This splendid poem was written in the fall of 2001 (and revised shortly thereafter). It has proved to be, sadly, prophetic. (Some of the indentations did not come through; you may also view the poem here: Download file)
In Memory of Randolph Bourne
I
When I read, “War is the health of the State,”
I did not realize he had summarized our history.
This morning his bent body hovers still
His crisp mind the wing of his wound.
Beyond the sunlight that his candor casts
The insatiable the over-confident rise ranting.
Now nothing left but war--peace’s chance past—
“War no more” buried by the traumatic moment.
The chilly State chokes the reveries of infants,
A shocked system bans their nascent dreams.
II
Unaware my grandson pronounces his sweet
Intention to be a scientist and study dinosaurs.
Samuel, new dinosaurs await you.
They rumble in the bushes as you rest,
They clog the alleys with political deceit,
Bloated by the helium of arrogance.
These Goths in suits abound graceless
Prowling the Disneyland of tampered truth.
III
How shall we bear those born-again to terror
And revenge, borne as we are by Bourne’s
Dark curse upon our brooding landscape?
I am unsafe.
My dozing shelter vibrates like the Earth’s dense plates:
I watch the illitocracy of Power commence fresh graves.
Copyright 2002 by Maurice Leiter
11/30-12/02, 12/17, 12/22-12/25/01, 1/1, 1/10-12/02
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