facing the way

I tweeted that I loved this poem yesterday, and it was really a reminder to put it somewhere that I won't forget it, like here:

the fundamental question about revolution
as lorraine hansberry was not afraid to know
is not simply whether i am willing to give up my life
but if i am prepared to give up my comfort:
clean sheets on my bed
the speed of the dishwasher
and my gas stove
gadgetless
but still preferable to cooking out of doors
over a fire of smouldering roots
my eyes raking the skies for planes
the hills for army tanks.
paintings i have revered stick against my walls
as unconcerned as saints
their perfection alone sufficient for their defense.
yet not one lifeline thrown by the artist
beyond the frame
reaches the boy whose eyes were target
for a soldier's careless aim
or the small girl whose body napalm
a hot bath after mass rape
transformed
or the old women who starve on muscatel
nightly
on the streets of New York.

it is shameful how hard it is for me to give
them up!
to cease this cowardly addiction
to art that transcends time
beauty that nourishes a ravenous spirit
but drags on the mind whose sale would patch
a roof
heat the cold rooms of children. replace an eye.
feed a life.

it does not comfort me now to hear
thepoorweshallhavewithusalways
(Christ should never have said this:
it makes it harder than ever to change)
just as it failed to comfort me
when i was poor.


That's Alice Walker, found in Good Night, Willie Lee, I'll See You in the Morning, and it's just about perfect.


In other news, I like twitter because it's like writing poetry, while blogging is more like writing a novel (I write three volume novels). Stylistic impositions are very very good for me.