Jo Ann v., écrivaine vadrouilleuse

Montpellier, France & Dallas, Oregon, USA - December 8th 2005
© Jo Ann v. & David Hall
in To Whom it may concern


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Ceci est un poème co-écrit avec un ami américain. On voulait confronter les différents points de vue (totalement stéréotypés) de l'Occident et du Tiers-Monde. On avait envie de co-écrire une pièce ensemble depuis longtemps, et puis David est arrivé avec le thème de départ. Je ne le remercierai jamais assez car c'est un excellent poéte et que je l'adore.

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The Sun is rising
over the horizon
burning whatever is left
on the fields.

No one leaves their homes,
made of concrete or simply huts.
No one cultivates the Earth,
this land has become sterile

but pregnant of all these mines
not yet discovered.
Poisoned by powder
that brings death...

*****

Once again, the Angolan civil war
makes headline news
Who cares? I think to myself.
Nuke them all, is what I say.

It says they still have buried landmines.
So what? Let the 'darkies' kill each other.
It's a sand dune of a country
a million miles away. Who cares?

Probably fighting over someone's wife.
Bunch of uneducated natives.
Can't even speak English.
I wonder if the game is on tv yet.

*****

A woman just gave birth
to her sixth child.
But she needs to rush,
go to the river

and pick water
to wash and nourish,
her family of elderly and children,
to live...

Her baby is starving
but she doesn't have milk.
She seems so strong
but her body is so weak...
*****

More sob stories on the television.
Kids without mothers,
mothers without kids.
A mother who can't feed her kids.

Why do I have to listen to this?
It doesn't affect me.
Ya don't have milk? Jeez,
Go find a job. Buy some!

Get in your car
drive to the store,
stock up on beef and milk,
what the hell is stopping you?

*****

The sunlight is their only energy.
All they see is a land of devastation:
everything is ruined, destroyed by bombs and rifles,
no houses, no school, no hospital, no nothing is left.

The only solution, only salvation,
is to flee, walk miles and days away,
leaving behind missing family, blank souvenirs,
leaving behind a life.

Walking with misfortune companions
to the big city, where they hope to find a roof,
find security and bread to eat,
where they would meet a silent night...
*****

Flickering images on my screen
make my face scrunch
and I do something I've never done before....
I pause....

Grungy natives deserve it I figure,
shrugging it off.
My overweight daughter walks in.
"DAD! I wanna go to McDonalds!"

I smile and pull out my wallet.
I look at my daughter...
then at the television screen....
and against my will, I begin to wonder.

*****

An illiterate boy,
not yet a teen,
doesn't know much about life
but knows how to kill.

His not that older sister,
sells all she has to live.
Her body. Her morals.
Going to whoever pays best.

These children, future of a nation,
future of this whole humankind,
have no present, nothing to fight for.
Your son. Your daughter. You...

*****

Images I've seen a hundred times,
didn't give a shit before.
None of my business,
not my world.

My cell phone bill is due...
images
My swimming pool needs cleaned...
images
My daughter want McDonalds
images

I look from the half-starved lad on tv
to my over-fed daughter.
I look from Angolas reality
to my own.
images

And I think....
now.....
I understand.
*