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Oh Century, My Century

For Andrei Codrescu&Laura Rosenthal


janine canan



Oh Century, my Century, whence have you come?
Cows and sheep once blissfully grazed
on Mother's millennial mounds.
Rivers chatted, berries bounded
past the pistachios and fat red apples,
grasses fed the ovens with bread.
The village gathered round Her temple
womb that over-brimmed with life.
Red pots spun with sacred design.
Naked priestesses danced in gold,
coaxing their lyres into grateful song.

Then, my Trembling One, six thousand years ago
horsemen swarmed from distant barren steppes
upon the loved and fertile land
swinging their daggers, spears and swords.
Inventors of weapons and slavery,
who worshipped the torrid sun
and wore strings of glaring teeth,
they razed and raided, raped and smashed.
Crushing the law of Nature,
they established the law of Terror --
the patriarch buried his own family in a tomb.

Twentieth Century -- no!
You were never a century of Christ,
that divine Child of the Mother,
who taught the sweet sovereignty of love.
Metal men nailed his holy body to a cross
and crucified his teaching.
Surrender succumbed to dominance,
tenderness to violence.
Generosity was devoured by greed,
innocence twisted to guilt,
and beauty -- beauty mocked to shame.

Are you, my maddened Century, to be the last?
Today Bully Boy rides bulldozer, sub, airplane and missile
bearing ammunition to destroy all life.
Land, sea and sky are inseminated with a million poisons.
What has he not raped? -- The ancient tribes,
woman, child, plant and beast.
Even the atom, seed of creation, bleeds lethal radiation.
Murderer of the breathing Earth!
Seated on his massive throne of guns
at his mechanical money altar, adoring his own power --
he chews the heart of God.

Oh my Battered Queen, once voluptuously green,
can you remember still those caves
dark and moist with mirth,
where hundreds of centuries past birth began?
Walking through the white salt forest,
we entered the inner womb of wonder.
We lit Her fire, and on Her crystal flesh
we rang Her bellowing chimes.
Then fine-footed huge-bellied beasts
romped across Her surging walls,
bringing forth ecstatic life.

Oh Century, my laborious Century!
Drop by drop, the bloodied columns thicken.
But our ancient fire glows still.
Now is the time to strike our truest chord!
Her vast heart pounds -- Her waters plash.
And moaning, praying, She pushes us
down the narrowing canal
against the stiff crimson door.
Lips stretch open to the light.
Her moment arches -- sweet red petals flutter.
Into Her garden a lark is descending....



Scars Publications


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