By: David Ahlman
The Starry Night (1889)
Who’s seen the mountains
doused by flame,
blanketed
with char and plaintive
burns, glowing?
The trees
blacker than roots six feet
deeper than
six feet?
Underneath, fear runs to
coagulant at the
first signs
of trouble. Threats stir full
pots til the kettle
calls itself
Syria. What’s the matter
with the sky?
There
are no five-pointed stars,
no eagles diving with
the sun,
only swirls of Van Gogh
children choking
on dotted
ash. Do you see the lines,
the lights, the strokes,
the wing
blades turning the bull-blue
night yellow and
white over
Damascus? Or do not those
dark limbs reaching
heavenward
resemble a burst of dust
rising up and over
this
magnificent city which in
an hour will know
little
except tomahawks? Tonight,
some have much more
to worry about
than the abstract moon high
on the edges of
painted
remains. They must offer to
Allah their last Isha
sung
in solemn tones of praise.
Behold: the terrible
missiles
eagerly droning, our bombs
descending like fallen
angels
to cave in roofs, rubble homes.
David Ahlman has Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing from Utah Valley University (UVU) and has returned to UVU to pursue Education Licensure. When he is not in-class or placing puppies at PuppySpot, he spends his free-time reading and writing poetry, Netflix and Chilling, or playing fetch at the local dog park with his Husky (Atlas) and Aussie-Lab (Sirius).
“The first time I saw Van Gogh’s The Starry Night, I was forever changed. A third grader, I became paralyzed by its clashing colors, the railing sky, the calm of the city beneath its explosive chaos. Then, young and not yet certain of anything, I wished to paint something so vibrant and captivating. Time would prove I’d have to use words rather than brush strokes.
Fast forward twenty years, to my wife and I watching Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. Cuddled on the couch, I turned to my right to observe the painting now printed and framed on my wall, and wondered if such a quiet place existed in Middle East nowadays. I then imagined Syria, those seeking refuge within America’s ever closing borders, those denied asylum out of bigotry and false claims of national security. I thought of war and politics and Van Gogh: how he had to remove his own ear to help people see, how he gave our eyes art so we may hear tears. Such was the inspiration of this poem and its motive, such leads me to believe we can no longer be blind or deaf to our brother’s and sister’s sufferings, wherever or whoever they may be.”