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He recalls the arrogance of his youth,
And wonders how he might get there again,
A kind of nostalgia that intoxicates and soothes,
The mind of a man aged three score and ten.
He sips his tea to calm his indigestion,
His mind abuzz with responsibilities,
Thinks of regrets, makes a list for confession,
And counts the blessings of his family.
Ah, to be so damned sure of what I know,
To see it clearly the smooth path ahead,
My predecessors those dumb average joes,
Who lived a short life and are better off dead.
Life is for young energetic know-it-alls,
Who'll correct the injustices of the past,
Fight for the oppressed colonials,
Victims of the capitalist upper-class.
Then he watches marchers on TV,
Students from the local university,
Waving placards and flags like artillery,
Chanting for Palestine 'From the River To The Sea'.
Hatred rises from the street like putrid smoke,
To purify, assuage their western guilt,
Self-loathing worn like a blood-stained cloak,
Learned in the institutions their parents built.
And now he recalls the German masses,
Who took their script from some sick theory,
Renowned for philosophy and poisonous gases,
Convinced of their superiority.
How fervently those folk cast their lot,
With Doktor This and Herr Professor That,
The scientific method that they taught,
Ordaining the truth by fist and fiat.
He watches these students declaring intifada,
Arabic that they think means 'revolution',
No doubt there's also the whiff of marijuana,
As they holler, justice demands a final solution.
Caught up in the moment and entranced,
Artists and poets believing themselves righteous,
Unable to grasp their own ignorance,
As bystanders stare without making a fuss.
He nervously coughs and blows his nose,
Thinks about discerning wrong from right,
Says to himself, it's always how it goes,
New slogans for the anti-Semite.
Only you, my friend, only you can write a poem like this! You've got a signature style, a distinctive voice, a potent mix of irony, rage, indignation, wisdom, even/always a bit of humor (rhyming intifida with marijuana is hilarious!) ... it's you, Glen Rotchin! No one else can do this exactly the way you do it! And I, for one, as you know, deeply appreciate what you create/who you are! There are always a few blow-me-away keeper lines (like "Life is for young energetic know-it-alls" and "Self-loathing worn like a blood-stained cloak," to name just a couple) and terrific rhymes which (almost) never seem forced. And with this one, this poem, you have captured so much of the current zeitgeist, while simultaneously shining a dark light from the past on it to further enlighten it an further clarify what is actually going down.
ReplyDeleteYou should try to get this one published. I'll bet there are dozens of Jewish poetry publications that would be interested.
As you known Kelp, your words mean a lot. Very encouraging. Sometimes I feel like I’m barking into an empty cave. So you really save the day. I’m venting with this one for sure. Mad and going mad with frustration. And yes also trying for a head shaking laugh. Well, you’re the second person who suggested trying to get it published. Starting to think maybe I should. But I’m out of that game. If you know of an appropriate venue I’d consider it.
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