victim, killer, survivor… hero. A tribute
It was my brother Bruce’s birthday on the fifth. He spent his birthday in hospital, self-admitted, plagued by voices despite medication. He takes such care, for he knows the power of those voices to confuse and compel his unwilling hands.
Where do the voices come from? Whose thoughts are they? I have had theories, but they are uncertain, unscientific and subject to change. Worlds are multidimensional, sources of thoughts mysterious, while science fumbles in ignorant darkness, claiming ultimate knowledge until the next ‘discovery’ overturns today’s truth. Chemistry is a facile label, explaining nothing. There are no true explanations, and while there may be causes, they are multiple, complex, unknowable.
When my brother was a child, he pulled his pants down in company to show a new friend his scab, and was met with a storm of grownup guffaws at the sight of his small naked bum. I remember with pain his little-boy bewilderment, his fear and shame. How stupid, how insensitive and cruel, twenty drunken righteous fools laughing at a five-year-old. I want to go back in time and scorch them all.
He remained shy about showing skin for years, insisting on long sleeves and buttoning to the neck in the fiercest heat. It takes so little to damage tender hearts.
He’s a man now, dealing with greater afflictions than most of us imagine, struggling to survive in Vancouver’s downtown east side with his label, a nasty multi-syllabic that means, ‘not a valid person’. Though the history is a long and complicated story, the upshot is that he has reason to fear his own mind.
What would you do if voices told you to kill, voices so compelling that you could not say no? What would you do if you woke from a fugue state to find yourself holding a bloody knife buried in the belly of an innocent toward whom you held no ill-will?
You should know, I consider my bother a hero, a wise and incredibly brave man, as well as a brilliant artist and poet. If you walked in his shoes, you might be less complacent about the world.
I’ve seen minds wasted by the ravages of disease
Like the rotted frames of boats left standing on the beach
I’ve seen liberals become conservatives
Bearing the poisons of bigotry and the authoritarian hand
Of stone that dirties all it touches
I’ve seen great birds of steel rise over the deserts
And drop their eggs of fire upon the cities
I’ve seen faces suffused with the mask of madness
Go slack with the nonentity of slavery
I’ve been with rebels, ate of their food and kindness
And lived to see them delivered to the gates of hunger
With the ache of weakness in their voice
The strength of their conviction worn away by illness
I’ve been with illness and touched its sores
I’ve seen poets forge the iron heart of poetry
In dark dreary caverns at the edge of cliffs
Wearing animal skins. No one could look into those eyes
And not be changed immensely or else be afraid
Forever
And now as I write, universities are filled
With young minds eating of dried bread
And blood; the poppies of illusion
Suffused with the tears of hallelujahs
Now as I write books are bound and so are minds
Now as I write I feel the sadness of a broken heart
And the ink lies as opaque as death
Beneath my fingers- Bruce Ray
“Verses of Renunciation”
My mom, another hero, wrote an excellent award-winning book telling my brother’s story:
“The Ghosts Behind Him” by Doris Ray
more information on the book
May 8th, 2007 at 3:40 pm
Oh, my, what a powerful poem, I am shaking.
The “tears of hallelujahs” phrase strikes a chord even if I don’t understand it. It brings to my mind a phrase from the Jewish prayer book that goes something like,
“And redeemers shall issue forth from Mt. {Sinai?, the Temple Mount?} to execute judgements on Mt. Esau, and to God shall be the victory …. and the Lord shall reign forever and ever. Hallelujah.”
Yes, the Lord shall reign forever and ever, reign over a blasted, leveled, bleak, desolate, lifeless plain of charred flesh, fossilized trees, blackened Earth, nothing moving anywhere, unchallenged in his eternal victory, no rebellion, nothing contrary, no emotion, no will, nobody but angels or people who have become like angels to sing Hallelujah, and they only a will-less prismatic mirror image, just a loveless mind talking to itself, having destroyed everything else.
Gary
May 8th, 2007 at 8:16 pm
Wow. Brr. What a chilling picture you paint… you and Bruce would understand each other, I think, Gary…
I find his poetry to be very biblical and revelatory in feel. Messianic.. prophetic… whatever the word is. He writes with incredible power.
May 8th, 2007 at 8:17 pm
This is the line that most stands out for me:
“No one could look into those eyes
And not be changed immensely or else be afraid
Forever”
Brr. Gives me goosebumps…
May 9th, 2007 at 6:15 pm
Hi Gary and Phoenix, (I’m Bruce’s mother) The poem evokes varying visual images and interpretations in my mind’s eye almost every time I read the lines. It depends on the time of day, my mood, energy levels, recent events and/ or opinions expressed by others…
Bruce’s poems have been described by Mr Ian Kluge (himself a poet) as being “visionary.” In that sense, I feel the above lines can be regarded in the religious sense as being optimistic, rather than pessimistic. A loving God will certainly ensure a change of direction in the perceptions and attitudes of his created beings. What may appear to be a prophesy of the ending of our civilization is but the identification of what could occur if changes are not made. I believe that God has given we human beings the ability to spot what’s wrong, and the gifts of compassion, humility and intelligence to make the necessary changes.
May 10th, 2007 at 4:16 pm
I think, as with all art, that the interpretation is fluid, depending on what it evokes in the reader. I also suspect (as a poet myself) that the meaning of this poem changes even for Bruce, depending on his mood of the moment!
I do hear that this is how you see it, and that’s certainly valid too! My personal feeling is that changing the direction in the perceptions and attitudes of, well, us, is up to us, and that’s what free will is about. Though I believe that God is helping us every which way He/She/They can!