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Tonight No Poetry Will Serve: Eileen Myles

Eileen Myles by Carolyn Macartney

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Tonight No Poetry Will Serve by Alfredo Jaar offers a powerful reflection on the limits of language and the role of creative expression in times of tragedy. A lament for today’s darkness and a call to find the words to confront these tragic hours, the bold new public intervention displays the arresting title of a poem by Adrienne Rich (1929–2012), a figure of inspiration for Jaar since the 1980s, who observed the limits of words in times of unthinkable violence: “no poetry can serve to mitigate such acts, they nullify language itself,” she wrote in 2011. Throughout November 2023, Alfredo Jaar and CIRCA commissioned a series of poetic dialogues, curated by Vittoria de Franchis, from international writers, thinkers and speakers. Giving voice to those who find themselves silenced or without words, the poems hope to achieve Rich’s ambition that creative expression can reconcile conflicting realities.

 

We are going through a very repressive moment, when nuance is lost and free speech is threatened. But I strongly believe that the spaces of art and culture must remain spaces of freedom. Artists will not be intimidated. In this environment, I have turned to the words of anti-war campaigner and poet Adrienne Rich to reflect both the limits of language and the frustration felt by many that voices for peace and justice cannot sound out as clearly as we wish. And, as part of the CIRCA commission, I am turning to today’s poets, writers, and artists, to support a forum for creative expression where the clear-sighted demands of humanity and empathy can be heard. In these times when politics have failed us miserably, art and culture are our only hope. Art is like the air we breathe, without art, life would be unlivable. Art creates spaces of resistance, spaces of hope.

 

THEM (Palestinian) by Eileen Myles

 

They had

beds &

rooms

they had

socks &

babies

they had fire

they had a

toilet

they had a

book

they had

school

they had mous

taches &

cunts &

bellies

they had

feet &

toenails & 

arguments &

friends

they had

hot soup

they had

hunger

laughter

pain

cellphones

they had kids

they missed

each other

they came

home

 

I’m not

sure about

this

but he

was killed

in his 

house

with his

family. I

tie my

shoes.

I’m going to

the gym.

Through

this horrific

experience.

I’ll bring

my recyclables

down

 

contacting

people

try every

few 

minutes

to call people

from Gaza. 

My toe hurts.

I struck

it against

a chair

in Tempe

Many 

medical 

journals

are writing 

about genocide

in Gaza

& think

it’s okay

I have nothing

for the 

baby. I randomly

sob

we’re not

seeing

the support

from the medical

community

they ignore

the calls

they don’t 

say Israel

 

he has died

they don’t 

say he

has been

killed.

 

I can’t find

my head

phones

or the band

for the 

clamshell

 

I make tea

tossing

cards into

an imaginary

future

in which

my handwriting

& my

political

thoughts

are con

sidered

 

this is prose

war is

prose

the coldness

of my 

pastimes

is poetry

my safety

 

the what

has been

torn

away from

my fellow

my neighbors

my friends

is Palestine

is poetry

 

poetry is home

& the loss

of it. It being robbed

from a 

child

 

or the children

of the nakba

who 75 years

years

later as

an old man

walks south

from rubble

home 

streaming

tears

 

tears are home

 

(continues…)

 

 

Hand-signed limited edition print by Alfredo Jaar, £120+VAT. Proceeds will be donated to Médecins Sans Frontières/Doctors Without Borders. Available here.

 

 


 

Eileen Myles (they/them)  is a poet, novelist & art journalist. Their most recent books are Pathetic Literature (an anthology) & a “Working Life” (poems). They live in NYC & Marfa TX.