Occidental Bulls
On Instagram I saw a poem called
Something along the lines of “Rape Culture.”
Written in simple verse: Eight lines that rhyme
Alternately, images such as these:
Torn clothes, torn soul, a body scarred, and eyes
With tears of blood beside a simile
Like this: a pain like waves, and metaphors
Of force and graves. I read and read the verse
And felt an earnestness I blushed at but
The flaccid meter and the stiff rhythm,
The broken grammar and the vague notions,
The basic rhyme and well-worn imagery,
The clichéd ending that trades agency
For finger wagging made me disfavor
The poem though a part of me felt shit
For doing so. I thought I should like this
If only out of sympathy because
Who cares for craft? Women are raped and die
Or live their lives a taste of death. I thought
Of Noor Hindi’s poem: “Fuck Your lecture
On Craft, My People Are Dying” and here
I am hung up on craft when women die
But still, but still, I can’t let go. I think:
Don’t they deserve better? Don’t we all do?
The dead women, the raped women, the poor,
Orphans, beggars, the left aside, the slight,
The global south, if we must write or sing
About our pain, suffering, don’t we deserve
A better class of song and poetry
Than flaccid meter, stiff rhythm, broken
Grammar, vague notions, basic rhyme, well-worn
Imagery, and clichéd endings that trade
Agency for finger wagging? Fact is,
I’d rather break fingers than wag. Fact is,
The master’s tools are better in my hands.
Fact is, if we’ve been cursed to carry this
Language upon our tongues we ought to tame
It not let it ravage and run, bull-like.
For poetry’s a field this bull can till
And craft is harness meant to tie it down
And put to work. So grab your tools and take
The bull by horns and tame and tame and tame.
Poetry by Sameen
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Written on 2026-07-20 at 09:42
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Albert Vynckier |
