Donald Grant DeMan - Response to Suffering at Santanna Poetry

Response to Richard Koss and Ann Dolin

It began with the poem by Ann, Suffering at Santana See also, Vox Pop

.... by D. Grant DeMan

The trouble with reading something like this is that I indeed want to jump into the fray, and am seduced into so doing by Bill's clever invitation to carry on regardless. First to say that I loved the sentiments expressed by Ann, and I also made sense out of the return essay of Richard, The Brave Lion Koss. I cheer the views of all as taken from the particular shooting platform that forms their chosen roost. A multiplicity of factors and transinsecting lines become evident when certain crisis hit home plate, and that is very interesting to this voyeur.

From a skeptical aging Canadian's view: "My how the Americans worship their violence, and what great philosophical lengths they travel to showcase their diversity, seeming always to prove that both the Devil and God can operate full bore while occupying common ground. The freedom to bear arms is therein enshrined quite unlike most other civilizations who have taken steps to restrict or ban firearms within the populace and thus the Devil here in Canada, Australia et al is handicapped into using knives, poison, or simply pushing the victim from a tall building a la Archie Bunker's rebuke to daughter Gloria."

Nearly every year of police work and teaching has brought me to witness a death or two among youngsters, and as I retired a good young friend who used to mow my lawn was cut down by a black belt bully as he left a local tavern one morning. One or two were electrocuted, three or four died in traffic mishaps, and many were taken by drugs - one asphyxiated with a plastic bag over his head while sniffing glue. And for every one there were four barely surviving - crippled, brain damaged or blind. As Richard puts forth, a fact of life is to live with death at the door.

Nevertheless, when one goes we may doff our hats and mourn with the first blossoming words, the choking lament, the petal thrown in the bubbling brook and an eye toward heaven. Such are the devices of human beings to relieve the hurt of loss, postpone the realization of our ultimate end, and that of all creatures. Some say, only to be recreated within other newborn entities of diverse invention.

As I say, we all sight in from separate platforms which move from place to place as time goes by. In this we strive to love one another no matter the temporary differences. For as evening draws nigh we must face tomorrow imbued with the revelation that all shall meet once more on common ground.

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