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The poem I wrote and read here (see below) is in response to a request from an American friend of a British victim of the 9/11 attacks who asked if Graham could film in the Grosvenor Square Memorial Garden. It appears unlikely that he will ever come to London. We were glad to oblige, and trust no one will think we have been intrusive; we have not included the three bronze plaques containing the names of the deceased within the small pavilion as the camera did not focus clearly on all of them and we felt it had to be all or none.
Among several poems I have written about 9/11 I have chosen two that I hope people will like, especially anyone who may have lost a loved one or friend on that terrible September day in 2001. Losing a loved one or friend is awful enough, but in the course of a terrorist attack it has to be even worse, the sheer futility of it all conspiring with its suddenness and sickening horror to haunt us forever. In my experience, and contrary to the old adage, time does not heal the hurt of loss; it only helps us live with it, and move on.
Moving on from the death of someone close to us is never easy although we know it is what they would want us to do. Yet, moving on doesn't mean leaving anyone behind. It may be but small comfort sometimes, but the dead are always with us in our hearts. True, even happy memories cannot compensate for the loss of someone's physical presence in our lives, but this is where the lasting, spiritual nature of love comes into its own and makes itself felt. This is why the terrorist cannot win. For the power of love is far, far greater than any misplaced hatred, mistrust, revenge or desire for martyrdom. And nowhere is the power of love greater than where it embraces the human spirit for good rather than ill.
IN LOVING MEMORY
Years on from terror in the sky,
and still the same question - why?
What manner of humankind
learns such contempt for human life,
taking mother from child, husband
from wife; loving parents losing
a son, a daughter, all fallen victims
to mass slaughter?
Places like any other places
at the start of another working day,
faces like any other faces looking
as if to say, 'Oh, roll on home time!'
His, telling family responsibilities;
hers too, but softer, cool...
hopeful that the kids will have
a good day at school
Twin towers, gone. Faces there
sure to linger, lend us the strength to live,
hold our heads high, make them
proud of us, stoic ruins of Loving Memory;
Reality, crueller than any fairy story
told to generations to distinguish
good from evil. Peace candles, nothing
and no one can extinguish
Though unthinkable terror seem to win,
to Love, always, the spoils of its sin
Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2011
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared in an '9/11 in Verse', Poetry Now (Forward Press), 2004 and subsequently in 1st eds. of my collection; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]
LOST AND FOUND
Friends, family, lovers,
gone - but always part of us,
especially in twilight hours,
as we pause in quietude
to contemplate our solitude;
each goodbye...
lingering lights in the eye
over a treasure chest
Let the exquisite amber
of a fallen leaf part exorcise
our grief. Autumn's glory
all around or winter's story
sure to keep Hope alive;
spring flowers, heartbeats
below ground; friends, family,
lovers...
Lost and found
[From: 'First Person Plural' by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2002] |