It’s a war of attrition
When the cease fire is ordered
No one knows who gave the command
The result is a stalemate
Neither side can claim victory
Even though both will
And as the soldiers wearily lay down their weapons,
Trudge, exhausted from the field
Someone raises a white flag on the line
Amidst the rubble
When the smoke clears
There is nothing but devastation
As far as the eye can see
*This piece was originally a second stanza to the poem I posted a couple weeks ago: The Last Scene. I separated the two, even though the theme is the same, the structure was different. At some point I may reconstruct both parts into one poem … if I can figure it out. Because this is not about war, and The Last Scene is not about theater, they are allegorical. I feel like there needs to be another concluding stanza as well. Poetical insights welcome.
At the heart of every story lies a universal theme: good versus evil. The way it manifests may vary greatly, but it will be present in its many forms across all genres of fiction. To achieve the happy ending, our heroes must conquer the evil. In the tragedy, it is the evil that does the conquering. Even in humorous writing, there will be some sort of obstacle to overcome (evil) despite the comedy playing out on the pages. And because it is even present in such ‘happy’ stories, we call it conflict instead of good versus evil.
This ability to conceive the idea of evil –of suffering– is unique to human beings. Cattle, for example, don’t think ahead of time about what they will encounter upon entering the slaughterhouse. Everyone, every single one of us that has ever lived has experienced suffering and evil. Why then, are we drawn to it in our books, music and art? Because let’s be honest, we are drawn to it. Even when there isn’t a positive outcome vis-a-vis the hero vanquishing the villain, the happily-ever-after romance, the underdog team winning the game at the buzzer. Think Greek tragedy, Shakespeare, Sylvia Plath.
The Murder of Agamemnon: Oresteia
Romeo & Juliet: The Globe Theater
Sylvia Plath: Wikimedia Commons
In music, an entire genre –The Blues– arose from the experience of African American slaves in the Deep South.
History of the Blues: rubber city review
Some of the greatest individual works of art as well as whole artistic movements are heavy with dread: Hieronymus Bosch, for example; Georgio de Chirico, Edward Munch, and Kay Sage are others.
Bosch Garden of Earthly Delights: third panel: Hell
De Chirico: The Red Tower, 1913
The Scream: Edvard Munch
Kay Sage: Tomorrow Is Never, 1955
For the writer, composer or artist, their art itself can be a coping mechanism. The especially gifted will tell you they are compelled to create. Without this release of creativity, they would go mad. Some ‘go mad’ anyway –the inability to manage the melancholy, the internal (or external/physical suffering) then leads to self destruction– while others are able to harness the dread and put it back in its cage when they’ve made use of it.
When we the observer, are drawn to this outlet for pain, on some level we recognize the dread lurking within. “That,” we say, “is how I feel.” “This happened to me.” “I am hurting, confused, scared, angry, desperate, lonely too.” Whatever the medium, we see in it, a mirror of our own experience. So because conflict and suffering IS the common experience of all mankind, artistic expression of that experience resonates strongly with every one of us. Art isn’t always pretty, but it is successful if it makes you feel something.
Close your eyes and listen
An old song you used to know
A memory hovers at the edge of your mind
Soft words whispered
An evening’s secrets
Before the rain came
Smell the ozone in the air
And run for the shelter
As the downpour soaked us through
The drumming on the tin roof
Matching the beating of two hearts
Is it a memory or a remembered daydream?
A figment of the imagination
Alive only in your mind
Just out of reach, presque vu
Just a note… this poem was inspired by one I wrote when I was 17 years old. Full of angst and heavy with teenage dread, the poems I composed as a young woman are unpublishable now. But… from within, I can pull ideas and even a few lines. ~Meg
Meg Sorick, Author/Artist 