The Delicious Pleasures of Racism: A Poem

I cant judge whether this is worth reading or whether I’m a complete moron, but eventually this article will be replaced by other bloggers, within one month it probably wont be visible on the website, so if you dislike it, be comforted by the fact that all things are transient, my weblog entries most of all. Apologies in advance. This is a poem I wrote this afternoon about how much fun it is to be racist. Enjoy, or not.
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The Delicious Pleasures of Racism

All my life I was told: Don’t look in that cubpoard!
You can eat everything in the house, just don’t look in there!
To the left of the sweet-jar, above where the alcohol was kept,
Whispered voices forbidding: a mysterious secret slept.

Damn you, Curiosity! Adventurous boys fall prey to you
And before their bones are stiff, they’ve uncovered half the world!
How wine tastes, the feel of one’s fists on another’s face,
Petty thievery, the line where mischief becomes crime
The parabolic formulas concealed beneath a skirt:
Ruthless and reckless, with no care for our dignity
The province of our knowledge expands to infinity.

But I did not know pleasure, until first I sprung the fence of our taboos
And tasted that magical, mysterious, much accursed fruit: Racism!
You let me drink from the ale-horn of my ancestors, unashamed!
Put down my judgements, and link hands with them again.
I was a party to their thieving, their massacres, their raids,
Gloried in their glories: the strange feel of ancient days.
But also their tender moments, their religious awe
Mirrored in colored glass, cut in Cathedral block!
Or sung in couplets, or set in scientific Work:
Or colonial adventures spanning the entire Earth.
A chorus of dead people want their forebears’ ghosts to haunt me:
You may weep as long as it brings you gain: I apologize for nothing!

Sweet, secret pleasure of racism, when first your taste was known
Something in me warned the hour of highest flight had come
When I with downcast eyes surveying found,
a jumble of minor pleasures and minor men infest the ground.
None could compare with your delights, to behold
A link between ancient things and what is to come:
Emerging from the mists of history, Hero-princes and Gods,
Through the magistrates and rulers of medieval times
To family ancestors and great men long-dead
To the promise of one’s grandchildren: one long unbroken thread.
What product or idea, rolling off the assembly line today
Replaces this ancient bond between dead, living and unborn?
Nothing, that’s the answer that I’ve read, in the feeble gestures
Of the pale husks who have never known these pleasures:
Fragments of men, grown so inwardly weak,
That the question could boggle a noble mind’s discernment:
Is this a piece of man, your Honor, or just a piece of shit?

For he who has not thought of these things
Can in no way pretend to be complete:
The master’s a dupe, the expert’s a fool
The genius sinks in facts for want of intelligence.
What meaning indeed can life have, if it is not
Encapsulated in this thought? Illuminated by it
That meaning must surely be.
On second thought, those who would withold this fruit from us
Are not like watchful parents, mindful of their brood,
But more like subtle poisoners condemning us
To a slow death, who unbeknownst to us,
Drink nightly the same nectar we dare not.

But I jumped the fence, I broke the lock
I hammered on the cupboard till the door came off.
And then I drank the stuff, down to the dregs
Even now you see it spilled down my shirt-front,
Advertising righteous decision and empowerment.
Like looking into the freckled porcelain face
Of a cheerful Leicester love-interest
Framed with red curls, and knowing its yours:
And knowing you don’t have to share it:
So great, so precious, so many and varied, my friends,
The incomparable pleasures which Racism brings!

Posted by Potential Frolic on Thursday, May 17, 2007 at 02:40 PM in
Comments (6) | Tell a friend

Comments:

Posted by PF on May 17, 2007, 03:02 PM | #

This poems’ last line is a reference to another well-known poem, any guesses?

Posted by PF on May 17, 2007, 05:51 PM | #

By the way, does anybody have a good way to remove racism stains from clothing?

Posted by Guessedworker on May 17, 2007, 06:01 PM | #

Well, the widespread belief that you can remove one racism stain by pouring another, different coloured one on top of it is untrue, despite the belief accorded to it by many even quite intelligent people. Anti-racism, as it is called, has been nothing but a scandalous waste of perfectly good white wine.

Posted by a Finn on May 19, 2007, 08:10 AM | #

Good to see culture here. I have creative pictures in mind, but unfortunately my hand doesn’t convey them properly to the canvass.

You have what it takes to be a poet.

Posted by Søren Renner on May 19, 2007, 12:17 PM | #

Freckled porcelain! Omg lol!

Posted by C-Style on October 29, 2007, 11:31 AM | #

This is my white boy rap. Its not finished yet. I just wanna c comments on it for now.

White Rap

This here, is a world revoltioun
Listen up niggers, a rep evolution
This is the day, the white boy comes back
And shows them fuckin coons how to rap, YOOO!

I got one for ya, so listen close
I might be a cracker, or even a ghost
What ya gonna do when, we take it back
When a white boy raps better than a black YOOO!

Im here to tell ya, you goin doin
White boys are takin over, every town
Were bringin back, a piece of history
That that is slavery cant you see YOOO!

I might be a rapper, but don’t get me wrong
Even though I, can write this song
Im a redneck, and that is that
Look at the rebel flag on my hat YOOO!

I am a country, boy at heart
Yes I smoke, and chew, and fart
But its different when niggers, try to do the same
Its brings all the blackies to shame YOOO!

Send them all back, overseas
To Africa that’s where they, belong you see
They weren’t born here, in the USA
The white boys land of today YOOO!

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