Wore Weary
written by: Stephen Kingsnorth
Dis mem ber ed, sheer and un re pressed,
war artist, there atelier,
impressed, w i d e-e y e d, without a gloss,
so paints black matte – photo gravure –
our Pablo found his Steer, by George.
Some scan
the
list
of
b o d y
p a r t s,
signature signs,
symbolic flesh,
as if forensic has its place,
plotted in graph analysis.
But Basque instead in power of frame
where terror SMASHES from the skies,
down mowing clay
of
women,
tiles,
bare battered
refuge in the fields.
They talk of ballet, oeuvre chart,
horse arabesque with plié bull;
it’s heard of, U.N., on display,
but passed, the propaganda scale,
for who’s moved now, a Civil War?
This abattoir seen in My Lai,
and countless tortures, waterboards,
in Srebrenica peacekeeping,
so world wore weary, sore, but course –
remembrance month, yet little learnt,
and nothing, whole, in Guernica.
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