Friday, 25 April 2014

Amazon

 Where Wai-wai warriors wear
beads and feathers in their hair
hanging in a single pig-tail
down their arching back

Pudding-bowl Xavantes serve the mass
Escaping basilisks run like little men
upright in their fleeing to the water
Giant anacondas loop
Flower-kissers flying backwards
sip the nectar from a fringe of petal
Fish swim high along the forest floor
when rainy season floods about
Out of time the condors fly forever

Steamers ply along the river
buoyant long beyond the rubber boom
Where the Negro meets the Amazon
dolphins play in clear tea water
Rafts of cattle float above the ox-bow
until the land comes flooding back
driving piraruca fish away

Vulture kings inspect
beyond their orange feature
Macaws hang down a line liana
like bright-washed jewels
screeching blue and red and green
Fiery orange cock-of-the-rock patrol
helmeted as Roman soldiers
Toucans bill and couple in the canopy

Nomadic hunters sporting lip-discs
slash and scar their naked bodies
into beauty
Kamayura artists decorate with paste
crushed from urucu seed and kneaded
bodies needing vivid patterns set in red
Jivaro still hide shrunken heads
of enemies
to keep possession power
Kayapo brandish war cudgels
wooden like their spears dancing
to claim the help of forest spirits

Orchid flowers in waxy languor
lavender and mottled red
with red and yellow throats
linger on a line of stem
groups of brightness here and there
high above the forest floor
Heliconias beaked like parrots or macaws
dangle long their redness and their yellow

Sloths hang beneath a branch
considering slowly if moving is an option
On the Orinoco shanty towns
stilt above the water
sheltering behind canoes
painted startling forest colours
Mud skippers hop around the mangroves
where scarlet ibis gather flapping into air
Silent ghostly giant egret wait for fish

Crocodiles smile smiles of smugness
Manatees float gentle in the water
A goldminer taller than his mule rides
into El Callao
gold hung across the saddle
  
Butterflies drink liquid from the eyes
of yellow spotted side neck turtles
Black piranha dagger teeth at vegetation
Vampire bats poised pig-nosed above
wounds they open
fan gentle wings in frenzy

White Uakari monkeys
apoplectic in the gloom
rest on branches in the shade
like Englishmen in clubs  snoozing
Naked in the river shallows children play
cooling where the water rushes
Jaguar women  wearing whisker-spines
stare beneath black fringes
at human meat
Mayoruna people used to eat

A shaman calls the spirits
to drive the sickness out
as women  bunching herbs near breathing
practice what the shaman claims
Swarming butterflies  twin petals fly
flocking in to fruit  Armadillos work
burrowing  and floating in the water

Where once a wilderness
brought only life
and death to generations of the tribes
where feathers were the wealth
which people took
values forsaken
in a headlong rush to promise
progress into silent forest
Slash and clear to take the best
leaving all the rest as debris

Butterflies and hyacinth macaws
trees to choose the best canoe from
strangler figs without a palm to climb
Herbs and tortoises all die
Cultures vanish into Coca-cola
Anacondas wither in the sun
Arrow-poison frogs are lost
and tiny monkeys taught to die
to leave the human breast alone

For this the priest returns in white
dons his red and spreads his Master's wing
The banker brings his box to fill
The woodsman brings his saw
The doctor brings The Western Way
The Amazon brings its self

The Watchful Condor

 A darker spec
High above their heads
A condor wheels
And watches their destruction

Where land and water run
Muddy channels each to one
Loggers slash and burn
Miners take the land

Growing grounds are gone
Which by their nature kept
All the jungle live
Trees upon the land

Living ways slide back
Insect – fish and bird
Tree and undergrowth
Animals – the land

Losing endless time
People leave their home
Slowly understand
They’re losing the land

Monkey trees chopped down
Anacondas writhe
Nowhere left for snakes
Shade is gone from land
  
Caterpillars left
With no leaves to eat
Butterflies die off
Nectarless - the land

Stone Age tribes move back
Back against the rock
Jungle grounds hacked out
They’re losing the land

Still the darker spec
High above their heads
A Condor wheels
And watches their destruction

Far across the world
Children such as you
Hear about the loss
Shout about the loss
Learn to stop the loss
And will reclaim the land

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Traducing the Art

I don't want to be part of their fashion
to write in a way that will fit
sit tight and pretend
endless learnedness I don't possess
less a part of an Art than a cypher
burdened down with their falsity
tedious tearing destroying the magic of words
-
Birds in the air drawn in flock and in group
swooping the treeline in vistas
dazzling eyesight and teasing the intellect
decked in a fringilous feathery finery
reeling and roaming or romping a tree
renewing the Art with original act

fracturing ego and following flow - racing around as the birds
words fitting spaces
quizzical quirkiness clapped on the back

Cracking a joke with a horse-fly remembered
curdling whoops from a flat-fish
Mission: demanding the right to explore
borders of poesy flourishing flowers
purrs from the catmint

Wintering seeds that were crossed
fostering hope of a flower enormous
mustering perfume to shock and amaze
raising its petals in colour de Triomphe to show

No rhyme must be partner to fashion
spun words can tangentially spread
sedition is part of the Art of a thought
brought to spangle the world with idea

aware of its craftsmanship - wary the same
famous craft is a fashion that stays
brazenly copied - and not very well
spelling out rhyme that won't scan
pandering Shakespeare Byron or Pope
hopelessly driving in boredom away
they who would listen

Sundering ties with the rest of the world
hurled into videos football and money
heedless of poems they don't understand
handing a poet just one final question..

Wondering - when there's no monetary gain
vain as a poet may be
dreaming - as all poets dream - of his fame
maiming his words to appease their strange fashion
running away from original sight
blighting the Art down to cop-out and lie

Why?
6.4.96.CPR
This poem was written as a 'proving poem' in a style and rhyme to protest at those with the tape measures and the rules - but with a dearth of imagination. It is meant to be performed, in a bright lively voice. The line stops are also voice stops