9/11: The Day After Updated

Update:
Among all the rememberances observed yesterday, there is one that will not receive publicity, instead media attention will be turned to the purported rantings of a man who is dead, in effect if not fact. It seems that a Human Rights Council in Cuba opened a book of condolences for the victims of 9/11 for well wishers to sign. According to Roberto de Miranda, vice president of the organization and head of the independent educators

“Estamos compartiendo el dolor y el sufrimiento eterno con los familiares de aquellas víctimas inocentes que fueron vilmente arrancadas del ceno de su pueblo y con ello estamos dando un claro y enérgico mensaje a todo el que pretenda el exterminio o terror de los pueblos. La creación de Jesucristo es sagrada y el ser humano su más importante criatura, quien lo ataca, ataca a Dios mismo.”

Rough translation

We are sharing in the pain and unending suffering of the families of those innocent victims who were so vilely ripped from the breast of the community and with them we are sending a clear and powerful message to all who aspire to exterminate or terrify communities. The creation of Jesus Christ is sacred, and the human being is his most important creation. He who attacks him, attacks God himself.

That they would take the risk of doing this is humbling.
(H/T Payo Libre)
Reading the blogs yesterday was a terribly sad, but satisfying, occupation. It started with
the poem posted on Babalu. I was reading, remarking that I liked it as a poem, only to be blown away to find out the poet was fourteen years old. As someone commented, "the kids got chops."

Went from there to Charlie Bravo's memories of that day, aptly titled "Vaccuum," both powerful and haunting, particularly the end.

Came across this tribute on The Queen of all Evil billed as the best 9/11 tribute ever. She's right. Watch it if you can. I was reduced to tears.
(H/T Babalublog)

These are just a few that stayed with me. There were many more. One observation to make, though. For obvious reasons, photos were always powerful; but as time has worn on, more and more we enshrine our remembrances in poetry. It's ironic because the market for poetry has contracted terribly, perhaps because people are less into reading, perhaps because our world requires a different type of poetry than what is marketed. Yet, when it comes to reducing the experience to its essence, to extracting every last scintilla of meaning, we naturally tend to the poem. A poem, like a photo, involves us, makes us fill in the outlines with the horror. Food for thought.

Lighter note: It seems that as Fifo supposedly gasps his last.... That can't be accurate, didn't he have a tracheotomy? Oh, that's right, we don't know for sure. In Search of....Fifo. Anyway, we have a new entry in the ranks of the conspiracy theorists, the phantom dictator. Apparently, it wasn't a plane that went into the Pentagon. Gusano has a pretty amusing take on it all, read it here.