Last week, aravir asked me if I would like to contribute a political poem to a diary in memory of CJ Campbell, better known in these parts as ulookarmless. I knew when I agreed to do it that I would have to stretch my writing muscles a bit.
While almost all of my poems have some political content, I rarely write polemics. I generally make my political points subtly; sometimes they are so subtle, they qualify as subtext. If the goal is to write an effective political message that is also a good poem, you have to steer your thoughts over two separate paths that don't run parallel. I have to proceed from emotional truth and I don't want the piece to sound like a list of talking points, so the dual path is especially hard for me to follow.
Anyway, I came up with Rented Blood and turned it over to aravir without publishing it first, so that it would get it's first reading in CJ's tribute. (You will find it reprinted below the fold.) I did not know the man, but I have read his stuff and he had a strong voice and a real gift for polemical poetry. I offer this short elegy as a tribute to him.
Lament for CJ Campbell
In Autumn's burnt afternoon,
we walk out to a pyre for CJ Campbell.
built from our combined thoughts.
We pile bundles of fuel,
split from our hearts.
On each stick of oak is carved a word of praise.
In smoke and blowing ash,
we commit him to the universe
of all that is felt and thought and spoken.
Streak the soot of him upon your neck and breast.
He is returned to the dust and the fire and the sea.
The scent of him is in your hair.
We mourn and remember.
We stir his ashes into the clay and the water.
Go then, wash the soil from your hands
and live as you ought.
Rented Blood
Money.
The sacrifices on the altars of expedience
must be purchased and paid on time.
The rush and hustle is done
on borrowed money and rented blood.
Money.
We are burning down the house
one plank at a time.
We are pulling down shingles
and prying up floorboards
to feed the furnace.
Money.
What we throw down on the soil
that is our father
will come back to us.
Money.
The poison we pour out on the water
that is our mother
flows through us.
Money.
The air is not free.
Every breath has a price,
Every speck of dust comes home.
Money.
We need our carbon buzz,
because, just because,
because we need our carbon buzz.
Money.