts and headlines

kick up
a fuss
     deconstruct
every word, not
believe anything

sift through
every fable
every conspiracy
every secret
every
hole

back to
Plato’s cave
and its
very first troll

and
   every major minor
gaslight that
masquerades as history

liberal radical
whatever what
not worth
the clay
tablet
    so-called stylus
scribe
wrote it down on

and there it is
here’s where
it starts
   chain reaction
of all
that is
unquestioned

where
it all
got stuck
became impacted

unable to solve
resolve dissolve

impossible
to redress

RECEIPT

RECEIPT

got long
memories

still vivid
still fresh

but even if we didn’t
even in everything
was forgotten
and forgiven
     as you say

even if there was such
a concerted heartfelt effort
to get them changed
have
them erased

we buried it deep
we have the receipt

what you took
what we got
        in all those transactions

down
there somewhere

we kept
the receipt

will
fill in the blanks

FOR THAT LESSON

FOR THAT LESSON

I was not there
for that lesson
when Adam and
Eve scoffed
forbidden fruit
had to high-tail
it from Eden

I missed the moral
and geopolitical teaching
that story purveys

similarly, must have
skipped class when
the Mongols took
Baghdad, the Crusaders
stormed
    into Jerusalem, they
had their final
solution indaba at
Wannasee, and
Enola Gay dropped
her fat
fat egg

and so many knowledge
laden, wisdom enriched
tutorials and workshops
will no doubt
be scheduled when
I am no
longer around

history is the story of
where exactly we
were not
at the time, what
shaped
    the world we
were born into, could
not
   have been born
without which

but such a bloody, terrible,
power-driven furious fable
neither
        more nor less
than this one we are in.