But first, the poetry:
One thin September soon
A floating continent disappears
In midnight sunVapors rise as
Fever settles on an acid sea...
Snow glides from the mountain
Ice fathers floods for a season
A hard rain comes quicklyThen dirt is parched
Kindling is placed in the forest
For the lightning’s celebration...
The shepherd cries
The hour of choosing has arrived
Here are your tools
Even worse?
This nugget from the reviewer :
...with the publication of his new book, Our Choice, Gore has unveiled a fresh and most unexpected talent: the book’s opening chapter of concludes with a poem he wrote—21 lines of verse that are equal parts beautiful, evocative, and disturbing.
or this:
The result is a surprisingly accomplished, nuanced piece of writing. The images Gore conjures in his (untitled) poem turn a neat trick: they are visually specific and emotionally arresting even as they are scientifically accurate.
I'm going to need my dram of kool-aid soon. But, in case I don't get it, this commenter at VF gave me this choice piece of hilarity, and sanity.
The alarums sound
And the frightened creatures
Run to higher ground
Across the skies
Silver eagles soar
Trailing clouds of smoke
In their wake
Foregathering in their sacred aerie
They make their plans
To gather all the sheep together
In the valley of the shadow
Of pretended death Calling out
To the lambs who huddle in every corner of the world
They promise the protection of eagles
While preparing for the feast
Posted 12/7/2009 by
Al Gore: The Poet Laureate of Climate Change: Mark Hertsgaard | Vanity Fair
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