Howling from the mountaintops wailing from the riverbanks scooping the moon into their waning wombs the old women know that lies kill, distortions maim, hope isn’t enough to feed starving babies, school the ignorant, put an end to war. Like Furies, the old ones rise, clench their furious fists against the blazing sun; like Harpies they roar, casting dire warnings upon the winds of change; soothsaying Sibyls decipher omens, portend the future, speak in baffling koans. With dakini wisdom they cut through illusion, vote in primaries, attend caucuses, raise their voices against power, shatter the corrupted ceilings that chafe the crowns of their wizened heads. The wandering Maenads cry: “This is no country for old women.” Medea calls down her midnight powers, prays for revolution, strengthens the tired tongues of memory. Eloquence isn’t enough to heal a wounded country; sequined celebrities can’t mend a nation’s odiferous past. Kali avenges her sisters, the long-patient Queens & Crones, Maidens & Mothers. The forgotten ones wait and watch and warn: “Beware the hubris of ages. Beware the greedy hand that grabs the golden fleece.”
Urlano dalla cima delle montagne
piangono dalle sponde
raccolgono la luna nei grembi calanti
le vecchie sanno che le menzogne uccidono
gli stravolgimenti mutilano, la speranza non basta a nutrire
infanti
che muoiono di fame, a istruire gli ignoranti, a porre fine
alla guerra.
Come Furie si levano le vecchie,
agitando pugni furiosi contro il sole cocente;
come Arpie ruggiscono, si fanno profete di sciagura
sui venti di mutamento; Sibille vaticinanti
che decifrano presagi, leggono il futuro, parlano in koan
sconcertanti
Con la saggezza delle dakini disperdono
le illusioni, votano nelle primarie, partecipano a
riunioni,
levano le voci contro il potere, spezzano
quei corrotti soffitti di vetro che irritano
le teste canute
Queste Menadi erranti gridano: “Questo non è
un paese per vecchie.”
Medea si appella ai suoi poteri notturni
invoca la rivoluzione, rafforza lingue stanche
di memorie. L’eloquenza non basta a guarire
un paese ferito, le paillettes luccicanti delle celebrities
non ripara il fetore del passato della nazione. Kali vendica
le sue sorelle, la lunga pazienza delle Regine & delle Vecchie,
delle Fanciulle & delle Madri. Obliate
esse aspettano e osservano e avvertono: “Attente all’hybris
delle epoche. Non fidatevi dell’avida mano che afferra il
vello d’oro.”
Pina Piccolo is an Italian-American cultural activist who writes poetry and short essays. She is currently the coordinator for 100Thousand Poets for Change-Bologna. Her interests gravitate towards immigrant rights, social justice and movements for change.
“No Country for Old Women” was originally published at www.newversenews.com on April 5, 2008.
Mary Saracino is a novelist, poet and memoir-writer who lives in Denver, CO. She Is Everywhere! Volume 3, the anthology she co-edited with Mary Beth Moser, was awarded the 2013 Enheduanna Award for Excellence in Women-Centered Literature from Sofia University, Palo Alto, CA. Mary’s novel, The Singing of Swans (Pearlsong Press 2006) was a 2007 Lambda Literary Awards Finalist. Her short story, “Vicky’s Secret” earned the 2007 Glass Woman Prize. Her newest novel, Heretics: A Love Story, is forthcoming from Pearlsong Press in 2014.
Read Meet Mago Contributor Mary Saracino.
Mary, as poet, your voice brings a meta cosmic note of Women’s voices in awareness of oceans, through eons and eons of waking dreams. What an awakener!
Mary, this poem is beyond words to honor it. Raw and frightening in its powerful truth it fills me up with ‘old wisdom’ the kind we find in shattered fragments. This poem moves me from the deepest places within myself/Nature.