There is a danger and a necessity about writing a poem about a current event: yes, it rapidly becomes dated, but it also encapsulates an emotion which has been triggered by something specific.
          The destruction of Nimrud, as was intended by the people who perpetrated its destruction, is something which is horrific to the West.  We are a consumer society, we live by things and their wanton destruction is inimical to our collective ethos.
          We are also brought up to believe in a Western Ideal of Shared Culture, where our interpretation of what is important in the cultural history of the world is something to be cherished.  People who know nothing of Leonardo would be appalled if anything happened to the Mona Lisa because it is more than a painting, it is part of a statement of our belief in the creative process of the human mind and the triumph of Renaissance thought which, paradoxically, lives on in a society that produces 'Big Brother' and petitions to reinstate Clarkson to the BBC!
          So I felt sickened when I heard of the destruction of the ruins of Nimrud, even though there is no visual image of this important site in my memory.  The mere idea of a fragment of the 'Cradle of Civilisation' being destroyed is anathema to me.
          When I made notes for this poem I listed things like the Inquisition, iconoclasm, Nazi book burning, Stalin's early use of photoshop to eliminate the images of those people he had killed when they were in historic photos, Kafka, the burning of Hopkins' poems, the destruction of Turner watercolours by Ruskin, Dresden, Coventry the Death Camps, Hiroshima and the villages in Normandy ('largely re-built since 1945' as my guide book put it) Hiroshima, and so on - the mere names were far too powerful to contain in any poem that I could write!
          What was going to be a very long scream of anguish became a fairly short poem.  But a short poem which does manage to say some of the things that would have got lost with all those big 'events' in amongst my words!

Again, again, again

The glow from Egypt’s

burning scrolls

darkens our history.

The acrid smell stinks on

in our world’s nose.

And we may trace the stench

of bodies, buildings, books

in flames

that blacken centuries.

‘The Ruins Ruined’

is the latest game.

What once was coaxed

back from the sand

is bulldozed back

to ignorance.

And every time

we have to dig

beyond

to get back

where we were.

I would be interested to hear reactions to this poem.  Please feel free to use the 'comment' section on this blog.  Or if you know me then email me and let me know.