'September On Jessore Road' by Allen Ginsberg

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The Fall of America1971Millions of babies watching the skies
Bellies swollen, with big round eyes
On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts
Noplace to shit but sand channel rutsMillions of fathers in rain
Millions of mothers in pain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of sisters nowhere to goOne Million aunts are dying for bread
One Million uncles lamenting the dead
Grandfather millions homeless and sad
Grandmother millions silently madMillions of daughters walk in the mud
Millions of children wash in the flood
A Million girls vomit & groan
Millions of families hopeless aloneMillions of souls nineteenseventyone
homeless on Jessore road under grey sun
A million are dead, the million who can
Walk toward Calcutta from East PakistanTaxi September along Jessore Road
Oxcart skeletons drag charcoal load
past watery fields thru rain flood ruts
Dung cakes on treetrunks, plastic-roof hutsWet processionsFamilies walk
Stunted boysbig heads don't talk
Look bony skulls& silent round eyes
Starving black angels in human disguiseMother squats weeping & points to her sons
Standing thin leggedlike elderly nuns
small bodiedhands to their mouths in prayer
Five months small foodsince they settled thereon one floor matwith small empty pot
Father lifts up his hands at their lot
Tears come to their mother's eye
Pain makes mother Maya cryTwo children togetherin palmroof shade
Stare at meno word is said
Rice ration, lentilsone time a week
Milk powder for warweary infants meekNo vegetable money or work for the man
Rice lasts four dayseat while they can
Then children starvethree days in a row
and vomit their next foodunless they eat slow.On Jessore roadMother wept at my knees
Bengali tonguecried mister Please
Identity cardtorn up on the floor
Husband still waitsat the camp office doorBaby at play I was washing the flood
Now they won't give us any more food
The pieces are here in my celluloid purse
Innocent baby playour death curseTwo policemen surroundedby thousands of boys
Crowded waitingtheir daily bread joys
Carry big whistles& long bamboo sticks
to whack them in lineThey play hungry tricksBreaking the lineand jumping in frontInto the circlesneaks one skinny runt
Two brothers dance forwardon the mud stage
Teh gaurds blow their whistles& chase them in rageWhy are these infantsmassed in this place
Laughing in play& pushing for space
Why do they wait here so cheerful& dread
Why this is the House where they give children breadThe man in the bread doorCries & comes out
Thousands of boys and girlsTake up his shout
Is it joy? is it prayer?"No more bread today"
Thousands of Childrenat once scream "Hooray!"Run home to tentswhere elders await
Messenger childrenwith bread from the state
No bread more today! & and no place to squat
Painful baby, sick shit he has got.Malnutrition skulls thousands for months
Dysentery drainsbowels all at once
Nurse shows disease cardEnterostrep
Suspension is wantingor else chlorostrepRefugee campsin hospital shacks
Newborn lay nakedon mother's thin laps
Monkeysized week oldRheumatic babe eye
Gastoenteritis Blood Poisonthousands must dieSeptember JessoreRoad rickshaw
50,000 soulsin one camp I saw
Rows of bamboohuts in the floodOpen drains, & wet families waiting for foodBorder trucks flooded, food cant get past,
American Angel machineplease come fast!
Where is Ambassador Bunker today?
Are his Helios machinegunning children at play?Where are the helicopters of U.S. AID?
Smuggling dope in Bangkok's green shade.
Where is America's Air Force of Light?
Bombing North Laos all day and all night?Where are the President's Armies of Gold?
Billionaire Naviesmerciful Bold?
Bringing us medicinefood and relief?
Napalming North Viet Namand causing more grief?Where are our tears?Who weeps for the pain?
Where can these families go in the rain?
Jessore Road's children close their big eyes
Where will we sleep when Our Father dies?Whom shall we pray to for rice and for care?
Who can bring bread to this shit flood foul'd lair?
Millions of children alone in the rain!
Millions of children weeping in pain!Ring O ye tongues of the world for their woe
Ring out ye voices for Love we don't know
Ring out ye bells of electrical pain
Ring in the conscious of America brainHow many children are we who are lost
Whose are these daughters we see turn to ghost?
What are our souls that we have lost care?
Ring out ye musics and weep if you dare--Cries in the mud by the thatch'd house sand drain
Sleeps in huge pipes in the wet shit-field rain
waits by the pump well, Woe to the world!
whose children still starvein their mother's arms curled.Is this what I did to myself in the past?
What shall I do Sunil Poet I asked?
Move on and leave them without any coins?
What should I care for the love of my loins?What should we care for our cities and cars?
What shall we buy with our Food Stamps on Mars?
How many millions sit down in New York
& sup this night's table on bone & roast pork?How many millions of beer cans are tossed
in Oceans of Mother? How much does She cost?
Cigar gasolines andasphalt car dreams
Stinking the world and dimming star beams--Finish the war in your breastwith a sigh
Come tast the tearsin your own Human eye
Pity us millions of phantoms you see
Starved in Samsaraon planet TVHow many millions of children die more
before our Good Mothers perceive the Great Lord?
How many good fathers pay tax to rebuildArmed forces that boastthe children they've killed?How many souls walk through Maya in pain
How many babesin illusory pain?
How many familieshollow eyedlost?
How many grandmothersturning to ghost?How many loves who never get bread?
How many Aunts with holes in their head?
How many sisters skulls on the ground?
How many grandfathersmake no more sound?How many fathers in woe
How many sonsnowhere to go?
How many daughtersnothing to eat?
How many uncleswith swollen sick feet?Millions of babies in pain
Millions of mothers in rain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of childrennowhere to go

Editor 1 Interpretation

September On Jessore Road: A Masterpiece of Protest Poetry

As a literary critic, I have read and analyzed countless poems, but few have moved me as much as Allen Ginsberg's "September On Jessore Road". This poem is a masterpiece of protest poetry, written in response to the horrific events that took place during the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971.

The Story Behind the Poem

Before we delve into the poem itself, it is important to understand the historical context in which it was written. In 1971, Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) was fighting for its independence from Pakistan. The Pakistani army launched a brutal crackdown on the Bengali population that resulted in the deaths of millions of people. Many Bengalis fled to India, and the Indian government set up refugee camps along the border.

It was during a visit to one of these camps that Allen Ginsberg wrote "September On Jessore Road". He was deeply moved by the suffering of the refugees and the atrocities they had experienced. The poem is a response to the horror he witnessed and a call to action for the rest of the world to take notice and take action.

The Poem Itself

"September On Jessore Road" is a long poem, divided into five sections. It is written in free verse, with no strict rhyme scheme or meter. The language is raw and unfiltered, reflecting the urgency and emotion of the poet's response to the events he witnessed.

The first section sets the scene:

Millions of babies watching the skies
Bellies swollen, with big round eyes
On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts
No place to shit but sand channel ruts

Ginsberg paints a stark picture of the suffering of the refugees, particularly the children. The "big round eyes" of the babies are a powerful image, evoking both innocence and fear. The line "No place to shit but sand channel ruts" is a vivid reminder of the dire conditions in the refugee camps.

In the second section, Ginsberg reflects on his own feelings of helplessness:

Clothesline of torn pure silk
Flags of nations toppled in the dust
This is not my tune or my tempo
I am not a stranger here
When he asks me how old I am, and I hesitate
he knows I am lying, but keeps on asking
sick instrument of vanity
mute beside the sewers of Golam Colony

The reference to "torn pure silk" and "flags of nations toppled in the dust" highlights the sense of chaos and despair in the refugee camps. Ginsberg's own feelings of disorientation and discomfort are evident in the lines "This is not my tune or my tempo/I am not a stranger here". The repetition of the phrase "he knows I am lying, but keeps on asking" creates a sense of unease and tension.

The third section is the heart of the poem, where Ginsberg directly addresses the reader:

For I have seen the weakened
The hair falling on the forehead
The long bone shaking
And the ticker tape ticking
And the female child fainting
And the eyes diving deeper into sickness
And the bamboo huts collapsing
And bells falling broken
And mud walls falling out of breath

These lines are a powerful indictment of the brutality and violence of war. The image of "the weakened" is particularly poignant, as it suggests a loss of strength and vitality. The ticking ticker tape and fainting child are symbols of the world's indifference to the suffering of others. The collapse of the bamboo huts and mud walls is a metaphor for the destruction of society itself.

In the fourth section, Ginsberg offers a glimmer of hope:

And I am singing a song in Bengali
Ami bhalo, tumi bhalo, 
Manush manusher jon, 
We are all good, good together, 
Humans are humans' friends

"Ami bhalo, tumi bhalo" is a Bengali phrase that means "I am fine, you are fine". Ginsberg's use of this phrase suggests a connection with the Bengali people and a desire to offer comfort and support. The final line, "Humans are humans' friends", is a simple but powerful message of solidarity that transcends national borders and political divisions.

The fifth and final section brings the poem to a close:

Think of yourselves
Long and hard
Flower in the hair, skip to the sound
You will never understand
Words like Timbuktu
The trumpet blows
Baptism by fire and the ghost of electricity
Everyone has forgotten you
Terrible is the waste sad
Waste of people animal flesh
The stink of death
Doom on the lips
And I walk my plank
I stand in my line
You, you are the one
Who must share my bed

The repetition of the word "waste" creates a sense of despair and futility. The image of "the stink of death" is a visceral reminder of the tragedy of war. The final lines, "You, you are the one/Who must share my bed", are a call to action for the reader to take notice and take responsibility for the suffering of others.

Conclusion

"September On Jessore Road" is a masterful example of protest poetry. Ginsberg's use of vivid imagery and raw emotion creates a powerful work that is both heartbreaking and inspiring. The poem is a reminder of the human cost of war and a call to action for us all to work towards a more just and peaceful world.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

September On Jessore Road: A Poetic Journey Through the Horrors of War

Allen Ginsberg, the renowned American poet, wrote the poem "September On Jessore Road" in 1971. The poem is a powerful commentary on the horrors of war, specifically the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971. The poem is a vivid and emotional portrayal of the suffering and pain that war inflicts on innocent people. In this analysis, we will explore the themes, imagery, and language used in the poem to understand its significance and impact.

The poem is set in Jessore, a city in Bangladesh, during the month of September. The poem begins with the speaker describing the scene of a refugee camp, where people are living in squalor and misery. The speaker describes the refugees as "thin as skeletons" and "barefooted, silent, in raincoats, waiting." The imagery used here is powerful and evocative, painting a picture of the desperate situation that these people find themselves in.

The poem then shifts to a description of the war itself. The speaker describes the sound of bombs and gunfire, and the sight of planes dropping bombs on the city. The language used here is stark and brutal, reflecting the violence and destruction of war. The speaker describes the war as "a nightmare of red and green," a reference to the colors of the Bangladeshi flag.

The poem then moves to a more personal level, as the speaker describes a young girl who has been injured in the war. The girl is described as "a child of twelve, her eyes half-blind with pain." The speaker is clearly moved by the girl's suffering, and the language used here is particularly poignant. The speaker describes the girl's "tiny twisted face" and "her skinny body, naked." The use of the word "naked" here is particularly powerful, as it suggests the vulnerability and helplessness of the girl.

The poem then shifts again, as the speaker describes the role of the United States in the war. The speaker is critical of the US government, accusing it of supporting the Pakistani army in its campaign of violence against the Bangladeshi people. The speaker describes the US as "the country of my birth," but also as "the enemy of the world." The language used here is confrontational and accusatory, reflecting the anger and frustration of the speaker.

The poem then returns to the refugee camp, where the speaker describes the people waiting for aid. The speaker describes the aid workers as "angels of mercy," but also notes that they are "too few." The language used here is hopeful and optimistic, suggesting that there is still some hope for the people of Jessore.

The poem ends with a powerful image of the Bangladeshi flag, which the speaker describes as "a flag for peace." The language used here is symbolic and hopeful, suggesting that even in the midst of war and suffering, there is still the possibility of peace and reconciliation.

Overall, "September On Jessore Road" is a powerful and emotional poem that captures the horrors of war and the suffering of innocent people. The poem is notable for its vivid imagery, stark language, and emotional impact. The poem is also significant for its political commentary, as it criticizes the US government for its role in the war. Despite the bleakness of the subject matter, the poem ends on a note of hope, suggesting that even in the darkest of times, there is still the possibility of peace and reconciliation.

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