Oh father
oh father, oh father of the nation
You are the Bangobandhu, Shaikh Mojibur Rahman
From the heaven make the garden of Sonar Bangla
You are alive in the slogan 'Joy Bangla'.
You have given us a flag of green and red
We are still under your love and shade
We shall never forget your contribution
You are the father of the nation.
You have given us wind of independence
We see in our heart your courageous face
You are the source of our inspiration
You are the hero of the heroes of the nation.
Oh father.oh father, oh father of the nation
You are the Bangobandhu, Shaikh Mojibur Rahman.
August, New Hope, 1961
By Christopher Bernard
The heavy ripening summer,
green in the mountains,
high wheat, sleek corn,
alfalfa massed against the ground,
strawberries, raspberries, black,
peaches almost over-ripe,
tomatoes big and sweet –
a sultry land baking hot
with loam, topsoil, sleep.
The year ripening:
the wind from the north, in snow, rain,
ice, forgotten. Trickles
of moisture tickle the back of your neck.
Nothing tempts like ice-sweat lemonade,
except maybe a plunge
in a pool under the hickories.
Time stops for weeks.
You never want it to move again.
August the earth in that place slept
and dreamt of a half-forgotten spring,
winter dead, July’s hopes,
as a whisper of coolness slipped inside,
like a drop of water inside a crack.
And under the sultry atmosphere
a breath of ice stole like a knife,
steely and rare. . . .
Someone now long dead
looked up from her summer book, hesitated, and said,
to no one in particular, “I can feel fall in the air.”
_____
Christopher Bernard’s collection The Socialist’s Garden of Verses won a 2021 PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award for Literary Excellence and was named one of the “Top Indie Books of 2021” by Kirkus Reviews.
Ash
When the tips
No longer sprout
Leaves
And those clinging on
Curve upwards
Almost drawing
A blanket over
Itself
Means
It is dying
It is easier to bring
Down
A dying tree
Than a dead one
Like transferring her to the hospice
After we had transported her
From her home
To my bedroom
And then
From the hospice
To the mortuary
To be burned
Amongst tears
And scattered memories
Of a life
Voiced
By someone else
In my room
Clearing
Magazines
With half finished
Crosswords
And curling pages
I regret throwing out
Pyre
Purity
Rages
Its swollen scent
Sucks
Oxygen inwards
Along with terror
A procession
Of curtains
And burning eyes
Terrarium
A melting vortex
In the shape of understanding
A blind tear
Virulent
Energy blast
Claw scrapes
A cistern
Spat in
Capped
Shaken
The fizz forms
After it stagnates
Repugnant
Ooze
Bubbles
Joy flicker
In the slime of
Transmutation
Dare you touch the glass?
Plush
A flying
Slug
Torpedoes
Glitter
Trails
Through a
Black
Eco-system
Will it hit?
Will it miss?
Will it be lost?
Will it even be first?
Flirt
Pheromones
Tangle in the air
Ejaculate
A liquid rain
In colour form
Invisible
Tangible
Yet free of fingers
Eyes
Trace
Lines
Minds
Wish
To caress
Inside a black hole
A claw
Waits
For reckless
Forms
To eviscerate
Or smother
With
Pathogens
brother charles
should a man wear a smock if not an artisan
walking alone with his spirits feeling
their affectionate regard his shoulders
draped with the black flag of freedom
wise to keep distance from the innkeepers
and townsfolk wishers of ill
should a man wear a large bow tie if he sings
every day in a thrilling voice would he look absurd
in the midst of greatness however briefly
of the bourgeoisie waxing eloquent in a space
of vermillion or possibly amaranth
daguerreotype image ambiguous showing
frustration or pique willing in spite of all
to live in his own times helpful to others
to me certainly in my fragmentation
my dislocation any brief refuge any respite
from the runaway omnibus
i remember brother charles
and the other brother charles
the teacher opening wide his arms to the
singer the francophone buddhist
nostalgic for salad days at the sorbonne
his reading list dragging behind him
not to forget brother charles the trumpeter
the messenger the bike enthusiast
who filled his bottle as a boy emptying
a thousand as a bearded man who
now has gone hence in his winding sheet
hand in hand with psychopomp
where is the bygone man who would beat
another on the street for what had been written
and as the beaten one staggered on
disgusted women would gather their skirts
and spit with contempt fearful of the threat
to polite society and with good reason
yes the silence of my dreams is real
the thrilling voice hallucination
charles my brother gave me
tones of gray for consolation
and raised for me a temple
in the midst of desolation
wisest of brothers stretching forth
a hand in loving valediction
w v sutra was born in Africa and raised in Southeast Asia and the Middle East, borne hither and thither on the surging tides of cold war and soft power. He has been at various times a rock musician, a public health professional, and an educator. He began writing poetry during the Covid-19 lockdown. His work can be found in various online journals and at wvsutra.com . He lives and works on a horse farm on the shoulders of the Holston Mountains in East Tennessee. Twitter @w_v_sutra
He Is Risen
The rising man
the showman
the big shtarker
did a turnaround:
moved the boulder
clear of the cavemouth
and bowed in three
directions to applause
you've never heard
the likes of; maybe
once before when
Horus rose from the dead
and greeted the sun
as anyone would after
that torpor the cheers
were louder.
In the bars, they only talk
of their guy who came
after as the one and only
to shower with gratitude.
And damn the unbelievers.
And don't be mentioning
Asar in these quarters
March With The Zapatistas
There's something to think about
in the movement of the marching
toward a goal that's distant enough
to become uncertain of its outcome.
The men are tilted forward
as if leading horses onward.
The women are devotion, their arms folded
in the creases of soutanes placed as columns.
Determination is depicted. It is a color. Red.
White moon. Blue of moonlight in the mountains.
They go to fight. You see the swords. There's no
deception in it. Their figures are their speech.
Though wearing peasant dress they're contemporaries
and we slowly merge with them without distress.
Evasive Action
It's all we've got so let's keep it.
Wouldn't you run into a burning building
to save a child? You wouldn't pour gas
on it. Let's get together and make an impact.
Give up those old clunkers you're still driving.
Sell off the cattle you're raising in your garages.
They're dooming us to extinction. Beans
are much better for you and so are bicycles.
Take a walk with your child and have a conversation
without lighting a cigarette. Purchase
solar panels, buy green tags, adjust your thermostat.
Throw yourself to the ground to stop a convoy
of tanks slowly emitting CO2 gas in the countryside.
And get those B-2B's out of the sky. They're GHG murderers.
All About the Small Funeral Business
A. How to Establish the Small Funeral business
Thank you, Doctor, for taking time to come speak to us today.
No Problem, Duke. After yes, after all, yes, all, after all. Yes. Great! Then, let’s start at your front. And that’s a good start—yes, all right—but, take care things may actually turn jarringly downwards. Perhaps much too jarringly. Y’ know? Y’know? Know as well? Pe? What? What? Am I ill? Ha! Yes. Fun. That’s right. So, ‘inny’ay, we seem off on one fine start, popp’d headed fer that one, two, sue, so, soo my face anywarts, my dead spaniel, not to trash no mo’ viewer time—go on, but—first, io. Pe petun, tentunio?
Fascinating.
Hiccup!
Yappo-stanzo?
Yes, yes. ‘nyway; here’s how to pop every small funeral business. ‘now no one will come ‘f we’re not serious, sane, sober—sanely, serious, so. If you pick up an existing funeral business, then you, on those Morrissey’s mark out that twatchemmbrrr—should git up‘n go! But; am I ill, or what? Ha! Aeeroplaneee, Bruce. And right now, too. The port’s that way.
Bet me. Whomp.
K; the story within this coffin (poiuytrewq) business, this business that we—ah hoo—picked up within this business, you may also obtain one used. Perhaps take over a small funeral business mysteriously walked off from by its young married couple—ah hoo. ‘he whole of what we saw ending up of began, up between prior partners as an innocent game of nightmare level professionally played version sixteen used copy of The Chasms of Mister DeFrance. What? Am I ill? Ha! Surely so. Surely ‘s to tha’ they found out the hard way it wasn’t ‘ll ‘s cracked up t’ be. Nio petu.
My God!
(mnbvcxz)
But, you just catch breath, pick up, and get up, and go, and you should be prepared to exercise restraint in radically changing—ack—the ones before you here, most likely were fanatics; ‘na coffin ‘lly business fanatics, for this very right here casketentational aerosoulian business. So, go on saying doing and whutz much the same so’s the focus’s snot so as to generate negative word-of-mouth assuming all your slumber rooms will surely remain empty; caused by you only you sitting on things with a far too different weight, in an opposite spot, tilting things o’ the bad side of the business. This gaucho-cracked big stout hot of an idea, cam’ from t’ first of the male halves. But Frank, hey, wait—do ye even get it? Uh-WOK! Big battle! Am I ill? Ha!
Do you even get it?
Spluttery splattery uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhh.
Is that by Maestro Von Fistula? You’ve most excellent taste!
Oh, what—what?
Have we cake? Of course. We can wait while you choose. Of course. Check the display case. Up at the register. Do go on. We have many varieties. And—if we don’t have one that you like, and you don’t buy one, you’ll pay nothing.
Deal?
Hey!
Wow.
B. How to Organize the Small Funeral Business
Organization should be slick, swift, right, ‘n-n after the initializationing pop of your new small funeral business, done t’ accordingly stay/get in tune with the clientry. One way’s dat dot toone, ah-who, thought they must be still from now t’all infinintentionnillity-toone, could determine to lie still a full eight hours, in the name of simple empathy, leaving no way out, and no choice, no cancel. Just in death there’s no choice, no retry, no cancel, ‘nd no way out, as the inevitable nothings roll f’ward ‘nto simply less of theirs-selves, longing to someday play-y p-p-p-piano-for-people, but never quite arriving that far. The foul effects of being within this reality rots them down, guts them out, strains to nothing them down to all gone, in their box. This is why they call it forever, my people! Like—I mean—why the hell you think it says this side toward enemy on these Claymores, soldier? A gross mistake you’ve made today, and look at the grisly results. Now; am I ill? Ha! Am I ill? Still think that, pups? Ha! Gripped g ‘n s strength of-f theirre relishionne-ions, they fatally arranged to be hammered-in so as not to give in to their devils for the whole eight hours, straight. You there? A question?
Yes. Hammered-in what, Mahdi?
Oh, just some holybox. Ho’ ‘ly bo’. Holybox. Like that—Herb-Ox. There you go. How’s boutcha? Get offenda’ that bouillon? That silent and sure properly made broth-soothe, with which to ensure A guy. B-bouilloninskiteen-man; in and of his—very self. (Atchoo!) He ended up hung, on his very last yesterday—gag gahh whistelty-spitt—maybe approximately five, three two one, ‘r maybe a good twenty—(phase=spirit/simple) years back. Oh, arshi na-shi narsh. Oink. So night after night became all the same—recapo recappi; into their box they went, first; then, one hundred ten nails ball-peen hammerdowned by their handyman Thaddeus; y’, hammerdowned solid tight and ball-peenly, all ‘round the full edgetop ‘bout them, each in the name of that empathy, and so, so, so. So; tightly interiorized i’ this way, they’d spend just each night; for years. In their oblong box. Like clockwork. What? Am I ill? Am I ill? Am I ill? You keep asking. Keep asking. Why you keep asking? So dense, so dense; no doubt my spaniel boils better eggs than you! ‘arshi narsh’ e’, ha! Quite unusual. But—by the late ‘gen’ Stan Potter, give thanks. Sort of. Like—petu-raggo. Okay? Okay? Okay?
Okay. Plop.
Fine. But so, like I tried on to say a’fore; each and every of their nightly deep coffinizations rushed up toward morning. The finish line for them, where, ah; what a God-damned relief, yes, and; always the same returned handyman Thaddeus. Came ripping o’the solidly driven nails, out-yanking them swiftly, one by one. Snot. Ha! Soup. Sorry, but heavy water’s sold out hours back. Try the big chief general store and rent-a-closet center cross town. They’re nearly as potent there. And with fewer side effects. But, to our young couple. Each morning the comfort. Oh, yes. Ahhhh! Always, as promised; the comfort of escape; the inrush of onrushing air—so sweet! Sorry. Sorry. Oh, yes. Those sloping shoulders will get you rejected. Don’t even bother. Sure, sure. There is no use. Petnio. Sorry, so sorry. What? Peio. There. We all right now? Good—ought to ought to ought to be decades of repeatedly mournful customer families—good.
C. How to Fail the Small Funeral Business – Stage One
But as for them; they had no idea a day would come when ‘fter nailing, their fast-flailing Thaddeus, down in his cellar, would work some few hours knotting a big fat self-hanging rope. Sometimes he simply liked the way it smelled. And by God, he used it, too—before his next actual morning! And so there they lay—stuck. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Who me oh sure, must be—deaf-ceteria next few ‘rs of dying and go figgur’—sort of like—trapped? Now how many things can that mean, stupid? Spit! And those there butts how of why realtor got them and under it all dug to us. Rock-Ball. Obey Vader’s rule: steer for your crash elegantly; become a legend.
But anyway. That was the end of the both of them together—but—what’s that?
A question—there?
What the hell is a—Rock-Ball? Huh? Am I ill? Ha! Bland-sockery’s all. Outside of that much, you’ll fail to get it. So be dump’d. Hoist, hoist etuniop tupeoin whoosh, down, and like that be totally dump’d. There that like all th’ other watra goesh; and! Chicken’d-la-la-noodley! Ho! Am I ill? My word, how do you mean? Of course my skull-size is nonadjustable! It is some silly modern epidemic! Ha! How’d you not know that? How twisty! Oh, how twisty! Oh, of course! Oh my! How’d you not know? Hey, look, wow; your condition is non-diagnosible. Which is totally worse. One shortcoming after another. Silly me. We ought have taken the right fork nine miles back. D’yah think? Yah back-hind those bushies. Oh. of course. Those ones you said looked funny. The ones with the tall red spikies. The ones with which you distracted me into tipping the wrong corner. Therefore its your fault we arrive thisly not thus. Spanng! Uh’ should have seen that much sooner. But; you do still want to buy one? Here? How? Oh—they still sell them here? Sey ouy yllaer od’! Wow, sweet. (pump harder please, skipper! Here comes the finish line) (puk) Free frames today if you purchase three. The big ones, too. In stock now. Those rare big ones. Back up, come forward, and this time make (puk) sense (puk puk) puk pu’ p’ make sense, please!
But then better snap-fast!
(bow deeply)
Ha! The roar of the ‘s the roar of the cr’ d’ ‘rowd iarshn compels you sweet (and introducing (in flowy fancy whack-cursive)) yonder Lil’ Jimmy, the Jesusian—prune!
Applause! Applause!
He’s back hot from Big College!
Wow!
Big College!
Ha! Ha! Yah really quite big!
Hah! Really? Ca’ u pinch me u’ ‘y snit?
Off Corsica!
Off Corsica!
Off Corsica!
We think we doobi’ gat it, so.
(lets talk about something else)
D. How to Fail the Small Funeral Business – Stage Two
<poundya yo-yo>
<time>
<time>
Bland-mash.
Yasso, Mom Dearsides (unless improperly drained).
Results will be unpredictable, Captain.
Oh, of course.
So, given that; do you still intend to finally sail away?
Yes, do.
Bland-mash.
Bland-mash.
Yes, do.
Bland-mash.
Yes, do, bash-bosh, whoooooooooooooooo! O. Yes bash-bosh ‘n fully reversable lung les’, that lay in their circumferential dance of fat death, hop-stance, ‘n waiting, ‘n waiting up curve, Hey, it is quite late. Don’t you think it is, Donald (if in face one or both o’ them are/is legally named Donald) prohedulahla? Swallong start down shortswall, es ess; inside their boxes panic more panic panic panic panic and panic and pa’ic and an’ and panic d’ ‘nd ‘anic and ‘e ‘nic pan’ ‘nd ‘ani’ a’ ‘ic ‘n’ p’ and ‘a’ a’ ‘ic ‘c nd ‘cc d ‘’ ‘nd and sev’ panic hours’ and panic fear worth of and hours wheeze ‘heez’ ‘ee’ nyuk-no, and; <>=no sue thee lay there in-boxed rot and wilt and quiet and more; more of t’ ‘e same rot and wilt and more and more ‘til; and all just because their tops could not be opened. For want of a bash, their sledges silent forever (send more cops) eh, Michael Tackuella-Pluck? Can you tell us where have they gone, they just walked away, duh? Did you see? And so and so and, he—stated plain; do not rely on no overbuilt suicide diver for your ever living ever alive life as we all look forward to; with a the successful small funeral business running the simultaneously successful shining railtracks beside you both, to boot.
Boot, hevryshing nendz somisdays, not?
Eh, Nancy?
Okay. Oh of course. Then, steered that we (ae) should’n shall go.
By Heaven’s slap-sliver! B’wow! That’s my daw-wog my big terrier that’s my daw-wog my big terrier his nooso see his big wet cold nooso, he y a o I ‘errier oos see ‘ow it crumbles; the future crumbles; when you do it that way, Smee? He do enjoy eating bland-mash. How fortunate! What? O oo. He do enjoy eating bland-mash. How fortunate! But—turns out, it was just a story. Weak one at that. So no one came desiring to buy. So? Oh of course. Just kick in more swag. Course of, oh! Ruck-ruck-ruck, sackies. Oh, but of course we snuck in fast, bid down cheap, and; snapped this plash up in a flash. Yes? Who? Mantis? Okay. h-h-h-h-hold it, hold; wait, Petunia. This is against the law.
Crap!
<Oh>! <oH>? <OH>!? <oh>?!
N-rshi na-shi nar-hi, plain prisoner, maybe—hold it! Hold what? Ne nier. What’s that? That get up? In where and in where and in what hell it is? Niest iest ier ie I ihsran=narshu <plain> My hippo! My sweet! I been looking for you, where oh where, get up, damned hell ‘lla hell up! I been beating down bushes beating fla’ busheezies you could have called why didn’t you call eh eh eh I couldn’t call well, I , ieeee, there’s really no reason but I wish I’d never met you pal!
But.
Well you did meet me, and that’s that, so, now you owe me no father no no mother no no they I should owe and I don’t so what the hell hillo la hillie’d you have to do with bringing all these me’s myselves and I’s about—honey! The darkened box cleared and in there they. Were—dead as this here bent nail. They were pan’ no I don’t ‘nd ‘ani’ a’ ‘ic ‘n’ want to dissolve but p’ and ‘a’ a’ ‘ic ‘c nd ‘cc d ‘’ ‘nd I think I am yes and sev’ panic hours’ I felt I was dissolved ‘n panic fear worth of and hours wheeze ‘heez’ ‘ee’ nyuk-no, dissolve an’ ‘issiolv’ a’ ‘ssiol’ ssiol ssiol sio less sio’ll gone up down empty damned too quiet of a commercially entombed entombment place-named real place.
Hot giggitry!
<time>
<time>
<time>
E. After Failing the Small Funeral Business
Let me tell you straight, come on, sit here—here. After yes after all yes all after all. Here. Let’s start at your front. After no after all no all, after all dis dat udderly preshious docker-degree nailed over wall after wall after. Sheepskins for sheep! la la la ! Duke! Problem! No, say you’ll reply will you how know I bet I and asked first than time your of more much so up give to you of great so s’ it. Here is the card of a Doctor Nebulette. Grand at loss counseling. Gok. Goodbye. Chest problem? Try hot water. The very use of her wicked millionaire’s likely got you and yours strained all the way down.
Hey. We’re all human.
<learn>
<learn>
<learn>
Thank you, Doctor, for taking time to come speak to us today.
You’re welcome. Good-bye—and may you enjoy a profitable day.
