Where do poems come
from? I have no idea. For me it’s an unanswerable question, akin to pondering
what was there before the big bang. Something that. Instead I think that when the
poem calls you simply have to say thank you and then try to fashion it into
something workable. I suppose that’s the poetic process turning the personal,
the specific into something universal.
I’ve been vaguely
pondering this because earlier in the week I was just falling to sleep when I
had an idea for a poem. Experience has taught me that you have to get it on
paper or it will evaporate with the night. I turned the light on and spent half
an hour or so trying to capture the thought. Then I slept.
I am at my best
first thing in the morning. When the house is quiet before anyone else is awake.
I have been working on the poem and have
got it in reasonable shape.
Before going any
further though I feel that a little background is necessary. Museums in the UK
have collections of human bones, all museums do. There has been a move amongst
the people from whom the human remains were taken to request them back. Over
the last two centuries or so many disrespectful acts were perpetrated on
indigenous people around the globe. One of these was to take human remains to
exhibit in museums.
There has been some
repatriation in the last ten years. The majority of the remains of Aboriginal
People have been returned to the first people of Australia. Which is a start.
Little enough and late enough but a start.
Plea
Plundered spirits caged in display cases,
their humanity rendered into data,
serial numbered scientific evidence,
they are excluded from the Dreamtime or heaven.
Wherever they should be, it is not here.
You would see your father buried,
or a neighbour, with due ceremony.
Why not return these people?
End their misery
and heal ourselves into the bargain.
As I say I have no
idea where this poem came from. It simply appeared in a rough form and I took
it from there.
I want to end on an
up this week. I’ve just found on youtube the full video of Bob Marley and The
Wailers in 1973 at Capital Rehearsal Studios. This is a real gem. It is worth
an hour and twenty six minutes of your life. Enjoy.
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