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Thursday, February 13, 2003
Green eggs and war...
Thanks to reader Chris, we see that the Wall Street Journal has gone into the iambic pentameter business.
Last month we noted that the White House had canceled a poetry event Laura Bush planned for today because a group of "antiwar," anti-American, anti-Semitic and pro-Saddam poets, declaring today "A Day of Poetry Against the War," had announced their intention to hijack the event in the name of their infantile politics. (Roger Kimball in The Wall Street Journal and J. Bottum in The Weekly Standard both subsequently wrote excellent commentaries on the subject.) These poets have a Web site, PoetsAgainsttheWar.com, featuring such lovely sentiments as " 'God Bless America' would be blasphemy / if there were a god concerned with humanity" and "Jews who learned their comportment from storm-troopers / act out the nightmares that woke their grandmothers."
Well, two can play at this game. We declared today "A Day of Poetry for the War" and asked our readers to submit pro-American, pro-freedom, anti-Saddam, anti-idiotarian poems. And we got one heck of a response: more than 300 e-mails--some from published poets, most from amateurs. Some were very good, some were very bad, most were in between, and some were so bad they were good. Some made us laugh, and some made us sad; what follows are the ones we liked best. Thanks to all who responded.
Are you ready for some poetry? Keep in mind, these are the best of the lot:
I was born in Middle East
I left to escape terror
My family came to America
To make our lives better
Mom and Dad worked
I got an education
Joined the Army
to show my appreciation
Now the region suffers
Worse than when we lived there
An evil man is charge
The horror's too much to bear
Let's go free the people
Who live in those lands
We're their other hope
In Iraq and Iran
Put down your signs
Come join our team
You have been lied to
War is not what it seems
I know you want peace
But your ideals are misguided
The world is not safe
Your views are one-sided
Let me go fight
Let me go win
Let my people be free
Now tell me: Are you in?
Holy Maya Angelou! When can we start the bombing? But wait...there's more:
The night fell fast, I found myself alone,
A D.C. summer storm was blowing in,
I stood at the tomb, these soldiers unknown,
and knelt and prayed for the rain to begin.
Not for the monuments nor any money,
nor pomp, circumstance, nor the pedant's pride,
the politician's smile, nor lawyer's fee,
for these present treasures, none of them died.
I ran to Jefferson to read the wall,
to make sure that God was still written there,
then to Washington, and across the Mall,
where Lincoln invoked his immortal prayer.
Winded and ragged, lightning everywhere,
I slowed to a walk, pondered what would be,
if God's great Enlightenment weren't there,
we could still be brave but never be free.
I found comfort in the Mall's mud and rain,
without mines nor cannons nor raining shells,
so free from fear, iniquity, and pain,
because thousands had endured a thousand hells.
And I found myself back before the tomb,
humbled by the humbled, with naught for name,
shivering, though they had the colder room,
sans light, nor sound, nor tomorrow, nor fame.
I thought for a moment, what it could be,
the center and circumference of their dreaming,
it must have been the prophet's poetry,
that granted their souls eternal meaning.
So judges and congressmen, please don't forget,
the reason these patriots picked up swords,
not for perks nor power were their deaths met,
but for honor and duty--for mere words.
So do take pause before telling a lie,
for there's one more thing I saw on that night,
as the wind and the rain began to die,
I walked away, turned, and beheld a light.
Will 'o' wisp, reddish light, sailor's delight,
It hovered there--just above the tomb's stone,
As fading thunder whispered to the night,
"Freedom's the name of all soldiers unknown."
There's more, but I'm all choked up...or choking...or something. As ee cummings once wrote:
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death
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