Political Poetry

Googling political poetry turns up quite a few blogs & E-zines. My current poetry course inspired this particular Google, as we're reading the Beats right now (which I'm not overly enjoying, as I find them verbose, sloppy & self-involved, but the history is interesting & their impact is undeniable), and all of this is reminding me that occasionally poetry rises to prominence because of politics--because someone writes such an artful polemic or poetic call-to-arms, we all tune in. I'm not sure that the Poets Against the War project (or whatever that thing is) accomplished what they set out to do, but I am fairly confident that current affairs are ripe for the poetic picking.

Par example, Willie Perdomo:
(http://poetry.about.com/library/weekly/aa052301a.htm)
(http://www.nortonpoets.com/perdomow.htm)
(http://www.artistsnetwork.org/eventsIcore/perdomo.html)

“Crazy Bunch Barbecue”
Jefferson Park, Summer 1999

This is definitely
for the brothers
who ain't here
who woulda said
I had to write a poem
about this get together
like a list of names
on a memorial
to celebrate
our own old-timers day
for those of us
who age in hood years
where one night
can equal the rest of your life
and surviving the trade off
was worth writing on the wall
and telling the world
that we were here forever

The day started with snaps
on good-livin' pot bellies
receding hair lines
and new roles as Mr. Moms
Jerry had the best joke of the day
when he said that my family was so poor
that on Thanksgiving
they had to buy turkey-flavored Now & Laters
the laughter needed no help
when we exposed the stretch marks
of our growing pains

Phil had barbecue on the grill
He slapped my hand when
I tried to brush extra sauce
on a leg
“Yo, go find something to do
write a poem
write something
do something
I got this
I'm the chef
You the poet
Talk about how you glad to be here
do something
look at that little boy
on the baseball diamond
running circles around second base
today is his birthday
look at him
beat the wind
with his balloon.”

It used to take a few drinks before
we could cry and say I love you
we have always known how to curse
and bless the dead
but now we know how to talk in silence
as we walk into the sun
like the little boy's sneakers
we disappear in a cloud of dirt
and we go home
grown up
and full

This is definitely
for the brothers
who ain't here
who woulda said
I had to write a poem
about this get together
like a list of names
on a memorial
to celebrate
our own old-timers day
for those of us
who age in hood years
where one night
can equal the rest of your life
and surviving the trade off
was worth writing on the wall
and telling the world
that we were here forever

It's sort of like Harryette Mullen mated with Kerouac circa On The Road. Or something. The capture of time/place is undeniable here, and the vernacular is startling for those more frequently buttered up with the 'more proper' side o' things. It still reads as more slam-like than normal 'page poetry,' but is closer to Patricia Smith in its ability to straddle that particularly finicky line.

Dani