Johnny Simmons

I am particularly fond of this poem. What do you think?
          

Alan Bold's Recitative


You ask a poet to sing
Why
Even the birds are hoarse.
The nightingale that long ago
Numbed Keats, is dead.
What of the wind whispering through the trees
When no one cares to hear?
Perhaps you think –
‘Ah! The golden skinned lassies
Can still move a poet.’
             

Once I sang
But that was before I knew
What went on in the world.
Yes! I was blithe,
Chirping away happily,
And like, Chauntecleer closing my eyes
To do it,
I was, however ignoring
The modern world
With all its blessings
And all its faults.
When I saw gestant China
Bear well – I rejoiced,
But did not sing,
Could I ignore the toll of the struggle?
                 

Damn it!
Our voices are not made for singing now
But for straight-talking.
As the sea surge turns over more filth
We may do some good
By exposure.
Look at the moon tonight
Or at the sea.
But before an easy praise of nature
Reflect on those folk
Who have not our sensitive thoughts,
For whom bread, not words, is life:
They matter.
              

Song implies melody; but the poet
Is after harmony,
Speaking for myself.
Songs have been sung
And dances have been danced
And slaves have done the singing
And peasants have done the dancing
To lessen their hell.
It may be that after this
When people are really allowed
To live,
The birds will sing afresh,
And then the poets will join them.
But for the present
We have enough songs that lie
Unsung.
                 

Most of them by great singers.
Our job is to try
To change things.
After Hiroshima
You ask a poet to sing?