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Then And Now
Aug. 30th, 2021 11:43 amFor the last couple of months I've been working through and revising a lifetime's worth of poems and posting the results at the LJ site fra-franciscus. Having started at the beginning with poems written when I was twenty, I'm now revisiting the ones I wrote when I was 50- in 2001- and quite a few of them are to do with the events of that year- in particular 911 and the beginning of George Bush's forever war. They were written on the hoof, without hindsight, reflecting what was known (and unknown) at the time.
So, fortuitously, even as the western armies flee Kabul in disorder I find I'm re-reading the poem I produced just after the government of the USA had told us that since their homeland had been attacked by a bunch of Saudis it was only fair that they should invade Afghanistan. When people say these past two years have been uniquely traumatising I look back at the months following 911 and think, "Actually, no, we've done this sort of thing before." The poem is studiedly non-political, unless you count pacifism as political- which I suppose it is. I don't think I've anything more to say about it except I wish I could write this kind of poem now- only I can't.
A Televised War
Afghanistan is bigger than France
And what's not mountain is mostly desert
And all those parts which used to be gardens-
Islamic gardens with piped in water
That leapt and hung in the air- are wrecked.
Once when I thought of Afghanistan-
If I ever did- I thought of the poems
That Kipling wrote about dead British soldiers.
Now I educate myself
By clicking my way through the RAWA website.
There I learn all sorts of things;
For instance that the Arab youths
Who are fighting there as volunteers
Are told that there's a blessing for them
In killing the enemies of the Faith
And so they squabble among themselves
For the honour of joining the firing squad
Whenever their gang takes over a village.
Yesterday it was Molly's birthday.
Her jolly mother had hung balloons
All along the hedge. It was good to be spending
An afternoon without TV-
And it wasn't until we got home at night
That we learned the Taliban had been bombed
As promised. Rumsfeld talked to the press
While an inset screen at the top right
Which was labelled "Live from Afghanistan"
Displayed a field of blue fuzziness
With a single light that winked on and off.
Today we saw what the strike had achieved.
Some men were stood on a caved in house
And one of them lowered himself to his haunches
And threw up a handful of silvery dust.
So, fortuitously, even as the western armies flee Kabul in disorder I find I'm re-reading the poem I produced just after the government of the USA had told us that since their homeland had been attacked by a bunch of Saudis it was only fair that they should invade Afghanistan. When people say these past two years have been uniquely traumatising I look back at the months following 911 and think, "Actually, no, we've done this sort of thing before." The poem is studiedly non-political, unless you count pacifism as political- which I suppose it is. I don't think I've anything more to say about it except I wish I could write this kind of poem now- only I can't.
A Televised War
Afghanistan is bigger than France
And what's not mountain is mostly desert
And all those parts which used to be gardens-
Islamic gardens with piped in water
That leapt and hung in the air- are wrecked.
Once when I thought of Afghanistan-
If I ever did- I thought of the poems
That Kipling wrote about dead British soldiers.
Now I educate myself
By clicking my way through the RAWA website.
There I learn all sorts of things;
For instance that the Arab youths
Who are fighting there as volunteers
Are told that there's a blessing for them
In killing the enemies of the Faith
And so they squabble among themselves
For the honour of joining the firing squad
Whenever their gang takes over a village.
Yesterday it was Molly's birthday.
Her jolly mother had hung balloons
All along the hedge. It was good to be spending
An afternoon without TV-
And it wasn't until we got home at night
That we learned the Taliban had been bombed
As promised. Rumsfeld talked to the press
While an inset screen at the top right
Which was labelled "Live from Afghanistan"
Displayed a field of blue fuzziness
With a single light that winked on and off.
Today we saw what the strike had achieved.
Some men were stood on a caved in house
And one of them lowered himself to his haunches
And threw up a handful of silvery dust.
