Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 18,800 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Adrie Kusserow: Anthropocene Lullaby
OM GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA
Gone, Gone Beyond, Completely Beyond, Gone Beyond Gone
.
Hush humans,
you can finally let it all go,
the Anthropocene, Technocene, Thermocene
Capitalocene, whatever it will be called.
.
Up north, glaciers drip into Inuit trailers,
bed sheets block the overeager sun.
Gangs of bony polar bears
roam settlements on lockdown.
.
What’s done is done. For once, stop moving.
Let yourself be still as the arctic blue.
.
Don’t tell me you didn’t get a bit edgy,
when capitalism tossed its blonde hair cockily aside,
its profit settling like plastic on the ocean’s floor.
.
Don’t tell me you didn’t squirm, when giant waves of wealth
rose up, hooded, lashing the beaches,
then skittering away, leaving tiny husks and exoskeletons of greed,
(tampons for Tweens, Kcups, tooth floss, vape coils, hair clips),
all of them glistening so beautifully mother seagulls
drop them like jewels
into their young’s raw squawk.
.
Surely you knew something was out of balance,
when you looked up from your taxi,
into the bee hives of Marriotts, Hyatts and Hiltons –
bulging matriarchs that lodge themselves
high above the composting slums,
beneath them the rickshaws picking
their way through piles of plastic
like the praying mantis you saw on TV.
.
Surely you wondered how long you could stay
at the top of the food chain
when monkeys took over the markets,
stealing ripe fruit and warm infants alike.
.
When dusk sheepishly comes to your cities,
gets swallowed by your neon blaze,
when ten billion lights blanket the dark
and the ego feel’s giddy and high,
let go, right there, in that exact spot.
.
Soon enough a moody storm
will pluck you off like dog hair
from the black night of her sweater.
Let yourself float into the galaxy
where you came from.
.
Don’t tell me you never once longed for
your own oblivion.
.
I promise it won’t hurt, to let yourself fade.
Oddly enough, nothing you’ve ever experienced
under evolution’s rule, will ever feel this good.
You only have to be ready to crouch, to be humble.
.
I promise, Nothing,
no possible permutation of carbon and hydrogen
we now call humans,
will ever be this exhausting
again.
Copyright 2019 Adrie Kussorow
Vox Populi 
Powerful. Sings to the bone. Thank you, Adrie K!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This stunning poem’s haunting imagery and essential truths speak perfectly to this moment in time. It calls all of us to pay attention, to be still, to stop buying, to stop wasting, and lean into the beauty that is this world. As it speaks of degradation of the earth, the poem’s beauty guides us to replacing anger with the beauty and clarity required to bring about the shift in our collective consciousness that will set humans back on a path to sustainability. Heartfelt thanks for putting this onto paper.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Stunningly disturbing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
We all hear that “Thou shall not bear false witness,” and yet, when it comes to facing the so-called “Anthropocene,” bearing false witness is exactly what 99% of humanity seems to more than willing to do. Not so this poem. Here, in a style and tone that reminds me of Robinson Jeffers’s “November Surf,” (oh Jeffers, who, from his stone-built tower overlooking the violent Pacific, also gazed out at the world of human hubris and folly with a similarly lyric steeliness and clarity), Kusserow asks us to consider, finally, if even for a moment, a total acceptance:
“What’s done is done. For once, stop moving.
Let yourself be still as the arctic blue.”
What follows is a brief but altogether immersive incantation of what we’ve known all along– that this whole endeavor of Western civilization has been fatally flawed since long before we all showed up. Here the details of our ow uninspiring detritus shows up as it does in our own local environments: in waves of a minor ugliness that we’ve learned to ignore, despite, or because of, their ubiquity-– which together create the big ugliness. That some of these plastic idols become food to gulls is one of the most powerful, and truthful, images in this or any poem on the matter. I winced and nodded and signed aloud, my own ribs aching like a poisoned gull’s.
As for the final stanzas, well, I am in their grasp and am looking through them, even if my own temperament tends to keep my rose-colored reading glasses on when I think about the future habitability of this planet. And while I grow uneasy here, Kusserow offers us an almost Mary Oliver-like invitation :
“You only have to be ready to crouch, to be humble.”
This poem leaves me wondering just how much more often we should be bearing truthful witness to the fraying threads of our once thriving world, to just stop rushing around praying aloud or partying loud and instead just being still, being humble, and letting something like this earthen, weary wisdom settle into my own bones for a minute or a day.
So why is this a great poem? Because Kusserow is helping me stay in this truth, and helping me say what I’d often rather not: “What’s done is done.”
And yet, I also suspect another wisdom hidden further back in this poem somewhere–– that somehow, in contemplating and even hearing the silence of our own “oblivion,” we can return to our senses with a renewed freedom from thinking that any cute, Hollywood resolution to this mess awaits us, because it doesn’t.
I don’t know what *does* await us, and neither does Kussserow here in this poem. What I do know: I feel more inclined to gaze even more directly, if perhaps more solemnly, at this world’s suffering than I was able to before devouring and digesting this poem. I just can’t say that about many poems, and I can’t say any of these things about many poets.
“Be still…”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful, haunting poem. Stays with you for a long, long time after reading. Really powerful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The poem sweeps across the troubled and waning era of human inhabitancy of the planet, like breath across a sand mandala.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This poem is so beautifully rendered to open the heart and then humble the reader to their knees. Tender, slicing, fierce, so very very lovely. Thank you Adrie Kusserow for your heart and spirit.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Scientific consensus” is the typical attempt to bring climate change skeptics on board the truth train of global warming’s existence. Trouble is, it has been woefully unsuccessful. A different, and much more convincing approach might be to have skeptics read Kusserow’s Anthropocen Lullaby. As usual, Kusserow’s words are penetrating…deeply. In this case they just might penetrate the cracks of the deniers’ tribal recalcitrance. Words that are both powerful and lachrymose.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Adrie has found a way of cutting through the noise of our modern civilization to arrive at a serene truth. Inspirational.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A tragic, beautiful lullaby.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Adrie’s poem addresses us, warns us, and consoles us. It’s a beautiful heart breaking wave. Thanks Adrie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Powerful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Powerful poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Adrie Kusserow has the artistic power to make something that is so real, but that feels so abstract, touch our souls.
LikeLiked by 1 person
powerful, powerful, powerful, you’re the best.
LikeLiked by 1 person
it’s hard to write an effective political poem without being didactic, but kusserow has succeeded brilliantly–the poem is brutal, beautiful, and necessary.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Breathtaking.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Remarkable vision of today’s nightmare, not locked in the past, not what is to come. In an unassuming way Kusserow has the courage to look at things as they are, to see the horror as it is. Climate change has, for me, never been as vivid and specific, has never come home as fully, in image upon image, as it does in Kusserow’s verse. So painterly, remind of Hieronymus Bosch and Peter Bruegel the Elder. Thank you,
Adrie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
like a raw nerve, this poem offers sensory overload carved carefully into language
LikeLiked by 1 person
Graceful terror. Adrie always seems to find that fold in the fabric that hides all the crumbs others have missed. Gorgeous!
LikeLiked by 1 person
What Can I say? Adrie’s poetry is ALIVE, RAW and REAL. For someone like myself, with no grasp of such other worldly words, Adrie’s poetry gives life to what I feel in my bones and the cells of my body. She lets me experience feelings that I have, but can never, in my life, ever speak. What artistry, what beauty, what a way to write about the havoc that humanity has created, and YET, there is no bitterness. How does she do that?
Thank you for this gift Adrie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Echoes of Koyaanisqatsi and “The Second Coming”- so brutal and vivid! Thank you for sharing, Adrie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have long been impressed with Adrie Kusserow’s beautifully wrought poems; her powerful images have a way of lodging themselves in your brain–even as you find yourself savoring the sonorous lyricism of each well-crafted line. “Anthropocene Lullaby” is the kind of poem that should be read aloud–pondered deeply–shared with people you care about. “Let yourself be still as the arctic blue,” Kusserow urges in her poem, and contemplate the graphic scene that has already unfolded around you: dripping glaciers, bony polar bears, serpent-like “waves of wealth” that rise up “hooded, lashing,” only to recede leaving “tiny husks and exoskeletons of greed” that paradoxically “glisten . . . like jewels” in testimony to the anthropocene center that cannot hold. Kusserow’s sonorous lullaby piles up those images of staggering waste that we’ve unleashed like anarchy upon our world, but surely, she reminds us, we’ve seen this coming. And of course, this is the truth of Kusserow’s message: Edgy, squirm[ing], anxiously “out of balance,” we are nonetheless powerless “under evolution’s rule.”
“Be ready . . . be humble,” we are told.
More than any other lyric prophecy I know of, “Anthropocene Lullaby” urges exactly the kind of humility that not deserves our intensive contemplation, but may finally be the message that helps us, finally, to walk in the truth of who we are.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This beautiful poem radiates pure language that rises, that brings the reader to a place in poetic nirvana. Kusserow is one of my very favorite poets. I love how she intertwines the spiritual, the natural, the earthly. Kusserow’s work is stunning! Thank you for this poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
A voice brilliantly delivering the message we should all be listening to. Goosebumps all the way —
“I promise, Nothing,
no possible permutation of carbon and hydrogen
we now call humans,
will ever be this exhausting
again.”
Feeling this. Thank you for speaking out.
LikeLiked by 1 person
An amazing poem that makes vivid and livid and languid the urgent nothingness of real life with climate change. I am so sick of the hopeless, hopeful despair of reading about it. And yet this poem makes everything alive again so that we can see anew the dying and the beautiful. Brilliant.
LikeLiked by 1 person