[Newspoetry] NEWSPOEM--Kola Boof, the End of Newspoetry, and a Very Oily Christmas

[Newton Bigelow]

Kola Boof, the End of Newspoetry, and a Very Oily Christmas


By NEWTON BIGELOW  (Associated Poets)

Dateline Madrid --

At the end of the last palindromic year this reporter expects to see in his lifetime, there is something in the air which smells of transition.  Things are changing, as they inevitably do.  One could wax poetic about the cycle of destruction and creation, the great wheel of life coming around to its end and beginning again.

One could wax poetic.  And so one shall.

Endings:  Newspoetry.com, the only website dedicated to daily rants, rhapsodies, and ridicule inspired by the news of the day, is calling it quits.  Joe Futrelle, the stalwart Editor-within-Chief has decided, quite reasonably, to devote his energies to other pursuits.  In this reporter's opinion, Newspoetry.com has been an entirely unique enterprise, an open forum with little or no exclusionary editorial policy, which has still managed to present a cohesive voice that declares, “We will turn our outrage into art.”

Yes.

Newspoetry.com has been my home-away-from-home for nearly two years now.  For an expatriate, that is no small thing.  The cynicism and disgust which drove me to Europe still holds me here.  I left when there was a Bush in office, and I’m damned if I’ll come back while his misbegotten offspring occupies the White House.  I still get uncontrollable attacks of bile every time I see that smug, arrogant face on the front page of El Mundo.  Having said that, I have found that newspoets are an effective tonic when the attacks are at their worst.

So.

Newspoetry is dead, they say.  Long live Newspoetry!  It is my hope and belief that newspoets will continue to commit literature in the face of ignorance.  For myself, I have found that writing is a hard addiction to kick.  My dispatches from Madrid will continue, if not here than elsewhere on the internet.  I encourage all newspoets to go and do likewise.  Make your voice heard.  Tyranny loves nothing better than a silent populace.  As a better poet than I once said, “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll go for anything.”



Beginnings:  Over the last several months, a mysterious writer named Kola Boof has  appeared as an elusive presence on the internet.  She is (or perhaps isn’t) a Sudanese national, a ‘womanist’ poet, an opponent of modern-day slavery, and the survivor of at least one gun battle.  Her writing celebrates the beauty and strength of African women, and condemns organized religion as man-centered and destructive.

Surprise.  I like her.

Why?  She’s an expatriate, for one thing, and we ex-pats have to stick together.  Also, despite her growing fame on the web, she’s notoriously difficult to contact in person. I understand the compulsion to speak one’s mind, offset by the deep desire to preserve one’s privacy.  Plus, the precise details of her life are oddly difficult to corroborate.  It’s almost as if she was partly fictional.  I can identify with that as well.


What next?

I’m envisioning an epidemic of writers like this, whose public lives are part of their body of work.  Kola Boof has shown that it can be done, and done well, with little more than word-of-mouth.  One of the momentous things about the web is that it gives us control over our own personas.  Feel shy about stating your opinions?  Become someone who isn’t!  



Finally:  One of the Christmas traditions here in Spain that I approve of wholeheartedly is the preparation and consumption of an enormous amount of seafood.  Until I came here, I had no idea how large a percentage of the Spanish diet came from the sea.  This is true year-round, but at Christmastime, it really gets out of hand.  I’m one of those who feels no particular affinity for religious holidays, but can enjoy some of the rituals (and food) associated with them.  Christmas in Spain has always been a joyful time for me.

Until this year.

The wreck of the oil tanker Prestige has inundated the Spanish coast with black, gooey, toxic crud.  Thousands of Spanish fisherman are now unemployed due to the massive fishkill.  President Jose Maria Aznar has not yet gotten around to visiting the disaster area personally, and the cleanup effort is progressing at an excruciatingly slow pace.  Some 60 million tonnes of oil remain in the sunken tanker’s hold, and appear to be slowly leaking out and making their way to the surface.

No fish?

This year in Spain, people are rushing around looking for alternative recipes for their Christmas dinners.  Sausage appears to be the replacement meat of choice in my neighborhood.  I may stay home and make grilled-cheese sandwiches (plus vodka).

Thus.

In a real and a metaphorical sense, this holiday season seems to be steeped in oil.  George W. Bush is bound and determined to start a war over it.  People all over the world are oppressed so that a small handful of powerful men can keep control over it.  And I’m not getting my Christmas fish dinner because of it.  Oil, I’m starting to believe, is no damn good for anybody.



The End:  It isn’t really the end, of course.  There’s no such thing as “the end”.  But it is time to close the doors, sweep out the cobwebs, and get everything ready for next year’s big premiere.  Should be quite a party.  I hope to see you all there.

All the very best,

Newton

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