Cover of the
Hardback Edition, 178 pages
Published June 1969 by New Directions Publishing (first published 1938)
I used to get angry at Sartre
for writing prose under that title
I no longer do
because I get nausea every time I read the news,
the balance of my bank account
seems less catastrophic
compared with what’s happening in the world,
here, there and everywhere
In need of a saviour to forget the misery,
I cling to words like a life jacket,
and try to create a world where
things happen differently,
not an utopia,
but one where values still exist
to encourage me that all the things
I have learned have not gone to waste.
I want to change it all,
return it back to sanity,
but I’m powerless with my weak voice
against the chorus of lunacy
Shall I accept it and keep quiet?
What about integrity and perseverance?
Don’t they no longer matter,
the things that make us human?
So the pen seems to be the only weapon
against the arms that create havoc on Gaia
Maybe someone will listen and ponder,
watching the devastation of dust and fumes,
after the guns have exploded.
Words, he said, as well,
so I listen to the master’s voice,
and try to cure my nausea
with my only tool to bring reason
to the madness that surrounds us,
despite the turmoil of wars.