` the rhythmic shock
and heavy metal
cracked skin on bloody hands
waves in the sand
and in the air
we often think of air
as nothing
it's rarely seen
but that ain't no staple-gun
and the bullets
whistle
while they work
spiraling
Sahib
breathe
breathe
Sahib
whistles again
more melodic now
the cobra rises from the coffee can
visions of home
remember mom picking the shards of glass from her leg?
and how we said we would never be like these assholes
how we would run
how we would never…
but never a thought of the air
that cradles the
aspiration hot
all the shit we forgot
to notice
floods the air
or somewhere
a crackle of radio waves
or tires
near the oasis
the air can be seen
dANcINg
(we're almost there)
man, this air is sweet like cake
isn't it?
breathe
Sahib
I fucking knew it
I knew you would grow heavy
Sahib?
x
Author notes
This is a repost of sorts from my old days here at AP. It has been modified, but remains mostly the same.
Written May 23rd, 2006
A contest entry
- They hate us for our freedom and other myths by AJ Morelli.
1000 points, ended June 6, 2006, 15 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 37 of 37
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Oh, and in case it's not clear, I DO know you were talking shit, and it's fine by me. I live by thievery.
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Well, I think cobra in a coffee can is WAY better than cobra in a basket. I don't remember seeing this one, actually, but makes no difference. Fact is we both accessed an image that is going to be in overabundance (if it isn't already) in...hmmm...two weeks? Mark my words!
This is very good. I find it hard to make decent comments lately, probably laziness. I started ripping your latest last night, but got disgusted with myself.
I like how there's a lot of air in this poem about air.
Ostensibly about air.
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Sahib could be an American fighting anywhere at anytime -- he could be an African, an Indian, he could be a Middle Eastern. What I like is there is no preaching in this. Not a Poet's job to preach.
You are very good.
Lisa -
Great poetry.
As if you were there. I commented already and applauded. I am glad so many show care for the ones in all the cruel forms of war. You hit the mark with this poem and I am glad I read it. I hope I can post again my words. Annie -
Interesting write. You should enter my Ginsberg contest.
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"I knew you would grow heavy"
The weight of that line alone is well worth the price of admission. The tone and the use of vernacular is excellent. -
Well Ed another great write, I love the narrative of the piece and how you constructed its telling. I have absolutely nothing to address, so let me start gushing...lol
Lines like:
"we often think of air
as nothing"
"and the bullets
whistle
while they work
spiraling"
"man, this air is sweet like cake"
all wonderful as is most all the lines, but you did save the best for last. The ending is surprising and perfect. The voice is so steady and completely engrossing. Just enough detail to make the reader experience the piece, but it never is slowed or weighed down. The speaker's crude language adds so much to it's genuine feel. The form works so well, I have nothing but praise for this one. A great piece from Ed, now that is not a surprise. Can't thank you enough for joining us here and classing up the joint. -
I'd hand you the gold.. if I could.. -
the entire write rocks back and forth through the sublime and reality.. right from that opening line..
the image of the cradle is so strong here../as is the one of war and if it weren't for the shock of the impact lines could lull one into some complacent sense of beauty ..but just when we are about to sink into the comfortable ..the smooth||jagged image of
Sahib
breathe
breathe
Sahib
spins us.. turning the eye toward the sharper more real/human impact of war, the loss, the hopelessness ..the concrete screaming out of the abstract -- listen you fuckers it's - real
the smell acrid sweet smell of death in the air, and the eternal choking question of .. WHY..
phenomenal really.. if you sit with this ..and let it bloom
Edited on Jun 03, 11:12 p.m. because ''. -
nah, actually, i just pulled sahib out of thin air. Thanks.
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I wish I could remember what I said before. Something about all the air images crackling and hissing like blood rattling in the lungs as they gasp for breath and the comrade desperately tries to dragcarry and talk the wounded man to consciousness. Sahib being what the Indians called the British during the Raj years, where many loyal relationships were built that endured under fire- don't know if there was a deliberate hint of that or not- definitely some North Frontier flavours there for me. Anyway I thought it was triffic before crikey and it still is triffic.
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My goodness you're good! I loved it!
You really know your stuff with this poetry writing, don't you? I think this is really really good for bringing your point home. Everybody tends to forget about the little guy and that everyone really is the little guy. Or they are someone's son. It was just all very sad to read. I really hate war. It's just a very ugly thing, no matter how you think about it. You did a really marvelous job with this. You should be proud. Good luck in the contest. So thanx for featuring this so that we all had a chance to share your thoughts and feelings with you.
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lolol -- you know, there is a reason I almost never click on featured items... Here, I figured if you featured this, it must be new and I needed to read it immediately. LOLOL I recall reading this about a week ago, though, and sure enough I see up there my comment already. So, exactly what should I say new? I WILL applaud this again, for it deserves it. But what really annoys me is that I deprived someone else of reading your marvelous craft, and it deserves the widest readership imaginable. I am sort of thinking to myself that "Lesson learned. Return to the 'don't click on feature' rule." Sorry about this.
However, I do want to underscore that for all the same reasons I said previously why I liked this, I do so again. You have shown the effect of war at its most basic element, and elevated the pain of loss to the immediate pain of injury itself. Excellent before, and excellent to read again. -
truth
"War is Hell" this needs no intro... the language cannot be true and sweet.Annie -
Eh...not too bad...
This poem was alright...I was kinda thrown off course...I felt that there were a lot of different emotions going different ways. However, it was creatively written...I'd applaud this, but the only thing that's holding me back is all the swearing in it-I think you'd have a fantastic poem here if you took those out :-\
-Tim -
war makes no fucking sense. this is such a good poem. i just read it again and it made me all messed up.
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i have to go to work. i'm so despondent. -
of course not. That thing is relatively new.
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is that where you got the one about cheese dip? -
look at the bottom of this page. There you will find a link to Findquotations. (c)
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she'd probably decline. i'll ask her though. you've got me considering this "oh but it is disney movie" i suddenly feel like -- maybe life is just a fucking movie. not a fucking movie as in a porn movie.
you are so deep. -
not all the way through. all i know is 'don't do the crime, if you can't do the time.....no"
-
I need a quote. -
can you sing the opening song from Baretta? -
what if she were crawling through teh desert, parched, barely able to move from dehydration, and i offered a cup of Kool-aid in an opaque vessel?
Would she decline? -
She might like Cornholio. She became obsessed with Robert Blake. She grew up in Nutly where he was born. She sent him letters while he ws in jail. She also has other obsessions. She cannot drink from a glass that is not clear. Amongst other things ..
She's my favorite cousin though. She sends me all the best porn.
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Hilarious. Is your cousin still obsessed with corns? and would she like a cornholin?
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My cousin -- was obsessed with corns. You know the kind you get on your foot. She didn't "understand them" -- she kept asking my mother who had one -- "I don't get it, why is it called a corn, how does it get in there?"
So my mother, oh god, she'd DIE if she knew I was telling this story, she doesn't leave her bedroom without applying lipstick and brushing her hair - however she is a closet freak. My mother when her corn came out of her foot - ew I'm started to feel gross -- she taped it to an index card and sent it to my cousin!
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I think so.
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Big and little toes please. I have a hideously gross story about something sent in the mail do you want to hear it?
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Oooh, but, you see, it is a disney adventure.
I will have some toenail clippings dispatched right off, then. -
Dear Ringo,
I'm so happy that you Beat poems. I was wondering if you really needed that "while the work" do you? I keep thinking of Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs when I get there and it breaks up the tone for me. Could just be me. And it is only a momentary thing. Maybe something else, different but the same. Or maybe not. I don't really know, Ringo. I remember this. I remember thinking "Holy Shit -- Sahib is fucking dead weight and all this is happening in the Air -- " You are masterful. Please, send me something, the ashes from your last smoked cigarette, a piece of tinfoil from your lunch sandwich - a pierogi. I am mad for you and your poems.
Love,
a Fan. -
Well Ed, this shows all the intelligence and power you can bring with the paintbrush of your words. It's political, yes -- but it is also an exploration of the human condition in a moment of greatest crisis. More than others I have read of your works, this one has a beat element. There are the repetitive beat rhyming qualities to lines like
" all the shit we forgot
to notice
floods the air
or somewhere"
Also, the short expressions permit the reader to pause in the sentences, much like the beats of old. But at the same time, you include your marvelous imagery -- here, the air is at the focus of the piece. A quality that, as pointed out in the piece, we take for granted; yet air becomes deadly in war, whether from the sonic passing of a bullet, or the chemical expulsion of the air during a detonation. It's all lethal, and yet still important.
Perfect for this contest. I always smile when I see one favorite write a work for a contest held by another favorite. This once again proves why. -
Sahib is just a name I made up. Nothing else to it.
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I was about to comment on the poem but got all wrapped up in the the coomentary.
hmmm..okay, your looks like the desert. It's sparse, dry and with small islands of red violence.
I don't get the 'sahib' thing but maybe I will after I read more of your work which I plan to do.
D -
but ask yourself, if the smith's played somewhere you considered vile and otherwise unsuitable, would their music suffer from it? Would you like it any less?
Hey, that Morrassy fella is in the Smith's, right? you may not be a chav but you sho is a clumpminge. -
blimey is right. Contests are very good for me. for some reason or other, I need the impetus. I'm a fucking zero on my own. I have no say in the font. I ain't no posh silver member like you. YOu shoulda taken the gold when it was offered.
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