Thursday, September 1, 2022

USA Africa Dialogue Series - 1, September 1939 ( a poem)


History records 1st September 1939 as the start of the Second World War, with Hitler's invasion of Poland. 

With a third of Pakistan under water, food shortages and life-threatening droughts affecting some 24 Esat and Southern African countries,  some pessimists and doomsday prophets say that we are now living in the final days, that the Third World War which is going to be a thermo-nuclear is just around the corner and was kick-started with Russia's ongoing military operation in Ukraine. 

For credibility, as contributory factors,  the incredulous could factor in the aftermath of Nancy Pelosi in Taiwan, Uncle Sam playing dangerously in the South China Seas, a very unpredictable North Korea,  far from the bay of Mexico, Uncle Sam doing some fishing in Iran's the Persian Gulf which could be closed to traffic and thus cause more than painful shortages of fossil fuels to those who need it most, as if Russia turning off their gas supplies isn't already bad enough for EU economies…

Oddly, I'm thinking of Gorby , who as things are currently, will not be given a national funeral which ideally, e.g. the late Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher,  Helmut Khol who was the Chancellor of West Germany when the Berlin Wall fell, Joe Biden and Boris Johnson, Olaf Scholz, and other NATO Allies would have sure loved to attend, to lay their wreaths and to pitch their great speeches about freedom and democracy….

W.H. Auden: 1, September 1939

I sit in one of the dives

On Fifty-second Street

Uncertain and afraid

As the clever hopes expire

Of a low dishonest decade:

Waves of anger and fear

Circulate over the bright

And darkened lands of the earth,

Obsessing our private lives;

The unmentionable odour of death

Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can

Unearth the whole offence

From Luther until now

That has driven a culture mad,

Find what occurred at Linz,

What huge imago made

A psychopathic god:

I and the public know

What all schoolchildren learn,

Those to whom evil is done

Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew

All that a speech can say

About Democracy,

And what dictators do,

The elderly rubbish they talk

To an apathetic grave;

Analysed all in his book,

The enlightenment driven away,

The habit-forming pain,

Mismanagement and grief:

We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air

Where blind skyscrapers use

Their full height to proclaim

The strength of Collective Man,

Each language pours its vain

Competitive excuse:

But who can live for long

In an euphoric dream;

Out of the mirror they stare,

Imperialism's face

And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar

Cling to their average day:

The lights must never go out,

The music must always play,

All the conventions conspire

To make this fort assume

The furniture of home;

Lest we should see where we are,

Lost in a haunted wood,

Children afraid of the night

Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash

Important Persons shout

Is not so crude as our wish:

What mad Nijinsky wrote

About Diaghilev

Is true of the normal heart;

For the error bred in the bone

Of each woman and each man

Craves what it cannot have,

Not universal love

But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark

Into the ethical life

The dense commuters come,

Repeating their morning vow;

"I will be true to the wife,

I'll concentrate more on my work,"

And helpless governors wake

To resume their compulsory game:

Who can release them now,

Who can reach the deaf,

Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice

To undo the folded lie,

The romantic lie in the brain

Of the sensual man-in-the-street

And the lie of Authority

Whose buildings grope the sky:

There is no such thing as the State

And no one exists alone;

Hunger allows no choice

To the citizen or the police;

We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night

Our world in stupor lies;

Yet, dotted everywhere,

Ironic points of light

Flash out wherever the Just

Exchange their messages:

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair,

Show an affirming flame.


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