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View Diary: The Baboons (32 comments)

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  •  I haven't had time to digest your piece on E.C. (2+ / 0-)
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    RiveroftheWest, WB Reeves

    but A Song for Victor Jara is so brutal and tender at the same time. The details of his death are heart-rending but you finish with his smile. I feel his confidence and hear him singing Venceremos to the gunners.

    The very last line: "Give us a rumor of war." is uncertain and a little disturbing. Good. What happened to Victor Jara should leave us unsettled. The struggle is never truly over.
    My own words about the baboon inside each of us could just as well have been about the gunner inside us.

    The multiple repeats of the title line are very effective.
    It works on the reader like a church litany, especially since you have added "Give us" to the line, making it almost prayerful.

    Thank you for giving us a song for Victor Jara!

    I started with nothing and still have most of it left. - Seasick Steve

    by ruleoflaw on Sat Aug 31, 2013 at 08:21:12 AM PDT

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    •  Thank you for the kind words (1+ / 0-)
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      That a poem sounds a responsive chord in the reader/listener is the praise/reward above all others.

      Poppa Passes is a far more complex and some ways, more personal statement, as it is a celebration and a consolation occasioned by the death of Allen Ginsberg whose work I discovered when I was in 8th grade. It is in the way of being some small recompense for the rich gift his work was to my life and writing.

      If it's not too presumptuous, I'd like to share what I consider the second true poem that I ever wrote.


      The Tsar is in your eyes;
      limpid hand inside the heavy glove.
      Absurd figure,
      rattling about the Winter Palace.

      All your days kneel down to him,
      taxing each grain and sheaf.
      His eagle beak has left its mark
      on every part of you.

      In Siberian night you listen for his boot steps,
      as your neighbor leads him to your door.
      Dead man with fatherly beard,
      he eats at your heart.

      Smiler at the camp gate.
      Soap maker by the shower door.
      Skipping through flickering villages,
      the Holy Father is with you.

      Towers of glass will not bar him.
      The city subways will not bury him.
      You are Trotsky facing the iceman.
      A Slavic Jew beyond the pale.

      W.B. Reeves


      Nothing human is alien to me.

      by WB Reeves on Sat Aug 31, 2013 at 12:23:31 PM PDT

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    •  PS. Vis a vis what's inside us all (1+ / 0-)
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      I don't know what your taste in music is but if you haven't heard/seen this you might be interested.

      Nothing human is alien to me.

      by WB Reeves on Sat Aug 31, 2013 at 01:00:57 PM PDT

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