Red Letter Poem #266

  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 #266

 

 

 

Prayer


With the swimmers, swim,

with the travelers, travel,

as they say in church.



With the one who was raped

and is expecting a child,

breathe, breathe, breathe.

With the child whose hair has gone grey,

prepare a backpack for school.



With the frostbitten, freeze,

with the shellshocked, vomit in the trench.

With the tank commander,

who's been missing since October,

be found, be pieced together

from scattered body parts.

Consecrated particles

as they say in church.



And also be

with the one who eats pot noodles with cold water;

with the one who was captured but will never talk;

with the one who was conceived

but never got born.

And be with the one

who never got to give birth.



And also be

with the two girls

somewhere in the Rivne region, do you remember?

We were driving to the east, in a convoy,

and they stood watching at the roadside,

and put their hands on their hearts.



And then I understood everything.

 

 

        ––Artur Dron’

 

(Translated from Ukrainian by

Yuliya Musakovska)

 

 

 

 

It would be funny––were not so stunningly awful: the prospect of two imperious old men pretending they are not subject to time’s sovereignty, despite all evidence to the contrary. These commanders-in-chief, representing two of the most powerful nations on Earth, are meeting in a hastily-convened summit, to decide between them the fate of Ukraine, Europe and (it’s not too much of an exaggeration to claim) the world. By the time you’re reading this, these two ‘leaders’––one, an absolute tyrant and the other a shambling acolyte––will be meeting in Alaska. Surrounded by the ceremonial trappings of statesmen, their conference will possess all the political nuance of Mafioso bosses dividing up territory. How can they even pretend to be discussing peace when the country who suffered the barbarous invasion in the first place is not party to the negotiations? As much as possible, I try to screen off my politics from the Red Letters, but my own humanity demands that I speak frankly. The President of my country––who declared on the campaign trail that he’d end the war in Ukraine on his “first day in office” (seven long months ago), will now make statements like: "There'll be some land swapping going on. . .Good stuff, not bad stuff. Also, some bad stuff, for both." Setting aside the power of Trump’s almost-Churchillian rhetoric, his breathtakingly simplistic mindset makes it sound as if he’s trading land parcels for a new shopping mall, rather than determining the future of a people who have fought and bled for three long years against the naked aggression of a colossal superpower. And only the truly naïve would think this President can possibly match wits with the ex-KGB master manipulator in what will play out like some absurdist drama. Try not to stare at the blood pooling beneath the scenery. Where is Samuel Beckett when you really need him?



Now, let’s compare the tone of the President’s language with that of a young poet-turned-soldier, who volunteered to take up arms in defense of his home and family. Artur Dron’ was a journalism major and event organizer for the Old Lion Publishing House when, after the Russian invasion, he joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine. He’d already published one poetry collection, Dormitory No. 6––and, after being sent home to recuperate from a shrapnel injury, he completed his second acclaimed book, We Were Here. It was issued last year by Jantar, an independent London-based publisher of European Literary Fiction and Poetry, and was released in the US in May. Sometime back, his translator, the noted poet Yuliya Musakovska, sent me the manuscript; I published one poem as Red Letter # 244, and I’m honored now to be able to offer this second. It’s immediately evident that someone who has seen, up close, the brutality of this war cannot help but speak with an altered gravity:



With the swimmers, swim,

with the travelers, travel,

as they say in church.



With the one who was raped

and is expecting a child,

breathe, breathe, breathe.



If human life still has any sanctity––and if human suffering still has the power to shame anyone with even a teaspoonful of decency––that’s what we experience right from the outset of this poem. That repetition of “breathe” takes on a variety of meanings: is it a doctor coaxing the mother during a difficult birth? Is it the soldier trying to remind himself not to fail in his duty as a witness? Or might it be the mantra of an entire civilian population, just trying to endure another day of wanton destruction? The poet vacillates between the objectivity of a journalist (that “child whose hair has gone grey,” preparing a backpack for school as if it were any ordinary day!) and the prayerful litany of the faithful:



And also be

with the one who eats pot noodles with cold water;

with the one who was captured but will never talk;

with the one who was conceived

but never got born.



And when, in the end, he spots the two girls beside the road, watching his convoy drive past, their simplest gesture––placing “their hands on their hearts”––cannot help but break ours. Artur has said of these poems that they “were written at the front, but they are not about the war. They are about people who love more than they fear.” I am wondering now which spokesperson better speaks for us.

 

 

 

 

 

The Red Letters

 

* 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 BlueSky

@stevenratiner.bsky.social

and on Twitter          

@StevenRatiner

 

And coming soon:

a new website to house all the Red Letter archives at StevenRatiner.com

Owned by Eoin Higgins.

 

Owned by Eoin Higgins. Bold Type Books, Hachette, New York, 2025.

By Ed Meek

Eoin Higgins writes about journalism and media. Higgins is a successful journalist who has written for the NYT, the Washington Post, Counterpunch and The Huffington Post. In Owned he delves into the rightward turn taken by the tech industry and billionaires like Elon Musk, Marc Andreessen and Peter Thiel. He focuses on two formerly liberal star journalists: Matt Taibbi and Glen Greenwald. Higgins details Musk’s acquisition of Twitter (now X) and the negative effects Musk has had on the platform. He explains how the libertarian world of Silicon Valley is apolitical as long as the tech bros are getting money and being left alone by the government. Higgins posits that they decided Trump would keep the money coming without requirements like DEI.

If you reacted with surprise at the turn to the right by high tech, corporate CEO’s and Elon Musk and wondered what happened to Matt Taibbi, who covered politics for Rolling Stone, and Glen Greenwald, who wrote in support of Wikileaks and Chelsea Manning, Higgins provides an explanation by digging into their transition to the right.

Higgin’s theory is it’s all about the money. Taibbi was able to leave Rolling Stone and build a higher paying audience on Substack. Greenwald found a platform on Fox and The Intercept. Musk took over Twitter, ostensibly to promote free speech, but he has instead pushed conspiracy theories like Tucker Carlson’s “great replacement theory” that claims Democrats are pro-immigration in order to import voters and undermine the culture and identity of America, (yet in the last election, Trump received almost half of the Latino vote). Musk also censors the left with the help of all the MAGAs who have joined X. Lately Musk has been calling for a new political party after attacking the Big Beautiful Bill as irresponsible for increasing the deficit and steering America toward financial collapse.

Many of us were puzzled by the rightward turn of Taibbi and Greenwald. Taibbi wrote scathing articles about the Trump campaign leading to 2016. Just before the election he insightfully realized that Trump could win after witnessing his cult like support at rallies. You may remember the NYT on the other hand predicted Hillary Clinton had a 90% chance of winning. Taibbi also wrote a series of articles about the 2008 crash arguing (over simplistically) that it was caused by corruption. Glen Greenwald was a brave voice supporting Chelsea Manning and Wikileaks and always willing to take positions outside mainstream media.

Higgins follows Taibbi’s investigation into Hunter Biden’s laptop (a favorite target of the MAGAS). The Biden administration, with twitter’s cooperation, may have suppressed information about Hunter Biden’s corruption, but Taibbi never really found anything. Meanwhile, he was attacked by the left relentlessly for investigating. This led to his move to Substack where he has a big following.

Higgins points out that Substack was created by Marc Andreesen (founder of Netscape) and Theil (PayPal) as a way to move liberal journalists out of mainstream media publications. Higgins argues that the right wing has been very effective at manipulating and creating new media to influence Americans to support Republicans.

Higgins is on solid ground in that argument and the details make for interesting reading. At the same time, Higgins glides over the excesses of the left from the resistance movement through the Biden years. Although Biden was elected as a moderate, he embraced DEI and pressure from nonprofits and academia to regulate business and big tech. At the same time, academia was forcing the adoption of alternative pronouns, terms like LatinX, trans rights, and revisionist history like the 1619 Project.

Part of the reason Greenwald, Taibbi and high tech turned against the left was due to the oppressiveness emanating from positions taken by the left wing of the Democratic Party, and although the libertarian party is insignificant as a political organization, many Republicans are libertarians. Yellowstone, at one point the most popular show on television, is a libertarian dream of a rancher so rich and powerful he can do whatever he wants, regardless of the law. Andreessen also had an interest in cryptocurrency and the Biden administration blocked crypto where Trump decided to endorse it because he could make money from it. Now laws have been passed to legitimize it.

Higgin’s Owned is a provocative take on our shifting politics and the role media plays. Higgins doesn’t offer a solution to the rightward lurch the country has taken other than to point out that no one should be rich enough individually to take control of media to influence politics.

Red Letter Poem #265

 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 #265

 

 

 

The Wicked Witch of the West

Goes to Seattle



I wasn’t always like this. As a girl, I loved

The shower, my wet hair heavy on my shoulders,

The warm soapy water on my back and legs.

It wasn’t like now, with fear and bitterness.

When I got my power, no one told me

I would have to sacrifice something,

And not of my choosing, which is why

When I received my talent during a thunderstorm—

You know the rest. My skin turned green from lament,

And I have come here to risk oblivion,

To sink into what I loved for so long, the one

Element that could return my heart to me.

I stare out the window at the rain pouring down

But have not yet decided how I will do it.

Will I run to the coffee shop next door, acting

Like I forgot my umbrella? Then take my

Hat off and stand under the edge

Of the awning and let the water drip

On my bare head? To feel my body

Run down itself until I am nothing

But what I have missed for so long.

To flow in a direction I don’t yet know,

But which no one can change,

Or ever take away.


––Jack Stewart



I know what you’re thinking: a little late, isn’t it? Why didn’t Steven run this poem back in March, when the Academy Awards were all abuzz with Jon Chu’s movie and, at the drop of a pointy hat, audiences couldn’t help but belt out: “I think I'll try/Defying gravity!” It’s true, I do on occasion tie Red Letter poems to seasons and cultural events, making real life the backdrop for a literary experience. And I’ll admit it: that was my plan all along when I first received Jack Stewart’s surprising poem about the possibility of washing a life free of its history, and transforming it into something new. But then I feared that it would be subsumed in the overarching drama of Broadway and Hollywood––the rather grand spectacle that Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel has unleashed on popular culture. Maguire’s brilliant idea was to shift our perspective on L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz, and consider what made the Wicked Witch wicked in the first place. Such a dramatic lineage resulted: from Baum’s turn-of-the-century classic to numerous plays, other books, movies, musicals, and even now to this poem. It’s more than a little thrilling to witness one artistic vision demonstrating the generative power of cultural crosspollination. So I decided to wait, wanting readers to have a clean slate (or as much as that’s ever possible) when Jack’s more modest vision––stripped of stage lights and orchestration––first stepped out onto their inner stage.



From the very first, I loved the poet’s recasting of this little mythology, setting it into a contemporary American landscape which we all inhabit. I remember, when I was twenty, California was brimming with its ‘Summer of Love’ (younger readers: Google it), and I hitchhiked cross-country to experience my generation's version of Oz. For young people in recent decades, Seattle and the Pacific Northwest seem to have been cast with that same aura of possibility. So who exactly is this woman Jack’s introducing us to––perhaps leaving behind a hot and arid place (like, say, Jack’s South Florida) and lighting out for the West (a decidedly greener and rainier terrain)? And what’s caused her aversion to the cleansing/comforting power of a warm shower? Did you find yourself considering all the ways this once-happy girl might have come to feel her life sullied? Or was that “power” she’s attained simply the change from innocence to womanhood, with all the apprehensions brought on by her life in a society where a woman’s autonomy can be challenged by the male powers-that-be? And so she’s journeyed to a locale where precipitation is a common occurrence––“come here to risk oblivion,/ To sink into what I loved for so long…”. Reading (no, thinking her thoughts) through this persona poem, I began feeling the many ways my own life has calcified, grown comfortable in its old ways––even while knowing how certain elements were never ‘in the plan’ and may not be conducive to furthering my dreams. This woman is willing to risk a kind of dissolution––“until I am nothing/ But what I have missed for so long”––and I’m left wondering what I’d be willing to risk in order “To flow in a direction I don’t yet know,/ But which no one can change…”. Our protagonist’s skin turned green from lament; mine might be more out of envy.



Jack has become a frequent contributor to the Red Letters. Formerly a Brittain Fellow at The Georgia Institute of Technology, he now teaches writing in Fort Lauderdale at the Pine Crest School. His first collection, No Reason, was published in the Poeima Poetry Series in 2020. New work has appeared in numerous literary journals like Poetry, the New York Quarterly, and the Iowa Review, garnering nine nominations for the Pushcart Prize. I love how, in his poetry, Jack twists situations, charges syntax, and continually defies expectations––anything to keep the reading experience fresh. I can easily imagine his protagonist, beneath the cataract descending that shop awning, feeling herself reborn into a wholly new circumstance. Is she singing to herself: “Something has changed within me/ Something is not the same…”? Or maybe she’s more old school and––watching gulls and osprey angling through the downpour, heading back toward the sea––she’s awaiting the rainbow which must surely come. Is she entertaining the possibility of wings to carry her beyond all expectation, maybe thinking: “Why, oh why can't I?

 

 

 

 

The Red Letters

 

* 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 BlueSky

@stevenratiner.bsky.social

and on Twitter          

@StevenRatiner

 

And coming soon:

a new website to house all the Red Letter archives at StevenRatiner.com