Poem by Matthew Olzmann: Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław Miłosz
I committed to blogging once a week. This week, I'm shaken by another school shooting and the deaths of children and a country that won't respond.
Just know, I'm focusing on my editing work and my family & friends. I'll return to my own work and hopefully a better attitude next week.
But for now,
I offer you this poem by Matthew Olzmann for this week's blog:
Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław MiłoszMatthew OlzmannYou whom I could not save,
Listen to me. Can we agree Kevlar
backpacks shouldn’t be neededfor children walking to school?
Those same childrenalso shouldn’t require a suit
of armor when standingon their front lawns, or snipers
to watch their backsas they eat at McDonalds.
They shouldn’t have to stopto consider the speed
of a bullet or how it mightreshape their bodies. But
one winter, back in Detroit,I had one student
who opened a door and died. It was the front
door to his house, butit could have been any door,
and the bullet could have writtenany name. The shooter
was thirteen years oldand was aiming
at someone else. Buta bullet doesn’t care
about “aim,” it doesn’tdistinguish between
the innocent and the innocent,and how was the bullet
supposed to know thischild would open the door
at the exact wrong momentbecause his friend
was outside and screamingfor help. Did I say
I had “one” student whoopened a door and died?
That’s wrong.There were many.
The classroom of griefhad far more seats
than the classroom for maththough every student
in the classroom for mathcould count the names
of the dead. A kid opens a door. The bullet
couldn’t possibly know,nor could the gun, because
“guns don’t kill people,” they don’thave minds to decide
such things, they don’t chooseor have a conscience,
and when a man doesn’thave a conscience, we call him
a psychopath. This is howwe know what type of assault rifle
a man can be,and how we discover
the hell that thrums insideeach of them. Today,
there’s anothershooting with dead
kids everywhere. It was a school,a movie theater, a parking lot.
The worldis full of doors.
And you, whom I cannot save,you may open a doorand enter a meadow, or a eulogy.
And if the latter, you will bemourned, then buried
in rhetoric. There will be
monuments of legislation,little flowers made
from red tape. What should we do? we’ll ask
again. The earth will closelike a door above you.
What should we do?And that click you hear?
That’s just our voices,
the deadbolt of discourse
sliding into place.
Originally published on the Academy of American Poets "Poem-a-Day"
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/letter-beginning-two-lines-czeslaw-milosz
~ Kells
________________
www.agodon.com
www.twosylviaspress.comKelli Russell Agodon
www.facebook.com/agodon
www.twitter.com/kelliagodon
Just know, I'm focusing on my editing work and my family & friends. I'll return to my own work and hopefully a better attitude next week.
But for now,
I offer you this poem by Matthew Olzmann for this week's blog:
Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław MiłoszMatthew OlzmannYou whom I could not save,
Listen to me. Can we agree Kevlar
backpacks shouldn’t be neededfor children walking to school?
Those same childrenalso shouldn’t require a suit
of armor when standingon their front lawns, or snipers
to watch their backsas they eat at McDonalds.
They shouldn’t have to stopto consider the speed
of a bullet or how it mightreshape their bodies. But
one winter, back in Detroit,I had one student
who opened a door and died. It was the front
door to his house, butit could have been any door,
and the bullet could have writtenany name. The shooter
was thirteen years oldand was aiming
at someone else. Buta bullet doesn’t care
about “aim,” it doesn’tdistinguish between
the innocent and the innocent,and how was the bullet
supposed to know thischild would open the door
at the exact wrong momentbecause his friend
was outside and screamingfor help. Did I say
I had “one” student whoopened a door and died?
That’s wrong.There were many.
The classroom of griefhad far more seats
than the classroom for maththough every student
in the classroom for mathcould count the names
of the dead. A kid opens a door. The bullet
couldn’t possibly know,nor could the gun, because
“guns don’t kill people,” they don’thave minds to decide
such things, they don’t chooseor have a conscience,
and when a man doesn’thave a conscience, we call him
a psychopath. This is howwe know what type of assault rifle
a man can be,and how we discover
the hell that thrums insideeach of them. Today,
there’s anothershooting with dead
kids everywhere. It was a school,a movie theater, a parking lot.
The worldis full of doors.
And you, whom I cannot save,you may open a doorand enter a meadow, or a eulogy.
And if the latter, you will bemourned, then buried
in rhetoric. There will be
monuments of legislation,little flowers made
from red tape. What should we do? we’ll ask
again. The earth will closelike a door above you.
What should we do?And that click you hear?
That’s just our voices,
the deadbolt of discourse
sliding into place.
Originally published on the Academy of American Poets "Poem-a-Day"
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/letter-beginning-two-lines-czeslaw-milosz
~ Kells
________________
www.agodon.com
www.twosylviaspress.comKelli Russell Agodon
www.facebook.com/agodon
www.twitter.com/kelliagodon
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