Through the night, coated in frost,
the woods around my town wait for the light of dawn.
Like closed leaves, the monarch butterflies
cover the trunk and branches of the trees.
Superimposed, one upon the other, like a single organism.
poetry
Interview with Homero Aridjis
Homero Aridjis is the author of more than 40 books of poetry and prose and is one of Latin America’s leading environmental activists. In this interview, he discusses his involvement in environmental issues and his public life as a poet.
To the Valley in the Morning with Blood and Guts and Fear
When there’s war all the time, there’s no such thing as
after the war anymore, no victory over our enemies day,
no victory worth selling tickets for day, just
days to celebrate that we’re still the killers and not
the killed.
Where
The message comes through aol.com, finds me off
balance in a small school in Jersey, snow
puffing down, no newspaper in sight.
Hi love, the message reads, thinking of you
in London, heart in Gaza.
Unsigned, I know the e-mail address like my own
name, reply too quickly, no words in the text, then
correct my mistake, love, I write, yes
heart in Gaza. I don’t know
what else to say.
A Brief History of the Number Two
A poem for the mother of a young man killed by a bomb at Hebrew University in 2002.
A Hakka Man Farms Rare Earth in South China
First of all, it’s not earth nor it’s rare, as they say
It lies under our feet, sparkling the soil we farm
Red, green, yellow, blue, purple, sky of grass
And buffalos, patches of rice, bamboos, sweet yams
Poets Stand Up
In Paris, poets staged a flash mob outside the Louvre Museum. In North Carolina, they sent poems to their state legislators, calling on them to restore arts education funding to the decimated state budget. In Vancouver, BC, poets cleaned up a beach before their reading. There was a reading in solidarity with the people of Tibet in Pasadena, California, events throughout Mexico City demanding an end to violence, and “an exorcism of fear and helplessness” in Norman, Oklahoma. Poets gathered in Fez, Morocco, and Jalalabad, Afghanistan and Sharjah, United Arab Emirates.
Vendetta, May 2006
I have held
my rage on a short
leash like a good,
mad dog whose bright
teeth could keep
the faces of our enemies
well lit.
Lines on Global Warming
Hopeless as swatting lies out of the White House
or trying to put out an oil field fire with a cup of water
is this war against the grasshoppers, who,
when I walk through weeds or rattle
the leaves on a pepper plant, leap
by the thousands to remind me
that power isn’t always held by Goliaths
but by the numerous and persistent.
Two Poems on Gaza
Was it pomegranates we used to eat?
I cant quite remember
it was before all the bombs
fell everywhere even on that church
in the backyard of grandma’s house,
when grandma did not believe in Jesus
and pushed her little sister
off of the window sill,
then her mother got pregnant again.