‘We are all from an island or a foreign sun and every one of us uncertain; alone—
the human condition isolates us; our experience, our very world
blunted by language of a raggedy drum, our faith sharp and clear
or not so, as we cry out our unbelief, our refugee song,
but together.’
Today, a beautiful and timely book will be published: Anthology of Refugees and Peacekeepers from Patrician Press. Donations from any profits go to http://www.helprefugees.org and I am proud and delighted to be in it. The publisher has given me permission to include my offering, below.
I feel so passionately about the texts in the book – particularly because of the events of the last few days with the Trump administration pursuing (chaotically, I might add) its aggressive path and watching the egregious sight of our own Prime Minister appeasing Trump.
What unites us is strong; what separates – or rather what we choose to allow to separate us – can embitter us and will degrade us – if that is the path we choose. Get on twitter: look at the protests, marches and campaigns going on; see what you can do. You may have seen the crowds at Dulles, JFK; watched the people turn out in Boston. Maybe you are going to be outside Downing Street tonight or at the Bristol event. Our family is Welsh-American; we are doing what we can, both sides of the Atlantic: it makes me cry to see how heartbroken my American mother in law is by what she sees. And yet: out we go here and out I know she will go, too. Don’t lose hope and let’s keep the momentum going.
Who is ‘Emigre’ below? Is he or she a refugee? Well, yes. But he or she is also you. You, Trump, May, Bannon…
Émigré
I was far from home. I stood on the grey street corner.
I was far from home and stood at the mouth of the sea, ivory curls around my feet.
I was far from home. I stood outside the stores and restaurants at night;
sat in the hotel room, the train compartment, the gimcrack coffee shop;
watched the dark frontiers fade out as the yellow jack of the gas station made midday;
I traced the sad cars on the motorway and my eyes hurt from the strip light.
Memory seared and I drank sour coffee and ate a chocolate bar.
I was far from home; an outsider—tossed up as motes from some former life,
composed of Eros, intellect, memory and uncertain dust.
But I was you and I was me. Everyman; foreigner; flâneur; such longueur: étranger—
And did you care? Did you stare? But did you know?
We are all from an island or a foreign sun and every one of us uncertain; alone—
the human condition isolates us; our experience, our very world
blunted by language of a raggedy drum, our faith sharp and clear
or not so, as we cry out our unbelief, our refugee song,
but together. We beat our palms against the past, each a piece of the continent,
a part of the main: our love tremulous in our hands, like water that shall spill.
The book is a collection of poems and short stories from a wide range of writers. Robert McCrum described it as ‘A gripping, rare and brave collection of new work written in extremis, the classic source of truly original poetry and prose through the ages.’ It has a deeply moving afterword by the jazz musician, Ian Shaw, who volunteered for a year at the Jungle in Calais and two fine epigraphs; one by the poet George Szirtes, on seeing refugees camped in Keleti railway station in Budapest, and the other by The Bishop of Barking, on seeing the refugee children trapped in the Calais Jungle camp. (There is more on the plight of the children at this camp in Ian Shaw’s afterword; I struggled to read this but insisted I did: conscience dictates that we know.)
Do please comment and share. x
(So, you can order it here at Amazon, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0993494560/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_api_2xRByb1ZJV3FV or go here, to the press site http://patricianpress.com/ or to bookshops where it is on sale; if it is not, you can, of course, order it from them, its ISBN is 978-099349-456-7.) The book is available in both paperback and kindle versions.
Anna Vaught Writes 