'if'...

the faceless socialist

by stefan montalbetti 
july'10 

the faceless socialist is not faceless

the face is not blacked out but whitened out, it is in fact the face which boldly demands attention … a distinctive etched face, ghost-like obliterated, beckons behind the white mask of this agrarian worker behind what? A plough, a gate, a tombstone … holding what in the left hand? A pitchfork, a flag, a spear … a prophet's staff ...

are those fences? Flowing fences where the lone figure poses battle-ready protecting the furrowed earth … one-armed, one-eared, one-buttoned, half-rolled sleeve, the half-known icon, not full frontal, not fenced in, angled … resting, watching, waiting, retreating …

he … though slightly showing … eyeless, mouthless & legless … sees, speaks & stands in the tradition of brothers and sisters proud, strong & free … there is no balance, no justice, no reparation … no thing can heal the outrage done to …

the not faceless

- See: Writings, Art

::note:: ... my son gifted me this and another "father Gray" a couple of days ago ... brought it over with a meal he had made & some beer ... he's taking a summer print-making art class towards completion of a history degree & this summer he plays Romeo in a student R&J production ... i admire his intuitive power ...

if only i feared

if only i feared death
the sky would not darken
if i had no word
the grass would brown
if i had thistles in my mouth
the wind blown seeds would land
if i had freedom in my heart
the great flood would not come
if i opened my eyes
the sky would darken.

- See: Writings

:: note :: ... nothing to note ...

Mortgaged Time

The ocean water, one thousand and eight eyed,
opens its lids of white foam
to axe you, wide and deep
sixty years long.

fall my heart, from the temple of time
fall, you blossoms, from rain drenched branches
fall, as tears fall from the widened eye

Dark words, harder days are coming
where Korea's sky blackens the earth,
it's wounded tiger seeks a cave for its hate
handing you the monks bowl of rice water.

A handful of pain is lost in the sunken ships.
Only hope cowers blinded by the flame
Where Korea's earth blackens the sky,
a hand looks for solace and fills the plaza with yearning.

Before winter hears the call through the first sun
the unspeakable, said softly, steals over the land.
- See: Writingsx :: note :: ... the first anniversary of my visit to Korea ... an Ingeborg Bachmann In the Storm of Roses mashup ...