This morning while responding to a Crooks and Liars post I found myself swept into a poem… The post was regarding a new play by Riverbend , a 25-year-old Iraqi woman living in Baghdad prior, during and after the invasion. It is dramatised by a cast of five young American actors. ( More of the review…)
My comment- A play worth watching and remembering sounds like to me... Being a theatrical person I can say that the bit about history is more than just self-obsession...in most cases it is the way it is. Poetry, theatre, film, music, prose...somehow, some way, it all trickles down and into an artist's hands... Pompous sounding on the surface, but of what I have seen in my lifetime, it is the voice that at large would be unspoken, for, in many an instance, the words won't come out due to fear, pain, or intimidation... To hell with "patriotism" and all its foibles!
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BAGHDAD BURNING...OUR THROATS
In the shading of your persistent speechless death We cannot help be unsettled by your passion. Now, just as the world boils, increased in suffering Do we begin to sense brittle-boned-humanity.
A drama worth its ink, recoiled, unfolds inside us, Leaping in our throats, coursing through our veins, Diving deep, like a jilted lover’s plea, it swims through. Wounded and yelping it tosses inside our existence Telling us things we’d never tell ourselves...
The drama says, bring forth your lies For they'll not penetrate truth. Bring forth thy warmongering spirit For it shall not dance. It will flounder here... dreadfully. Treading upon the boards, characterized as horrific, Slumping; a dreadful creature, writhing, sweating `neath the canopy of light.
The drama says, Look! Look! There you are, lumbering in final breath! You coward! You defiled wretch! Bedraggled death!
Your countenance now but a shadow As the lights begin to fade. You may come cloaked in dream But you’ve been seen And we’ve felt your sodden breath upon our soul From a city where no-one knows If they will see another day.
My comment-
A play worth watching and remembering sounds like to me... Being a theatrical person I can say that the bit about history is more than just self-obsession...in most cases it is the way it is. Poetry, theatre, film, music, prose...somehow, some way, it all trickles down and into an artist's hands... Pompous sounding on the surface, but of what I have seen in my lifetime, it is the voice that at large would be unspoken, for, in many an instance, the words won't come out due to fear, pain, or intimidation... To hell with "patriotism" and all its foibles!
____________________
BAGHDAD BURNING...OUR THROATS
In the shading of your persistent speechless death
We cannot help be unsettled by your passion.
Now, just as the world boils, increased in suffering
Do we begin to sense brittle-boned-humanity.
A drama worth its ink, recoiled, unfolds inside us,
Leaping in our throats, coursing through our veins,
Diving deep, like a jilted lover’s plea, it swims through.
Wounded and yelping it tosses inside our existence
Telling us things we’d never tell ourselves...
The drama says, bring forth your lies
For they'll not penetrate truth.
Bring forth thy warmongering spirit
For it shall not dance.
It will flounder here... dreadfully.
Treading upon the boards, characterized as horrific,
Slumping; a dreadful creature, writhing, sweating
`neath the canopy of light.
The drama says,
Look! Look!
There you are, lumbering in final breath!
You coward!
You defiled wretch!
Bedraggled death!
Your countenance now but a shadow
As the lights begin to fade.
You may come cloaked in dream
But you’ve been seen
And we’ve felt your sodden breath upon our soul
From a city where no-one knows
If they will see another day.
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
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Baghdad Burning On Stage C&L
Riverbend Blogspot
BBC News Review of Play
Tell ABC to Tell the Truth About 9/11
Poetic Justice Theatre