Something Good
mbuttons
mbuttons@gate.net
Fri, 09 Nov 2001 13:44:17 -0500
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maybe she didn't cry while writing it, but reading it is a different matter
thank you Jim
love
m-a
on 11/08/2001 7:32 PM, Jim Baldauf at jfbaldauf@prodigy.net wrote:
WAR POEMS
A poem by Suheir Hammad
1. there have been no words.
i have not written one word.
no poetry in the ashes south of canal street.
no prose in the refrigerated trucks driving debris and dna.
not one word.
today is a week, and seven is of heavens, gods, science.
evident out my kitchen window is an abstract reality.
sky where once was steel.
smoke where once was flesh.
fire in the city air and i feared for my sister's life in a way
never
before. and then, and now, i fear for the rest of us.
first, please god, let it be a mistake, the pilot's heart failed,
the
plane's engine died.
then please god, let it be a nightmare, wake me now.
please god, after the second plane, please, don't let it be anyone
who looks like my brothers.
i do not know how bad a life has to break in order to kill.
i have never been so hungry that i willed hunger
i have never been so angry as to want to control a gun over a pen.
not really.
even as a woman, as a palestinian, as a broken human being.
never this broken.
more than ever, i believe there is no difference.
the most privileged nation, most americans do not know the
difference
between indians, afghanis, syrians, muslims, sikhs, hindus.
more than ever, there is no difference.
2. thank you korea for kimchi and bibim bob, and corn tea and the
genteel smiles of the wait staff at wonjo smiles never revealing
the heat of the food or how tired they must be working long midtown
shifts. thank you korea, for the belly craving that brought me
into
the city late the night before and diverted my daily train ride
into
the world trade center.
there are plenty of thank yous in ny right now. thank you for my
lazy procrastinating late ass. thank you to the germs that had me
call in sick. thank you, my attitude, you had me fired the week
before. thank you for the train that never came, the rude nyer who
stole my cab going downtown. thank you for the sense my mama gave
me
to run. thank you for my legs, my eyes, my life.
3. the dead are called lost and their families hold up shaky
printouts in front of us through screens smoked up.
we are looking for iris, mother of three. please call with any
information. we are searching for priti, last seen on the 103rd
floor. she was talking to her husband on the phone and the line
went. please help us find george, also known as adel. his family
is
waiting for him with his favorite meal. i am looking for my son,
who
was delivering coffee. i am looking for my sister girl, she
started
her job on monday.
i am looking for peace. i am looking for mercy. i am looking for
evidence of compassion. any evidence of life. i am looking for
life.
4. ricardo on the radio said in his accent thick as yuca, "i will
feel so much better when the first bombs drop over there. and my
friends feel the same way."
on my block, a woman was crying in a car parked and stranded in
hurt.
i offered comfort, extended a hand she did not see before she
said,
"we're gonna burn them so bad, i swear, so bad." my hand went to
my
head and my head went to the numbers within it of the dead iraqi
children, the dead in nicaragua. the dead in rwanda who had to vie
with fake sport wrestling for america's attention.
yet when people sent emails saying, this was bound to happen, lets
not forget u.s. transgressions, for half a second i felt resentful.
hold up with that, cause i live here, these are my friends and fam,
and it could have been me in those buildings, and we're not bad
people, do not support america's bullying. can i just have a half
second to feel bad?
if i can find through this exhaust people who were left behind to
mourn and to resist mass murder, i might be alright.
thank you to the woman who saw me brinking my cool and blinking
back
tears. she opened her arms before she asked "do you want a hug?"
a
big white woman, and her embrace was the kind only people with the
warmth of flesh can offer. i wasn't about to say no to any
comfort.
"my brother's in the navy,"i said. "and we're arabs" "wow, you
got double trouble." word.
5. one more person ask me if i knew the hijackers.
one more motherfucker ask me what navy my brother is in.
one more person assume no arabs or muslims were killed.
one more person assume they know me, or that i represent a people.
or that a people represent an evil. or that evil is as simple as a
flag and words on a page.
we did not vilify all white men when mcveigh bombed oklahoma.
america did not give out his family's addresses or where he went to
church. or blame the bible or pat robertson.
and when the networks air footage of palestinians dancing in the
street, there is no apology that hungry children are bribed with
sweets that turn their teeth
brown. that correspondents edit images. that archives are there
to
facilitate lazy and inaccurate journalism.
and when we talk about holy books and hooded men and death, why do
we
never mention the kkk?
if there are any people on earth who understand how new york is
feeling right now, they are in the west bank and the gaza strip.
6. today it is ten days. last night bush waged war on a man once
openly funded by the
cia. i do not know who is responsible. read too many books, know
too many people to believe what i am told. i don't give a fuck
about
bin laden. his vision of the world does not include me or those i
love. and petittions have been going around for years trying to
get
the u.s. sponsored taliban out of power. shit is complicated, and
i don't know what to think.
but i know for sure who will pay.
in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor. women
will
have to bury children, and support themselves through grief.
"either you are with us, or with the terrorists" - meaning keep your
people
under control and your resistance censored. meaning we got the
loot
and the nukes.
in america, it will be those amongst us who refuse blanket attacks on
the shivering. those of us who work toward social justice, in
support of civil liberties, in opposition to hateful foreign
policies.
i have never felt less american and more new yorker - particularly
brooklyn, than these past days. the stars and stripes on all these
cars and apartment windows represent the dead as citizens first - not
family members, not lovers.
i feel like my skin is real thin, and that my eyes are only going to
get darker. the future holds little light.
my baby brother is a man now, and on alert, and praying five times a
day that the orders he will take in a few days time are righteous and
will not weigh his soul down from the afterlife he deserves.
both my brothers - my heart stops when i try to pray - not a beat to
disturb my fear. one a rock god, the other a sergeant, and both
palestinian, practicing muslim, gentle men. both born in brooklyn
and their faces are of the archetypal arab man, all eyelashes and
nose and beautiful color and stubborn hair.
what will their lives be like now?
over there is over here.
7. all day, across the river, the smell of burning rubber and limbs
floats through. the sirens have stopped now. the advertisers are
back on the air. the rescue workers are traumatized. the skyline is
brought back to human size. no longer taunting the gods with its
height.
i have not cried at all while writing this. i cried when i saw those
buildings collapse on themselves like a broken heart. i have never
owned pain that needs to spread like that. and i cry daily that my
brothers return to our mother safe and whole.
there is no poetry in this. there are causes and effects. there are
symbols and ideologies. mad conspiracy here, and information we will
never know. there is death here, and there are promises of more.
there is life here. anyone reading this is breathing, maybe hurting,
but breathing for sure. and if there is any light to come, it will
shine from the eyes of those who look for peace and justice after the
rubble and rhetoric are cleared and the phoenix has risen.
affirm life.
affirm life.
we got to carry each other now.
you are either with life, or against it.
affirm life.
suheir hammad
Politex, www.bushwatch.com <http://www.bushwatch.com> , 11/8/01
-- Mary Ann Wilson
mbuttons@gate.net
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<TITLE>Re: Something Good</TITLE>
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<BR>
<BR>
maybe she didn't cry while writing it, but reading it is a different matter=
<BR>
<BR>
thank you Jim<BR>
<BR>
love<BR>
m-a<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
on 11/08/2001 7:32 PM, Jim Baldauf at jfbaldauf@prodigy.net wrote:<BR>
<BR>
<BLOCKQUOTE><FONT COLOR=3D"#3333CC"><FONT SIZE=3D"7"><B>WAR POEMS</B></FONT></F=
ONT> <BR>
<HR ALIGN=3DCENTER SIZE=3D"3" WIDTH=3D"100%"><BR>
<FONT SIZE=3D"5"><B>A poem by Suheir Hammad</B></FONT> <BR>
<BR>
1. there have been no words.<BR>
i have not written one word. <BR>
no poetry in the ashes south of canal street. <BR>
no prose in the refrigerated trucks driving debris and dna. <BR>
not one word. <BR>
<BR>
today is a week, and seven is of heavens, gods, science. <BR>
evident out my kitchen window is an abstract reality. <BR>
sky where once was steel. <BR>
smoke where once was flesh. <BR>
<BR>
fire in the city air and i feared for my sister's life in a way<BR>
never <BR>
before. and then, and now, i fear for the rest of us. <BR>
<BR>
first, please god, let it be a mistake, the pilot's heart failed, <BR>
the <BR>
plane's engine died. <BR>
then please god, let it be a nightmare, wake me now. <BR>
please god, after the second plane, please, don't let it be anyone <BR>
who looks like my brothers. <BR>
<BR>
i do not know how bad a life has to break in order to kill. <BR>
i have never been so hungry that i willed hunger <BR>
i have never been so angry as to want to control a gun over a pen. <BR>
not really. <BR>
even as a woman, as a palestinian, as a broken human being. <BR>
never this broken. <BR>
<BR>
more than ever, i believe there is no difference. <BR>
the most privileged nation, most americans do not know the <BR>
difference <BR>
between indians, afghanis, syrians, muslims, sikhs, hindus. <BR>
more than ever, there is no difference. <BR>
<BR>
2. thank you korea for kimchi and bibim bob, and corn tea and the <BR>
genteel smiles of the wait staff at wonjo smiles never revealing <BR>
the heat of the food or how tired they must be working long midtown <BR>
shifts. thank you korea, for the belly craving that brought me <BR>
into <BR>
the city late the night before and diverted my daily train ride <BR>
into <BR>
the world trade center. <BR>
<BR>
there are plenty of thank yous in ny right now. thank you for my <BR>
lazy procrastinating late ass. thank you to the germs that had me <BR>
call in sick. thank you, my attitude, you had me fired the week <BR>
before. thank you for the train that never came, the rude nyer who <BR>
stole my cab going downtown. thank you for the sense my mama gave <BR>
me <BR>
to run. thank you for my legs, my eyes, my life. <BR>
<BR>
3. the dead are called lost and their families hold up shaky <BR>
printouts in front of us through screens smoked up. <BR>
<BR>
we are looking for iris, mother of three. please call with any <BR>
information. we are searching for priti, last seen on the 103rd <BR>
floor. she was talking to her husband on the phone and the line <BR>
went. please help us find george, also known as adel. his family <BR>
is <BR>
waiting for him with his favorite meal. i am looking for my son, <BR>
who <BR>
was delivering coffee. i am looking for my sister girl, she <BR>
started <BR>
her job on monday. <BR>
<BR>
i am looking for peace. i am looking for mercy. i am looking for <BR>
evidence of compassion. any evidence of life. i am looking for <BR>
life. <BR>
<BR>
4. ricardo on the radio said in his accent thick as yuca, "i will <BR>
feel so much better when the first bombs drop over there. and my <BR>
friends feel the same way." <BR>
on my block, a woman was crying in a car parked and stranded in <BR>
hurt. <BR>
i offered comfort, extended a hand she did not see before she <BR>
said, <BR>
"we're gonna burn them so bad, i swear, so bad." my hand went to =
<BR>
my <BR>
head and my head went to the numbers within it of the dead iraqi <BR>
children, the dead in nicaragua. the dead in rwanda who had to vie <BR>
with fake sport wrestling for america's attention. <BR>
<BR>
yet when people sent emails saying, this was bound to happen, lets <BR>
not forget u.s. transgressions, for half a second i felt resentful. <BR>
hold up with that, cause i live here, these are my friends and fam, <BR>
and it could have been me in those buildings, and we're not bad <BR>
people, do not support america's bullying. can i just have a half <BR>
second to feel bad? <BR>
<BR>
if i can find through this exhaust people who were left behind to <BR>
mourn and to resist mass murder, i might be alright. <BR>
<BR>
thank you to the woman who saw me brinking my cool and blinking <BR>
back <BR>
tears. she opened her arms before she asked "do you want a hug?" =
<BR>
a <BR>
big white woman, and her embrace was the kind only people with the <BR>
warmth of flesh can offer. i wasn't about to say no to any <BR>
comfort. <BR>
"my brother's in the navy,"i said. "and we're arabs" &q=
uot;wow, you <BR>
got double trouble." word. <BR>
<BR>
5. one more person ask me if i knew the hijackers. <BR>
one more motherfucker ask me what navy my brother is in. <BR>
one more person assume no arabs or muslims were killed. <BR>
one more person assume they know me, or that i represent a people. <BR>
or that a people represent an evil. or that evil is as simple as a <BR>
flag and words on a page. <BR>
<BR>
we did not vilify all white men when mcveigh bombed oklahoma. <BR>
america did not give out his family's addresses or where he went to <BR>
church. or blame the bible or pat robertson. <BR>
<BR>
and when the networks air footage of palestinians dancing in the <BR>
street, there is no apology that hungry children are bribed with <BR>
sweets that turn their teeth <BR>
brown. that correspondents edit images. that archives are there <BR>
to <BR>
facilitate lazy and inaccurate journalism. <BR>
<BR>
and when we talk about holy books and hooded men and death, why do <BR>
we <BR>
never mention the kkk? <BR>
<BR>
if there are any people on earth who understand how new york is <BR>
feeling right now, they are in the west bank and the gaza strip. <BR>
<BR>
6. today it is ten days. last night bush waged war on a man once <BR>
openly funded by the <BR>
cia. i do not know who is responsible. read too many books, know <BR>
too many people to believe what i am told. i don't give a fuck <BR>
about <BR>
bin laden. his vision of the world does not include me or those i <BR>
love. and petittions have been going around for years trying to <BR>
get <BR>
the u.s. sponsored taliban out of power. shit is complicated, and <BR>
i don't know what to think. <BR>
<BR>
but i know for sure who will pay. <BR>
<BR>
in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor. women <BR>
will <BR>
have to bury children, and support themselves through grief. <BR>
"either you are with us, or with the terrorists" - meaning keep y=
our <BR>
people <BR>
under control and your resistance censored. meaning we got the <BR>
loot <BR>
and the nukes. <BR>
<BR>
in america, it will be those amongst us who refuse blanket attacks on <BR>
the shivering. those of us who work toward social justice, in <BR>
support of civil liberties, in opposition to hateful foreign <BR>
policies. <BR>
<BR>
i have never felt less american and more new yorker - particularly <BR>
brooklyn, than these past days. the stars and stripes on all these <BR>
cars and apartment windows represent the dead as citizens first - not <BR>
family members, not lovers. <BR>
<BR>
i feel like my skin is real thin, and that my eyes are only going to <BR>
get darker. the future holds little light. <BR>
<BR>
my baby brother is a man now, and on alert, and praying five times a <BR>
day that the orders he will take in a few days time are righteous and <BR>
will not weigh his soul down from the afterlife he deserves. <BR>
<BR>
both my brothers - my heart stops when i try to pray - not a beat to <BR>
disturb my fear. one a rock god, the other a sergeant, and both <BR>
palestinian, practicing muslim, gentle men. both born in brooklyn <BR>
and their faces are of the archetypal arab man, all eyelashes and <BR>
nose and beautiful color and stubborn hair. <BR>
<BR>
what will their lives be like now? <BR>
<BR>
over there is over here. <BR>
<BR>
7. all day, across the river, the smell of burning rubber and limbs <BR>
floats through. the sirens have stopped now. the advertisers are <BR>
back on the air. the rescue workers are traumatized. the skyline is <BR>
brought back to human size. no longer taunting the gods with its <BR>
height. <BR>
<BR>
i have not cried at all while writing this. i cried when i saw those <BR>
buildings collapse on themselves like a broken heart. i have never <BR>
owned pain that needs to spread like that. and i cry daily that my <BR>
brothers return to our mother safe and whole. <BR>
<BR>
there is no poetry in this. there are causes and effects. there are <BR>
symbols and ideologies. mad conspiracy here, and information we will <BR>
never know. there is death here, and there are promises of more. <BR>
<BR>
there is life here. anyone reading this is breathing, maybe hurting, <BR>
but breathing for sure. and if there is any light to come, it will <BR>
shine from the eyes of those who look for peace and justice after the <BR>
rubble and rhetoric are cleared and the phoenix has risen. <BR>
<BR>
affirm life. <BR>
affirm life. <BR>
we got to carry each other now. <BR>
you are either with life, or against it. <BR>
affirm life. <BR>
<BR>
suheir hammad <BR>
<BR>
<FONT SIZE=3D"2"> <BR>
</FONT><FONT FACE=3D"Times New Roman"><B>Politex, www.bushwatch.com <http:=
//www.bushwatch.com> , 11/8/01</B></FONT> <BR>
</BLOCKQUOTE><BR>
<BR>
-- Mary Ann Wilson<BR>
mbuttons@gate.net<BR>
<BR>
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