From early January I could not write a word, caught up in the massive demonstrations in Cairo, focusing on them day and night with Amy Goodman, Juan Gonzales, Sharif Abedel Kouddous and others reporting from DEMOCRACY NOW, and later with the Al JAZEERA English staff, most of them from Egypt—all of them superbly observant and articulate.

When Mubarak surprised everyone by withdrawing from attempting to rule Egypt, and left Cairo soon after his speech that indicated nothing of his sudden decision, I rejoiced like those in Tahrir Square. I could not return immediately to life in North Hollywood, where I am living.

I hung on for several days, watching, with hope, the popular cleanup and cooperation with the Egyptian military, which has been dedicated to serving the people. My computer broke down. I spent several days trying to repair it. When I returned to the news, the scene had changed, attention had shifted to other countries, and there were divisions among the people and those seeking to govern them. I wrote:

I COULD NOT WRITE

I could not write a poem
craving one to be
in spite of me.

*

Putting off poems
near the ending of my life
was putting off the rest of it.

*

Poetry is living
as if nothing is something
else.

*

It takes time
to write
out of time.

*

I am telling you tales
out of time
so far out of mind
there is no distance between us.