THe World Keeps Ending and the World Goes On
Before the apocalypse, there was the apocalypse of boats:
boats of prisoners, boats cracking under sky-iron, boats making corpses
bloom like algae on the shore. Before the apocalypse, there was the
apocalypse
of the bombed mosque. There was the apocalypse of the taxi driver
warped
by flame. There was the apocalypse of the leaving, and the having left—
of my mother unsticking herself from her mother’s grave as the plane
barreled down the runway. Before the apocalypse, there was the
apocalypse
of planes. There was the apocalypse of pipelines legislating their way
through sacred water, and the apocalypse of the dogs. Before which was
the apocalypse of the dogs and the hoses. Before which, the apocalypse
of dogs and slave catchers whose faces glowed by lantern-light.
Before the apocalypse, the apocalypse of bees. The apocalypse of buses.
Border fence apocalypse. Coat hanger apocalypse. Apocalypse in
the textbooks’ selective silences. There was the apocalypse of the
settlement
and the soda machine; the apocalypse of the settlement and
the jars of scalps; there was the bedlam of the cannery; the radioactive
rain;
the chairless martyr demanding a name. I was born from an apocalypse
and have come to tell you what I know—which is that the apocalypse
began
when Columbus praised God and lowered his anchor. It began when a
continent
was drawn into cutlets. It began when Kublai Khan told Marco, Begin
at the beginning. By the time the apocalypse began, the world had already
ended. It ended every day for a century or two. It ended, and another
ending
world spun in its place. It ended, and we woke up and ordered Greek
coffees,
drew the hot liquid through our teeth, as everywhere, the apocalypse
rumbled,
the apocalypse remembered, our dear, beloved apocalypse—it drifted
slowly from the trees all around us, so loud we stopped hearing it.
Franny Choi.
https://www.npr.org/2022/11/03/1133051559/franny-choi-poetry-world-keeps-ending
I have been slow at choosing a poem for this my next “post”! It is hard to describe my mood in the midst of what seems a world out of control or rather a world in which a so called world leader is trying to believe can be controlled. In the novel I am currently reading the main character is trying to find the cuase of her husband’s out of the blue and most out of the ordinary behavior and as her world unravels she describes her mood as “Weltschmerz” – a German word meaning melancholy and world weariness in her acute awareness of evil and suffering. “Weltschmerz” describes how I feel. Franny Choi’s poem despite the gloom has a breath of hope and possibility no matter the circumstances, no matter whatever apocalypse in which we find ourselves. I hope you take time to open the link to a 7 minute npr interview with Choi.
Prayer:
In the search for words, O Lord,
help me to feel your presence, you
who we name the Word of Life.
In the search for words, O Lord,
help me to breathe deeply, slowing,
and purposefully. So in the absence of words
hear the prayer my heart offers and console
me with your grace and goodness.
Hear my wordless prayers for
peace in our world,
peace between neigbors and nations,
peace between friend and foe.
O Lord, come close and stay close
saving us from our own mistakes, small
and large. Abate our appetite for power
and forgive us for our unquenchinable thirst
for dominance, and our unquestionable right
to be “right” regardless of others and of the truth. Amen.
Prayers, Poems, and Christian Ponderings 
This poem is brilliant in the way that every line is actually defining human survival despite the odds. At the end I was somewhat surprised to read the final phrase which suggested to me that we have become cavalier, and have become immune to all of the world’s ongoing trauma. Just another mass shooting, just another war, just another hour of grim, nightly news, all so loud we stopped hearing it like a child who has learned to ignore a parent’s repeated threats that never actually play out.
But then I listened to the podcast. Two points, loud and clear. There is comfort in not knowing what comes next and the end of the world is just the end of the world as we know it. Therein lies the hope.
I have often thought of tragedies with relief that my parents didn’t have to know about for I know the anguish they would have felt. And I wonder what those events will be long after I’m gone and have been spared knowing. So yes, there is comfort in not knowing what comes next.
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