Political Hide and Seek

A reading in support of Snowden in a friend's back garden, part of a worldwide coordinated campaign. Not something I usually give a lot of thought to. I admire whistleblowers on principle, and Snowden effectively threw his life away for what he believes in: disclosure of the vast spying network run by the NSA, etc. Initially he had apparently written that anyone who discloses such secrets should be "shot in the balls" and he was a supporter of the right-wing candidate Ron Paul. He also held back on disclosing info because he had faith in Obama, which he subsequently lost. I don't know. I feel sorry for the guy, now stranded in Russia, and I have no sympathy for the poor old military industrial complex with its various spying agencies, known and unknown, but...

In any case, I was invited to read and take some photographs of my friend's modest little gathering, the poems, speeches and conspiracy theories. As I said, I believe in supporting whistleblowers everywhere (whistleblowers unite!) so I agreed to take part. It was a lovely evening, the Indian summer lingering on into twilight. Good beer and good food, and nary a midge nor drone in sight.

I haven't written a poem about Snowdon, not many poems that are directly political (though all poetry, all real art, is political in a sense). I read two short ones, addressing racism and the Occupy protest. So here they are:

A Blesséd Curse
for the Human Race

May your children and your children’s children
marry, again, and again, he or she whose skin
is unmistakably (even in a dim light) that shade
that has you most affronted and afraid,
and may these marriages be
devastatingly happy.


The Tents

A little word, as practical as why,
unpacked itself and came to occupy

a sentence. It began to take up space
and found itself a nylon carapace ––

a growing cluster, bright and cellular,
as if directed by a branch of air.

Speeches and rain: the weather has been busy.
Between the streetlights and CCTV

intelligence is gathering. Something waits
that doesn’t need to rattle at the gates.

A single torch-beam rolls its eye. All’s quiet.
The tents are temporary but not quite.


Blessed Curse is from my second collection, The Sky Road (now available as an e-book). The Tents is from my forthcoming collection, Haunt.