Re: [A-List] RE: Tautological Hubris

["Christopher Black" <bar@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Title: RE: Tautological Hubris

Gerard,

 

I heard about this poets protest group on PBS and thought it a great idea but if they are going to censor things what's the point. I just received a poem from the British playwright Harold Pinter yesterday (I have not got permission yet to distribute widely so please keep to yourself for now) which I am sure they would not accept but it says it all. Here it is.

 

"There's no escape.

 

The big pricks are out.

 

They'll fuck everything in sight.

 

Watch your back." 

 

Harold Pinter.

 

Chris Black

Toronto

----- Original Message -----

From: Smith, Gerard

To: Craven, Jim ; ''marxism@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx' ' ; ''a-list@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx' ' ; ''Jan Schaefer' ' ; ''Lakotawan@xxxxxxx' ' ; ''Tokalasa@xxxxxxx' '

Sent: Thursday, March 13, 2003 12:00 PM

Subject: [A-List] RE: Tautological Hubris

Jim here's another poem that Poets against the War (in Iraq) would not, I repeat refused to publish, for one offensive line that their editors considered "xxx offensive language/content."  Can you find the line to which they object?

A Litany for American Corpses

Singing against the American Grain,
they've grown fat again on maggots:
with whose blood their breath reeks,
with whose words their lies reveal?

Proclaiming a myth for America,
fascist bastards jack off in their tomb:
with whose skull their secrets tell,
with whose blood their truth seek?

        Not in my name this mythic superpower,
        not with my muse this global empire,
        not with my children this blasphemy,
        not with my blessing this evil,
        not on my soul this mass murder.

Extorting oil for corporate America,
military scientists begin their survey:
with whose bones do they drill,
with whose flesh, flesh out their maps?

Estimating corpses and collateral,
market analysts hedge their profits:
with whose teeth grind their meal,
with whose blood ink their currency?

        Not in my name this mythic superpower,
        not with my muse this global empire,
        not with my children this blasphemy,
        not with my blessing this evil,
        not on my soul this mass murder.

Dispensing democracy like a drug,
cowboy politicans inoculate the masses:
with whose voices mix their propaganda,
with whose veins spread their remedies?

Defining freedom as freedom from,
they have from fear created indignation:
with whose sanction hide their guilt,
with whose silence derive their support?

        Not in my name this mythic superpower,
        not with my muse this global empire,
        not with my children this blasphemy,
        not with my blessing this evil,
        not on my soul this mass murder.

       
                Gerard Donnelly Smith