(Stanzas from the prologue of Res Publica, Book One)
My poem is true. And those who say,
how come we never read about it,
or saw it on Holmes1 – let me shout it:
You did! You did! There wasn’t a day
since summer, ’98, when mention
wasn’t made of my intentions.
TV One, the Herald, the Times.
So many events conveyed in these rhymes
between my pro- and epilogue,
appeared in the news, or someone’s blog,
or on a million cell-phone screens
from Russia to the Philippines.
I have no doubt my story was seen
by you, my reader – and likely dismissed
by you as well. We seem to exist
in modern life as magazines
in quest to raise our circulation.
Life’s designed by copulation,
so said that brilliant thinker, Darwin;2
but, too, we yearn for a story to star in;
and they – our stories – compete as well.
Some with ﬁction cast their spell;
some rely on brainy proof.
For nothing’s quite as ﬁt as truth.
And that’s just it – for in these days
of typus excessus, everyone
(including Pamela Anderson!)13
is smitten with the writing craze.
It’s hard to tell just what is ﬁt
and what is shit – and if they split
apart at all; if entertaining
ﬁction – en masse – is truth-attaining;
and whether truth, concise or wordy,
proven or not, can ﬁnd a sturdy
spot of well-protected ground
midst waves of falsehood.
Or must it drown?
1Popular news presenter who once referred to UN Secretary General Koﬁ Annan as a ‘cheeky darkie.’
2Question: Were Darwin alive today — and surely someone of his scientific brilliance exists in the world today — would he blog?
2Pamela Anderson (born 1967), a modern ‘blonde bombshell’ and actress, is best known for her breast implants, her exhibitionist stunts and questionable acting abilities in a 1990s television series called ‘Baywatch’. Her novel, Star: A Novel, was published by Atria.
Published as part of the dVerse poetry group.