Poems in a Time of War
Poetry can seem—even when things are going pretty ok—extra. Superfluous. Unnecessary.
Even to me, a poet.
When things are collapsing, when war rises again and again, poetry can seem even more irrelevant. I said to a friend today that I didn’t know what I could possibly say about poetry right now. And she said that she was reading poetry more than ever. We agreed that poems remind us of how we’re human, in a moment when it feels more appealing to be a rock or any unfeeling thing. Poems can crack that tight shell we hold onto to get through the day, but which we do need to crack sometimes, so that we can remember our humanity, and the humanity of others. Without it, we’re far more likely to do far worse atrocities to each other.
For many years, I’ve found solace in Stephen Dobyns’s poem “In a Row.” Not because the poem forgives me, absolves me, but because it names my complicity, as a citizen in a nation funding war. There’s relief in telling the truth.
In a Row by Stephen Dobyns The mailman handing me a letter, he paid a little. My daughter’s third grade teacher, the electrician putting a light over my back door: they paid as well. The woman at the bank who cashes my check. She paid a part of it. The typist in my office, the janitor sweeping the floor—they paid some too. The movie star paid for it. The nurse, the nun, the saint, they all paid for it— a photograph from Central America, six children lying neatly in a row. One day I was teaching or I sold a book review or I gave a lecture and some of the money came to me and some rolled off into the world, but it was still my money, the result of my labor, each coin still had my name printed across it, and I went on living, passing my days in a box with a tight lid. But elsewhere, skulking through tall grass, a dozen men approached a village. It was hot; the men made no noise. See that one’s cap, see the button on that other man’s shirt, hear the click of the cartridge as it slides into its chamber, see the handkerchief which that man uses to wipe his brow— I paid for that one, that one belongs to me.
A few other poems that have allowed me to feel my feels about war include “The Colonel” by Carolyn Forché, “We Lived Happily During the War” by Ilya Kaminsky, and “Facing It” by Yusef Komunyakaa.
2. Rose
Rose petals and chamomile are good herbal friends to have, speaking of soothing hearts. They’re gentle, mild, and soothing. They can be added to herbal teas or other preparations, and they’re often used for beauty or skin preparations.
Someone I know recently had a yeast infection, which reminded me of this favorite combo of mine—chamomile and rose. Gentle enough to use on skin that’s already very irritated, it promotes healing without hurting. Chamomile has antibacterial properties that help take care of the infection, while both the chamomile and rose help repair the skin.
To prepare: steep 1/2 cup dried rose petals and 1/2 cup chamomile (you can use tea bags if need be) in 2 cups boiling hot water for ten minutes. Strain out the herbs and add the infusion to a dish that’s wide enough to sit in. Add some warm water so there will be enough liquid to come up to your hips when you sit in the dish. (You can simply use a bathtub if you need to, but you may need more infusion since you’ll have a lot more water.) Make sure the water isn’t too hot! Then undress, and gently sit into the warm water (it should be quite warm but not so hot it will hurt). Stay for as long as desired. Repeat a few times, the infection usually clears up quickly with this.
3. Upcoming
My chapbook I Will Write a Love Poem is available for pre-orders (they’ll be out December 4). And I’ll be joining several other poets to do a reading at Antidote Books in Brattleboro, VT on November 4 at 7 pm. If you’re in the area, please join us!