Fear of Violence

Two articles are being referred to:

'Culture and war' (2001) by Hatto Fischer and 'Poetry and Violence' by Brendan Kennelly. The latter can be found at following webpage:

http://poieinkaiprattein.org/poetry/brendan-kennelly/poetry-and-violence/

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Nails

Brendan Kennelly

The black van exploded

Fifty yards from the hotel entrance.

Two men, one black-haired, the other red,

Had parked it there as though for a few moments

While they walked around the corner

Not noticing, it seemed, the children

In single file behind their perky leader,

And certainly not seeing the van

Explode into the children’s bodies.

Nails, nine inches long, lodged

In chest, ankle, thigh, buttock, shoulder, face.

The quickly gathered crowd was outraged and shocked.

Some children were whole, others bits and pieces.

These blasted cruxifixions are commonplace.

taken from his Cromwell Poems

with the permission of the author

**********************************************************

Paura – Fear by Giulio Stocchi

Paura

Nelle vostre tane

dove state rinchiusi a fare dei conti

avete paura

sui vostri letti malati

con abbracci a pagamento

avete paura

nelle vostre chiese

dove mischiate i canti alle cambiali

avete paura

nelle vostre strade

che percorrete con automobili

avete paura

dentro i vostri palazzi

con luci di spine

avete paura

al tavolo di ristoranti

dove masticate carni maltolte

avete paura

paura è il vostro vestito

paura è il vostro paese

paura è la vostra compagna

Tutto in voi è paura

paura

Voi camminate

e avete paura

vi annodate la cravatta

e avete paura

suonano alla porta

e avete paura

vi riconoscete nei vostri giornali

e avete paura

gridate di vittoria

e avete paura

chiamate il cameriere

e avete paura

Tutto in voi è paura

paura

Avete bisogno di pastiglie

per dormire

perché avete paura

avete bisogno di guanti

per scrivere

perché avete paura

avete bisogno di dottori

per vivere

perché avete paura

Voi avete paura

Mangiate paura

Sudate paura

Comperate paura

Tutto in voi è paura

paura

Possedete l’oro del mondo

Possedete le strade del mondo

Possedete gli schiavi del mondo

Ma avete paura

E voi uccidete

siete potenti

basta un vostro gesto

perché volino gli aerei

ed esplodano i villaggi

ma avete paura

avete grattacieli

in cui vi siete rinchiusi

ma avete paura

macchine che calcolano

ma avete paura

bottoni da schiacciare

ma avete paura

silenzi ovattati

ma avete paura

stanze di ordigni

ma avete paura

armi di guerra

e parole di pace

e un dio fatto a vostra immagine

e somiglianza

ma avete paura

La vostra distruzione

è paura

La vostra pace

è paura

Le vostre donne

sono paura

I vostri figli

sono paura

Tutto in voi è paura

paura

E scatenate guerre

ma non si uccide il pensiero

Corrompete i capi

ma non si soffoca il mare

Comperate sui mercati del presente

ma sono fuggiti gli uccelli

Parlate nelle piazze

e neppure il vento vi ascolta

Siete soli

e avete paura

Scricchiolano le vostre belle impalcature

voi avete paura

le vostre belle leggende

voi avete paura

le vostre favole di carità

voi avete paura

le vostre cerimonie

voi avete paura

le vostre scuole

voi avete paura

Tutto in voi è paura

paura

E crolleranno le vostre cattedrali

dove ci insegnaste a pregare

perché tutto restasse com’è

Crolleranno le vostre città

dove ci trascinammo in cerca di immondizie

Crolleranno le vostre prigioni

dove soffocaste i migliori di noi

Voi parlate

e noi vi guardiamo

Voi vi muovete

e noi vi guardiamo

Voi minacciate

e noi vi guardiamo

E le nostre mani si armano

non avete scampo

Le nostre bandiere vi accecano

non avete scampo

Il nostro esercito si è mosso

non avete scampo

I vostri aerei precipitano

non avete scampo

I vostri soldati mordono la terra

non avete scampo

Le vostre fabbriche si fermano

non avete scampo

I vostri figli vi odiano

non avete scampo

E non esisteranno mattoni

perché vi possiate costruire una casa

Non esisteranno strade

perché possiate fuggire

Non esisteranno parole

perché vi possiate difendere

E voi avete paura

Tutto in voi è paura

paura

Guilio Stocchi

Fear

In your wretched holes

where you're barracaded counting your accounts

you're fearful

on your sick bed

paying for comforting embraces

you're fearful

in your churches

where you mix chants with checks

you're fearful

on your streets

in your cars

you're fearful

in your house

with thorned lights

you're fearful

in the restorant at your table

eating ill-gotten meat

you're fearful

fear is your suit

fear is your nation

fear is your fellow

All in you is fear

fear

Going for a walk

and you're fearful

fixing your tie

and you're fearful

the door bell rings

and you're fearful

you see yourself in your newspapers

and you're fearful

you scream victory

and you're fearful

you call your maid

and you're fearful

All in you is fear

fear

You need pills

to sleep

because of fear

you need gloves

to write

because of fear

you need doctors

to live

because of fear

you are fearful

You eat fear

Sweat fear

Buy fear

All in you is fear

fear

You own the gold of the world

You own the streets of the world

You own the slaves of the world

But you are fearful

And you kill

your powerful

a simple jest is all thats needed

so that airplanes fly

and villages explode

but you're fearful

you have skyscrappers

to hide in

but you're fearful

calculators and computers

but you're fearful

buttons to press

but you're fearful

wadded silences

but you're fearful

booby-trapped rooms

but you're fearful

arms for war

and words of peace

and a god made to your image

and your likeness

but you're fearful

Your distruction

is fear

Your peace

is fear

Your women

are fear

Your children

are fear

All in you is fear

fear

You strike up wars

but you can't kill thoughts

You bribe the leaders

but you can't soffocate the sea

You buy in the present market places

but the birds have already fled

You speak in the plazas

but not even the wind will listen

You are alone

and you are fearful

Your new scaffolding creaks

you're fearful

with your pretty legends

you're fearful

with your stories of charity

you're fearful

with your gala ceremonies

you're fearful

with your private schools

you're fearful

All in you is fear

fear

Your cathedrals will fall

where you taught us to pray

so that all will remain as is

Your cities will fall

where we dragged ourselves in search of garbage

Your prisons will fall

where you soffocated the bests of us

You speak

and we watch you

You move

and we watch you

You threaten

and we watch you

Our hands take-up weapons

there's no place to hide

Our flags blind you

there's no place to hide

Our army has begun to move

there's no place to hide

Your planes are crashing

there's no place to hide

Your soldiers eat the dust

there's no place to hide

Your industries are blocked

there's no place to hide

Your children hate you

there's no place to hide

There will be no brick left

so that you can build a house

There will be no street left

so that you can escape

There will be no word left

so that you can defend yourself

And you are fearful

All in you is fear

fear

Giulio Stocchi

*************************************************************

Goma – our unborn ‘selfs’

Hatto Fischer

The river is high and low,

Deep shadows mark its shores

Thrown by birch trees

Bent over

Like a woman

When washing herself

Alone in the world,

Just birds that seem to whisper

And ruffles of leaves

Playing in the orchestra of nature.

I want to come close to her, touch her,

But screened are my eyes,

Cannot see her body completely

In that beautiful light shining upon nakedness,

Such dry lips that I have,

Want to go down to the river

And wet them, ask the river

What should I do, what shall I ask her

But instead a voice

Tells me:

It is too close to reach out,

For do not forget

Those bends of life

In unsettled souls

Drifting in the winds

Must first learn to console

Those desires within.

From hence we go in search of our self’s,

Hidden, like unborn children

Waiting for the turn

When time has come to return

To the river

Of day and night

In the hope that love

Is not dried up

Like a stone beaten up

By the sun

And naked feet crossing the river

Leave their mark

Of those thirsty refugees

Seeking first water,

Then sleep, then something to eat,

While all along

We still pretend to go on

To our destiny,

The winds guiding us

And mothers holding our hands

While fathers look on,

Not knowing what to expect

At this hour

When rain will not come

And forthwith the earth

Just cracks, cracks

Underneath our feet

As we run away to where

We do not belong.

Hungry is the child, in search of the breast

As first gift of a loving mother,

But what is helplessness in light of fear,

When plights of starvation circle around the eyes

Like the flies of Goma.

Closed borders of Zaire,

Closed eyes of all

The Hutas who had no notions

Of the violence of war

Until then, now that it is too late

To go forward or back.

Strangled the air

And kept back helping hands.

Gone are the visions of her beauty,

Gone the dream of love.

Survival is what matters all along

Even if it does not count

In a world of pitiless murderers

Gone mundane, gone lame

all claiming to be deaf and blind.

Backwards go the smells from purgatory,

Hisses and fumes, something like a kettle

Begins to dance wildly on the stove

And no one there to see the overflow of energy

Like captivated spirits being released from the bottle

Thrown carelessly away in some forest

To burst thereafter out in flames

To take with them animals, trees and houses.

People run. People spread. People, people

What are you doing with the dead?

Bury them, but who sings them a prayer?

Or a song of love? What is a nourishing gift of life

Thrown in the grave along with the flowers

If not something that stays alive in memory?

How not to become the forgotten people of the people

All struggling for life to circumvent death?

Nurtured hopes die like the winds -

Everyone settles down exhausted -

These left over bodies tired from the heat

And lack of water. What more?

Filth, angry voices are shouting: move on,

And only eyes blink back twice in reply.

Trucks come, soldiers, healthier than all

Pass by, laugh, to show off their teeth

White as ever when the moon light

Strikes softly the rippled water of the river.

Now these soldiers are the ones

Who want to be the masters of the people,

To show them the way but not out of misery,

Provided they are prepared

To shine their shoes, to bring them food

And to learn to accept their art

Of doing nothing for nothing.

Indeed payments have to be made first in dollars

and then yens, later in kind.

It demand sacrifices by the daughters,

After all a soldier is a man,

He cannot go alone to bed

If he is to stay healthy and alive

Between two full moons, a cycle of time

As measure when his desires have to be fulfilled.

Than then is life: crying out there

Silent screams left inside, in the bed

By the girl who has her fears, but no one

Would listen, thus rough were his hands

Even harder the knees against her belly.

She wished that she was far away,

But her evasiveness aroused his desire

For he took it to be an erotic or cunning dance

And so with all the power he had, he grabbed her,

Raped life out of her until midnight came

when he was finally exhausted after such wild games.

He chased her out of the bedroom

And never took the time to enjoy her nakedness

As I did when I saw her first down at the river,

Washing herself with my eyes screened

By branches and my own desires.

Only then her tears made me aware

That I was unable to see her completely

As she was then, before or was it after the event

When her screams pierced through the night

To reflect upon his cold embrace that came upon her

Like electric light jolts causing such pain

Sending messages through her body having gone astray

In the winds of her forgotten dreams.

She was no longer there when I finally

Did come down to the river, deep and wide.

I was alone with my desires

In a world out of touch, unreachable,

For always horror pushes me back,

Further inside, closer to that hidden

Unborn self I was like an unwritten poem

Banging at the door of the self

Demanding to open up, but frightened as I was

I gave no answers, no signs

That I was still alive, breathing,

Hiding in that deepest corner of my life

There where no sun ever reaches

And shadows blend in with darkness

To make day and night an inner world

Like Goma close by and yet far away from any river.

(taken from “In Search of the Poetry House. Book Six: Poetry and Violence”)

************************************************************

The Worst Crime

by Sonja A. Skarstedt

I see neglected limbs
in stationary trees;
corpses whose eyes protrude
in silenced shock,
whose withered feet
shall waltz no more
than the barren breeze permits.

The first glance insures
the shameless slumps
of those who’ve paid
society’s debt.

Well?
Did they murder?
Did they steal?
Lie... or cheat?
What, then?
(for surely these dead were guilty
of some horrible crime)

The Worst, you say?
Oh.
They were Jews.

(one of four poems written in response to Stan Asher’s course on The Holocaust, at John Abbott College, 1978-79; published in Octagon, 1981)

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