poetry against war

I’ve already posted a small collection of “war” poetry. The thing is, there is really a lot of stuff written about the subject. Also, with S.A. Griffin on the move across the country, the idea of poetry vs. war is once again bubbling in my consciousness.

Quick run-down on the Poetry Bomb for those who haven’t heard. It’s a bomb. Filled with poems. And this guy who was once associated with the Beats is hauling it around. In a van. And pissing off postal workers. He’ll be making his way to North Carolina on May 20-23. He will also be in Chicago May 26 at the Chopin Theatre– fundraising event for the Outspoken festival. Read about his efforts. (photo credit: AP)

The idea that anyone is taking the time to take poetry “to the streets” makes me smile. Surely, poetry is not an art form that needs to sit alone and holy and unread. (see what Chicago’s CJ Laity has to say about this…) What is interesting to me is how many of these “for the people” poetry groups use images of violence to draw attention to themselves, even if they are inherently peaceful groups. Lethal Poetry raises money for non-profits. One of their events is called Words That Kill. Louder than a Bomb is a youth poetry festival. Outlaw Poetry is a webservice that hosts poetry related pages. The Poetry Bomb is (as far as I can tell) a project about coexisting and, dare I say it, harmony.

The first poem I’ve got for you today is a translation of Nâzım Hikmet’s poem The Dead Little Girl. Hikmet was a Turkish poet, playwright and novelist. His Communist sympathies caused trouble for him in his home country– he spent most of his adult life in prison and eventually exile (he is buried in Moscow). His works were very innovative and have been translated into some 50 languages. The following piece was so dearly loved by the West, that Pete Seeger used an alternate translation of the poem for a song. Joan Biaz also sang a rendition.

It is me knocking at your door
-at how many doors I’ve been
But no one can see me
since the dead are invisible.

I died at Hiroshima
That was ten years ago
I am a girl of seven
Dead children do not grow.

First my hair caught fire
Then my eyes burnt out
I became a handful of ashes
Blown away by the wind.

I don’t wish anything for myself
for a child who is burnt to cinders
cannot even eat sweets.

I’m knocking at your doors
aunts and uncles, to get your signatures
so that never again children will burn
and so they can eat sweets.

An alternate translation (for the Pete Seeger song)
Listen in Turkish– sung by young girl

Carl Sandburg was a Pulitzer Prize winning American writer. He worked as a journalist, was active in the civil rights movement and wrote a lot of poetry. The following piece, Grass, might be considered an anti-war poem although it less of an anthem.

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo
Shovel them under and let me work–
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What is this place?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work.

Tags: anti-war, carl sandburg, nazim hikmet, poetry, poetry bomb, turkish, war