Untitled
To my granddaughters who visited the Holocaust Museum
on the day of the burial of Yitzak Rabin, November 6th 1995.
Now you know the worst
we humans have to know
about ourselves, and I am sorry,
for I know you will be afraid.
To those of our bodies given
without pity to be burned, I know
there is no answer
but loving one another
even our enemies, and this is hard.
But remember:
when a man of war becomes a man of peace,
he gives a light, divine
though it is also human.
When a man of peace is killed
by a man of war, he gives a light.
You do not have to walk in darkness.
If you have the courage for love,
you may walk in light. It will be
the light of those who have suffered
for peace. It will be
your light.
Commentary
from: A Timbered Choir, The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997
I should probably be sitting on my hands having already submitted a poem to you recently but I discovered this was not on your site. It has been pinned to the bulletin board next to my desk for quite a while. I was tracking down a poem by Denise Levertov which I found on minstrels. I then wondered if Mr. Berry made an appearance and discovered he did not nor could I find this poem anywhere on the internet. With all that has happened since his death, Rabin’s life and death are even more significant. And more tragic. The 8th anniversary of his death approaches and the poem’s sentiment could not be more timely.
Being a military veteran (retired, full career) and a pacifist contains some inherent conflicts and guilt. I’ve Berry’s poem by my desk for a year now and still nearly weep every time I read the first four lines. This poem speaks to me in all of the ways that give me hope. Hope in times like these when the cry of havock calls forth in my name, in all of our names. Hope when I feel so helpless to effect any change. And Hope that my actions in the second half of my life wiill create a light to burn after me. That my children and theirs can see just a little further in the darkness and make their contribution to the advancement of civilization.
Bill Schubert
Biography
http://www.poets.org/poets/poets.cfm?prmID=692
http://www.heureka.clara.net/art/berry.htm
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Alan Kornheiser · 13 November 2003
I have been having a running argument…in my head, not in person…with Mr Berry for years. I own all his nonfiction and have read most of his poetry (including the juvenilia, about which the less said the better, but no matter). Yet I argue with him, because even when he is right…which is often…there is an odd smugness about his being right that makes me want to throw him against a wall.
Mr Berry is, after all, a tobacco farmer…or was one, once. It is hard to take a tobacco farmer seriously when he writes about human morality.
Mr Berry famously has refused to use a computer, preferring to let his wife type his work. Skipping over the “wife” part (she apparently enjoys the task, and who am I to second guess anyone else’s marriage?), the Luddite self-righteousness of this claim permeates his work.
And yet. And yet. This is a man who knows that the only true pleasures are the pleasures we build with our own sweat, who can do the math to show the value of traditional farming, who truly at a gut level knows what things cost. And he writes good poetry. So I guess I continue to buy the damn books and threaten to throw them at the cat, and then carefully put them back on the shelf to be re-read.
It’s good to see him added to our list. Let everyone who likes the poems go out and read the essays. And the fiction. Just skip the early poems.
Alan Kornheiser