Adrienne Rich: Ballade of the Poverties
Posted by John Steele on December 1, 2009
A major voice in poetry for over 50 years, Adrienne Rich has also been a major political poet — and essayist — since the 1960s. Art, she said in the course of refusing the award of the National Medal of Arts at the Clinton White House, “means nothing if it simply decorates the dinner table of the power which holds it hostage.”
We reprint this poem from the Monthly Review website.
Ballade of the Poverties
by Adrienne Rich
There’s the poverty of the cockroach kingdom and the rusted toilet bowl
The poverty of to steal food for the first time
The poverty of to mouth a penis for a paycheck
The poverty of sweet charity ladling
Soup for the poor who must always be there for that
There’s the poverty of theory poverty of the swollen belly shamed
Poverty of the diploma mill the ballot that goes nowhere
Princes of predation let me tell you
There are poverties and there are poverties
There’s the poverty of cheap luggage bursted open at immigration
The poverty of the turned head, the averted eyes
The poverty of bored sex of tormented sex
The poverty of the bounced check the poverty of the dumpster dive
The poverty of the pawned horn the poverty of the smashed reading glasses
The poverty pushing the sheeted gurney the poverty cleaning up the puke
The poverty of the pavement artist the poverty passed-out on pavement
Princes of finance you who have not lain there
There are poverties and there are poverties
There is the poverty of hand-to-mouth and door-to-door
And the poverty of stories patched-up to sell there
There’s the poverty of the child thumbing the Interstate
And the poverty of the bride enlisting for war
There’s the poverty of prescriptions who can afford
And the poverty of how would you ever end it
There is the poverty of stones fisted in pocket
And the poverty of the village bulldozed to rubble
Princes of weaponry who have not ever tasted war
There are poverties and there are poverties
There’s the poverty of wages wired for the funeral you
Can’t get to the poverty of the salary cut
There’s the poverty of human labor offered silently on the curb
The poverty of the no-contact prison visit
There’s the poverty of yard sale scrapings spread
And rejected the poverty of eviction, wedding bed out on street
Prince let me tell you who will never learn through words
There are poverties and there are poverties
You who travel by private jet like a housefly
Buzzing with the other flies of plundered poverties
Princes and courtiers who will never learn through words
Here’s a mirror you can look into: take it: it’s yours.
For Jim and Arlene Scully
with gratitude to François Villon and to Galway Kinnell
Matt said
Magnificent! In much the same spirit, here are the lyrics to “Underdogs” by The Coup:
This is for my folkers who got bills overdue
This is for my folkers, umm check, on, two
This is for my folkers never lived like a hog
Me and you toe-to-toe, I got love for the underdog
I raise this glass for the ones who die meaningless
And the newborns who get fed intravenously
Somebody’s mama caught a job and a welfare fraud case
When she breathe, she swear it feel like plastic wrap around her face
Lights turned off this is the third month the rent is late
Thoughts of bein’ homeless, cryin’ till you hyperventilate
Despair permeates the air and sets in your ear
The kids play with that one toy they learned how to share
Comin’ home don’t ever seem to be a celebration
Bills they pile up the coffee table like they’re decorations
Big ol’ spoons of peanut butter, big ass glass of water
Makes the hunger subside, save the real food for your daughter
You feel like swinging haymakers at a movin’ truck
You feel like laughing so it seems like you don’t give a fuck
yYu feel like getting so high, you’ll smoke the whole damn crop
You feel like crying, but you think you might never stop
Homes with no heat stiffen your bones like arthritis
If this was fiction it’d be easier to write this
Some folks wanna front like they’re so above you
They’d tear this motherfucker up if they really loved you
This is for my folkers who got bills overdue
This is for my folkers, um check, one, two
This is for my folkers never lived like a hog
Me and you, toe-to-toe, I got love for the underdog
There’s certain tricks of the trade to try to halt your defeat
Like takin’ tupperwear to an all you can eat
Returnin’ used shit for new sayin’ you lost your receipt
And writing four-figure checks when your accounts deplete
Then all your problems pile up about a mile up
Thinkin’ bout a partner you can dial up
To help you out this vile stuff
Whole family sleepin’ on the futon while you clippin’ coupons
Eatin’ salad tryin’ to get full off the croutons
Crosstown, the situation is identical
Somebody gettin’ strangled by the system and it’s tentacles
Misconceptions raised questions to be solved
A lot of b-boys is broke, a lot of homeless got jobs
You can make 8 bones an hour till you pass out and still be ass out
Most pyramid schemes don’t let you cash out
They say this generation made the harmony break
But crime rise consistent wit’ the poverty rate
You take the worker from jobs, you gon’ have murders and mobs
A gang of preachers screamin’ sermons over murmurs and sobs
Sayin’ “pray for a change from the lord above you”
They’d tear this motherfucker up if they really loved you
This is for my folkers who got bills overdue
Tis is for my folkers, um, check one, two
This is for my folkers never lived like a hog
Me and you, toe-to-toe, I got love for the underdog
You like this song cuz it relates, it’s you in a rhyme
We go to stores that only let us in two at a time
We live in places where it cost to get your check cashed
Arguments about money usually drown out the tec blasts
Work 6 days a week, can’t sleep Saturday though
Muscles tremblin’ like a pager when the batteries low
And you just don’t know where the years went
Although every long shift feel like a year spent
And you could write your resume but it wouldn’t even mention
All the life lessons learned during six years of detention
How you learned the police was just some handicappers
On the ground next to broken glass and candy wrappers
Now don’t accept my collects on the phone
Just hit me at the house so I know I ain’t alone
And we could chop it up about this messed up system
Homies that’s been killed, how we always gon’ miss ‘em
It’s almost impossible survivin’ on this fraction
Sip a 40 to your brain for the chemical reaction
You gatta hustle cuz they tryn’ a push and shove you
I’ll tear this motherfucker up, since I really love you
This is for my folkers who got bills overdue
This is for my folkers, um check, one, two
This is for my folkers never lived like a hog
Me and you, toe-to-toe, I got love for the underdog