Monday 11 October 2010

FREEDOM IS A FULL-TIME JOB

...
...
this poem is dedicated to the image of Che Guevara I saw emblazoned on a sugar sachet in a Starbucks by London Bridge

its called

THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE POLITICISED

or

FREEDOM IS A FULL-TIME JOB


to be more than simply each year’s cattle
must each year’s spirit fight each year’s battle?

is freedom less a thing or a place
than an unceasing search or an unending chase
so those who say they have done or won or got it,
only show that they have not it
for is it a land to which we can only strive?
but into which we can never arrive?
is it less in the choice, than in the choosing?
can it be used, or is it in the using?

yes folks,
its harder
and worserer
than you thought,
freedom is a full-time job

for the ways of thought hardest learnt and steered
by the boldest freers of previous years
were never enough, are already obsolete
back then they were never near complete
and now they can only show a way to go
which might have worked in part for them, then
but will never work so well again

for each age faces a new environment
new assaults and invasions
on its new and long-loved liberations
new media come and old media go
sometimes quick and sometimes slow
from bill gates to the cavemen to michelangelo
so every era sees fresh compulsions to subsume and comply
to why-not? sell-out? and self-commodify?
and so each generation must learn anew
how the very ground they walk through, and to
has steadily and imperceptibly changed
until the whole stretching landscape
is rearranged

so, to be more than simply this year’s cattle
must this year’s spirit fight this year’s battle?

for the old tries at freedom, so ardently sought
none of them wholly succeeded
the flames they never caught
and the waves they soon receded
everything you trusted
pretty soon got busted
the higher the boldest climbed and aimed
the further they fell and the more they got maimed
and yet all became
even more the same
as what once was the urge for the else
was then sold like processed cheese
as power, ever flexible,
rode the winds of change with ease
everything got debased and degraded
everything always has and did
the neon signs they went up
and the guidebooks they got published
and the drives for the new and different
got samified and vanquished
for someone’s genuinely new idea
will always be someone else’s genuinely long career
of course, it was ever so, and thus
where once only pioneers would go
you can now get the bus
so it no longer seems strange
that fashion took the place of change
and, yes, the sting
got removed from everything
so every hope and freedom got compromised
and the revolution would not be politicised

and, ahh, yes
the seeming assurance of matters long-handled how?
in pretty much the same way as now
giving well the impression
of an unstoppable momentum
of power and wealth
where you can’t change the world
you can only change yourself
but how can I matter when I’m so small-sized
and every best effort gets institutionalised
and the revolution will not be politicised

and yes
its all a bit galling to first guess
and then know
how the anti will soon become so much less,
and then become pro
how the demonised
will get tagged and labelled and categorised
first defused and then medium-sized
how it all becomes just more to enroll and extoll,
in the ever-growing arsenal of power and control
where once punk was radical
it is now pink and beck
where once post-modernism was radical
it is now disney and shrek
for someone’s genuinely new idea
will always be someone else’s long career
so why be surprised
when your every hope and freedom becomes despised
when lies become truth and truth become lies
so open up every orifice
while closing your eyes
for the revolution will not be politicised

and me, well I once had something I wanted to say,
but then the media wind it whipped the words away
the screens and paper gave a howling gale
drowning out my words
sapping their strength and making them frail
slight inadequate and shoutingly soundless
bare thin-boned and conclusively groundless
so little, so late, best to have not bothered at all
than to have aimed so big, and finished so small
and its terrible I know
to achieve so very little for all your go
for all your tries
and yes it may be internalised
but the revolution will not be politicised

and yet tomorrow the chase again
for the further chance to race again
and then, next day, the urge again
for another chance to surge again
to the long hard fight
to clear the blear and see the light
showing only further roads to further night
for freedom is a full-time job
has a full-time intent and task in it
giving us too little time to relent, or bask in it
so those who say they have done it or won it or got it,
only show that they have not it
for is it less a thing or a place
than an unceasing search or an unending chase
if its less in the choice, than in the choosing?
less to be used, more in the using?
a land towards which we can only strive
but into which we can never arrive?
only a long full fight
to see the light
showing only further roads
to further night
a long hard and wholly engaging fight
to see the light
showing only further roads
to further fight
...
...

No comments:

Post a Comment