Thirty years ago, long before ISIS started executing Kurds, Muslims and Christians, I hired a Pakistani Muslim as an art director in Chicago. I was an Irish Catholic editor putting out a small national magazine. I hired him because his work samples were good and he had worked for the United States embassy in Pakistan for more than a decade. The embassy facilitated his emigration to America. It didn’t hurt that he had seven children and I had five. I too knew the misery of being out of work with a family.
Different as we were, Mohammed and I were also much alike. Deadlines and details were important to both of us. Other than the two of us, the staff was female. It helped on occasion to have another man around the office.
The following poems have been mauled, marred and mutilated by Christopher Bernard
Trump Chaucer
(Adapted from Geoffrey Chaucer)
Whan that Novembre with his shoures sote The drought of sumer hath perced to the rote, And bathed every veyne in swich liquor That wine must come out of its every flour, Whan Fox News eek with its bitterr breeth Depressed hath in every holt and heeth The rotting croppes, and the ageing sonne Hath in the his last halve cours yronne, And smale foweles maken threnodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye Acause they cannot sleep, for comes the snowe, And all must end that we will ever knowe, Then voters con to go to polling places To cast thir votes in the correct spaces.
And so they came this yeere and voted dead The world that made them, and us buriéd.
The comics “Living Will” is an original idea by André Oliveira (writer) and Joana Afonso (graphic designer). I strongly recommend you to try this collection of seven small books because, I believe, their content is truly unique and, most of all, it is “an arrow to our hearts,” capturing our attention.
The very first sentences are revealing: “My pops used to say life’s just like a pint of beer. It begins as a sparkly refreshing nectar, bringing some kind of golden and sacred joy, and it ends with bitter taste.” There’s a depth of feeling or an unusual sacred revelation (or not) in these words that takes the piece to another level of meaning where time really matters. Especially if we take into account that old Will’s life as he understands it has “reached sort of a dead end, so it seems.” He is the main character, the hero of this adventure and all he feels is that something has happened that he should take into account. He misses Judith, his dead spouse, but, on the other hand he has a bag full of pieces of memories encrypted in small white papers…
Softly treading through the mossy grasses in a pristine wood,
There is a feeling of peace that envelops you as well as
The strength that seems to fill you with a confidence not known before.
Gazing at dew drop leaves that sparkle in the sunlight
Finding the small beginnings of renewal from a once devastated forest.
Small shoots of trees that will become again a tribute to nature.
The constant moving and shifting of the earth causing new
Life to appear in the way rivers can change their course
Or new life may appear in remote areas of the earth.
Nature gives life to the world around us –
From the variety of animals, birds and those who crawl on the ground.
Each species contributes to the life of the forest and everyone
Benefits from the growth and renewal of the great forests across our land.
From a sandy shore we gaze at the far away horizon.It seems endless but we know that it will end thousands of miles from us, at a distant shore.
The waters look peaceful but below the surface there is a constant struggle between Life and death. All of the aquatic species have predatorsand the last one is man.
The oceans are constantly replenishing themselves to keep life and growth for the needs ofour civilization. There is a quiet and peaceful feeling in your soul when walking on a beach.The shimmering sun shines down upon the sand causing the illusion of waves in motion as it softly runs between your toes. You feel the water tickling and soothing
your feet. One feels relaxed and free in this environment.
Nature not only provides man with food, materials and water but beauty beyond description and we are thankful for its gifts.
Death is not any single matter to us
like the people of our country, Bangladesh
here politics is so powerful
that we, the people, are meaningless ants
a hunting ground
the liveshave no right
to continue in this world any more
the commons are the tools to their clutch
they do when and whatever they like to
our lives depend on the mercy of the lords
Its alright if one party is victorious on the other
If not, their animosity beams on the common people
throwing bombs on the running bus, truck and train
nothing can be done we are helpless to their powerful hands
pull out the fish-plate of the running train causing deaths
the lords like to satisfy their hunger day after day
we, the helpless common people nothing to do
we are the observers we are the deaths
we sleep in fear we rise in fear
life goes so suspicious
then what does it mean ‘life’?
when we recollect
the recent past dealings of our politicians
how can we think we live safe in this present world?
Let us call this the “winter depression,” premature as it may be on our part to count winter’s frigid malice out of the game so early. We could call it “the post-election depression,” but I don’t want to. Why give them such power? I made a comment to a friend a couple weeks back, shortly after its onset, to the effect that “if I’d known Trump was going to win, I wouldn’t have talked so much shit about Hillary.” But it was a throwaway, disingenuous, wasn’t it? Throwing to the audience (of one) what they wanted to hear. And actually, they are legion here in Pdx, which has a large & mobile mass of young radicals, Outside Inners, Rad Fae types sporting shiny new self-entitled gender pronouns that nobody else is ever going to use, Standing Rock-ers, cute young tall slim ba(b)es dressed all in black with black hats & black boots & white or red bandannas around their mouths carrying war mallets (hot!!) & weaponry & paint cans ready to fuck some shit up, & related righteous ragers ready to take to the streets & stir up a public shit storm. As well they should! And I ran with those wolves when I heard their howls & saw them coming, answering the primal call of the hunt—for am I not one of them at bottom, despite my frequent plaints; but by my own choice, & therefore free to come & go at my own wish & not at the beck & call of another?
(He does not try to dominate you, but you cannot dominate him.)
