Hashtagged Plantation
Let’s workshop this poem that offers an unflinching diagnosis of a deeply flawed approach--an identitarian-victimology approach--to confronting historical trauma and healing from it.
scent of the day: Myths Man, by Amouage
Myths Man (2016, Daniel Visentin, Dorothée Piot, Karine Vinchon Spehner)—a smoky-floral fragrance that, in centering the cremation-ash facet of chrysanthemum, evokes not just Indian funereal pyres but also, given especially its steady presence of leather and booze, none other than the death-obsessed Dionysian Jim Morrison himself (perhaps dancing in his signature lambskin pants, chrysanthemum lei around his neck, in oblivious disrespect to the native mourners)—
begins with a mineraloid one-two of purple florals (a left hook of rooty-powdery orris, which imparts damp-stone texture and violet-like undertone and ethereal-melancholic atmosphere, and a right uppercut of bitter-herbaceous chrysanthemum, which imparts dusty-ashy texture, menthol-medicinal undertone, and somber-funerary atmosphere)
that, in addition to placing this fragrance squarely in the dandy-floral range of Amouage releases like Portrayal Man and Imitation Man, together call to mind—especially given the contribution of the dirty-musty old-lady rose (subtle as a jab but persistent as gravity) and a purse-flask tipple (a rum note that reads more like sake to me)—the image of smooching Grandma’s cold-marble cheek at her wake (or, in my case, snuffing the alcoholic bitch in her corpse mouth because she still owes me money, only then—disgusted at all the caked-up makeup on my knuckles—clocking her again before family members swarm me),
this boozy-floral combo giving off—especially when coupled with the lemony-pepper edge of elemi incense—a strange but alluring aroma (somewhere between urinal cakes riled less by piss than by a wasteful flush, on the one hand, and a hot-toddy take on Thera-Flu menthol-citrus tea, on the other) that slowly gives way over the early hours (although never totally) to a remarkable core of rough-yet-plasticky leather and chrysanthemum-boosted cold cigarette ash (both mainly a function of musky-tobacco labdanum and sooty-stale vetiver, likely Javanese vetiver)—
the overall result being a Caitlin-Doughty-approved cremation-chrysanthemum fragrance that, while bringing forward the various facets of this death floral (wormwood, tarragon, camphor, pollen, tea, and so on), showcases perhaps above all its cold-ash facet, which at times gives off a sulfurous gunpowder feel that (if only due to the cover art on the box) calls to my mind Chinese dragon dances where fireworks are set off to scare away evil spirits and clear the way for good fortune.
Hashtagged Plantation
—for Rob Swift
The malady seeps deeper
into the soul when, out
into the haunted hush of slave cotton
for “a day of healing”
(breath rank with McCruelty),
you descend the tour bus steps
to cast yourself back—
whether whipping or whipped—
solely into skin like your own.
* Rob Swift is a turntablist idol of mine, now for nearly thirty years. What I admire most about him, beyond his artistry and prioritization of discipline in music or any endeavor—is his unwavering humanism. He calls us to see ourselves beyond the narrow frames of identity, beyond inherited roles or wounds. This poem tries to embody that spirit. For healing to be real, rather than just further deepening the divide, we have to imagine ourselves in the role of both oppressor and oppressed. No matter how much our macabre victimhood culture incentivizes us to see ourselves as only one way, the capacity for both roles—master, slave—lives in each of us. Many would not like to face that they would be the master. But, quite frankly, it would have come to them quite easily—as easily as does gobbling down, day after day, the flesh of factory-farmed torture. When we resist that reckoning, the malady deepens. And true healing remains out of reach.
"Hashtagged Plantation" is a profound and thought-provoking poem that, alongside its integral dedication and explanatory note, explores the complex nature of historical reckoning, empathy, and genuine healing in contemporary society. Dedicated to turntablist Rob Swift for his "unwavering humanism," the poem endeavors to embody a spirit that calls for transcending narrow identity frames and inherited roles. It functions as a meditation on the challenging path to true understanding and reconciliation, urging readers to confront uncomfortable truths about shared human capacities.
Formally, the poem is concise and employs evocative, layered imagery. The title, "Hashtagged Plantation," immediately establishes a tension between a site of profound historical trauma and a modern, often superficial, act of digital categorization, suggesting the complexities of engaging with the past in the present era. The dedication to Rob Swift frames the poem's core philosophical aspiration: to encourage a broader, more inclusive empathy. The poem then paints a scene of participants embarking on "a day of healing" amidst the "haunted hush of slave cotton." The phrase "breath rank with McCruelty" introduces a subtle yet powerful contemporary critique, drawing a parallel between historical suffering and modern forms of detached consumption, as elaborated in the accompanying note. The central experience unfolds as individuals "descend the tour bus steps / to cast yourself back— / whether whipping or whipped— / solely into skin like your own." The enjambment guides the reader through this metaphorical and literal descent. The phrase "solely into skin like your own" is pivotal, highlighting a common, yet for the poem, limited, approach to historical empathy that the poem seeks to expand beyond.
Thematically, the poem, powerfully augmented by its explanatory note, delves into the necessity of expansive empathy and self-reckoning for authentic healing. It suggests that a superficial engagement with history, focused only on one's "own skin," risks deepening divides rather than fostering true understanding. The poem advocates for a difficult but essential imaginative leap: to "imagine ourselves in the role of both oppressor and oppressed." This is presented not as an erasure of distinct historical experiences, but as a recognition that "the capacity for both roles—master, slave—lives in each of us." The note explicitly connects this inherent human capacity to contemporary, seemingly mundane acts of detached consumption, such as "gobbling down... the flesh of factory-farmed torture," drawing a poignant parallel between historical systems of cruelty and modern ethical blind spots. The poem suggests that resistance to this uncomfortable self-reflection—the refusal to acknowledge one's own potential for complicity or cruelty—leads to a "malady" that "deepens," thereby preventing "true healing." Thus, "Hashtagged Plantation" is a call for a more profound and challenging form of historical engagement, one rooted in a universal humanism that acknowledges the complex, sometimes disturbing, facets of human nature for the sake of genuine reconciliation.
historical reckoning, empathy, healing, humanism, identity, reconciliation, self-reckoning, historical trauma, collective memory, moral complexity, shared humanity, oppressor, oppressed, ethical reflection, contemporary poetry, social commentary.