Fire-followers

Today’s poem comes from The New Yorker Poetry podcast https://www.newyorker.com/podcast/poetry June 25 edition. The link will take you to a full appreciation and explanation of this amazing poem by Hala Alyon. Wikipedia writes the following – Hala Alyon born July 27, 1986 is a Palestinian-American writer, poet, and clinical psychologist who specializes in trauma, addiction, and cross-cultural behavior. Her writing covers aspects of identity and the effects of displacement particularly within the Palestinian diaspora. Her line There is nothing more terrible than waiting for the terrible speaks passionately about Gaza and beyond. The podcast draws attention to the poet’s use of euphemisms such as children rest – perhaps meaning put to rest – death – a nigtmare not a dream. Enough from me please read carefully and please do find the time to listen to the podcast.

Half-Life in Exile

I’m forever living between Aprils.
The air here smells of jacarandas and lime;
it’s sunset before I know it. I’m supposed
to rest, but that’s where the children live.
In the hot mist of sleep. Dream after dream.
Instead, I obsess. I draw stars on receipts.
Everybody loves the poem.
It’s embroidered on a pillow in Milwaukee.
It’s done nothing for Palestine.
There are plants out West that emerge only after fires.
They listen for smoke. I wrote the poem
after weeks of despair, hauling myself
like a rock. Everyone loves the poem.
The plants are called fire-followers,
but sometimes they grow after the rains. At night,
I am a zombie feeding on the comments.
Is it compulsive to watch videos?
Is it compulsive to memorize names?
Rafif and Ammar and Mahmoud.
Poppies and snapdragons and calandrinias:
I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you under the missiles.
A plant waits for fire to grow.
A child waits for a siren. It must be a child.
Never a man. Never a man without a child.
There is nothing more terrible
than waiting for the terrible. I promise.
Was the grief worth the poem? No,
but you don’t interrogate a weed
for what it does with wreckage.
For what it’s done to get here. Hala Alyan

Prayer:
As the Psalmist cried so I cry
Protect me, O God for in you
I take refuge. Let the evil
of the wicked come to an end.
Rise up O Lord! Deliver me,
O my God, in you I trust.
Has God forgotten to be gracious?
My soul waits for the Lord.
And with the psalmist I too hope to
fear no evil for you O Lord are with me
your rod and staff they comfort me.
Let everything that breathes
praise the Lord. Gather us in
from the east and from the west,
from the north and from the south. (from Psalms 3,16,23,25,77,130 and 150.)