Ask yourself what is love? What colour is it? What does it taste like?
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
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Month: January 2021
Poetry by me: Let’s Talk About Our Salvation
Let’s Talk About Our Salvation
We heard so many slurs, so many monosyllables as money
and mendacity hit the campaign trail. Reeled with the
superlatives; ears bleeding, eyes blinded, hearts broken,
shuddered with the ugly vile-nasty-ism. We watched
in dismay, the ceremony of shame, as the old law breaker,
became the new law maker. A smokescreen of tweets bleated
and abused concealing policy, the links with Breitbart,
flooding our platforms and screens, turning our blood cold. Yet
still we utter, still we declaim, filling the streets of cities
and towns, with our bodies and breath. Our banners rock with mirth,
we are so not done yet. Hell no! A new generation joins us on the
sidewalks, the boulevards, the squares – across the world, their legs
strong, love on their lips. Swinging hips holding the Mexican,
the Muslim, the other, locked in an embrace, birthing new possibilities
in the republic born in genocide and slavery; reshaped and exulted
by the dream factory. Remember the Alamo! That was Mexican,
it’s kinda in the name, isn’t it? They called it manifest destiny,
pushing west, icons and tropes still haunting the movie theatre
today. La la la la land, we are awakening. John Wayne wasn’t always
the good guy. Good guys, let me tell you about them, they’re up at Standing
Rock, right now, facing guns and water cannon, ice on the ground,
with only smartphones, prayers and the spirits of the ancestors
to protect them. And while I’m at it, I’ll tell you another thing
for nothing; the forgotten were never forgotten by Alice Paul,
Kathleen Cleaver, Lucy Stone, Olive Morris and bell hooks.
We move together, memory in our arms, bones of dignity, courage
in our bellies, compassion on our shoulders, the future in our hands;
we rise, still we rise, and we will rise again and again and again.
Anne Enith Cooper 2017
Image taken at the London Women’s March 21st January 2017
I wrote this poem after the tremendous global women’s marches, open to all genders, which took place immediately after the inauguration of the 45th.
Looking back at this poem a few weeks before the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamilla Harris I’m asking myself if, with hindsight, it was hopelessly idealistic having seen the apparently inexorable rise and consolidation of the right in the USA culminating in the armed attack on the Washington Capitol building yesterday, January 6th 2021, by supporters of the 45th and far right extremists in which five people died.
At the time the women’s marches were reported as the largest protest on a single day in the USA. “Women’s March against Donald Trump is the largest day of protests in US history, say political scientists” Matt Brookfield, The Independent. Protests took place in 550 cities and towns in the USA and 100 globally. It was estimated over 6-7 million participated in the USA and worldwide with 4.6 million within the USA. In London it was difficult to get anywhere near Trafalgar Square, let alone in it, the crowds were so large.
We’ve endured four years of an administration headed by a premier who actively encouraged the “alt right/ libertarian right; replete with reactionary attitudes towards women’s rights and the alt right is really a euphemism for those who wave the Confederate flag alongside the swastika, don tee shirts celebrating the holocaust, brandish (Walmart) Tiki torches in a gesture that evokes Ku Klux Klan rallies and mob lynchings and drive vehicles into crowds of peaceful protestors.
Despite all this it seems to me there has been no cease in our struggles from Black Lives Matter, to Standing Rock and Extinction Rebellion, to mention but a few, even during the pandemic, across the world, with women playing a part front and centre. And it is not just a struggle of resistance but one that envisions a new world free from all oppression, violence and inequality, living in harmony with our planet.
We are so not done yet!
Image taken at the London Women’s March 21st January 2017
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
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Diary: January 2021
Happy New Year everyone, wishing you all health and happiness, hope, strength and joy in the struggles we will undoubtedly face together, let’s continue to bring beauty, respect, dignity, peace, justice, equality and sustainability to this world. Hope this new year is rich and rewarding for all.
Last year was a tough one, I appreciate many are grieving, in recovering, or financially challenged, we are all in a sense precarious now. I prefer to think also about what it has given us; a renewed respect for the often invisible yet essential workers, a chance to reevaluate what really matters, a chance to upskill, learn and grow, the reveal of the incompetence, uncaringness and mendacity of power.
This time has also seen the emergence of mutual aid on an unprecedented scale demonstrated dramatically during the lorry-park-with-no-toilets debacle at the end of the year. While the government callously described the unfolding events as a “stress test” for a no deal Brexit it was the Kent community that fed the thousands of stranded drivers not the council or the government.
Hope you had a reasonable time last night I had a quiet one. At least the flat is emerging from a year of dust, clutter and cobwebs (ok i exaggerate a little though it is curiously how dust and cobwebs seem to create small balls over time…)
Reflecting on the year personality feel immense gratitude for when it was possible to connect. The year began for me on a challenging note plunged into the dark in January, almost it seemed, overnight. How much of this was personal and how much was existential I don’t know. I was writing a ring of fire: a lament for Australia as it began. Spend a good part of the year crawling out of that place. It would be easy to look on the year as the sum total of that but on reflection there was much more.
Some highlights; in March just before lockdown one hooked up with Poets for the Planet for a reading and conversation at Resonance fm link. In May and June joined the Black Lives Matter protests in Windrush Square while August saw a diminished but effective XR rebellion in London, my part in this was small but supported rebels camping in beautiful Brockwell Park, a stones throw from Cressingham.
Collectively the park became our playground, sanctuary, gym. Hard to put into words how valuable it has been for so many of us. I read in Brixton Buzz Lambeth Council want to hand over management to some company which aims to hold 50 commercial events annually, surely this must be opposed.
In September between lockdowns took a trip to Italy; discovered the wonder of Rome, attended a powerful yoga retreat at Casa Amrita in Teramo province and explored the delightful coastal town of Pineto before reluctantly returning.
The poetry world went all zoom and forced to face my reluctance to get in front of the camera head on joining Poetry from the Grassroots on a number of occasions. A supportive and increasingly international tribe of fellow wordsmiths. Joined the team at On Our Radar, who in collaboration with Groundswell, are collectively stories of homelessness in a peer led project.
Have been massively supported and assisted by group meditation on zoom with water and earth protector Urtema Dolphin. She has been holding a space almost every day since the start of lockdown one. A space to learn and grow, to be and let go.
Ended the year putting together a visual poem entitled The Last Swallow has Flown; a contemplation of autumn, love and transformation which is almost ready to share, watch this space
Feeling optimistic about the future; our struggles have gone truly global and becoming more inclusive. We are still in a fractured and polarised world, in my opinion the dark is not rising it was always there and the light is revealing it, so let the light shine!
Not much in the diary yet but starting a short course in Greek and Roman Mythology at Penn State Uni, I’ve found gods and goddess making an appearance in my poetry for a while now; the Indian goddess Kali came to me in Brockwell Park, Gaia on a beach in Pineto, while Venus, Zeus and Eros put in appearances from time to time and so I figured it was high time to learn a bit more about them.
Also will be joining Poetry from the Grassroots on the 10th January 2021
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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