Politicians are Slaves

a poem

It’s Sunday, I’m in my bedroom and I’m working, like I do most days. I’m listening to Arts 101 on the radio, and the Minister of Arts is talking about the government’s new arts strategy. Argh!

Perlina asks him a question, one of those well researched questions politicians don’t like: the ones they’re not prepared for.

Why go after a poet?, Perlina asks. Why name them? Why threaten the arts funding body of this country? What about artistic freedom?

And the minister is stammering: Blah blah blah something about art in a free and open society … blah blah blah … arts is critical to a successful society … blah blah blah … everybody can have their say.

And my mouth is wide open. That’s not what he said two years ago - when he was in opposition!

Two years ago - when this bullying began - he (like ACT and NZ First) condemned me for artistic freedom of expression. There was no “everyone can have their say” then.

Politicians are Slaves

Every time you talk about me

like some overlord, some potentate, some kind of star

stuttering and stammering

to the interviewer’s hard question

(your speech writer didn’t cover this in your notes) –

shuffle

shuffle like a slave.

What would you say if you weren’t tied at the neck

if your throat belonged to your self

what would you say?

Or would you keep playing your piano –

someone else’s Reich song

over and over.

Your tie is nicer than a neck shackle –

all in shades of grey

(not in a sexy way) –

stuff the words in and spit them back up again

spitting and stammering

spitting and stuttering

keep stammering, slave.

You say “Comfort the disturbed…”

something you can remember on your own

something about art

“… disturb the comfortable”.

something a bit lefty

something you might say if you were allowed

to actually believe it.

Stay where you are, minister

be comfortable

keep talking like a giant, a mogul, a big cheese

I will keep standing on the dictator’s roof

with my eyes like a camera

as black as a Margaret Moth

I will stand on the roof

and record you again and again.