My dad wrote this poem shortly after Trump’s election. He was trying to process and think positive about a seemingly catastrophic situation:
“thinking now that the noise is almost over
the noise that is generated by genuine pain is quieter
but stronger than the noise of the entertainers
and the violent, that will become Inaudible
they will not be allowed to create a perpendicular path
our quarter millennial road is deeply dug
there are ruts that take their toll
there are many deeply anchored way stations
my more than seventy five years of consciousness
and countless years of toil, struggle, defeat and
success makes myself calm
even in the face of a bolt of unexpected thunder
from the masses or the unwashed or the deeply disaffected
there is room for everyone and everything on the road
the leaders, all of them, good and bad are people
they don’t have to be my people or your people
they will not be allowed to cut the road
they do not have the power to dig deeper than the road
nor the power to extract the anchors, like rotten teeth
who am I to say
I’m from another place an immigrant
an AMERICAN
did I ever want to be president, I could have wanted
if I ever dreamt that as a child I don’t remember
but the longer I live the more I cherish and remember
the safe harbor, the opportunities that seemed more than hard
I don’t feel sad even as I contemplate the insult, the disgrace
and even the fear
it will pass with noise and disruption
but it will
the ruts will be slowly fixed
until nature again creates a road block”
Tonight we had dinner, five months later, and he told me he felt good that some of his optimistic instincts were proving out, as the bozos begin to shake out of the Trump administration, and gridlock blocks their agenda.
And he reminded me that the reason he’s an optimist (at age 82) is because the beginning of his life was pretty dire, as a kid in wartime Romania. But then everything subsequently worked out okay… actually “more than ok.”