Political Koans for the Candidates of 2004

Abstract

"All great men don't become president, and all presidents are not great men." —Willard Sterne Randall, Historian Michael Dukakis I'm one candidate who actually enjoyed Fundraising and campaigning. Yes, this strikes People as strange, but politicians must build A grass roots support from the ground up— Feel the flesh of those who will pay To hold your face on a button, Your name on a banner—holding you like caryatids Bearing the weight to lift you up when Your opponent hurls mud at your photo-op smile. Those who believed in my candidacy begged me To fight back against Bush's attacks; I didn't. This you may not understand, but Like Bill Clinton, I emerged as a Governor In the mid seventies, only to lose re-election But to win it back in 1982. When a Phoenix Spirit runs through your veins, you're not afraid Of fire building a mound of ashes at your feet. Whose life did I fight to save? How will a man running for office Save his wife, his name and the glowing Country resting in the distance, being swallowed By the darkness; how, then, does this man conquer The darkness as the glow of the country And the shadows surrounding it grow indistinguishable? [End Page 923] A curtain might pull back revealing the light, defined By the silhouette it strikes against a fallow backdrop. I might then believe I can win: I'll tap the caryatid On her back and take the weight, let it glow In my hands. As the light from my land now bears down On me, I'll look around, then claim the office—mine— As I feel myself grow stronger under the hope— As if it were a prayer, really— Of a country believing enough in my shoulders Just to call my name from their lips. Lloyd Bentsen In the wake of our campaign loss, You ask what advice do I have For John Kerry, another Massachusetts Presidential candidate who searched for a Running mate who wouldn't embarrass him. Well, I'd tell him to listen To how the country chooses to breathe. Allow me to explain this notion. I see common things: I see men in worn-soled shoes; I see women with their hair wrapped In scarves; I see serpentine lines At Family Dollar stores; I see the word War in headlines; I see shirts hanging On clotheslines with frayed elbows; I see women with knitted brows, Instead of the beauty of their heads Thrown back laughing; I see teens in schools With eyes empty as homes [End Page 924] With broken windows. And as I see These truths in the light of this country Of my youth—the country in which I raise My children and make love to my wife, This country, all vulnerable and waiting, waiting— I know the tough questions always need answers. Did I ever cringe during my vice-presidential Debate against Quayle? Not once. I actually closed my eyes, however, During the presidential debate. The moment CNN's Bernard Shaw asked Dukakis, Who, like myself, opposed the death penalty, If he would change if his own wife, Kitty, Were raped and murdered, I sighed deeply. I didn't object to the question; the question reflected What we needed, but, let's just say, I knew The Dukakis repertoire of nonverbal behavior Served him better for poker than inspiring a nation. And America needed a man Who could look strong with a tear in his eye. Not that Bush emerged the man for this role, But he could act. And the voters who knew Jack Kennedy And saw him shot, those who knew Dr. King and saw him shot, those who knew Protesters and saw them shot, those who knew Nixon and saw him pardoned, these voters watched, With their faces in their hands, As the tough questions made our candidate not blink. Now, you ask how would I have answered [End Page 925] That same question...