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From Seamus Heaney's translation of Spohocles' The Philoctetes:
The Cure at Troy
Human beings suffer,
they torture one another,
they get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
can fully right a wrong
inflicted or endured.
The innocent in gaols
beat on their bars together.
A hunger-striker's father
stands in the graveyard dumb.
The police widow in veils
faints at the funeral home.
History says, Don't hope
on this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
the longed for tidal wave
of justice can rise up,
and hope and history rhyme.
So hope for a great sea-change
on the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles
and cures and healing wells.
Call the miracle self-healing:
The utter self-revealing
double-take of feeling.
If there's fire on the mountain
Or lightning and storm
And a god speaks from the sky
That means someone is hearing
the outcry and the birth-cry
of new life at its term.
4 comments:
A perfect poem for today, Rebel Girl; thanks. I've allowed myself to get excited (only since last night) about this election----first time in about 8 years. It's frightening to hope, but also wonderful.
Hoping for a great sea-change....
I hoping Obama will pay my mortgage and put gas in my car.
Whose butt did you pull that out of, 4:06?
4:48 Her name is Peggy Joseph from Sarasota Florida. It's on Youtube.
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