Red Letter Poem #86

 The Red Letter Poem Project

 

 

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 #86

 

 

“Istanbul does not have a color of its own other than gray. Concrete is the predominant tone, massed shapes overwhelming and pressing down upon the individual. I carry within me this immense longing for empty lots, deserted areas yet to be seized by commercial intruders. Slivers in the grid where my fellow poets and I can express ourselves freely, breaking away from the oppressive apparatus of social normativity and the surveillance state.”  So begins poet Efe Murad’s The Pleasures of Empty Lots: Scenes of Istanbul 2015–2016, recently published by Bored Wolves Press.  It’s a sort of memoir/aesthetic panorama/and red-alert warning concerning the effect totalitarianism has on poets in his country and the citizenry in general.  Reading about the internecine poetry conflicts in Turkey between rival schools of thought – made all the more intense because the state has clamped down so dramatically on all freedom of expression – I experienced a growing uneasiness, though it took a few moments to figure out why. 

 

At first, I thought it was simply the shock of contrast: in recent years, American poets have enjoyed extraordinary freedom, mainly because we’re so marginalized in society, no government would feel the need to attack us – privilege undermined by the fear of irrelevance.  But Efe’s account made me realized how our situation, too, has changed.  The forces of suppression in our country, though, have become decentralized, the result of a confluence of societal riptides: battling mass media outlets; campaigns of political disinformation; storms of social media opinion; and our own fearful self-censoring impulses in response to these culture wars.  A poet like Efe reminds me of how precious and utterly vital are our open gathering spaces – the virtual and cerebral ones as well as those boisterous cafes and verdant public commons where anyone can retreat for either fellowship or solitude, as is needed.

 

A well-known writer in Turkey, Efe’s first gathering of poems translated into English is a sequence entitled Encirclings, part of an anthology of Mediterranean poets edited by Irena Eden and Stijn Lernout (published by Schlebrügge.Editor.)  In each untitled segment, he explores a more avant-garde approach, undercutting the sentimentality of older Turkish poems with a ‘selfless’ vision – devoid of pronouns, adjectives, and the feel of ‘agency’.  He is just offering the world as he finds it, inviting us to simply plunge inside (as the boy in the poem does into the Sea of Marmara.)  Such poetry trusts readers and writers alike to make their own way through experience, and to so highly prize such simple human moments, we’d never allow anyone to take them from us – not via tweet, edict, force of arms, nor our own lavish disregard.  I, for one, will give thanks for the reminder.

 

 

 

 

from Encirclings

 

 

transparency arrives from above.

skies shadow salt water.     

as the angle changes,    

in the cloudy water, limpid cove.

the weave of the surface is honeycombed, as the boy

climbs the rock.

his eyes in dreams – the surface of the water, the boy jumpin’.

splashing against the water, eyes in the water and cloudy shadow.   

the boy’s entangled in the cloud of salt, the salt water in the mouth,

invisible water creature.

what we haven’t lived’re our mistakes

our lives can’t change

 

 

­­                                           –– Efe Murad

 

                                                            (translated from the Turkish

by Murat Nemet-Nejat)

 

The Red Letters 3.0: A New Beginning (Perhaps)   

At the outset of the Covid pandemic, when fear was at its highest, the Red Letter Project was intended to remind us of community: that, even isolated in our homes, we could still face this challenge together.  As Arlington’s Poet Laureate, I began sending out a poem of comfort each Friday, featuring the fine talents from our town and its neighbors.  Because I enlisted the partnership of seven local arts and community organizations, distribution of the poems spread quickly – and, with subscribers sharing and re-posting the installments, soon we had readers, not only throughout the Commonwealth, but across the country.  And I delighted in the weekly e-mails I’d receive with praise for the poets; as one reader recently commented: “You give me the gift of a quiet, contemplative break—with something to take away and reflect on.”

 

Then our circumstance changed dramatically again: following the murder of George Floyd, the massive social and political unrest, and the national economic catastrophe, the distress of the pandemic was magnified.  Red Letter 2.0 announced that I would seek out as diverse a set of voices as I could find – from Massachusetts and beyond – so that their poems might inspire, challenge, deepen the conversation we were, by necessity, engaged in.

 

Now, with widespread vaccination, an economic rebound, and a shift in the political landscape, I intend to help this forum continue to evolve – Red Letter 3.0.  For the last 15 months, I’ve heard one question again and again: when will we get back our old lives?  It may pain us to admit it, but that is little more than a fantasy.  Our lives have been altered irrevocably – not only our understanding of how thoroughly interdependent we are, both locally and globally, but how fragile and utterly precious is all that we love.  Weren’t you bowled over recently by how good it felt just to hug a friend or family member?  Or to walk unmasked through a grocery, noticing all the faces?  So I think the question we must wrestle with is this: knowing what we know, how will we begin shaping our new life?  Will we quickly forget how grateful we felt that strangers put themselves at risk, every day, so that we might purchase milk and bread, ride the bus to work, or be cared for by a doctor or nurse?  Will we slip back into our old drowse and look away from the pain so many are forced to endure – in this, the wealthiest nation on the planet?  Will we stop noticing those simple beauties all around us?  The poet Mary Oliver said it plainly: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  I will continue to offer RLP readers the work of poets who are engaged in these questions, hoping their voices will fortify all of ours.

 

Two of our partner sites will continue re-posting each Red Letter weekly: the YourArlington news blog (https://www.yourarlington.com/easyblog/entry/28-poetry/3070-redletter-111121), and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene (http://dougholder.blogspot.com).  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.