“Oh, and one other thing if it’s cool,” the publicist wrote in the follow-up email. “In exchange for granting the interview, Serj would like you to respond to the following statement. You can do it any way you like, whether it’s in the form of prose, poetry, or even drawing a picture:
“Define what civilization means to you, and what its ending would bring to our world.”
***
I stared at the words for a while. Stuck in the cold, lonely office of my in-laws’ house in North Carolina in the dead of night a few days before Christmas while my wife and infant son slept upstairs, this was the last thing I needed.
Sure, I knew a few things about this smart, intense, outspoken American rock star called Serj Tankian. I had spoken to him on the phone the previous day for a Q&A feature that would be published on a music website. In my pre-interview research, I’d learned that he’d been in a hugely successful band called System of a Down. I didn’t know much about his band other than that its music was labeled as metal, which meant I wasn’t particularly keen on listening to it.
I also knew that Tankian had a second home in New Zealand, which I envied, having toured the country during my honeymoon a few years earlier. During that trip, I learned that Shania Twain had scooped up a sprawling, 42,000-acre sheep station on that country’s South Island, forcing the country to create an “overseas investment council” to monitor the real estate transactions of foreigners. I had asked Serj about his pad in comparison to Twain’s. He laughed, saying his wasn’t nearly as big or glamorous.
Having discovered minutes into our talk that Tankian supported Dennis Kucinich for president, I pictured a utilitarian shed with a beetroot garden on the roof, musical instruments hanging from the walls, a yoga mat or three, a couple of surfboards, a bong, a fridge full of textured vegetarian protein cakes and a big, stinky compost pile out back.
I asked him if the Wiki-rumors were true — that Serj had vowed to stay on the other side of the world and not return to America until after the Iraq War was over. He chuckled and said no. He had bought a place in New Zealand because it’s a non-nuclear nation with non-genetically modified foods, “and it’s gorgeous.” He liked the fact that the country was ecologically advanced and politically neutral and that there was only one small grocery store near his house there and that it closed at 5 p.m.
I could only smile, remembering the glorious drive up to the Bay of Islands north of Auckland a few days into our trip. We took a ferry from one quaint town to another, constantly in awe of the lush forests, the sparking blue ocean, the unspoiled … everything. We drank wine in Russell before heading back to our bed and breakfast outside of Whangarei for a surprise dinner of just-caught crayfish, provided by our generous and jovial innkeeper.
Everywhere we looked we saw fluffy sheep grazing on green grass. And hardly any people. I’d never been happier.
“I could live here,” we kept saying over and over, knowing we couldn’t because of all the people and problems that would be left behind.
***
“Define what civilization means to you, and what its ending would bring to our world.”
I looked at the sentence again, flummoxed by how serious Serj had become despite the fact that I’d gotten him to talk casually a few times during our chat, which was scheduled for fifteen minutes but ended up going somewhere near fifty and was surprisingly full of intimacy.
He asked me about my job and my life, and we shared a few personal stories. I told him I was writing articles about music and sports to pay the bills until I had enough clout or money or time or freedom or balls to do what I really wanted to do but had never quite pulled off: writing novels or movies or poems or something. Just really writing, you know?
He knew. He said he understood, that art is a struggle, and I believed him, although it was hard to imagine that a guy with a second house in New Zealand had ever struggled.
The conversation continued. Serj had just released his first solo album after all those platinum years with System of a Down. “When someone asks you if System of a Down will ever get back together,” I asked, because I had to, “do you just roll your eyes in disgust or do you actually answer them?”
He placated me with a laugh before explaining that he had devised a foolproof method of satisfying this redundant requirement. He had taken what he estimated to be the twenty most-asked questions he’d received in his career in the public eye and made cue cards with the answers that he would just flash at the inquisitor, saving his voice and probably his patience.
Question No. 1, by far, was “Do you have plans to record another album with System of a Down in the future?”
For that question, Serj didn’t even need to waste paper. He just referred people to his website, where the FAQ page provides the answer: “SOAD is currently on an indefinite hiatus after 10+ years of being a touring and recording band. SOAD is not a corporation that needs to put out a product every year to sustain. We’re a group of artists and we create music together when we want to. We are enjoying prioritizing other artistic and personal efforts. We’re all friends and supportive of each other’s art. If and when we need to speak as one to the world, the world will be aware.”
And in return, a question of my own, two days later: What if the world had just witnessed the end of civilization? Fuck, I thought. I’m really going to have to do this.
I looked at it one more time:
“Define what civilization means to you, and what its ending would bring to our world.”
I looked at the clock. It was 11:49. My son had been waking up at around 5 in the morning all week. I concluded that a poem would take me the least amount of time. A sonnet would be perfect. Yeah, only fourteen lines. No big deal.
I started writing. I finished. I looked at the clock. It was 3:21.
I sent the email:
“OK…fair enough. Here goes. My first poem since college, a sonnet of sorts. I hope it satisfies his request.” And then:
***
AGAIN
The municipal waters dry up, the canyon is reborn, white but ready.
New oak sprouts from sand centuries, blessed by manic, mirthful monsoons.
The baby orchid’s green sinew snakes the asphalt, no attractions but roadside itself.
The grizzly can’t smell the fortified cabin while dozing and dreaming at noon.
“The rock band of your dreams,” cries a newborn eagle above the old 16th hole.
“Whatever it takes,” answers the dolphin over the shipwreck, guarded no more.
The vibrant orchid has grown, thrice twisting knots around the square, sprucing up the steel.
Government handshakes are effortless, random wind wisps in a snow-sifted meadow.
The red-tailed hawk finds the open window of the biggest church in the world and flies right in.
Mosquitoes buzz home past the tattered canvas as a flaming ball of sun ignites the rock.
The aging orchid walks around the block, smiling at the forest of progress all around.
The palomino’s gallop echoes gunshots as it glides toward its dinner in the murky marsh.
What once happened in the caskets of neon stays there, but you can still hear the waves.
The orchid hands over a dignified life, limbs cascading softly to the moist, generous Earth.
***
I never heard back from Serj or his publicist, never knew if he read it and snickered, read it and felt something real, read it and shook his head in disapproval, or never read it at all.
My wife joked that I should check out his song lyrics in the coming years. “He might be a serial plagiarist,” she said, “mining innocent press members for material.”
I nodded in approval of the clever line, but my thoughts had already flown west over the Pacific and touched down gently into my future — a quieter, simpler, less crowded life in a beautiful, peaceful country.
It’s there where time has frozen, where any artistic nightmares of apocalyptic urban destruction Serj Tankian might be seeking are endlessly washed away by visions of grassy meadows, virgin woods, turquoise lakes, towering cliffs, alabaster snow fields and the wild sea.
It’s there where I’ll find him.
It’s there where I’ll thank him for reminding me.
***
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“the forest of progress” – very nice
Very nice!!!