steve Posted February 5, 2010 Praise Tina Chang Brooklyn Poet Laureate All night long there was digging, and the bodies like accordions bent into their own dying instruments, and even after this, after the quake, there was, in news reports, still singing: A woman's clapping was followed by another who shuffled and dragged her own apparition through the ruined streets, though each one knew the anthem the other was singing. History taught them better. No one was coming. The film crews had their sights on the large hotels, the embassies. So they set to digging with their hands and with the shoes of those who were no longer alive. And with that, night fell and fell again like an old black pot tumbling to the ground. When a man dies, the first thing that goes is his breath, and the last thing that goes is his memory. I once saw this civilization passing through a great white door, people weeping, then the weeping was followed by the sound of tambourines rattling the heavy air, something that sounded like celebration only livelier and more holy, voices rising, and then a marching into the dusty road of the next century. When shelter is gone, find your solace on the ground. And when the ground is gone, lift yourself and walk. And after all the great monuments of your memory have collapsed, with the sky steady above you, you shatter that too, with song Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Mal Posted February 7, 2010 Wow, that's some great imagery, and this bit even manages to stand out of that. When a man dies, the first thing that goes is his breath, and the last thing that goes is his memory. Tina Chang Thanks for posting it Steve. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
