Iraq War Grief Daily Witness (photo) Day 37

image: Mourners grieve at the funeral of one of three Iraqis, including two brothers, who were killed with three others wounded. (AP Photo/Karim Kadim)

support the Iraqi people
support the Campaign for Innocent Victims in Conflict (CIVIC)
support CARE
support the victims of torture
support the fallen
support the troops
support the troops and the Iraqi people
read `This is what John Kerry did today,’ the diary by lawnorder that prompted this series
read Riverbend’s blog – `Bagdhad Burning’
read Dahr Jamail’s Iraq Dispatches
witness every day

image and poem below the fold

Ars Poetica
by Czeslaw Milosz

I have always aspired to a more spacious form
that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose
and would let us understand each other without exposing
the author or reader to sublime agonies.

In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent:
a thing is brought forth which we didn’t know we had in us,
so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out
and stood in the light, lashing his tail.

That’s why poetry is rightly said to be dictated by a daimonion,*
though its an exaggeration to maintain that he must be an angel.
It’s hard to guess where that pride of poets comes from,
when so often they’re put to shame by the disclosure of their frailty.

What reasonable man would like to be a city of demons,
who behave as if they were at home, speak in many tongues,
and who, not satisfied with stealing his lips or hand,
work at changing his destiny for their convenience?

It’s true that what is morbid is highly valued today,
and so you may think that I am only joking
or that I’ve devised just one more means
of praising Art with the help of irony.

There was a time when only wise books were read
helping us to bear our pain and misery.
This, after all, is not quite the same
as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics.

And yet the world is different from what it seems to be
and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings.
People therefore preserve silent integrity
thus earning the respect of their relatives and neighbors.

The purpose of poetry is to remind us
how difficult it is to remain just one person,
for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,
and invisible guests come in and out at will.

What I’m saying here is not, I agree, poetry,
as poems should be written rarely and reluctantly,
under unbearable duress and only with the hope
that good spirits, not evil ones, choose us for their instrument.

– – – –

*form of dai·mon (also de·mon or dae·mon)
n. Greek Mythology

   1. An inferior deity, such as a deified hero.
   2. An attendant spirit; a genius.

– – – –

caption, continued: (those killed and injured were) mainly young secondhand goods vendors, when they were shot at by U.S. troops Thursday, in the Sadr City area of Baghdad, Iraq Friday, May 27, 2005. The U.S. military confirmed the incident on Friday, saying it was under investigation.

Author: RubDMC

I'm a PROUD Massachusetts Liberal who lives just a short stroll from the site of the first armed resistance to another insane tyrant named George in 1775.