Red Letter Poem #189

 The Red Letters

 

 

In ancient Rome, feast days were indicated on the calendar by red letters.

To my mind, all poetry and art serves as a reminder that every day we wake together beneath the sun is a red-letter day.

 

––Steven Ratiner

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red Letter Poem #189

 

 

 

 

Margin: Heroes 

 

 

Not Wonder Woman, Bat-whoever

 

iron-on emblems, masquerade masks,

capes flapping their chests like loose shutters—

 

but others

 

who yank alarms, bolt into fire, strip off fear’s

top layer of skin and dive from cliffs,

swim to the call, mount the sinking raft,

fuel their pacifist hearts with gasoline and strike a match,

scramble from teargas, lock arms before tanks,

shout, write, paint, sit, go limp

 

 

                              ––Denise Bergman

 

I am writing this on the first day of the new year; perhaps it’s in lieu of a more traditional resolution.  In recent days, I’ve found myself saying similar things over and over in notes to friends (and to more than a few Red Letter readers who’ve sent me e-mails in response to my last installment) anticipating this ordinary but somehow momentous milestone.  We are not unmindful of the choices we’re facing, and the magnitude of their consequence.  We leave 2023 saddened, exhausted, more than a little terrified by some of the possibilities on the rise.  But we are also searching for any shred of optimism that will help us marshal our energies.  Zora Neale Hurston wrote: “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”  2024 may turn out to be both.   Reports about climate catastrophe have become something of the norm––whole communities undermined or even obliterated––and yet many governments still refuse to address this as a priority.  Authoritarianism seems to have spread around the planet like a new contagion.  And here, in a country that likes to think of itself as a ‘beacon for the world’, we’ve been flirting with a complete undermining of the Constitutional order, not to mention the social compact that has, for two-and-a-half centuries, bound our fates together.  It’s clear that a large segment of the American electorate is toying with the idea of selecting a fundamentally undemocratic individual to lead us––as if what democracy needed now was an Arsonist in Chief.  Will the American experiment burn like Rome, like the many great empires that vanished before us?

 

So, to counter these dark thoughts, I decided to bring you something of a change––in tone, if not in subject matter.  This new poem from Denise Bergman begins playfully but, even with its light touch, becomes something of a summons to our better selves.  In a sequence of poems called “Margin”, she casts her attention on a variety of lives that are too often marginalized in society today, offering them their well-deserved moment in the spotlight.  Here, in the litany of that final stanza, we recognize a host of actions that defy our mounting fears.  First responders, fiery activists, street protestors who try to bring the doom-machine to a screeching halt (even if that places their own welfare at risk.)  Anything but surrender to the reactionary forces that seem to prefer chaos, division, even destruction rather than dialog or compromise.  What’s called for in dire times are heroes; are you, am I the one we’ve been waiting for?   Denise has authored five poetry collections, the most recent being The Shape of the Keyhole (from Black Lawrence Press.)   One of her poetic approaches is to explore a single historical figure or situation so that we may better imagine the reality of that experience.  Keyhole centers on one week in1650 when her protagonist, an accused witch, is awaiting execution.  Sometimes even a clear-eyed perception can be a heroic act––especially if the verse is able to unshackle the heart.

 

Denise’s poem made me think of the final scene from the movie Jojo Rabbit––do you remember it?  In Taika Waititi’s surreal drama, a ten-year-old boy has been forced to serve in the Hitler Youth while all around him, it’s clear, the war is grinding to a close.  He’s like any child, trying to do what the world expects of him.  But, at the very same time, he’s been hiding a young Jewish girl in the attic of his house.  When Allied forces finally subdue the Nazis, and the two young people reemerge into the rubbled streets of their town, they are greeted (anachronistically, but joyfully) by David Bowie’s song Heroes on the soundtrack.  And they dance amid the destruction, determined to find joy in a world where such things have, for years, been banished.  “We can be heroes, just for one day. . .”.  Perhaps that is where we start: we rescue one moment from the encompassing darkness, choose one situation––close at hand or across the planet–– for which we can offer some relief.  Capes and spandex are, of course, optional.

 

 

 

 

Red Letters 3.0

 

* If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to:

steven.arlingtonlaureate@gmail.com

 

 

* To learn more about the origins of the Red Letter Project, check out an essay I wrote for Arrowsmith Magazine:

https://www.arrowsmithpress.com/community-of-voices

 

and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene

http://dougholder.blogspot.com

 

* For updates and announcements about Red Letter projects and poetry readings, please follow me on Twitter          

@StevenRatiner