poets gather

leslie hoffman

2008

 

Poets gather

sanctuary seekers

among like minds -

comrades in passion.

 

Inspiration:

William Henley's Invictus

A baby's squeal

The Dalai Lama's laughter

Pablo Neruda

Martin Espada's Chile

Cesar Chavez

Steinbeck's migrants

Kerouac's trip

Hemingway's sea

Whale's song

Dr. King's dream

Richard Rodrigues' essays

Maya Angelou's Still I Rise

 

Language

not action, rather

prelusive to engagement.

O Me! O Life!

by Walt Whitman

 

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;

Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;

Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

 

Answer.

 

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;

That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

The Republic of Poetry

                    For Chile

by Martin Espada

 

In the republic of poetry,

a train full of poets

rolls south in the rain

as plum trees rock

and horses kick the air,

and village bands

parade down the aisle

with trumpets, with bowler hats,

followed by the president

of the republic,

shaking every hand.

 

In the republic of poetry,

monks print verses about the night

on boxes of monastery chocolate,

kitchens in restaurants

use odes for recipes

from eel to artichoke,

and poets eat for free.

 

In the republic of poetry,

poets read to the baboons

at the zoo, and all the primates,

poets and baboons alike, scream for joy.

 

In the republic of poetry,

poets rent a helicopter

to bombard the national palace

with poems on bookmarks,

and everyone in the courtyard

rushes to grab a poem

fluttering from the sky,

blinded by weeping.

 

In the republic of poetry,

the guard at the airport

will not allow you to leave the country

until you declaim a poem for her

and she says Ah! Beautiful.