UNWALLED UNIVERSITY

A

(Anarchist)
MY BROTHER MILOSH

MY BROTHER MILOSH WAS BORN
ON THE SIDE OF THE STREET WITHOUT SUN.
HE SAID THAT WAS WHY HE BECAME AN ANARCHIST.
LOOKING FOR HIS PLACE
IN THE SUN

THE NEIGHBORS SAID HE WASN’T BORN
BUT WAS HATCHED…LIKE ONE OF HIS PLOTS

ONCE WE WERE FULL-GROWN
WE WERE NEVER MISTAKEN FOR EACH OTHER
THOUGH OUR FACES WERE ALIKE ENOUGH TO SHAVE BY
BUT THEN, I WAS BORN ON THE SHADY SIDE
OF A VILLE-FRANCHE STREET
AND THAT MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE

MY BROTHER MILOSH
COULD NEVER BE ASHAMED OF OUR HONEST NAME
BUT HE BORE SUCH HATRED FOR THOSE
HE SAID HAD FORGED OUR POVERTY
THAT HE FOUND NO TIME TO BEAR LOVE.

IT TOOK MY BROTHER’S BRILLIANT BRAIN
TO TURN THAT POVERTY INTO TICKETS
FOR A UNIVERSITY EDUCATION, WHERE
I RODE ALONG ON HIS FARE.
THERE, HE SURROUNDED BY OTHERS
AS HUNGRY AS HE FOR JUSTICE
(THEY SAID).
LEAN AND LONELY MEN WITH A JACKEL’S NEED
TO FOLLOW A LION, TO FORM A PACK,
ADDING THEIR DUNG AS FUEL TO THE CAUSE
THAT WAS MY BROTHER’S ONLY LOVE.

WOMEN, HE HAD, YOU UNDERSTAND.
THEY COULD NOT RESIST HIS DARK HEROIC MANNER
HIS SLAVIC FACE AND ICE-BLUE EYES.
BUT THE ONLY ISSUES HE ‘GOT ON THEM
WERE POLITICAL

MY ROUND LITTLE WIFE THOUGHT HIM A DOPPLEGANGER
AND WHEN SHE BEGAN TO BEAR ME A FAMILY
MY BROTHER MILOSH
WOULD NO LONGER ENDANGER OUR DOOR
NOT EVEN IN DESPERATION.
HE WAS ALWAYS SENSITIVE TO OTHERS.

IT WAS FOR OTHERS THAT ALL HIS CAMPAIGNS WERE FOUGHT.

*(MEElosh)

CAN I BE AT EASE WHILE THERE ARE WRONGS TO SET RIGHT?
HE WOULD SAY.
Would YOU BE AT EASE IF THERE WERE None FOR WHICH TO RIGHT?
I WOULD REPLY.
NO GOVERNMENT BUT SELF-GOVERNMENT, MILOSH WOULD CRY.
AND THEN SPENT ALL HIS YOUR LIFE
(THOUGH HE WAS NEVER REALLY YOUNG)
SEEKING MEN REBID ENOUGH TO RAISE A REVOLUTION,
SANE ENOUGH TO POPULATE AN ANARCHY.

SOMETIMES I ENVIED HIM HIS HIGH ADVENTURE
BUT NOT THOSE DARK AND DIRTY DIGS
WHERE MEN LIKE WOLVES WALLOWED LIKE PIGS
IN THEIR DISCONTENT.
HE CANNOT SCALE THE HEIGHTS
WHO WILL NOT RISK THE ROPE, HE WOULD EXCLAIM.
BUT FAME OR NOTORIETY, I SHUNNED THEM BOTH THE SAME
AND KEPT MY DULL GREY GRINDSTONE GOING
DAY…BY DAY…BY DAY…

ONE DAY, MEMORABLE TO ME
ONE MASS-MEETING TOO MANY
LEFT HIS BLOOK AND BRILLIANT BRAIN
ALL OVER A STREET IN MARSEILLE.
HE HEARD THE NEWS ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
HE WOULD HAVE BEEN THIRTY-THREE.

FRINDS GATHERED FROM THE OLD NEIGHBORHOOD
TO HELP US BURY MY BROTHER MILOSH.
THE DAY WAS INDECENTLY BRIGHT AND CLEAR
WITH THE RIVIERA SUN MAKING UP FOR LOST YEARS.
NEITHER IT, NOR OUR TEARS REACHED MILOSH.
IT WAS A CLOSED COFFIN

THE KINDLY BOURGEOISIE
SPOKE MORE TO ME THAN TO MY MOTHER.
HOW HARD IT MUST BE FOR YOU, THEY’D SAY
SO CLOSE AS YOU WERE TO YOUR BROTHER.
AND SOMEWHERE FROM MY MEMORY
MY BROTHER MILOSH SAID,
Why don’t you bury your Social Concience?
After all it’s dead.

FEW CAN BURY AS I HAVE, I TOLD HIM,
MY CONCIENCE, MY FURY, MY SINS.
TO THE MOURNERS I MURMURED RITUALLY,
WE WERE NOT MUCH ALIKE, FOR TWINS.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 29th, 2009 at 6:43 pm and is filed under Poetry Dept.. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.