Changing the world forever for better

by Eric Chaet

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Gandhi & Chance

Gandhi weighed less than 100 pounds
when I was born
wore garment round lower vitals
of cloth he’d spun
while thinking how to move people
thru slag of inert idea & outrage
with song & firm step
along dusty roads in hot suns
taking chances among desperate unknowns.

By chance
I found out about him
& delved into his doings
3rd floor downtown Chicago Public Library
traffic blaring thru Prudential Building shadow
under flocks of Grant Park pigeons
years after his death
& still his focused life drives me

tho he’s dead
& Woody Guthrie’s dead
& several unknowns of the species
I’ve encountered
who’ve died many times since myself
& live to testify.

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A Man Swerves His Car

A man swerves his car as tho to hit me
where I stand on road shoulder
torn between thumbing a ride east from Kansas City
& watching a crew lay bricks on a newly-erected wood frame.

At the last moment, he turns aside.

He wants me more aware of death & of himself & myself
if I’m going to stand in midst of world
that’s driving him back & forth along highways.

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Delegation

A bunch of sparrows
burst across my path
& all over a bush
as I was walking to work
wearing their cruddy feathers again—
I don’t guess they ever change.

Moved so fast, I never counted them—
talked, sang—& were off again—
before I could decipher
what language they were negotiating in—
all over the blue & clouds & sun
& as nowhere to be seen as seeds
before I realized they’d visited me!

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Boss

I often feel I need a boss to tell me what to do
but there’s no one I know of I’d obey—
that’s why I struggled so long to get free
& now the only boss I have is me.

The good & wise conceal themselves too well—
amidst applause, fraud & might prevail
(& the merely clever ride their tail)—
& now the only boss I have is me.

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Those I’d Help

Those I’d help
will take no help from me
& give me none—
they don’t believe
that they need help
they’re proud & deluded
they need help
& give me none—
& I need help.

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Domain & Range

My domain is a lonely, daunted point
but my range is a line whose other end is undefined.

My domain is a line I plod on back & forth
but my range is a surface
tilting left, right, up, down, diagonally, curving
now chaotic waves & storms, now rhythmic & harmonious.

My domain is the surface my neighbors & rivals,
predators, parasites, & those who care for me
briefly or for years or more
see, & believe that’s me—
but beneath the surface I’m surging:
molten, rare, dense, magnetic, more or less—
even I don’t know how deep I go.

People treat one another as tho they’re their domains—
but I see thru their shells—&, til I die, I’m ranging.

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Argumentative

People had me convinced
most of my life
that I was argumentative—
because I refused to validate
the hypocritical cover stories
of tyrants great & not so great
& of everyone who had adapted to roles
in the destructive & unjust hierarchy—
or to compete for the privilege
of being paid off & left alone.

///

Doorman

Good morning, sir, good morning, ma’am.
Yes, I’m wearing a different uniform,
different gloves, different hat.
I’ve cleaned the glass of the door—
I discovered a new solvent.
Isn’t it glorious, how the glass
is so thoroughly transparent,
yet transmitting sparkle from the Sun?
Yes, you’re right, it’s a different door,
different frame, different hinges, too.
Notice, in fact, that the building
into which I’m ushering you
is a different building
than the one you routinely enter.
Please, take a good look
at your reflection in the glass—
that’s the last you’ll see of it.
It won’t survive the walk across the lobby.
Someone else will step out of the elevator
on a different floor, different company,
different industry, different agenda,
different obstacles, different opportunities,
different priorities, different purpose.

///

Obscure Romans

Which of the inhabitants of the Roman Empire
when Rome was at war with the world
& ruled by a paranoid elite
that imagined itself entitled to the fruit of others’ efforts
never established reputations?—
& so were lost to history
as trees’ buds, a season’s seeds, stems
foliage & canopy
grains of wheat & barley, olives, grapes, cotton, wool
generations of cattle—milk & beef—
maybe feeling abandoned to cruel Fate
thru civil wars or long or brief lives of grim toil
coping til they couldn’t cope any more—
or fiercely maintaining a constantly attacked integrity
& delivering compassion & skillful service
among the few aware enough at least
of who they were
& capable of accepting from them
what they were capable of delivering?

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I Live In an Old House

I live in an old house
not as well made as it might have been
but I’m grateful for the shelter.
Before I have to surrender it
for lack of breath or ability to pay taxes
& before it falls in on me
I work at shoring it up
improve what I can—
foundation, frame, shell, plumbing, wiring—
I’m clumsy, impatient, & ignorant!—
& struggle within it to create
something valuable that will outlast me
& this so-called civilization,
crumbling all around.

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Empathy

I dreamed of neighbors
only slightly known
secretly suffering
their hopes thwarted—
that I could do nothing for them
& couldn’t even prevent
myself from being one of them.

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They Won’t Forgive Me

There are people who are never going to forgive me
because I refused a position
that would have paid me enough
to stay out of obvious trouble & need
a few decades
that they arranged for me to occupy
or quit it the first time
someone only normally crazy & evil
with authority over me
required me to sacrifice everything & everyone else
to maintain the position.

///

Like Animals

There are people who live like mice & rabbits
spending most of their time
arranging & sleeping in burrows
hidden away from the surface’s dangers—
I’m a lot like that, myself.

And there are people who live like ranging predators
sharks, lions, tigers, eagles, hawks, snakes
competing with one another & exerting all their energy
no savings accounts, investments, pensions
eat someone or die—
& I’m a lot like them, too.

There are people, too, like domesticated animals—
whether ruling hogs, chickens, dog-sled team leaders
or those they lord over in yards, barns, pens, harnesses—
& I’ve been trained to live among others—
dominant & dominated—too.

///

My Trial

I’m preparing for the trial of the rest of my life.
I’m accused of wasting my time & talents
colluding with evil, rolling with injustice’s punches
rationalizing, adapting, drifting along by reflex action.

I know of no defense attorney who can help me.
The laws are as different from justice
as red is from green, or dissonance from harmony.
No judge nor jury can be expected to sympathize
nor to understand the facts, precedents, or context.

Whether I convince anyone of anything or not
whether the laws or even the State’s name changes
the trial for which I’m always diligently preparing
has already begun—& will continue as long as I live.

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Ostracism

From Athens, galleys propelled by 3 tiers of slaves with oars
carried red & black vases with handles
filled with olive oil & wine
& heavily-armed foot-soldiers & orators who’d studied sophistry
who proclaimed to citizens, & women, slaves, & children
of islands & coastal cities all over the Mediterranean Sea
how it would be.

Each year, 600 oligarchs casting ballots
(they used shards of broken vases)
voted to ostracize & expel the Athenian who most upset
efficient execution of their exploitation plans.

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Patience Emerges

Just maybe
tho the prospect’s bleak
what I’ve done
before I stopped exhausted
will yet provide me what I need
to resume & pick up speed
& finish what I started.

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Thinking About the Future

I have to break free to think about & affect the future
today, tomorrow, the rest of the week, month, year
the rest of my life, & beyond—
for all those who strive with pure heart
disciplining themselves so as not to harm others
& yet, to develop & contribute what they’re capable of.

I have to get free of the petty expectations others lay on me
& that I’ve internalized & lay on myself
& also of the grand delusions—
& think about & affect the future.

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What Is My Role in the World Going To Be?

What is my role in the world going to be —
til my death, from the moment it becomes up to me?

How can I best serve the ones who need me?
How can my work become how I’ll be free?

How can I do what I think I should do
when belief it’s impossible is near unanimity?

What will I offer, & how frame the terms
so those who’d reciprocate will learn — & agree?

Who, of the billions, will I work with, & how?
What will we do that’s never happened til now?

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Apology

I’ve offended you?
You were already strong, capable, brave?
You didn’t need me to tell you?

I’m sorry, I was talking mainly to myself —
& to anyone like I was
scrambling to survive while becoming who I’d be.

& you don’t need me now, either? —
to focus on putting who you’ve become
to its best, its wisest, its most effective use?

I’m sorry, I was talking mainly to myself —
& to anyone now alive, or ever, like I am.

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