Fortner Anderson has become a known for the performance of his poems, read a cappella, and has presented his poetry in Canada, the U.S., and Europe. His work has appeared anthologies and journals and his solo cd's have been played on radio stations worldwide. His website is www.fortneranderson.com.
The following is from the CD by Fortner Anderson + tape/head: he sings OMAR Khadr was 15 years old in July of 2002 when he was captured in Afghanistan by U.S. Special Forces during Operation "Enduring Freedom." He has remained in U.S. detention since then and is currently one of approximately 500 prisoners held at the U.S. Guantanamo Bay facility in Cuba. The United Nations has demanded that this prison camp should be closed and its detainees either released or put on trial. SUBSEQUENT to his capture, Omar Khadr, a Canadian citizen, was imprisoned and tortured at the notorious prison at Baghram Air Force Base in Afghanistan. The tortures described in the piece are those likely to have been inflicted upon him between the ages of 15 and 19. These are based upon testimonies of former detainees of the Guantanamo facility, representations by Khadr's legal councils, and the investigations into torture practices of the U.S. government and its proxies by Non Governmental Organizations such as Amnesty International. THE U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that the military trial that the U.S. government had devised to prosecute "enemy combatants" such as Omar Khadr is illegal as it breeches both U.S. law and the Geneva conventions. Yet following that ruling, Omar Khadr remains in a legal black hole unable to obtain due process and possibility of fair trail. He remains subject to cruel and degrading treatment and long periods of isolation. After four years of interrogations he is said to be despondent, subject to profound despair, and suicidal. For those young men caught within the American gulag and in particular, Omar Khadr, it is imperative that we speak out to denounce these blatant violations of human rights and international law. A collective silence of the American and Canadian people will doom these young men and it will show a lie in the heart of our own freedom. To learn more of the plight of the thousands of men held in the vast complex of U.S. and U.S. proxy torture facilities in countries scattered across the globe, please check-out the following web sites:
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(click on the link below to hear the mp3)
he is a boy
a boy
who sings
who trills, warbles and chants
he is a boy
a boy
who sings
who sings like a bird
he is a boy
who sings
of days drowned under earth
of nights rendered into dawn
a boy who sings of the broken tomb of his father
who sings of his father
who sings of the raging grief of his mother
who sings of his mother
he is a boy who sings
he is a boy who sings
into pale faces
that burn with the pride
the pride of their stiff naked lips
he sings of a room
a table, a bowl and a chair
the bowl resting upon the chair
his body resting upon the table
his head resting
resting in the bowl
his lungs bursting as his face rests in the bowl of water
he sings
he sings of
his tongue split and splintered to its dark red root
he sings of the soles of his feet
he sings of the soles of his feet that must not fall
he sings of the soles of his feet that fall and the sparks that lift them again
he is a boy
he is a boy who caws, who squeals, who brays
who sings his song
who sings his song while hanging
who sings his song while hanging from a hook
he is a boy that sings while hanging from his wrists
hanging from a hook
hooded and bound
twenty-one days, 16 hours a day
he hangs and he sings like a bird
he is a boy who sings a song
who sings into a hole
a hole in the earth
the earth where he has been chained
chained for 30 days
for one hundred days
for two hundred days
for three hundred days
he sings the cold muzzle slipped between young lips
teeth and tongue
he sings of the shock
the shocks
and the urine and shit that flow after each shock
each new shock to his anus
he sings when the coals of Winstons and Camels and Marlboros burn small circular
wounds along his arms
he sings
he sings shackled and draped naked upon a table
as a boy from Georgia or Tennessee
whispers whispers
he sings of his fear
the fear in his young cock
his young cock caught in the blades
the sharp blades of his jailors' scissors
he sings of the blood
the blood of a young woman
spread upon his chest
as she whispers
whispers desecration
into the warmth of his ear
he sings of his interrogators whose sons and grandsons
will come, will come
to beat him
beat him in their turn
he sings the song of a slow turning wheel
turning without end
as he crawls to his cot in a cage 6 feet by 12
open to the rain
open to the wind
open to the night
open to the screech of the gulls that wheel above
that do not know and do not care
he sings
four hundred days
five hundred days
six hundred days
he sings of Canada
oh Canada
the Maple Leafs
and the dark eyes of his sister
he sings of a merciful and a vengeful god
he sings of the martyr's victory
he sings like a bird in the butcher's fist
he sings as the butcher's red fists beat his song into the sand
he sings of the implacable sand and of the red specked breath that flies
that flies from countless round pink holes into eternity
eternity that holds his song in the teeth of its metal flames
eight hundred days
nine hundred days
one thousand days
twelve hundred days
he is now seventeen years old
he too fears the fire
he too fears the end
and that there will be no end
he sings of his cup
his blanket
his holy book
a song
a song of three emaciated comforts
in a cage a boy sings his song
a song without sound
with no voice, cry or scream
his song stiff with silence
he sings but we do not hear
he sings but can not hear
we cannot hear in our silence
such a fearsome quiet
before dawn
in darkness
he sings
he still sings
this boy
this boy who sings
alone
*********
Fortner Anderson