Here's my choice to commemorate the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, albeit three days too late. This is a crude, straightforward poem. You will find no metaphors here, this is the awful truth. This isn't a poem to enjoy, it is a poem to make you think.

With No Immediate Cause

every 3 minutes a woman is beaten
every five minutes a
woman is raped/every ten minutes
a little girl is molested
yet I rode the subway today
I sat next to an old man who
may have beaten his old wife
3 minutes ago or 3 days/30 years ago
he might have sodomized his daughter
but I sat there
cuz the men on the train
might beat some young women
later in the day or tomorrow
I might not shut my door fast
enough push hard enough
every 3 minutes it happens
some women’s innocence
rushes to her cheeks/pours from her mouth
like the betsy wetsy dolls have been torn
apart/their mouths
menses red split/every
three minutes a shoulder
is jammed through plaster and the oven door/
chairs push thru the rib cage/hot water or
boiling sperm decorate her body

I rode the subway today
and bought a paper from an east Indian man who might
have held his old lady onto
a hot pressing iron/ I didn’t know
maybe he catches little girls in the
parks and rips open their behinds
with steel rods/ I can not decide
what he might have done I
know every 3 minutes
every 5 minutes every 10 minutes
I boughtt the paper
looking for the announcement
there has to be an announcement
of the women’s bodies fond
yesterday the missing little girl
I sat in a restaurant with my
paper looking for the announcement
a young man served me coffee
I wondered did he pour the boiling
coffee on the woman because she was stupid
did he put the infant girl in
the coffee pot because she cried too much
what exactly did he do with hot coffee
I looked for the announcement
the discover of the dismembered
woman’s body
victims have not all been
identified today they are
naked and dead/some refuse to
testify girl out of 10 is not
coherent/ I took the coffee
and spit it up I found an
announcement/ not the woman’s
bloated body in the river floating
not the child bleeding in the
59th street corridor/ not the baby
broken on the floor/
“there is some concern
that alleged battered women
might start to murder their
husbands and lovers with no
immediate cause”
I spit up I vomit I am screaming
we all have immediate cause
every 3 minutes
every 5 minutes
every 10 minutes
every day
women’s bodies are found
in alleys and bedrooms/at the top of the stairs
before I ride the subway/buy a paper of drink
coffee from your hands I must know
have you hurt a woman today
did you beat a woman today
throw a child cross a room
are the little girl’s pants in your pocket
did you hurt a woman today
I have to ask these obscene questions
I must know you see
the authorities require us to
establish
immediate cause
every three minutes
every five minutes
every ten minutes
every day
-NTOZAKE SHANGE

I should have posted this poem last Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, as I wanted to post a poem to commemorate the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women on Friday. As it turned out, I ended up doing neither. So I'm doing it today and my intention is to post the other one tomorrow.  This poem is clearly an anti war poem but it can also mean more than that. For me it's also about how unfair life is and how fortunate or unfortunate we are just because we were born in a certain place on earth. Do you get the pun? Thanksgiving Letter from Harry
by Carl Dennis
I guess I have to begin by admitting I'm thankful today I don't reside in a country My country has chosen to liberate, That Bridgeport's my home, not Baghdad. Thankful my chances are good, when I leave For the Super Duper, that I'll be returning. And I'm thankful my TV set is still broken. No point in wasting energy feeling shame For the havoc inflicted on others in my name When I need all the strength I can muster To teach my eighth-grade class in the low-rent district. There, at least, I don't feel powerless. There my choices can make some difference. This month I'd like to believe I've widened My students' choice of vocation, though the odds My history lessons on working the land Will inspire any of them to farm Are almost as small as the odds One will become a monk or nun Trained in the Buddhist practice We studied last month in the unit on India. The point is to get them suspecting the world They know first hand isn't the only world. As for the calling of soldier, if it comes up in class, It's not because I feel obliged to include it, As you, as a writer, may feel obliged. A student may happen to introduce it, As a girl did yesterday when she read her essay About her older brother, Ramon, Listed as "missing in action" three years ago, And about her dad, who won't agree with her mom And the social worker on how small the odds are That Ramon's alive, a prisoner in the mountains. I didn't allow the discussion that followed More time than I allowed for the other essays. And I wouldn't take sides: not with the group That thought the father, having grieved enough, Ought to move on to the life still left him; Not with the group that was glad he hadn't made do With the next-to-nothing the world's provided, That instead he's invested his trust in a story That saves the world from shameful failure. Let me know of any recent attempts on your part To save our fellow-citizens from themselves. In the meantime, if you want to borrow Ramon For a narrative of your own, remember that any scene Where he appears under guard in a mountain village Should be confined to the realm of longing. There His captors may leave him when they move on. There his wounds may be healed, His health restored. A total recovery Except for a lingering fog of forgetfulness A father dreams he can burn away.

Friday's Poem #7

"In Flanders Fields" is probably the most popular poem written during World War I. John McCrae wrote it on 3 May 1915, after he witnessed the death of his friend, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, 22 years old, the day before.
The poppies referred to in the poem grew in profusion in Flanders in the disturbed earth of the battlefields and cemeteries where war casualties were buried and thus became a symbol of Remembrance Day .
There's a museum dedicated to this poem, you can visit their website.


In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
 

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

War Poetry

11/11/11

Poppy Day - Remembrance Day - is the day when the dead of two World Wars and other armed conflicts are remembered in the UK. The Armistice at the end of the First World War of 1914 - 1918 was signed on November 11th at precisely 11 am - the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. For this reason, Remembrance Day is on the 11th of November each year although church services and many parades are held on the Sunday nearest that date - in 2000 this will be on 12th November.
On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, an armistice, or temporary cessation of hostilities, was declared between the Allied nations and Germany in the First World War, then known as "the Great War." Commemorated as Armistice Day beginning the following year, November 11th became a legal federal holiday in the United States in 1938. In the aftermath of World War II and the Korean War, Armistice Day became Veterans Day, a holiday dedicated to American veterans of all wars.
Each year the UK as a nation expresses its unequivocal support for The Royal British Legion's charity work through the Poppy Appeal, emphasising the need to help all generations of the Armed Forces and their families.
Everyone wears a poppy on that day and the days before Remembrance Sunday. Everyone except England players on Saturday when they play against Spain. FIFA won't let them wear poppies on their official shirts as they claim Fifa's rules ban use of any 'political symbols' on shirts. This ban has incensed everybody from Arsenal midfielder Jack Wilshere to Prime Minister David Cameron in the last few days.
"This seems outrageous," Cameron said. "The idea that wearing a poppy to remember those who have given their lives for our freedom is a political act is absurd. Wearing a poppy is an act of huge respect and national pride. I hope that FIFA will reconsider.'

For more information on The Poppy Appeal go here

The Great War

Do you like comic books?

A Contract With God by Will Eisner

I've never been an avid comic reader but I have read and enjoyed some.
When I was growing up I used to enjoy reading comics like Asterix ,Tintin (well, the truth is I was never much of a Tintin fan) or Esther (my favourite when i was a kid), apart from the classics: Zipi y Zape, Mortadelo... Mafalda and Peanuts were more a collection of comic strips but I enjoyed them too.

Maus by Art Spiegelman

When I was a bit older a friend introduced me to  A Contract with God by Will Eisner and I discovered Graphic novels. There are plenty of those aimed at adult audiences to make it a true literary genre. Of those,  I highly recommend Maus by Art Spiegelman and Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi.
Any way, Why am I telling you all this? Because The Observer has been running a Graphic Short Story Prize for the past five years and all of them are available on line. So, whether you love comics or not they are all worth a try, even if it's only to do some interesting reading in English. Go ahead and check them out, and tell me what you think!

The best of The Cape/Observer/Comica graphic short story prize

The Observer/Cape Graphic Short Story Prize 2011

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi

 

Friday's Poem #6

I failed to post last Friday's poem, for which I apologize. It slipped my mind completely and when I realised it, it was already too late.
Today, I'm posting a really unconventional poem as it uses only six different words. For you, students of English as a foreign language, it is probably the easiest to understand, or, maybe not?

SIX WORDS by Lloyd Schwartz

yes 
no
maybe
sometimes
always
never

Never?
Yes.
Always?
No.
Sometimes?
Maybe—

maybe 
never
sometimes.
Yes—
no
always:

always
maybe.
No—
never
yes.
Sometimes,

sometimes
(always)
yes.
Maybe
never . . .
No, 

no—
sometimes.
Never.
Always?
Maybe.
Yes—

yes no
maybe sometimes
always never.

And now a video of the poet himself reading Six Words:

And to continue with the six words topic, a recommendation, the site www.sixwordmemoirs.com

Taking a cue from novelist Ernest Hemingway, who, according to literary legend, was once challenged to write a short story in only six words, Smith Magazine set out to do the same. They founded a project where everyone could write their life story in six words.The idea became so popular that they even printed a few of those stories in a series of books. The Six-Word Memoir format has also been used as a writing exercise for teachers  and even six-word videos have been posted to Youtube.

By the way, Hemingway's six-word story read: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
Do you think you can write your six-word story? if you do, please share it with us, write a comment!