Titanic Revelations

Sometimes we don’t know where certain messages come from as we muse, fingering some words to give our intuitions substance. I think this poem comes from the haunting reverberations of the Newtown massacre, but also the dim sense that the nation may have been shocked a little out of its worship of the Great God Gun. While a Congress corrupted by the armaments lobby may yet disappoint us, the voices are still there, calling us to a new birth. So I share it with you, somewhat raw, somewhat incomplete perhaps.

Tomorrow we leave for seven weeks in the Western Cape of South Africa and the central deserts of Namibia. I’ll try to report on some observations and reflections while we are there, but my postings may not be as frequent. On the other hand, this country that we love, with so many contrasts and mirrors to our own, may provoke me to more thoughts. Stay tuned.

Here is the poem, whose tentative title reminds us of an arrogance that led to disaster a century ago.

In the catastrophe

            the end

            the fall

            they only knew of evenings

            full of entertainment

            flickered images

            of food and guns

            and singers

            holding microphones

            but deaf.

No ears

            to hear

            the drums

            the bang

            the bang

            the heartbeats

            breaking out of nowhere

            babies screaming

            to be born

            again.