News from the Muse
of Revolution
“Hope” is the thing with feathers—that perches in the soul—
—Emily Dickinson
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| Sister from Below: Cover Painting by Bianca Dalder |
What’s Happened to the Sister from Below?
If you follow the Sister from Below’s News from the Muse you may wonder what’s become of her. I’ll tell you what: the November 2024 Election, and since the January Inauguration, the onslaught of bedlam and chaos in the crazed fists of a Berserker President. The Sister from Below has been silenced. Struck dumb. The breath of inspiration knocked out of her. She, my connection to Soul, to deep Self, has withdrawn to a dark cave, to keen, to howl, to moan. She’s brought me no wisdom, no glowing intuitions from the depths, only nightmares about stormy weather.
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| Kamala & Tim |
Gone, gone the joyous dance of Kamala Devi Harris & Tim Walz, in whose vision of America women are free to choose, workers are paid livable wages, Mother Earth is honored and protected. Gone gone the feathered thing called Hope. Now we’re in a story of total devastation. The Robber Baron crew has showed up with their chain saws, to fell every tree our ancestors planted—the habitat for feathered creatures and their songs.
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But then, one night, I had a dream which changed everything. The Sister from Below showed up in the form of Diane di Prima, my late, long ago poetry teacher, demanding I write a revolutionary rant. That dream evoked memories of a difficult mentorship. It woke The Sister from Below to the inspiration of the Muse of Revolution and to the necessity of political rants. She gave me this poem to pass on to you. And she asks, if you are so inclined, that you pass it on to others in need of inspiration.
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| Diane di Prima |
to the Spirit of Diane di Prima
Revolution: a turning, as the earth
turns, among planets, as the sun
turns. . .
we turn. . .
faces of pain and fear, the dawn
awash among them
—Diane di Prima
You came to my dream last night Diane
like a Zen slap your fierce spirit hell bent on waking
me up rousing me to write a roaring rant
for these terrible times you find me in You
who were my poetry teacher decades ago You
whose lineage is my lineage Blake H.D.
The Black Mountain Poets Your own wild Loba You
usher me up a steep staircase to your garret a word
whose root means watchtower You who believed
there is gold deep in the roots of words You
whose creed was a poet must always be on the watch
there is gold deep in the roots of words You
whose creed was a poet must always be on the watch
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| White Wolf Fantasy |
Remember the first time I came to you? wearing a flouncy
gypsy skirt so femme beside your tattered Beat poet jeans
I was scared for I had given you the power to dub me poet
or dud Back in the day at a demonstration against The War
I’d heard you read Revolutionary Letters I was smitten you
who mingled the lyrical & the political (forbidden to an English
major) called to me like a Muse Turns out my lucky stars
had unexpected plans for me an esoteric path you walked
me down to the roots of Poetry’s Tree of Life in the Spirit
of the Depths in the Lunar Realms of Magick Tarot
Kabbala Alchemy Mythology Dreams
gypsy skirt so femme beside your tattered Beat poet jeans
I was scared for I had given you the power to dub me poet
or dud Back in the day at a demonstration against The War
I’d heard you read Revolutionary Letters I was smitten you
who mingled the lyrical & the political (forbidden to an English
major) called to me like a Muse Turns out my lucky stars
had unexpected plans for me an esoteric path you walked
me down to the roots of Poetry’s Tree of Life in the Spirit
of the Depths in the Lunar Realms of Magick Tarot
Kabbala Alchemy Mythology Dreams
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| Wm. Turner Angel Standing in the sun |
I watched you being brilliant fierce tongue-lashing nasty
You scared me just as my Father had & yet I stayed
in your circle in the spell of your Magick long enough
to become the poet I am whose Muse insists on mingling
the esoteric the lyrical & the political Your lineage
is my lineage At the cusp of the pandemic I learned
in your circle in the spell of your Magick long enough
to become the poet I am whose Muse insists on mingling
the esoteric the lyrical & the political Your lineage
is my lineage At the cusp of the pandemic I learned
you’d left your body & now here you are in my dream
He has come who sees himself as savior creator
insisting I remember who I am the first-born birth right baby
of refugee Jews from the Shoah reliving the very catastrophe
into which I was born I used to believe never again
would such an atrocity assault us
The holy wind’s been knocked out of my Muse
My Goddess has retreated to the underworld
Your spirit demands that I tell it as I see it
the whole cruel scourge of our passion play
of a Golden Age whose given name means
Ruler of the World Sea Monster from the Depths
I prefer to call him Berserker You say that hardly
does him justice The truth is that he stinks
He is corrupt his guts rotting in Big Mac Sauce
His Doppelganger who does his dirty work
his little boy as a shield against assassination He wields
a jubilant chain saw to cut & slash the Civil Service
to rend asunder the bonds that bind our land Diane
is that you chanting the Declaration of Independence?
does him justice The truth is that he stinks
He is corrupt his guts rotting in Big Mac Sauce
His Doppelganger who does his dirty work
his little boy as a shield against assassination He wields
a jubilant chain saw to cut & slash the Civil Service
to rend asunder the bonds that bind our land Diane
is that you chanting the Declaration of Independence?
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| Lady Liberty Weeping |
He has ridden roughshod over the Constitution
Whenever any form of government becomes destructive
of our rights to Life Liberty and the Pursuit
of Happiness It is the Right of the People to abolish it
He has tossed landmines at clinics that serve wounded veterans
He has swindled the working classes to cut taxes for the rich
He has eviscerated truth violated due process
disobeyed judges ripped peaceful legal immigrants
out of their lives O monstrous chaos agents
wreckers of law & community You who believe
that empathy is a sin a feminine weakness
like helping a stranger like feeding a starving child
like calling out cruelty & bigotry Be careful
Our Goddess has arisen from her underworld meat hook
She who is a love Goddess a warrior Goddess a flood
& fire Goddess for whom earth & sky sing
is in a holy fury about this desecration & She’s Woke!
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| The Goddess Durga: Photo by Subhrajyoti |