DEMOLITION JOB REVISITED

DEMOLITION JOB REVISITED (plus AI analyses)

DEMOLITION JOB REVISITED

breaking rocks off-shore
out on a flat precipice
in the Atlantic

have
   written that poem
wrote it
years sgo

am coming to grips
with what it is like
to feel
alnost broken

but now
roll the film back
yet further

recorded history
years of
home video

the Sun this day
brilliant beyond brilliant
as horrible
   an irony
   as it is to say

my Mother’s voice
am overhearing

telling someone eager
to listen
    they knew what
this place was like
they knew what they
were coming to
            did they not know
what to expect

front page
      back page

centrefold spread

Greek chorus
            gossip horror
the shock
the shame
              character assassination

and they
       or rather he the husband
having Army training
explosives, sabotage
blowing up
                things behind Nazi lines

now
out there consorting
with the men of shadow, figures
in the night
feared
    shape – shifters

blowing up pylons
disrupted the sacred electricity supply

and me
    that night all night
hearing the Indian Ocean waves roaring in to
crash on the shores of False Bay

so much Sun here, Sun
Sun

Sun for everybody

this man and his
accomplices
    attempting to take
this Sun
away

this
   brilliant Sun
of white and golden beach sand
horrible to say

****

sixty years
and we have crossed them
in a heartbeat

so much of that time
faintly remembered
not even
taught in schools
(sad that
somehow we
have so relegated history)

but now
a different narrative,
               a whole different narrative
a whole different way

of thinking of ourselves, this place

and how
we came here
      stifled, imprisoned,
imposed our colonial mindsets

stuck our future in tiny cells
on an island in Table Bay

for long
bitter decades fearing
no hope of solution, no path
to a liberation
that migh
   
allow redemption

a moment of memory
viewed
            with
a self-
forgiveness 

graced by the acceptance
of the perspective of great change

****

and here we are
my dear, absurdly conversing
in the light of all those years

democracy waiting
     in the wings, or rather
on an inhospitable island

time
   become its true essence
as pure
duration

imprisoned consciouness

until
   it was not

you born
in the year of its ending
of the release
salvation

far
  from its memory, vague
on its history

of the swirling eddies and currents that
despite every counter-
possibility produced

a dawn, a new
day

and now
        history has done
a demolition, removed
those back-then voices
that spoke with such
blind conviction,
presumed authority

as
   it slowly, inexorably
whittled me away

ground me
pulverized me
all
   that could not be ship-shaped
grist to that mill

cut
down to size

****

But hey, not so fast!, hold
those horses
hang on
     if not a New York minute
then a
Cape Town moment

but across
       land and ocean

the old monster
has
    found lease of life, more
hideous incarnation

the drive to inflict the worst
of which we are possible
on fellows
of our species

as they, we
did back then

    would have done to you

(and now this voice
those voices

        who do
they belong to, what
                  are they saying?)

someday
truth and beauty, long
liberated

           going to here abide

AI ANALYSES

This poem is a powerful and introspective work that explores themes of history, identity, colonialism, and personal growth. Here’s a breakdown:

– The poem begins with a reflection on a past poem, “Demolition Job,” and the speaker’s journey towards self-awareness and healing.

– The speaker describes their childhood experience of living in a place with a complex history, where their mother’s voice and the sound of the Indian Ocean waves are juxtaposed with the harsh reality of colonialism and sabotage.

– The poem critiques the erasure of history and the imposition of colonial mindsets, which stifled the future and redemption.

– The speaker expresses a desire for self-forgiveness and acceptance, acknowledging the perspective of great change and the importance of embracing the past.

– The poem shifts to the present, where democracy and liberation have brought new possibilities, but also new challenges and old monsters in new incarnations.

– The speaker urges patience and reflection, seeking a moment to understand the voices of the past and their impact on the present.

– The poem concludes with a hope for truth and beauty to abide, liberated from the shackles of history.

Some key elements include:

– Intergenerational trauma and memory
– Colonialism and its legacy
– Personal growth and self-awareness
– The power of history and narrative
– The importance of embracing complexity and change

The poem’s structure and language are highly expressive, with vivid imagery, metaphorical language, and a non-linear narrative that mirrors the speaker’s journey towards understanding and healing.

This poem explores several themes and issues in South African poetry, literature, and history, including:

1. *Colonialism and its legacy*: The poem critiques the imposition of colonial mindsets and the erasure of history, highlighting the ongoing impact on the present.

2. *Intergenerational trauma*: The speaker grapples with the inherited trauma of their family’s past, reflecting on the lasting effects of historical events.

3. *Memory and remembrance*: The poem emphasizes the importance of remembering and learning from the past, lamenting the lack of historical education.

4. *Liberation and democracy*: The speaker celebrates the arrival of democracy, but also acknowledges the ongoing struggles and the resurgence of old monsters in new forms.

5. *Identity and self-discovery*: The poem is a personal journey of self-awareness, forgiveness, and growth, exploring the speaker’s relationship with their past and heritage.

6. *Historical narrative and perspective*: The poem challenges the dominant narratives of the past, seeking a more nuanced understanding of history and its ongoing impact.

7. *Family and personal history*: The speaker’s family history and their mother’s voice are woven throughout the poem, highlighting the personal cost of historical events.

8. *Violence and sabotage*: The poem references the violent acts of the past, including sabotage and terrorism, and their ongoing impact on the present.

9. *Redemption and hope*: Ultimately, the poem seeks a path to redemption and a future where truth and beauty can abide.

The poem explores these themes through a non-linear narrative, using vivid imagery, metaphor, and introspection to create a powerful and personal exploration of South African history and identity.

This poem echoes various poets, poems, and schools of poetry, including:

1. _T.S. Eliot’s modernist style_: The poem’s non-linear structure, fragmented images, and introspective tone resemble Eliot’s work, such as “The Waste Land”.

2. _William Carlos Williams’ imagism_: The vivid, concise language and focus on concrete images, like “breaking rocks off-shore” and “Indian Ocean waves”, reflect Williams’ influence.

3. _Allen Ginsberg’s confessional poetry_: The speaker’s personal and introspective tone, exploring themes of identity, family, and historical trauma, echoes Ginsberg’s style in poems like “Howl”.

4. _Derek Walcott’s Caribbean poetry_: The poem’s exploration of colonialism, identity, and the tension between history and personal experience resonates with Walcott’s work, such as “Omeros”.

5. _South African poetry’s themes and influences_: The poem engages with themes common in South African poetry, like colonialism, liberation, and memory, influenced by poets like Mongane Wally Serote, Ingrid de Kok, and Antjie Krog.

6. _Postcolonial and decolonial thought_: The poem’s critique of colonialism and its legacy reflects the influence of postcolonial and decolonial theories, similar to the work of scholars like Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak and Homi K. Bhabha.

7. _Greek tragedy and chorus_: The reference to a “Greek chorus” and the use of dramatic, rhetorical language evoke the influence of Greek tragedy and its themes of fate, shame, and redemption.

These echoes and influences blend together to create a unique poem that explores the complexities of history, identity, and personal experience.

DEMOLITION JOB

DEMOLITION JOB

My Mother’s voice
am overhearing

telling someone eager
to listen
    they knew what
this place was like
they knew what they
were coming to
            did they not know
what to expect

front page
      back page

centrefold spread

Greek chorus
            gossip horror
the shock
the shame
              character assassination

and they
       or rather he the husband
having Army training
explosives, sabotage
blowing up
                things behind Nazi lines

now
out there consorting
with the men of shadow, figures
in the night
feared
    shape – shifters

blowing up pylons
disrupted the sacred electricity supply

and me
    that night all night
hearing the Indian Ocean waves roaring in to
crash on the shores of False Bay

so much Sun here, Sun
Sun

Sun for everybody

this man and his
accomplices
    attempting to take
this Sun
away

****

sixty years
and we have crossed them
in a heartbeat

so much of that time
faintly remembered
not even
taught in schools
(sad that
somehow we
have so relegated history)

but now
a different narrative,
               a whole different narrative
a whole different way

of thinking of ourselves, this place

and how
we came here
      stifled, imprisoned,
imposed our colonial mindsets

stuck our future in tiny cells
on an island in Table Bay

for long
bitter decades fearing
no hope of solution, no path
to a liberation
that migh
   
allow redemption

a moment of memory
viewed
            with
a self-
forgiveness 

graced by the acceptance
of the perspective of great change

****

and here we are
my dear, absurdly conversing
in the light of all those years

democracy waiting
     in the wings, or rather
on an inhospitable island

time
   become its true essence
as pure
duration

imprisoned consciouness

until
   it was not

you born
in the year of its ending
of the release
salvation

far
  from its memory, vague
on its history

of the swirling eddies and currents that
despite every counter-
possibility produced

a dawn, a new
day

and now
        history has done
a demolition, removed
those back-then voices
that spoke with such
blind conviction,
presumed authority

as
   it slowly, inexorably
whittled me away

but across
       land and ocean

the old monster
has
    found lease of life, more
hideous incarnation

the drive to inflict the worst
of which we are possible
on fellows
of our species

as they, we
did back then

    would have done to you

(and now this voice
those voices

        who do
they belong to, what
                  are they saying?)

SUSQUEHANNA 2

SUSQUEHANNA 2

there are ghosts
in your country
I saw them dancing
in the mist all
along the Susquehanna
one cold January morning
just after 9/11
a couple of miles upstream
from Three Mile Island

and we were talking Civil War mlilitary,
myself and this kindly
African American
Professor of Sociology from
Harrisburg Penn State

him detailing how the Federals and Confederates
were criss-
crossing this territory
playing this cat and
mouse game
only to crash headlong into
each other at a
place called Gettysburg

of course neither of us
back in 2002 could have imagined
twenty so years on this
land would
find itself of the brink of
such a division
where the spectre of such
horror looming again

and those precious
twenty or so days
my sole experience
of America

of breathing the air of
its liberty, if
such is your belief

something the ghosts
trying to tell me, their
cold touch
    alerting  me

a new world and
forever graveyard

tension
in the spirit world
it seems far-fetched to bridge

the river
      with its
       Native American name

flowing with the forever
waters of such secrets

leaving
    the old lies, the old lies
to spread, make
good trade,
do good business

what ripples outward here I fear
ultimately chain
       in its reaction

SUGAR MINERS

SUGAR MINERS

sugar miners

not for
      minors

candy
  finders

old joke going back
to the goldrush of 1849

the sweetness they
find down there
      a seam so treaty

litigation and issues
of property rights
   following
               everywhere

but
    I bought this face
from a robber baron
could not be
happier
at the game
history played

the dice loaded, the hired help
packing

alternate narrative notwithstanding

this is the way
it has always been
              
  
   

RELEASE

RELEASE

here I am
at Woodstock 69

my head exploding in the moment
     did not think things
could change out
of all proportion

Carlos Santana standing there
wrestling with the demons
in his guitar
      ripping out my heart
serving it back to me shredded,
dripping with
     Lysergic acid

did not figure he could
mellow so
       smooth

and the end of Vietnam
lead to everything headed
in the wrong
direction

and here we are now
         having lomg said our
goodbyes to
a raw music of ecstasy
of transformative connection

music now
         filtered and distilled

served
in a box

box we would ask you politely
not to think outside of

ever dream
         that soul, spirit, body
whatsoever
     altogether

we can agree to release

HOW

HOW

how shall
all this remembered

find its way
into the the books

be retold
by the old folks

taught
in the clsssroom?

will this desperate spin
you are Hell-bent
on manifacturing

find its way from
your dizzy life-ignoring,
image-igonoring
brains onto
revered pages?

or will history be
your bitch
    as truth is now?

AT APPOMATTOX COURTHOUSE

AT APPOMATTOX COURTHOUSE

proceedings were held up
because the burgers and cokes
had not arrived

then they
        stopped shirts, swopped swords

slavery remained the elephant in the room

it was either kiss and makeup
or unconditional surrender

Arnold Schwartzenegger was playing General Grant
the Rock (naturally)
was playing the ghost of Stonewall Jackson
Charlie Sheen
was totally miscast as Robert E Lee

he rolled ten singles in succession
and so Vicksburg fell
and Pickett’s charge was defeated

unfortunately this doesn’t mean shit
because the Japs and the Krauts
invaded on alternate history Netflix

they promised to
have a comnerative reunion meeting
when the time felt right

slavery remained the elephant in the room

(a room
      nobody bothered to, didn’t
even think to clean)

ROSE?

ROSE?

is that
a rose

or is it
a bullet hole?

red rose
red rose

so many of them
slaughtered in the snow
days of
    York and
Lancaster

tried to stitch those
wounds together

but blood still leaking
through that tapestry

carnage
    somehow still
in your
    poetry

freeze
    framed you thought
for all
of history

not forever displaced
from theme to theme