You Can't Talk to Ebola (Ebola Version 3)

[Jackie]

Version 3
You Can't Talk to Ebola

Always rifle-shaped, the virus
used to ride on scowls.
Came in clusters piled snarling
on roofs and backs of trucks.
Shoulder-butted. Ready-charged.
We've come. Hand over your youth
or yield to our torch.
I'd greet them;
hail one, and they'd all turn,
distracted.
How's your mother?
Did the tablets ease her pain?
Mock their faces—
what frowns!
We've no food, sir.
They'd reach for my gifts and leave,
all those long gray barrels
resting on their knees.
And the virus
adapted. Barreled still, but earless,
piggybacking on smiles.
On children come to plead.
We love them,
we feed them.
And then we're cracked apart.
Our slain youth here, now,
wait for transport, laid out
upon the hearth.


You Can Talk to an AK47

It was a rifle, this virus. It hitched to ears
and scowling faces. It came in clusters,
piled snarling on combat truck roofs
and hoods. Shoulder-butted. Charged
and aimed. Hand over the youth. We'll
storm your door. We'll torch the place.

I'd greet them. I'd hail one. Their weapons
flag as they turn backwards. Did the tablets
ease his mother's pain? Or I'd mock them
for their growls. It's our empty bellies, sir.
As they reach to take my gifts and leave,
the barrels lie at rest upon their knees.

The virus has no ears now. It piggybacks
on smiles and need, on children sent to plead
for grandmas home in bed. We love them. Then
they spit up. Then we see that they are hot.
We give them gifts but we're left charred;
our youth turned quiet ashes in our hearths.


Original Version
It was an AK47 once, this EVD virus,
hitched to ears and scowls. It came in clusters,
piled snarling on combat truck roofs
and hoods, shoulder-butted, charged
at targets. Hand over the youth
or we'll storm the door and torch you.

I'd go outside to the rebels and hail one.
They'd turn to him; the rifles would flag.
Had the tablets for his mother worked?
Or I'd mock them for their growl. Empty bellies, sir.
And reaching at last to take my gifts and leave,
the barrels lay at rest upon their knees.

The virus has no ears now. It piggybacks
on children's smiles. Children pleading wanly
for grandma at home in bed. We love them. We draw
them in to eat where they spit up and then we
see that they are hot. They take gifts and leave us
now torched. Our youth but ashes in the hearth.

[KevJ]

This is a moving piece I think Jackie. Must be very close to home for you both geographically and emotionally. I wonder if perhaps you have witnessed this current outbreak first hand.

We had news the other day of someone who has beaten the virus with the help of some ground breaking drugs not yet on the market (in America I think). One can only hope that these drugs when they become available aren't priced out of reach of the African nations that so badly need them.

Kev

[David]

This seems very powerful, Jackie. I don't know enough about the virus - I really should know more - to be able to follow the ins and outs of this, but the poem itself is moving, even in my ignorance.

It seems almost beyond criticism. I imagine that's not what you want, but I feel a certain inadequacy to address it properly.

Are you out there, confronting it directly now?

All my best wishes to you, whatever the answer to that question.

Cheers

David

[Arian]

Yes, your emotional contact with the subject, whether first-hand or not, comes across very strongly.

I particularly like:

The virus has no ears now. It piggybacks
on children's smiles.

Is the title perhaps a little too literal?

Cheers
peter

[bodkin]

Like others, I am a little too removed from any real experience like this so I cannot 100% give feedback.

It does read as a powerful piece. What isn't quite coming through is the relationship between on one side the soldiers/rebels/guns, and on the other side the disease.

Or maybe the relationship is clear, e.g. that both are threatening to everyday life, and what is unclear is exactly what role the soldiers play in the N's life. Again this is probably because in my life I don't encounter anything like that, so I don't have any experience to relate it to... it's the cross-culture thing again.

However I am not sure whether this matters. The message comes through anyway. The last strophe in particular has an emotional rawness that is actually painful to read.

I have no idea how close or far you are physically from these events, but I do know you are a lot closer than me, so I wish you well whatever your situation.

Ian

[Antcliff]

Hello Jackie

I liked the last stanza as well.

A powerful piece indeed...a striking idea: the contrast between the guns and Ebola.

Thoughts on the first stanza:

It was an AK47 once, this EVD virus,
hitched to ears and scowls. It came in clusters,
piled snarling on combat truck roofs
and hoods, shoulder-butted, charged .....shoulder-butted? Does that mean slung over the shoulder?

at targets. Hand over the youth.................do you need "at targets"? Isn't that implied anyway by "charge"?



Seth

[dafra]

I presume the butted refers to a gun butt Ancliff.
The last stanza is very powerful with the torching of infected bodies by people who loved the victims in juxtra position with the torching of the first st by people who hate.

[Antcliff]

I presume the butted refers to a gun butt Ancliff.

Yes, but does it mean the butt is held to the shoulder? Slung over the shoulder? Gonna be the first probably isn't it?

Seth

[Jackie]

Thank you all for your kind thoughts and comments. Kev, yes, we can only hope that those drugs be made available. I'm not there right now but my family and friends are. It's scary, and I'm finding again that it's hard to be creative under heavy stress, as I imagine many of you have also found.

Seth, I don't really know that much about guns so I'm probably missing the proper terminology—I just mean the butt against their shoulder.

Peter, I agree that the title was too literal. I was trying to imply that as Ian said, the threat to "life as we know it" evolved, as viruses do to keep achieving their goal of survival.

I have posted a revision—

Jackie

[Macavity]

hi Jackie,
I think your revisions works better where you've used short, snappy sentences:

Hand over the youth. We'll
storm your door. We'll torch the place.

I'd greet them. I'd hail one.

Like the pace of that.

Our youth but ashes in the hearth.

Perhaps a verb is needed, but 'turned' lacks impact for me.

It piggybacks
on smiles and need,

I felt the bite and irony in the use of piggybacks .

hope all will be well

mac

[Jackie]

Thank you, Mac. I used your comments in coming up with version 3:

http://sentinel-eli.blogspot.com/2014/0 ... ebola.html

Jackie

[Antcliff]

Hooray! Good to see it there..

[David]

Hooray! Good to see it there..

Yes! Very good revision too.

[Jackie]

Thanks so much for coming back to this, Seth and David. Much appreciated.

Jackie

[Ros]

yes, great poem now. Looks like you're doing great work there with the students, too.

Ros

[Jackie]

Thanks, Ros!

[Arian]

Yes, the revision's very good indeed, Jackie. That first line is a terrific start.

Still don't think the title works, though. Me, I'd be less direct. 'Spreading' or somesuch.

Cheers
Peter

[Jackie]

Thank you, Peter. Thanks for your input all along.

The title is one of those things—advice I give other people and don't follow myself. It's where the poem began—a comment someone made that stunned me, and the whole poem is an attempt at explaining why it had that effect on me. But of course poems grow beyond their origins. . .

Jackie

[jpgallagher]

Hi Jackie,

Thanks for posting this poem, I enjoyed it a lot. Clearly quite intense and the power of it comes across throughout. The only comment I might make is with the "virus has no ears now line". I take this to be its indiscriminate nature, (and apologies if I'm barking up the wrong tree here), but how is it that it "had ears" before?

JPG.

[Jackie]

Hi JPG, and welcome!

Sorry—I had posted version 3 on http://sentinel-eli.blogspot.com/2014/0 ... ebola.html but forgot to put it at the top here. I have corrected that mistake now. I'm interested to know if the (rather strange) idea about talking to a virus comes across better.

Jackie

[ray miller]

I miss this bit from the 2nd version

We give them gifts but we're left charred;
our youth turned quiet ashes in our hearths.

I think you've arrived at the correct title but I'd suggest this

You Can't Talk To Ebola

like an AK47, rifle-shaped
and riding on scowls....

I don't think you need to mention the virus explicitly after the title.

[Jackie]

I'm thinking you're right about the opening, Ray.

Thanks for your comments—much appreciated!

Jackie