On September 5, 2014, NPR ran an by critic Juan Vidal titled, “Where Have All the Poets Gone?” which questioned whether American poets still produce political work, and suggested that “literary [political] provocation in America is . . . at a low.” Because I find this assessment of contemporary American letters to be very incomplete, I wanted to take the opportunity to create a dialogue on the subject by curating a series of compelling political poems from contemporary American poets. I christened this series “Political Punch” as an affectionate reflection on the cocktail of poets who decided to honor me with their participation in my little Infoxicated Corner; it was intended to celebrate the glorious mix of poetics, voices, and life experiences all being shaken and stirred into a sense of community and conversation, being distilled into burning gulps of experience for the reader. Leaving aside all the boozed-up metaphors, it was also intended to celebrate my experience of American letters, in all their willingness and ability to pack a political punch.
This beautiful lyric poem by Kristin LaTour is ekphrastic, written after a photograph was posted by a Syrian friend of hers on Instagram, depicting a man recovering a child casualty from a bombed building. It struck me as anti-war in the vein of Randall Jarrell. The stillness is palpable.
Aleppo, 2013
Cue the rain, the first notes of the aria already echoing.
He is at a loss; his lungs are papery cocoons bursting.
We try to understand if he is pushing away or beckoning
as we lean closer, watching the notes fly like moths
from the cave of his mouth, their wings soaked, battered.
He is motioning at the escarpment, the floors exposed
like limestone cliffs carved by a river, rooms stacked
like stages: a living room’s yellow paint, a freshly made bed,
a kitchen table. The rubble becomes dusted with moths.
He sings as he lifts chunks of stone, moves them aside.
He bends, takes into his arms a limp child’s body.
We wonder how he keeps singing as he carries her.
How slack and white she is, like wet moth wings.
‘s debut full-length collection, What Will Keep Me Alive, is forthcoming from Sundress Publications in 2015. LaTour is the author of three chapbooks: Agoraphobia, from Dancing Girl Press (2013), Blood (Naked Mannequin Press 2009) and Town Limits (Pudding House Press 2007). Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Massachusetts Review, Fifth Wednesday, Cider Press Review, Escape into Life and Atticus Review. Her work appears in the anthology Obsession: Sestinas in the 21st Century. A graduate of the Stonecoast MFA program, she teaches at Joliet Jr. College and lives in Aurora, IL, with her writer husband, a lovebird, and two dogitos.
