Carnage in Nice, (More) Slaughter of the Innocents

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There are really no words to express any decent person’s horror - whatever their colour, creed, sex or sexuality - at the senseless carnage in Nice On July 14 2016. Hopefully, though, someone somewhere who is perhaps harbouring thoughts along the lines of radical Islam, for whatever reason, may find this poem offers food for thought ... and think again. 

At least 84 people were reported dead in Nice and many others injured, many of them children; their crime, having the temerity to enjoy themselves on Bastille Day, a national event celebrating the storming of the Bastille during the French Revolution, July 14 1879.

In ‘The Age of Reason’ Thomas Paine (1737 - 1809) makes the point that ‘…the belief of a cruel God makes a cruel man.’ What would Paine have to say, I wonder, about of the image of the prophet Muhammad every radical Islamist wears on his or her sleeve?

CARNAGE IN NICE, (MORE) SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 

[Nice, Bastille Day 2016]

World, head bowed, but only for tears

where terrorism has its way,

nations, left victims of its worst fears

Though its nemeses breeding for years,

to love and peace, the final say,

world, head bowed, but only for tears

Freedom, a crown of thorns, it wears

for any who get in terror’s way,

nations left victims of its worst fears

Wherever fundamental dogma rears

its head, the mad dog has its day;

world, head bowed, but only for tears

Humanity, for all its flaws, endures

if inhumanity briefly holding sway,

nations left victims of its worst fears

In radical Islam, true faith disappears,

so testify efforts to keep it at bay;

world, head bowed, but only for tears,

nations left victims of its worst fears

[London, July 15 2016]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Fundamentally Flawed

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Fundamentalism, in any shape or form and in relation to any religion or cause…is a tragedy. The fundamentalist becomes as much a victim of his or her way of thinking as anyone that gets in its way.

Blood spilt and lives ruined can never be excused.

The main reason I cannot empathize with (any) religion is that is has, for centuries, been directly or indirectly responsible for shedding blood and dividing not only families but also whole communities; little if anything has changed as far as I can see, and the sheer intransigence of various socio-cultural-religious groups is largely responsible for the 21^st century getting off to a poor start.

Thank goodness (and we all need to remember) the majority of ordinary, religious-minded people are no more fundamentalists than the majority of ordinary German people were Nazis during Word War 2, the events leading up to it or since.  

This poem is a villanelle.

FUNDAMENTALLY FLAWED

Love tempestuous,

root of evil

(death of Judas)

Wanton, impetuous,

dressed to kill,

love tempestuous

Deaf-blind justice

making its call

(death of Judas?)

Madly zealous

with a will…

love tempestuous

To truth, oblivious,

hope in free-fall

(death of Judas?)

Be fools or martyrs

at its call…

Love tempestuous,

death of Judas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2013

[Note: A slightly different version of today’s poem was first published in an anthology, Prisms of Light, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003, and subsequently in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Maelstrom

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[Update: (April 8th 2017) Our hearts and thoughts go out today to the families and friends of those killed and injured in the horrific attack yesterday in Stockholm on innocent people going about their daily lives; it is being described as an act of terror. It is being widely reported that a man arrested has sympathies/links with so-called Islamic State. Yet again, decent people everywhere, from all socio-cultural-religious backgrounds, stand firm with the people of Sweden against the threat of terrorism from whatever misguided source.]

[Update: (March 24th 2016) This poem was written in 2007. Since then, the world the world has become and increasingly more dangerous place, not least due to the spread of radical Islam which we should never mistake for true Islam.  The horror of recent events in Brussels is nothing new to us. Yet, while our hearts go out to the families and friends of those so cruelly and senselessly killed simply for going about their daily lives, we must stand firm against these psychopaths, and not let fear dictate how we choose to live; our choice, not theirs.]

Some people, not only but especially religious fundamentalists, are inclined to get carried away by the prospect of martyrdom and welcome it; more often than not, this is a direct result of being mentally groomed and/or emotionally blackmailed into a deluded way of thinking by power-hungry leaders who (naturally) prefer to stay alive. 

The true martyr does not seek martyrdom for personal (including spiritual) gain but for the sake of honourable principles on which he or she refuses to compromise; there is no honour in taking and/or destroying the lives of innocent people.

Who deliberately seeks martyrdom to make a point, however important (to them, at least) deserves our contempt, yes, but perhaps also our pity? Pity for their having become mere tools in the hands of those they see as 'betters' but who, in reality, have surrendered their humanity to a distorted sense of and lust for power, both temporal and spiritual.

Fundamentalism is a threat to world peace, the more when it promotes martyrdom as a glorious ideal.

This poem is a villanelle.

MAELSTROM

No crueller wisdom

or faith more blindly placed

than in martyrdom

Life‘s tragic outcome,

love’s sacred trust misplaced;

no crueller wisdom

No prouder kingdom

better served by want and waste

than in martyrdom

By a beating drum,

each sound heartbeat replaced;

no crueller wisdom

No glory closer come

to grief, by holy words defaced,

than in martyrdom

Magnificent maelstrom,

supposedly to God’s door traced;

no crueller wisdom

than in martyrdom

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note:  This poem has been revised (slightly but significantly) from the version that appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised version in e-format in preparation.]

Beyond Belief

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An earlier version of today’s poem first appeared in an anthology, Echoes of War, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and subsequently in my collection the following year.

Now, regular readers will be aware that have revised some poems since they first appeared in my collections and on my blogs. Some readers say they prefer the original version, but most prefer the revised version. All ask why I posted/published the original version if it was likely to be revised later. Well, at the time I wrote it, I saw it as a complete poem not the genesis for another. Years on, I read some of my earlier poems and can see where they fail, to one degree or another, either because they don’t say quite sat what I meant to say or don’t say it at all.

Once I get back inside a poem, I can see where the cracks need filling, not merely papered over. Writing a poem from the outside working inwards is very different to writing from the inside and working outwards.  Yes, the original is written from within the poet, but he or she only created the poem head and heart have shaped; the poem itself, as a developing organism,  needs to have say in that development.

Creating a poem is one thing and, yes, sometimes it is enough, but not always; any further development will comes late so long as the writer leaves room in the poem for that, and I always do. Moreover, I have always had a sense of this with my poems so always kept in mind that I would need to publish new editions of my collections at some point to allow for and include revisions/developments in some poems.  [Revisions that appear on my blogs will appear in new editions after 2015.]

From time to time, someone gets in touch to say he or she enjoyed both an original and revised revision of a poem, but especially enjoyed comparing the two.  One reader wrote to say they found it ‘intriguing’ to look inside my head and see how an original version of a poem led into the later version.  

While I dare say critics will see some of my poems as failures (they may well be right) I see them as relating to the person/poet I was at the time I wrote them. Hopefully, I have changed with passing time (hopefully for the better); similarly, my poetry. Readers are welcome to form their own opinion. Whatever, having written something, it make sense to share it, surely? So I have published my collections since 2001 and feedback, plus the changing nature of my own personal space. will result in new editions after the publication of a final collection - Diary of a Time Traveller in 2015 - when I hit 70.

Now, there is more than one take on aspiration, and somewhere along the line we have to make choices; sometimes it may seem as if the choice is whether or not we are prepared to let someone else make that choice for us. But isn’t that just passing the buck?

Whatever, few things on this earth are anywhere near as simple as we try to make them appear, certainly not that complex network of communications, missed communications,  mixed messages and calls for commitment that comprise the human mind.

BEYOND BELIEF

Some say he sought freedom,

preferring martyrdom to repression;

others point to sentiments

expressed pertaining to the zeal

of a fundamentalist

waging war against the world

armed with Holy Word

Some say he followed a star,

near blinded by its glorious light;

others call him a Messiah

come in peace with a fire in his belly

no one could extinguish,

a measure of anguish fuelling

growing desperation

Some say, he was brainwashed

as a child, taught how the finest ends

justify appalling means,

suicide as a political statement

absolving conscience

from the agony heaped on body bags

at a roadside

Some call him a Dark Angel

that did not know him as well as she

who knew his fears,

saw tears fall, final choices made,

sent alone, small and scared

to brave The Word, bomb the world,

no one spared

Ashes, poor apology for a sorry world

and its every word

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2004.]