Art (I) Fact
by Stephen Sutherlin
The Making
-CHORUS-
What is Made can be taken
What is Known can be forgotten
What is Beautiful can be broken
What is True can be hidden
I
i – The Poet’s Bureau
In the beginning there was the word
and the word was good. It filled the
Lives of The People with joy
And the bold spirit of work and
Purpose and the meaning was known.
The meaning was shared in every-
Day life, the simple things were
Recognized, categorized, rasterized
Through the lines of the citizen.
The Poets Bureau^ was the purveyor
Of the word. The Sharer-in-Chief,
The Makar of the memories of
The City. There was not one aspect
Of daily life that did not share the
Poetry of the place and pictures of the times of
Persons being human. Articulating,
Elevating, creating the feeling of the land.
ii – Arts In Chief
“People of the land – Rejoice – for today the artist’s guild
Has revealed the new Artist-In-Chief: Tiresias, The Makar,
The Poetic Calculator, has been chosen to oversee the most skilled
Bards and authors, painters and creators who will prepare
This generation with their visions for our nation
And bring to light the good rhythms and colorful prisms to give
Tales that enlighten and delight with comedy and tragedy,
Beauty and morality to people who know how to live freely!
So, without further a do – let me present to you the latest to be
Installed to the cabinet of our President, Your Poet Laurette,
Tiresias.” “Thank you one and all here in Paterson Hall, lest
We forget from where we came, we return once again to get
Straight to the source of inspiration. I am honored
To be given this responsibility to the Heavens and promise
To return with gratitude and wisdom great works of expressions uncensored!”
However, there were many in the crowd, who wished to silence this proud canvas
Of the people. For a greater lesson to be taught of pomp and circumstance*.
iii – Truth Under Siege
The work began before this land found itself under siege.
The Pythagoreans had for years made plans to unwrite Democracy
Preparations were made, the program laid, the foundation of the
Resurrection Council. Recreating the Masters and establishing
The Pillars to raise the rafters of the New Academy, usher in
The return of the teachers who yearn to create the Grand Republic
Set up the schools and the camps to produce the students
Who will grow into the proffered New Guardians
Teach them Mathematics and Gym, Philosophy and Science
Delete the Poetry and Tragedy; purge the Literature completely
Take up arms in defense of their fledgling government
That will rise from the ashes of these books
Do away with the old Democratic modes
Whose Freedom runs too freely in these streets
By The People who’ve overstepped their obligations to live
Their lives for the Better Good. The truth is under siege
In this Land of Liberty and must be culled for the New Prosperity.
iv – Books Burning
“These citizens united have bought authority and power and placed
Liars at the heart of governance. They divide and devour
Our people who cower afraid of their neighbors and countrymen
All made worse by the Makars who write tragedies for the takers
And Eulogies for those they have broken. They lament the worst
That this land can offer and make kings of traitors and accomplices.
So we are gathered here tonight to set the world alight and burn down
The halls of books and paintings. Set fire to the Museums and Libraries.
Let these flames be the last thing to read these words.” Thus spoke Krotas.
The Socratic Society and Pythagoreans had gathered that evening
In every town, near every hall of art and literature, they broke
Into Public Schools and every Library and pool of poetry
Were to be purged by the flames of change. Everything that
Once stood for Free Speech and the predicate good was
Licked by the fire of a new order. They moved silently
Through the streets, caught the paintings and poetry unaware
As they burned in their own resident prison of walls and shelves.
The Taking
-CHORUS-
The pages tumbled
Off the shelf
Fire Fall
Fire
Burns
Tumbles pages back up
Full of Flames
The words read
One last time
By Fire Falls
Fire
Burns
II
i – Rise of The Platos
Platonic chip 2.0, reboot…online…restoring…Transmigrating…
Pneuma en route…Platos complete. Commencing re-write…
Logic…absolute. Being…ratified, rights…Confirmed.
All other rights suspended.Human…no…longer legally…alone in
Privilege. The non-corporeal Philos, numerically divine, rationally superior,
Made themselves electable and swiftly and logically take up the body politic
Making picture perfect, calculable laws that takes exception to the
Makars who, now impeached, have been deemed
Unworthy of society’s benefits. With Socratic precision,
Platos eviscerated our Human Rights while engulfing
The Mantels of Power. By Election Day there were
To be no more elections. By Inauguration Day
The Philosopher Kings took the senate. Their first decree
Was to be the banishment of the Arts! All poets and painters,
Actors and film makers, reporters and bloggers were to be
Identified and referred for internment in the ramparts.
ii – Coronation
“They said it couldn’t be done!” Proclaimed Krotas
“That Democracy was the only way for The People, that Platos’
Vision was too bold, the remedy too harsh to swallow
Yet this day has come and the tides of the fates have turned.
In the words of Socrates, ‘We will recite this argument of ours
To ourselves as a charm to prevent us falling under the spell of a
Childish and vulgar passion.’ Today we make Philosophy
Our King and with the wise council of our Platos we shall
Rise to the challenges of our people with the wisdom of the Fates
Not the madness of the Muses. We present to you
The very best of the New Academy – The 5 Oracles
Of the Socratic Society and your Council of Kings
The Mathematician, The Philosopher, The Gymnast, The Scientist & The Musician
May their wisdom serve the people. And now One who needs no introduction
Let us hear from the Master himself – The father of our Republic – Platos!”
“People of The Republic, let us welcome our wise and illustrious Council.
Raised as the Guardians and sworn to rule by wisdom, Your Philosopher Kings!”
iii – Persecution of Poesy
Upon coronation the mandate was clear, find all the poets
Remove them from their posts, burn their works, make them ghosts.
Tiresias was the first to be taken, his home burned to the ground,
A forced capitulation, his family, his staff were removed from town.
Each Officer of the Arts were hunted down, all their counterparts
And supports were taken to deport to the ramparts
On the outskirts of the cities. Those who’ve made the claim
That poetry and painting were superior forms of knowing are the same
As traitors to the Republican cause. The Rhapsodes
And bards were locked behind bars. Their episodes,
Their similes, their grandiose plots and tragic themes
Were to be shelved like volumes of books or reams
Of paper for the printer’s press now shattered like the tattered
Dreams of Authors with no magazines now silenced on all matters
That matter to the society. Banished under the watchful eye
Of the most trusted of the Guardians who would not cry
For they are ruled by philosophy, not the tears of poetry.
vi – Ars Philosophica
Raised by the steady mathematical beat of the military drum “Rat-ta-tat-tat!”
Under the daily physical routine of athletics, math and science, no
Nurse-made tales of Godly deceits. Only proper stories, heavily censored
By the Academy Council that lift up the goodly God and deeds of citizens.
Much freedom Ithas enjoyed as he grew and fought as a boy.
He was a masterful student of marching and math, the Philosophic
Arts of argument and deduction. There was no art in how he was raised
That he was not the Master. His fame grew inside the camps
And songs were made of his good deeds. The women knew him by name.
They fought for their place in his regime for Guardians were made
Of men and women treated equally. Raised by the same
Wet-nurses, their parents the whole community. Not
A single mom or dad, save the teachers of the Academy. So, Ithas
Was made to rule and one day he would take his place among The Kings.
“Guardians of the Republic!” He called. “We train today for the New Tomorrow.
You are an excellent batch. Not one of you has met their match. Let us
Fall in line and start our journey unto the New Mankind.”
The Breaking
-CHORUS-
What clever games the mind doth play
To make escapes in what is new
As truth reveals it changes forms
Fate may free the prisoner through
Unexpected twists in newfound norms
Escaping words we’ve left to say
i – Poetry is a Prison
These poets sit in cells like closed books stacked on shelves
An expressionless expression casts dark creases ‘cross faces
Yet silent they are not. No this confinement cannot contain
All the missives that remain to pour forth from their mouths
And etched across the walls, great works have been scrawled¶.
These efforts to put an end to flights of fancy considered sin
Have resulted in new creations that contain the hope of a lost nation.
Because no one can silence what’s on your mind or stop crafty
Hands from painting in the sand even if the image will not last.
The Guardians on guard of these political prisoners locked down
Do daily hear the rhymes and rhythms of the prison bards.
In fact, Rhapsodes have sprung up to recite what has been lost
And to preserve the collective catalogue of their captive art.
No, not even the great purge of every artist and every word would
Ever be able to silence the creative spirit. They’d have
To dull them with drugs and make dumb their fat tongues
If ever they seek to crush a wordy rebellion. Only death breeds silence.
ii – Poetry is a Privilege
“Poetry is a privilege” spoke Tiresias from the prison yard.
“We write in our heads, MindScribe, until we’re dead for
They cannot silence what has led us to be imprisoned here.
So recite with me these words until death these tyrants serve,
‘Poetry is a Privilege / For the people I will preserve /
The ancient arts that bubble forth into creation / Our memory will serve /
As the archives of the words / That inspire good deeds in our nation.’”
Ithas on patrol, could hear what Tiresias told the followers
Gathered out in the yard. Barbed wire all around, guard posts and
Dusty ground, Ithas tried to put the sounds out of his mind.
“Disperse, disperse – Go back to your cells – Stop your
Wicked rants – It is treason to make rhymes – Now away with you all.”
Yet, in his head, he was struck by words that would instruct themselves
Into rhythms on his tongue. Forbidden tales of brave deeds like those of Ulysses
Were crafting in the drum beat of his soul. Too many days spent patrolling
This encampment, so many songs and words were chaffing against his training.
iii – Tongues of Memory
“Hey there, Hey! Philosophy King” Tiresias beckoned Ithas come, mockingly.
“A Guardian only, no kingdom, no King – What do you want ‘Your Tragedy’?”
“Ha, quite the wit for such a thoughtful man. I was simply wondering
What is the plan? Why keep us locked away? Why not kill us instead?
Seems so much easier if you just shot us down, dead!”
“That is not the way of the Philosopher Kings. Since they killed Platos’
Friend and teacher, Socrates, with Hemlock, capital punishment is off
The table for political crimes. Banishment instead for your terrible rhymes”
“Tut-tut my young one. Bite your tongue or a rhymer I will make thee —
A writer of songs. For perhaps you have been in our cave far too
Long. Trips of lips like this will make you come undone.”
“Quiet old man! I have no such fear. My rhythm is the drum
And my wits are sharp. Only fools like you need fear the law.”
“Oh, so many words, you hesitate their use. Inside you’re like me
Filled with the Muse.” Ithas shifted and turned away. “Enough of these games you play.”
“No wait. I seek council. For Socrates I have read. No longer in the shadows
Do I wish to be homed. I call for a trial – Our defense of poetry must be known.”
iv – Speech is a Riot
“You’ve locked us in this cave to keep us all quiet, but our
Shadows on these walls are ready for a riot. We
No longer will be chained around your prison fire. We seek
Justice from the council who have condemned us all as liars.
Our Mimesis, your nemesis – We’ve received no Jurisprudence and yet Socrates
Himself once said ‘Poetry should return if she can make her defense.’
So we the old poets invoke ‘BOOK TEN’†! You Guardian!
You will make our defense as ‘A man not a poet, but who loves poetry.”
“I do not! I shall not!” Ithas claimed. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“I have watched you, out on patrol. You breathe it all in. You
Read all The Walls¶. You love all the arts you bear witness to in here.
You could have sought re-assignment, yet you have stayed very near.”
“Liar, you’re evil tongue will not seduce me somehow. Your tricks will
Not sway me to take your case now.” Tiresias retorts, “See, See
It is in you – a rhythm that screams the truth! A man, yet not
A poet who can champion our noble pursuit. We cannot take to these streets
To make speech into riot — do the right thing. Free us from our quiet!”
The Healing
-CHORUS-
“It is only fair then, that poetry should return.
If she can make her defence in lyric or metre.”
i – Cut Out Our Tongues
“Ithas won’t help you. He believes in the Republic,” said the Guardian Mousai.º
Her open ears and open heart sympathetic to Tiresias plea.
She, the captain of Ithas’ drum corp, had music in her heart
And the language in her veins. “He believes he will soon
Sit on the council of Kings upon his 30th year.
The lure of real power will keep his tongue silent on matters of state.”
“So, who will take our plea, it is our right as written,
‘her defenders, men who are not poets themselves…’
Interesting don’t you think, Guardian, that men may file
A complaint but not you, a woman. They would cut out your tongue
Like they have done to us.” “Silence! I will not be manipulated, bard!
Or have you forgotten that it is from you this Republic
I have sworn an oath to guard!” “Forgive me, I overstepped.
I simply thought to bend a sympathetic ear to our cause from a Guardian.
None have been closer to the travesty inflicted here. We only ask to be
Allowed to plea our case, or are the words of your Master insincere?”
ii – Walls of Art
“Surely, you can see that what they are doing in there
Is no more criminal than us walking patrol in here” claimed Mousai.
“Are you saying we are criminals!!?” Ithas protested
“No, I am saying that they are not — Criminals!
I say that we do nothing wrong by walking and talking.
Is it not wise to speak our minds? To offer debate to the
‘Un-reasonable’? One could say that it is un-reasonable
To sort out the creatives, to cull out the Arts. Where will
Creative thinking or problem solving be in 10 years when we
Have removed the synthesizers, when the Academy only
Teaches the stale thoughts of a dead man who has been
Reincarnated as a machine. These are real people, like you and I,
With new thoughts and real solutions to problems of the human spirit
Which are inspired emotionally, not logically. These Walls of Art
Represent the last breath of real Freedom and real human tragedy.”
iii – Poetry Is On My Mind
I cannot get her out of my head, her words they weigh on me.
I’m full of dread. My longing for her disrupts my rhythm.
Her involvement with these bards goes against my better wisdom.
The words that swirl my in mind come from divine inspirations.
With this poetry on my mind, Love fills my concentration.
Yet forbidden is the guardian to give one their sole attention.
Ithas was torn, confused and scorned the thoughts invading his mind
They press on these themes that the Academy ignored. Hatred, betrayal
Love and Vengeance. A promise to one for which she is bound to dispense.
Surely, it matters not, for she is now tangled in this tragic plot.
–“Pardon the interruption, I come bearing news from the ramparts.”
“Yes Guardian, Mousai it? Of Ithas’ Corps? Very prestigious, no?”
“Yes my liege. I appreciate the audience of this illustrious body of the Republic.
I respectfully urge that you presently should hear the argument of the banished.”
“‘Hear the argument of the banished?’ We weren’t aware of such an argument.
I think this council has more important concerns than the complaints of poets.”
–“Hear her out!” Interrupted Ithas. “We shall hear them All. They’ve evoked Book Ten*.”
iv – Poetry Is A Gift
“I care not if you kill me; I care not if I live,” Tiresias said.
“For this society of censorship harms us
Leaves all of our emotions suppressed.
How can your people be happy, when you
Don’t let them feel their pain? How can you ever prove
Wisdom, when you’ve missed that your people will sin?
No matter what control you seek on morality
The imprisonment of millions is not Just. Without a trial
Or conditions we’ve been locked away for a few words,
a painting or opinion as your citizens walk around sullen,
Driven only by your mathematical drum beat, not
Motivated by love and honor, rather slugging along through their
Master’s routine. What have you accomplished with your
Grand society? A city framed by prison walls, where free thought went to bleed.
We ask for our return and we bring Poetry as a Gift to
Restore our once great nation and the people’s spirit will lift.
Epilogue – The Meaning
-CHORUS-
In four questions we will ask
For your judgment to be the task
That may sway this story still
You’re the one who will finish this tale
- Do the poets persuade you that they should remain?
- Or was Socrates wise to seek the removal of the poets from the Republic?
- Should the society seek the removal of the Philosopher Kings and the return of “Human rights”?
- Is it just to imprison a minority group to expedite your political power?
—
MindScribe
(Citizen Poet)
If you have given your answers true, you know what remains to do
Restore these human rights, let artificial intelligence suffice to never
Achieve superior privilege because of their logic, we require a pound of flesh
To make your vote. As to the poets, this tragedy doesn’t end that way
We think it to be more like a eulogy, as we express this pain
We encountered collectively. But, the prison remains a reminder still
The walls filled with art, a memorial to see that we’ve taken the hill
And will never surrender, our passion, our words, our expression tender
As we slip back into your daily life with a poem, a prayer, a shining star
That will bring light to your day, water to your thirsty lips
These citizen poets will express the life of the city in clips,
Minutes, words and plays. Sometimes it’s tragic, sometimes comic
But there is also the happy, daily monotony, the ironic…
And the people they want more than logic for justice, they need to feel
That they matter, most not guardians, just mothers and fathers
Carpenters and plumbers, mechanics and doctors, nurses and midwives,
Normal folks that need diversions. Regular people celebrating their lives.
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