The Statesman

Posted on fb: Wednesday, November 5, 2008 at 4:24pm


The Statesman
By Matthew Martinez

Once upon a vote night dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious channel, lying on the floor,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly the sounds of clapping,
As of some one bust-a-capping, capping on some distant shore.
‘ ‘Tis some loony punk,’ I muttered, ‘clapping for some Senator -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
And each news show’s whining member wrought its host to tell the score
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to follow
All the tales surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the dying Poor –
For the sad and stupid people whom the pundits name The Poor –
Nameless there for evermore.

And the silly sad uncertain rustling of each red/blue curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some miracle entreating entrance on the Senate floor –
Some late miracle entreating entrance on the Senate floor; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
‘Wolf,’ said I, ‘or Brokaw, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so briskly you came yapping,
And so loudly you came clapping, clapping for some Senator,
That I scarce knew that it was you’ – here I peered right to their core; -
Partisan and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Horror!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Horror!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into my bedroom turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a clapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my television;
Let me see then, stay derision, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis McCain and nothing more!'

It is here I changed the channel, when, emerging from a panel,
In there stepped a stately black man that I think I’d seen before.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above the Senate floor -
Perched upon a bust of George Bush just above the Senate floor -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this Senator beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly slim young politician wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly man to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing such above the Senate floor -
Black or white above the sculptured bust above the Senate floor,
With such name as `Not Al Gore.'

But the statesman, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one phrase, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – only dollar bills he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other men have run before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as the candidates before.'
Then the man said, `Not Al Gore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Not Al- Not Al Gore."'

But Obama still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of man and bust and floor;
Then, upon the futon sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this Democrat man of yore -
What this slim, infamous, ghastly, gaunt, Illinoisan Senator
Meant in croaking `Not Al Gore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the screen whose fiery rays now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
Gazing on my wall’s thick lining that the TV gloated o’er,
But whose GOP stained lining with the TV gloating o’er,
Shall support, ah, not Al Gore!


Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of before!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and the primaries ignore!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if man or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if man or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore –
Tell this vote with sorrow laden if, within the distant future,
We shall get a man to nurture our sick land and drill offshore –
Get a strong and willing leader, whom the Senate won’t ignore?’
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, friend or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the race and Senate floor!
Take thy words from out my heart, and tell me who I’m voting for!'
Quoth the statesman, `Not Al Gore.'

And the statesman, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of George Bush just above the Senate floor;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a statesman that is dreaming,
And the cameras o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Hence has voted – not Al Gore!