“We live in capitalism. Its power
seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be
resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art,
and very often in our art, the art of words.” – Ursula K LeGuinn
‘Are you a political poet?’ is something
I occasionally get asked. My two favourite conversation subjects are politics
and poetry (plus religion…perhaps this is why I never get invited to dinner
parties!) I am definitely political. And poetical. But am I a political poet?
I never set out to write political poetry. I just write about the things
that matter to me, the things that grab me by the heart and twist it, the sorts
of things that if I didn’t write them down would bubble around in my head and
probably explode. My husband says I am becoming angrier as I get older. He
blames it on the Socialism and the Poetry. But it’s not that. It’s just that
there’s so much to be angry about right now, I can’t help it. The chaos and
mishandling of the Covid pandemic, the massive inequalities in society, a
rising acceptance of food banks as the norm, massive job losses, mostly among
the working classes, a public sector pay freeze at the same time as the
Government announces a massive increase in military spending, the looming
spectres of Brexit and climate change. Trump and Boris. In such a world, how
could anyone not be angry?
At times such as this, all forms of
art – and poetry in particular – are a way of dealing with and responding to
the brokenness of the world. We tell our truths because we have to, because (to
quote Martin Luther) ‘here I stand, I can do no other.’
The best political poems convey a
kind of Truth which is timeless and universal. They go beyond the time in which
they were written and reach into ours. They invite us to question universal,
fundamental truths: What is our place in the world, and who decided it? Does
our society create the realities we strive for, and if not, how can we make
things better?
Leon Trotsky writes, in Art and
Politics in our Epoch (1938): ‘Generally speaking, art is an expression of man’s
need for an harmonious and complete life, that is to say, his need for those
major benefits of which a society of classes has deprived him. That is why a
protest against reality, either conscious or unconscious, active or passive,
optimistic or pessimistic, always forms part of a really creative piece of
work. Every new tendency in art has begun with rebellion.’
It is this restlessness – this call to rebellion – which fires us into
self-expression. Art, and poetry in particular, is both a response and a challenge
to the world we find ourselves living in. It can never be unbiased, because the
very act of writing creates our own reality. The very best political poems both
challenge the reader and inspire us to new visions.
Whenever I try to define what is meant by political poetry, I keep coming up
against this word: Truth. What is meant by truth? Are certain truths universal,
or is the very nature of what we understand as ‘truth’ always changing?
Nietzsche, in his 1873 essay Truth and Lying in an Extra-Moral Sense argues that there is no such thing as absolute truth.
People create the concepts through which they define what is good or just, and
these values are changeable as they adjust to shifting cultural values and
belief systems. We create our own ‘truth’ about the world through our use of
metaphor, myth, and poetry.
We live in what’s often referred to
as a ‘Post Truth world’. Post Truth is described in the Cambridge Dictionary
as: 'relating to a situation in which people are more likely to accept an
argument based on their emotions and beliefs, rather than one based on facts.'
A classic example is Tony Blair's justification for the invasion of Iraq
despite having found no evidence of weapons of mass destruction: ‘I only know
what I believe’.
At a time when politicians routinely lie, change their minds and manipulate
data to suit their own agenda, we are rapidly approaching what the writer Hannah
Arendt (Lying in Politics, 1972), termed
defactualization – a point at which falsehood becomes
so commonplace that it is impossible to distinguish fact from fiction:
“Truth or falsehood—it does not matter which anymore, if your life depends on
your acting as though you trusted; truth that can be relied on disappears
entirely from public life, and with it the chief stabilizing factor in the
ever-changing affairs of men.”
Truth is a recurring theme in my forthcoming pamphlet, Our Father Eclipse (April 2021) – the question of who we turn to
for answers when all the ‘traditional’ pillars of authority – the State, the
Church, Scientific impartiality – are no longer trusted.
At such times, it can be tempting to
switch off the rational part of our brain and seek comfort elsewhere, to try to
pretend that the ugliness in the world isn’t really happening:
‘Let’s
put on some music,
Let’s
dance to the End of Times, a dystopian waltz,
Let’s
sing happy songs, think positive thoughts,
Switch
off your mind and live in the Now,
Whilst
all around us the world burns,
Whilst
all around us, the people die.
The
forest is on fire—
You
write a poem
Praising
the beauty
Of
a tree. ‘
(from Beyond Borders, Our Father
Eclipse)
The Russian poet Yevgeny Yinokurov (b.1925)
addresses the issue of truths/untruths in his poem Lies:
‘Telling lies to the young is wrong.
Proving to them that lies are true
is wrong.
Telling them that God's in his
heaven
And all's well with the world is
wrong.
The young know what you mean. The
young are people,
Tell them the difficulties can be
counted,
And let them see not only what will
be
But see with clarity these present
times…’
Good poets, like good parents don’t sugarcoat
the truth. Readers know what the world is really like. Though it might grant us
temporary relief sometimes to sink into a poem like a cosy old armchair, the
world is not always comfortable or safe. We need to tell these uncomfortable
and often painful truths if we are to remain honest.
Effective political poetry not only reflects reality in all its harshness but dares
to challenge the many truths we have been conditioned to believe. The Italian
poet Giovanni Giudici (b.1928) does this very effectively in his poem ‘You Ask
Me What It Means’:
‘You
ask me what it means
You
ask me what the word
Alienation
means:
From
birth you start dying
In
order to live through a master
Who
sells you out; start co signing
What
you have – power, live, hatred –
So
that you may obtain
Sex,
wine, heart-break
It
means that you are beside yourself
But
you think that you are
Just
your own self, because
The
wind undermines you, and you yield...’
There
comes a time in everyone’s life (doesn’t there?) when you start to question the
version of reality that has been fed to you. Perhaps even more so, in this time
of pandemic and global unrest, where conspiracy theories arise to fill the
gaping gulf between our expected future and the grim and frightening reality. At
some point, you start to wonder if the dreams you were sold – of a capitalistic
world filled with material luxuries which were yours for the taking if you
worked hard and didn't think too much about where they came from or at whose
expense – were even worth having. Or where you started to realise that the
dreams you were sold were actually nightmares in disguise.
Political
poetry, at its best, picks at the seams of the perceived norm, whether it’s war
poets challenging the harsh realities of the battlefield against the gung-ho
heroic myths they were fed, or women challenging a patriarchally-structured
society. Or poets of the Black Lives Matter movement, challenging a world in
which people of colour are twice as likely to be stopped and searched, and more likely to be subjected to police brutality.
It’s
at times like this when we find our voices – not necessarily because we choose
to write political poetry, but because we have to, because we are angry at what
we see and heart and pen give us no other option.
In
a world where truth is a rare commodity, we need to sing, shout and write. We
need to speak up boldly and honestly, with radical passion and revolutionary
compassion, challenging social injustice, prejudice and inequality. And yes, if
that occasionally makes me a ‘political poet’, then I’ll proudly own that title.
Rebecca Lowe is a freelance writer, poet and editor. Her debut poetry collection 'Blood and Water' is available from The Seventh Quarry Press, priced £6.99. Email: seventhquarry@btinternet.com
She can be found on Twitter as @BeckyLowePoet
