“Don’t worry, I will return,” were not his dying words.He had no dying words.
There was no pretense, no implosion.11:00 p.m.
He was quiet, remote, dying,sheer as a curtain.
The body is a big dumb object, he taught us.Death is a genius.
“Do you understand?” he did not say.11:05 p.m.
Still no protest.Around him we were
a collectivefor which there existed no name.
Vortex?Hive? Enigma?
Astrophysicists were askingfor suggestions.
Terror. A terror of black holes,someone proposed.
Yes, that was true.Silence. A silence of black holes,
We now confront a second Trump presidency.
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Armed with a remarkable 160 years of bold, independent journalism, our mandate today remains the same as when abolitionists first founded The Nation—to uphold the principles of democracy and freedom, serve as a beacon through the darkest days of resistance, and to envision and struggle for a brighter future.
The day is dark, the forces arrayed are tenacious, but as the late Nation editorial board member Toni Morrison wrote “No! This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.”
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Onwards,
Katrina vanden Heuvel
Editorial Director and Publisher, The Nation
someone proposed.That too was accurate.
What is metaphor?What is metaphor for?
For you, my father,genius in a big dumb object.
For when the curtains shiveredand we saw you enter the vortex
of world peace,with its hive of enigmas.
Catherine BarnettCatherine Barnett is the author of Human Hours (winner of the 2018 Believer Book Award in Poetry, a New York Times “Best Poetry of 2018” selection, and a finalist for the T.S. Eliot Four Quartets Award). Her forthcoming collection, Solutions for the Problem of Bodies in Space (Graywolf), will be published in May.