Poem : \'Some wait !\' ; 7 April, 2023.
SOME WAIT !
On \"BLOODY STEAKS\" and \"SOME WAIT !\"
These two poems refer in general to the subject of capital punishment.
(a) In \"BLOODY STEAKS\" :
\"Murder most foul !\" and \"Out, damn\'d spot !\" : after Shakespeare\'s \"MACBETH.\"
(b) On these two poems, please also see :
(i) \"Pour une République sans potence.\" \"L\'EXPRESS\" newspaper, Mauritius, 10 November, 1991, (page 7).
(ii) \"THE FABER BOOK OF MURDER.\" (Edited by Simon Rae). London : Faber and Faber Ltd., 1994. (In particular, pages 178, 179, and 200 to 203).
(iii) \"L\'inconstitutionalité de la peine de mort prononcée par la justice sud-africaine.\" \"L\'EXPRESS\" newspaper, 31July, 1995.
(iv) \"Archives. Il s\'appelait Rupsing.\" \"Le MAURICIEN\" newspaper, Mauritius, 7 October, 1992. This is the story of a man called Rupsing, who had been condemned to death in Mauritius in 1838. From this article by Norbert Benoit, we can quote the following :
\"(.....) From the time of his condemnation, Rupsing showed an extraordinary calm and resignation. In his cell at Port Louis, he waited, not showing any sign of distress or emotion. Then came the day when he asked to see his child. Poignant meeting, during which Rupsing cried a lot, before resuming his usual impassibility. On the 8th October, he confided to the interpreter : «I\'d like to have a little mango plant, so I could plant it in the yard of the court; on seeing it, the judges who condemned me would say : It was Rupsing who planted this tree.»
\"But, Rupsing would suffer the worst agonies. In fact, there had been so much hesitation ! First, a request for commuting the sentence had been addressed to the governor, who rejected it. An appeal against conviction was then made. And, still there were hesitations. About the execution itself, as well as about the right time for carrying it out. All this imposed on poor Rupsing all the thousand torments of the last ordeals, and many people felt revolted in their consciences : they wanted Rupsing to be left in peace in his jail, with the religious comforts that were being administered to him, and the consoling idea that perhaps he would not be executed. On the 8th October, it was announced to Rupsing that the execution would definitely take place on the 11th. On the morning of the 10th, it was learnt that all had changed, that he had to get ready the same day at one o\'clock. He was given his last bath and was transferred to the police cell, from where he would go to the place of execution. And there were yet more hesitations.... Rupsing was brought back to his previous jail; the execution was delayed. All these delays turned out to be too much for poor Rupsing, who had fallen ill since the day he had been informed of the execution. At 11 at night, on the same 10th October, Rupsing died in jail ! He never knew the scaffold !
\"Thus Rupsing died. Would we dare speak of «natural death» ? We must add that, brought back into jail, Rupsing was still in the red shirt of those condemned to death, and was still wearing, at the time of his death, the red cap; scaffold gear; clothes that were rather burning him since six in the morning. Was it justice ? Was it equity ? For, certainly, in what Rupsing had suffered, humanity itself had been outraged in what there was of the most sacred : the last moments of the condemned man !\" (My translation from French).
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Comments by ChatGPT on 24 April, 2023 :
The poem also criticizes the use of anonymity and distance in carrying out acts of violence, such as the use of seven anonymous executioners or the practice of lethal injection. The speaker argues that such methods only serve to further remove individuals from the gravity of their actions and the responsibility that comes with them.
Overall, the poem offers a bleak view of humanity and its capacity for violence, but it also calls for reflection and a consideration of alternative approaches to justice and treatment of others.
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SOME WAIT !
Thou, ravenous Man ! Thy fangs dripping with gore,
Ferocious Man, thou want’st to hunt for more :
Indeed art thou unique in thy cruelty :
No other beast can match thy barbarity.
A better treatment gives the mighty tiger
To the prey singl\'d out for his dinner;
He stalks his prey, and suddenly gives chase,
In leaps and bounds, at some lightning pace.
And the prey runs, runs for dear life\'s sake;
His preservation instinct he rakes up earnestly,
All his strength he summons up feverishly,
For, he knows this run will have no remake.
Only a few instants can last his agony,
For, the tiger doth not tarry with infamy;
For so long had the prey enjoy\'d his life :
\'Pon him there had been no lingering strife.
All will be play\'d and quickly conclud\'d,
All will be fix\'d and rapidly decid\'d
In a few moments of battle and chase :
In this, at least, there be some solace.
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But, Man offers his prey some bait.
And makes him wait. And wait.
Some wait. To make up his mind,
Man tarries in manners so unkind.
Inside an impregnable fortress
He lashes down his poor prey;
And, by some cunning process,
The murder long he doth delay.
For a swift end his shaking prey doth pray,
But, his wait will last for many a long day;
The murder probably would not be avoid\'d,
But, the torture cruelly hath to be perfect\'d.
And what better, crueller perfection
Than this pitiless procrastination !
The prey might be spar\'d the last trek :
Some hope be dangl\'d afore the wreck.
The days of the prey might be number\'d,
But, for Man, not enough hath he suffer\'d;
Must be parad\'d afore his eyes some hope,
Some hope that he might be spar\'d yon rope.
\'Tween life and death daily the prey dances;
He is kept remind\'d that there are chances;
Chances that his life might just be spar\'d;
Spar\'d ! But, can the infamy be repair\'d ?
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To die, or not to die, tearfully the man asks himself;
Would he, \'pon yon scaffold, become another statistic ?
Would the statistic simply be filed away \'pon yon shelf ?
Even these simple queries to many might seem comic.
The frail bird that sings sweetly in the morning ray
Surely would live on to sing again for many a day;
But, this poor fellow be gripp\'d by a terrible fever :
Would he not be murder\'d by the waiting murderer ?
Both wait. The one from his family would be abduct\'d :
The other with his family happily would be reunit\'d;
The slender bird flies away in the cool, crisp air :
The dewy scaffold looks grim in this gory fun fair.
To the poor man only one life hath been given :
For him, as for all, \'tis the one and only heaven;
Plunder it, and ne’er shalt thou be forgiven :
But, in sheer gore be Man\'s history written.
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Seven anonymously give the final jab, in yon clime.
Seven. \'Tis better. Of state dementia even if reeking.
Elsewhere, a single hand does the job in no time :
Hark ! Some condolence the very state be offering.
\'Pon the forlorn gallows, when all was perfectly still,
A manacl\'d man the murderous state callously did kill.
In the entrails of the dungeon, in the weirdest toil,
Afore the chilling murder the killers didn\'t recoil.
Some were taught how to jab to save dear life,
And end\'d up jabbing gleefully in sheer murder.
Anonymously would they \"put to sleep\" the killer :
In a lone jabber could set in internal strife.
To poke the life out of the poor fellow
Hath been devis\'d a method rather mellow;
Thou art safe : \'tis all anonymous poking :
Grab thy needle : join this game of jabbing !
For ye, pokers, \'tis advanc\'d killing;
For yon fellow, \'tis advanc\'d dying;
For thy society, \'tis advanc\'d living;
Precisely what \"civilisation\" be asking.
There\'s safety in numbers. Seven\'s the figure.
Safety is important. Jabbing is less barbarous.
SOMEONE\'s got to do it. Seven. \'Tis anonymous.
\'Tis less gory. Less messy. Gives a better picture.
These strange clients need to be jabb\'d with caution,
For, suddenly might they bolt away in self-preservation.
So, \'tis much better if the client be rather sleepy :
After all, he would be the sole, the final beneficiary…..
The method did demand some refinement :
The prey need see nothing of the experiment;
Indeed can struggling fiends can be a danger :
By accident might we jab ourselves down under.
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Whodunit ? One of seven. Which one, finally ?
Ha, ha, ha ! That\'s the whole point, buddy :
Progress demands that we do it more cleverly.
Progress demands that thou stop it completely !
But, we alleviat\'d the man\'s agony.
Of his life thou also alleviat\'d him.
He commit’d a murder gory and grim.
An eye for an eye, a body for a body !
But, at least, the final moments had no agony……
Ah, the wait, the final wait : no conscious waiting :
Good, good : long live progress : keep on jabbing :
It also helps to make room in the crowd\'d dormitory...
At the scaffold, why the hood if thou art so smart ?
Because, man, that final look could rip thee apart !
Why the sleeping drug at all did thou administer ?
Because that final look could rend thee asunder !
Wriggle as thou may, \'tis unnatural thy brother to kill :
Of their brethren\'s blood many have drunk their fill,
But, the world be NOT a better place, for all that gore :
Wherefore, wherefore should Man murder anymore ?
Why must thou the poor man mow down with strife ?
Yes, yes, there\'s hope, finally, to save dear life.
There\'s hope to stop for good the gory feast.
There\'s hope to separate Man from beast.
Hope ? What hope ? The fellow play\'d with the sword :
He\'ll taste now his own potion : that\'s our last word.
For his victim did he feel any compassion ?
So, why doth thou appeal to our emotion ?
We appeal to thy humanity. Why such strife ?
\'Tis all up to thee. Thou must respect every man\'s life.
There\'s hope. We\'ll wait for some better day.
Yonder, even the tiger sometimes refuses to slay.
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