National Poetry Month 2023 is drawing to a close and so is this blog’s annual celebration of verse. I know poetry is not everyone things, but over the years we have developed a small following for our selections. Most of the time when I start out, I don’t know exactly what shape a new series will take. This year was a little less international than some although Canadians, Ukrainians, and an Ecuadorian were represented. We ran heavily to contemporary or near contemporary writers and were pretty balanced between men and women. Black voices shone, as did Native or First Nation writers and a Latina. A lot of familiar favorites of the past didn’t make it, but perhaps readers came away with new discoveries. But I did find space for my own trivial verse, but, hell, I own this pop stand and if I don’t give myself a break, who will?
In fact, we will close out with Murfin verse. Tomorrow is May Day, among other things International Labor Day and the celebration revered Social Democrats, Socialists, Marxists, Anarchists, Syndicalists, and old Wobblies like your scribe. More on that story tomorrow. In 2017 I wrote this short poem for a big Chicago May Day March. I had been somewhat irked by timid posts by some business unions and Democratic pols trying to endorse the action without sounding Red.
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May Day in Chicago, 2017.
It Ain’t May I Day
May 1, 2017
It ain’t May I Day, Bub!
No, siree.
It’s get the hell out of our way
May Day,
beg no damn pardon
May Day,
get your paws off of her
May Day,
leave those kids alone
May Day,
all hands on deck
May Day,
we and us and ours
May Day,
five finger fist
May Day,
We win,
May Day
Venceremos,
May Day,
Get it now?
—Patrick Murfin
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