Memory of Barbarism

Memory of Barbarism


The Memory of Barbarism is the Recollection of Virtue

Perhaps, when we the strangers in the bar’s blue light   

   turn liberal, you’d claim fraternity 

or clan and say Detroit is turned American 

   by the community of appetite. 


There was this hurried time of fear of the last bell,   

   our sure prognostication it would be 

somber so soon to face a sky of December 

   that impended on the light blue snow swell, 


when someone turned and told of Caucasian wheat fields,   

   the harvest sun, a last effrontery. 

His father decapitates their Turkish master. 

   The village is invested. No one yields. 


Then, you may know, the last round came, and with it pride.   

   I swivelled round to face my own whiskey 

recalling anecdotes in turn of ancestral 

   snowfields and running wolves and fireside.

 By Richard Emil Braun

Photography by Isaac Julien