POLITICS

For a long time I told myself I would never become one of those poets. A didactic manic who thought he had something everyone had to hear about.

So when I began writing new poems for a book about politics in North Korea, part of me was excited and part of me wanted to smack myself.

Amy Copeland gave a good lecture about the political poem and its execution. She said a political poem has to be a poem first and has to work with the writer and not against him/her.
I like this. It supports what I have been working toward.

Is there a way to write political poems that have a point without sounding like a know-it-all?
Yes.

Voice, perspective, and characterization of the speaker all are viable options toward making it happen.

Here's a poem I wanted to share with anyone who might still do this blog thing.

KOREAN WAR

1.
Let me begin,
and if the first word is mine
let it be this: Yes,
Jesus loves me.
My Bible tells me so.

2.
For tomorrow
expect partly cloudy skies.
High pressure moving in
around lunchtime
with scattered powers, I mean
showers.

3.
Sentenced to life in Hawaii,
I flew away
in a helicopter
to preserve my name.
RHEE FOR PRESIDENT,
say it, embezzle, smezzle,
re-
elect me.

4.
Men of Korea, yes,
I’m the weatherman
but it’s just a day job.
Review my resume:
I have experience in
umm, domestic affairs.

5.
If a voice is needed, no son of Korea
is more fit

to shame,
No!
to dishonor,
No!

to represent more than I.

Of the flesh, of the mind,

It’s a perfect union until I speak,
until you sigh.

6.
Whether I am loved or not,
my name
is whispered in the trees.
Of the past, here,
have a lei. What lines I crossed,
what bombs I desire
are my business
and business is good.

7.
Confucius says
respect your father.
You know this to be true.
Yes, I control the sun.
High temperature: 63
Remember me! I’m not
made of bronze, not
embalmed of wax.

8.
Would it help if I said
I knew Jesus?
Met him in a snowy cave,
shared rice wine
in a stone cup
and saw blueprints of
the way:
it’s tapped into
my left shoulder.


9.
Before I tracked the sun,
its orbit was my domain.
If only I had secured the beach
of Inchon, sent
Americans away in body bags.
I was your leader once.
Raise me from the grave!

10.
Old men, out of the corner, I come! The page is mine,

and I go where I delight.

Of course the line where time courts forgiveness

(and not the
I-know-Jesus-so-you-can-too
kind,
or
the
Listen-to-me-because-your-father-did
kind, but
my line,
one of incomplete authenticity) is a warmth,

bleeding that begins in loneliness
so that it may end there,

is not mine to draw. Still, this blood is mine!

and despite all this red meat making my mind…

A bit slow.
Yes.
…I still yearn for such responsibility.

Fifty years
is a long time to find yourself.
This is over. It’s that easy.
If I cared what you thought
I might not say this,
might not say
you deny me because I know what your leaders don’t.

From a man who knows
no unity exists
under this sun or another,

I side step breakdowns sent to consume me
to stand among you as a Kim, one

of that large family with good dietary genes
munching on potato chips, dreaming of peace.

Dear Korea,

you could not break me
as a boy.

You will not break me
as a man.

*Note: Syngman Rhee was the first president of South Korea. Kim, Il Sung was the first president of North Korea.