Ali's Song

Ali's Song
by Michael R. Burch

They say that gold don’t tarnish. It ain’t so.

They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.

A man can be more beautiful, more wild.

I flung their medal to the river, child.

I flung their medal to the river, child.
 

They hung their coin around my neck; they made

my name a bridle, “called a spade a spade.”

They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.

I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.

I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.

 

Ain’t got no quarrel with no Viet Cong

that never called me n****r, did me wrong.

A man can’t be lukewarm, ’cause God hates mild.

I flung their notice to the river, child.

I flung their notice to the river, child.

 

They said, “Now here’s your bullet and your gun,

and there’s your cell: we’re waiting, you choose one.”

At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.

I gave their “future” to the river, child.

I gave their “future” to the river, child.

 

My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold,

a coin God stamped in His own image, Bold.

My blood boiled like that river, strange and wild.

I died to hate in that dark river, child.

Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.

 

Originally published by Black Medina then turned into a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong

Note: Cassius Clay, who converted to Islam and changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, said that he threw his Olympic boxing gold medal into the Ohio River. When drafted during the Vietnam War, Ali refused to serve, reputedly saying, “I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a n****r.” I was told through the grapevine that this poem appeared in Farsi in a publication called Bashgah. Keywords/Tags: Muhammad, Ali, Olympics, gold, medal, river, coin, Viet Cong, Vietnam, War, slave, name, God, Islam, Muslim, Uyghur

Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

Speechless
by Ko Un
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

At Auschwitz
piles of glasses
mountains of shoes
returning, we stared out different windows.

Elegy
by Perhat Tursun
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

"Your soul is the entire world."
―Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

Asylum seekers, will you recognize me among the mountain passes' frozen corpses?
Can you identify me here among our Exodus's exiled brothers?
We begged for shelter but they lashed us bare; consider our naked corpses.
When they compel us to accept their massacres, do you know that I am with you?

Three centuries later they resurrect, not recognizing each other,
Their former greatness forgotten.
I happily ingested poison, like a fine wine.
When they search the streets and cannot locate our corpses, do you know that I am with you?

In that tower constructed of skulls you will find my dome as well:
They removed my head to more accurately test their swords' temper.
When our relationship flees their swords like a flighty lover,
Do you know that I am with you?

When men in fur hats are used for target practice in the marketplace
Where a dying man's face expresses his agony as a bullet cleaves his brain
While the executioner's eyes fail to comprehend why his victim vanishes, ...
Seeing my form reflected in that bullet-pierced brain's erratic thoughts,
Do you know that I am with you?

In those days when drinking wine was considered worse than drinking blood,
did you taste the flour ground out in that blood-turned churning mill?
Now, when you sip the wine Ali-Shir Nava'i imagined to be my blood
In that mystical tavern's dark abyssal chambers,
Do you know that I am with you?

TRANSLATOR NOTES: This is my interpretation (not necessarily correct) of the poem's frozen corpses left 300 years in the past. For the Uyghur people the Mongol period ended around 1760 when the Qing dynasty invaded their homeland, then called Dzungaria. Around a million people were slaughtered during the Qing takeover, and the Dzungaria territory was renamed Xinjiang. I imagine many Uyghurs fleeing the slaughters would have attempted to navigate treacherous mountain passes. Many of them may have died from starvation and/or exposure, while others may have been caught and murdered by their pursuers.

Perhat Tursun’s poem “Elegy” in an English translation can help us understand the Uyghur people and their precarious situation today

Perhat Tursun (1969-?) is one of the foremost living Uyghur language poets, if he is still alive. Born and raised in China's Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, Tursun began writing poetry in middle school. Unfortunately, Tursun was "disappeared" into a Chinese "reeducation" concentration camp where extreme psychological torture is the norm. According to a disturbing report he was later "hospitalized." Apparently no one knows his present whereabouts or condition. According to John Bolton, when Donald Trump learned of these "reeducation" concentration camps, he told Chinese President Xi Jinping it was "exactly the right thing to do." Trump’s excuse? "Well, we were in the middle of a major trade deal."

Auschwitz Rose
by Michael R. Burch

There is a Rose at Auschwitz, in the briar,
a rose like Sharon's, lovely as her name.
The world forgot her, and is not the same.
I still love her and enlist this sacred fire
to keep her memory exalted flame
unmolested by the thistles and the nettles.

On Auschwitz now the reddening sunset settles!
They sleep alike―diminutive and tall,

the innocent, the "surgeons." Sleeping, all.

Red oxides of her blood, bright crimson petals,
if accidents of coloration, gall
my heart no less. Amid thick weeds and muck
there lies a rose man's crackling lightning struck:
the only Rose I ever longed to pluck.
Soon I'll bed there and bid the world "Good Luck."

Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

for the mothers and children of the Holocaust

Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...

Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this―
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...

Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...

Something
by Michael R. Burch

for the children of the Holocaust

Something inescapable is lost―
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.

Something uncapturable is gone―
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.

Something unforgettable is past―
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
and finality has swept into a corner where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.

Pfennig Postcard, Wrong Address
by Michael R. Burch

We saw their pictures:
tortured out of our imaginations
like golems.

We could not believe
in their frail extremities
or their gaunt faces,

pallid as our disbelief.

They are not
with us now ...

We have:

huddled them
into the backroomsofconscience,

consigned them
to the ovensofsilence,

buried them in the mass graves
of circumstancesbeyondourcontrol.

We have
so little left
of them

now
to remind us ...

For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch

Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails,
when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream,
when winter scowls,
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
Where does the butterfly go?

Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?

And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?

Child of 9-11
by Michael R. Burch

a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who was born
on September 11, 2001 and died at the age of nine,
shot to death ...

Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm ― I hope you hear it.

Much love I bring ― I lay it down

here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.

Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the vicious things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.

And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.

Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...

I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bear them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.

Swan Song
by Michael R. Burch

The breast you seek reserves all its compassion
for a child unborn. Soon meagerly she’ll ration
soft kisses and caresses�"not for Him,
but you. Soon in the night, bright lights she’ll dim
and croon a soothing love hymn (not for you)
and vow to Him that she’ll always be true,
and never falter in her love. But now
she whispers falsehoods, meaning them, somehow,
still unable to foresee the fateful Wall
whose meaning’s clear: such words strange gods might scrawl
revealing what must come, stark-chiseled there:
Gaze on them, weep, ye mighty, and despair!
There’ll be no Jericho, no trumpet blast
imploding walls womb-strong; this song’s your last.

Copyright © 2006 by Michael R. Burch

Originally published by The HyperTexts

Reviews

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A tonal piece that relates to most that knew of him, which is everyone, well done, good read.

[Michael R. Burch]

Thanks, I'm glad you like my tribute poem to a great athlete and an important figure in the struggle for equality.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

He was much more than the greatest Heavyweight of all time....he influenced and affected so many....
under the facade of the joking, the boxing hype etc. out of the ring he did so much for so many.
Loved him....one of my heroes...
and this poem really pays wonderful tribute. He stood for what he believed and never wavered.
Such a shame what happened to him in his later years...I think that Holmes fight and the beating he took, so many head shots which in previous boxing life he was able to feign away from...that helped advance his Parkinson's...

j.

[Michael R. Burch]

I agree. Ali was the greatest fighter of all time, both in the ring and outside it. But his ability to take a punch probably contributed to his Parkinson's in later life.

Ali was also a witty and quite the poet. There were some incorrect versions of his poems on the Internet, so I went back to his own performances of the poems and collected them here, along with some stunning photographs you may enjoy:

http://www.thehypertexts.com/Best%20Muhammad%20Ali%20Poetry.htm

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you...will check them out....
I watched and listened to his poetry from before his Liston fights throughout the rest of his career...followed him closely...
after he left the ring...could care less about the Heavyweight division....
and Tyson would have been eaten up by Ali...he would have beaten Mike like he did Foreman.
"float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, cause George Foreman can't hit what he can't see"---
i remember before that fight being teased by my co-workers. They said my hero would be knocked out in the first round...and my response was that Foreman would be throwing roundhouse punches and missing, and Ali would jab him to death.
they just shook their heads at me....but not the day after the fight. ha ha. Thanks for the link.

j.

[afish]

Hi Michael R B - This is a great poem/song, strong, to the point, making the point, boldly, poetically. Will try to find the YouTube version.
Go well
>

[Michael R. Burch]

I'm glad you liked my poem and thanks for taking the time to read and comment!

Here is the YouTube link:

https://youtu.be/OHOs4kFVj24