GuyanaJournal | Regime Change

Regime Change
by Andrew Motion
(Britain?s Poet Laureate 1998)

Advancing down the road from Niniveh
Death paused a while and said 'Now listen here.

You see the names of places roundabout?
They're mine now, and I've turned them inside out.

Take Eden, further south: At dawn today
I ordered up my troops to tear away

Its walls and gates so everyone can see
That gorgeous fruit which dangles from its tree.

You want it, don't you? Go and eat it then,
And lick your lips, and pick the same again.

Take Tigris and Euphrates; once they ran
Through childhood-coloured slats of sand and sun.

Not any more they don't; I've filled them up
With countless different kinds of human crap.

Take Babylon, the palace sprouting flowers
Which sweetened empires in their peaceful hours–

I've found a different way to scent the air:
Already it's a by-word for despair.

Which leaves Baghdad – the star-tipped minarets,
The marble courts and halls, the mirage-heat.

These places, and the ancient things you know,
You won't know soon. I'm working on it now.'

	Regime Change by Andrew Motion (Britain?s Poet Laureate 1998) Advancing down the road from Niniveh Death paused a while and said 'Now listen here. You see the names of places roundabout? They're mine now, and I've turned them inside out. Take Eden, further south: At dawn today I ordered up my troops to tear away Its walls and gates so everyone can see That gorgeous fruit which dangles from its tree. You want it, don't you? Go and eat it then, And lick your lips, and pick the same again. Take Tigris and Euphrates; once they ran Through childhood-coloured slats of sand and sun. Not any more they don't; I've filled them up With countless different kinds of human crap. Take Babylon, the palace sprouting flowers Which sweetened empires in their peaceful hours– I've found a different way to scent the air: Already it's a by-word for despair. Which leaves Baghdad – the star-tipped minarets, The marble courts and halls, the mirage-heat. These places, and the ancient things you know, You won't know soon. I'm working on it now.'
		I Clench My Fist by Martin Carter (1953) You come in warships terrible with death I know your hands are red with Korean blood I know your finger trembles on a trigger And yet I curse you – Stranger khaki clad. British soldier, man in khaki careful how you walk My dead ancestor Accabreh is groaning in his grave At night he wakes and watches with fire in his eyes Because you march upon his breast and stamp upon his heart. Although you come in thousands from the sea Although you walk like locusts in the street Although you point your gun straight at my heart I clench my fist above my head; I sing my song of Freedom!
		Strange Fruit by Abel Meeropol Southern trees bear a strange fruit Blood on the leaves and blood at the root Black body swinging in the Southern breeze Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees Pastoral scene of the gallant South The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth Scent of magnolia, sweet and fresh And the sudden smell of burning flesh Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop Here is a strange and bitter crop.