The Low Road by Marge Piercy
It goes one at a time.
It starts when you care to act.
It starts when you do it again
after they say no.
It starts when you say we
and know who you mean;
and each day you mean
Ode to the chair
Pablo Neruda (from Odes to Common Things)
A chair in the jungle:
under the severe lianas
a sacred tree trunk creaks,
tangles of vines press high,
in the shadows
bloody beasts cry out,
majestic leaves descend from the green sky,
the rattles of snakes
quiver like bells.
A bird spanned the sprawling greenness,
like an arrow shot through a flag,
and branches hoisted high their violins.
pray in stillness,
seated on their wild bouquets.
Feet sink into
the black sargasso
of the watery jungle,
into the rainforest’s tumbled clouds.
I only request one thing
for the stranger,
for the desperate
a chair in the tree of chairs,
disheveled and plush,
the velvet of a deep easy chair,
eaten away by creepers.
loving the universe,
for the walkabout man,
Behind thirsty tigers,
bands of bloodthirsty flies,
behind the black expanse
of ghost-ridden leaves,
behind the low waters,
the thicket like iron,
in the middle
of the thunder,
a chair not
only for the weary body’s
but also for everything,
and for everybody,
to renew lost strength,
and for meditation.
War is wide like the light-starved jungle.
BED PEACE ☮ ☮ ☮
Directed by Yoko Ono & John Lennon
Starring John Lennon & Yoko Ono
Copyright © 1969 Yoko Ono Lennon.
“Song of the Law-Abiding Citizen” by June Jordan
Ezra Pound’s Proposition
by Robert Hass
from Vol. 36 No. 5
is the fertility of the earth and the fertility
Of the earth is economics. Though he is no recommendation
For poets on the subject of finance,
I thought of him in the thick heat
Of the Bangkok night. Not more than fourteen, she saunters up to you
Outside the Shangri-la Hotel
And says, in plausible English,
“How about a party, big guy?”
Here is more or less how it works:
The World Bank arranges the credit and the dam
Floods three hundred villages, and the villagers find their way
To the city where their daughters melt into the teeming streets,
And the dam’s great turbine, beautifully tooled
In Lund or Dresden or Detriot, financed
by Lazard Freres in Paris or the Morgan Bank in New York,
enabled by judicious gifts from Bechtel of San Fransisco
or Halliburton in Houston to the local political elite,
Spun by the force of rushing water,
Have become hives of shimmering silver
And, down river, they throw that bluish throb of light
Across her cheekbones and her lovely skin.”