The Cry of a Generation, by Shu Ting I wouldn't dare appeal to my own misfortune. The end of youth for me, the spiritual deformity, the countless, sleepless nights, leave painful memories. One after another I overturned the wrong; one after another I shook off the spiritual bonds, until in my heart was left one vast ruin . . . But I was standing then, surveying a broad horizon, and no one by any means can put me down ever again. If I lay in a common grave of "revolutionary martyrs," the inscription on the stone will be erased by green; if I have experienced life behind bars, argued with handcuffs about the nature of the law, if I am haggard or pallid, doing the hardest labor one does for a crime, time without probation, if any of these were mine, it were merely my misfortune-- I have forgiven others already; after all my tears and anger I have calmed down.
"Roll-Call," By Nathaniel Graham Shepherd “CORPORAL GREEN!” the Orderly cried; “Here!” was the answer loud and clear, From the lips of a soldier who stood near,— And “Here!” was the word the next replied. “Cyrus Drew!”—then a silence fell; This time no answer followed the call; Only his rear-man had seen him fall: Killed or wounded—he could not tell. There they stood in the failing light, These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, As plain to be read as open books, While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew, And crimson-dyed was the river’s flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side, That day, in the face of a murderous fire That swept them down in its terrible ire; And their life-blood went to color the tide. “Herbert Cline!”—At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing between them this Herbert Cline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. “Ezra Kerr!”—and a voice answered “Here!” “Hiram Kerr!”—but no man replied. They were brothers, these two; the sad wind sighed, And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. “Ephraim Deane!”—then a soldier spoke: “Deane carried our regiment’s colors,” he said, “When our ensign was shot; I left him dead Just after the enemy wavered and broke. “Close to the roadside his body lies; I paused a moment and gave him to drink; He murmured his mother’s name, I think, And Death came with it and closed his eyes.” ’T was a victory,—yes; but it cost us dear: For that company’s roll, when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered “Here!”
Roque Dalton 1935-1975 (Poet and "guerrillero" from El Salvador. Killed in 1975) Poema de amor Los que ampliaron el Canal de Panamá (y fueron clasificados como "silver roll" y no como "gold roll"), los que repararon la flota del Pacifico en las bases de California, los que se pudrieron en las cárceles de Guatemala, México, Honduras, Nicaragua, por ladrones, por contrabandistas, por estafadores, por hambrientos, los siempre sospechosos de todo ("me permito remitirle al interfecto por esquinero sospechoso y con el agravante de ser salvadoreño"), las que llenaron los bares y burdeles de todos los puertos y capitales de la zona ("La gruta azul", "El Calzoncito", "Happyland"), los sembradores de maíz en plena selva extranjera, los reyes de la pagina roja, los que nunca sabe nadie de donde son, los mejores artesanos del mundo, los que fueron cosidos a balazos al cruzar la frontera, los que murieron de paludismo o de las picadas del escorpión a la barba amarilla en el infierno de las bananeras, los que lloraron borrachos por el himno nacional bajo el ciclón del Pacifico o la nieve del norte, los arrimados, los mendigos, los marihuaneros, los guanacos hijos de la gran puuta, los que apenitas pudieron regresar, los que tuvieron un poco mas de suerte, los eternos indocumentados, los hacelotodo, los vendelotodo, los comelotodo, los primeros en sacar el cuchillo, los tristes mas tristes del mundo, mis compatriotas, mis hermanos.
Amiri Baraka Aka Leroi Jones 1934--- (Poet, writer, teacher and political activist from Newark, USA) Somebody Blew Up America by AMIRI BARAKA Somebody Blew Up America They say its some terrorist, some barbaric A Rab, in Afghanistan It wasn't our American terrorists It wasn't the Klan or the Skin heads Or the them that blows up ni-gger * Churches, or reincarnates us on Death Row It wasn't Trent Lott Or David Duke or Giuliani Or Schundler, Helms retiring It wasn't The gonorrhea in costume The white sheet diseases That have murdered black people Terrorized reason and sanity Most of humanity, as they pleases They say (who say?) Who do the saying Who is them paying Who tell the lies Who in disguise Who had the slaves Who got the bux out the Bucks Who got fat from plantations Who genocided Indians Tried to waste the Black nation Who live on Wall Street The first plantation Who cut your nuts off Who rape your ma Who lynched your pa Who got the tar, who got the feathers Who had the match, who set the fires Who killed and hired Who say they God & still be the Devil Who the biggest only Who the most goodest Who do Jesus resemble Who created everything Who the smartest Who the greatest Who the richest Who say you ugly and they the goodlookingest Who define art Who define science Who made the bombs Who made the guns Who bought the slaves, who sold them Who called you them names Who say Dahmer wasn't insane Who? Who? Who? Who stole Puerto Rico Who stole the Indies, the Philipines, Manhattan Australia & The Hebrides Who forced opium on the Chinese Who own them buildings Who got the money Who think you funny Who locked you up Who own the papers Who owned the slave ship Who run the army Who the fake president Who the ruler Who the banker Who? Who? Who? Who own the mine Who twist your mind Who got bread Who need peace Who you think need war Who own the oil Who do no toil Who own the soil Who is not a ni-gger* Who is so great ain't nobody bigger Who own this city Who own the air Who own the water Who own your crib Who rob and steal and cheat and murder and make lies the truth Who call you uncouth Who live in the biggest house Who do the biggest crime Who go on vacation anytime Who killed the most ni-ggers Who killed the most Jews Who killed the most Italians Who killed the most Irish Who killed the most Africans Who killed the most Japanese Who killed the most Latinos Who? Who? Who? Who own the ocean Who own the airplanes Who own the malls Who own television Who own radio Who own what ain't even known to be owned Who own the owners that ain't the real owners Who own the suburbs Who suck the cities Who make the laws Who made Bush president Who believe the confederate flag need to be flying Who talk about democracy and be lying Who the Beast in Revelations Who 666 Who know who decide Jesus get crucified Who the Devil on the real side Who got rich from Armenian genocide Who the biggest terrorist Who change the bible Who killed the most people Who do the most evil Who don't worry about survival Who have the colonies Who stole the most land Who rule the world Who say they good but only do evil Who the biggest executioner Who? Who? Who? Who own the oil Who want more oil Who told you what you think that later you find out a lie Who? Who? Who? Who found Bin Laden, maybe they Satan Who pay the CIA, Who knew the bomb was gonna blow Who know why the terrorists Learned to fly in Florida, San Diego Who know why Five Israelis was filming the explosion And cracking they sides at the notion Who need fossil fuel when the sun ain't goin' nowhere Who make the credit cards Who get the biggest tax cut Who walked out of the Conference Against Racism Who killed Malcolm, Kennedy & his Brother Who killed Dr King, Who would want such a thing? Are they linked to the murder of Lincoln? Who invaded Grenada Who made money from apartheid Who keep the Irish a colony Who overthrow Chile and Nicaragua later Who killed David Sibeko, Chris Hani, the same ones who killed Biko, Cabral, Neruda, Allende, Che Guevara, Sandino, Who killed Kabila, the ones who wasted Lumumba, Mondlane, Betty Shabazz, Die, Princess Di, Ralph Featherstone, Little Bobby Who locked up Mandela, Dhoruba, Geronimo, Assata, Mumia, Garvey, Dashiell Hammett, Alphaeus Hutton Who killed Huey Newton, Fred Hampton, Medgar Evers, Mikey Smith, Walter Rodney, Was it the ones who tried to poison Fidel Who tried to keep the Vietnamese Oppressed Who put a price on Lenin's head Who put the Jews in ovens, and who helped them do it Who said "America First" and ok'd the yellow stars Who killed Rosa Luxembourg, Liebneckt Who murdered the Rosenbergs And all the good people iced, tortured, assassinated, vanished Who got rich from Algeria, Libya, Haiti, Iran, Iraq, Saudi, Kuwait, Lebanon, Syria, Egypt, Jordan, Palestine, Who cut off peoples hands in the Congo Who invented Aids Who put the germs In the Indians' blankets Who thought up "The Trail of Tears" Who blew up the Maine & started the Spanish American War Who got Sharon back in Power Who backed Batista, Hitler, Bilbo, Chiang kai Chek Who decided Affirmative Action had to go Reconstruction, The New Deal, The New Frontier, The Great Society, Who do Tom Ass Clarence Work for Who doo doo come out the Colon's mouth Who know what kind of Skeeza is a Condoleeza Who pay Connelly to be a wooden negro Who give Genius Awards to Homo Locus Subsidere Who overthrew Nkrumah, Bishop, Who poison Robeson, who try to put DuBois in Jail Who frame Rap Jamil al Amin, Who frame the Rosenbergs, Garvey, The Scottsboro Boys, The Hollywood Ten Who set the Reichstag Fire Who knew the World Trade Center was gonna get bombed Who told 4000 Israeli workers at the Twin Towers To stay home that day Why did Sharon stay away? Who? Who? Who? Explosion of Owl the newspaper say The devil face cd be seen Who make money from war Who make dough from fear and lies Who want the world like it is Who want the world to be ruled by imperialism and national oppression and terror violence, and hunger and poverty. Who is the ruler of Hell? Who is the most powerful Who you know ever Seen God? But everybody seen The Devil Like an Owl exploding In your life in your brain in your self Like an Owl who know the devil All night, all day if you listen, Like an Owl Exploding in fire. We hear the questions rise In terrible flame like the whistle of a crazy dog Like the acid vomit of the fire of Hell Who and Who and WHO who who Whoooo and Whooooooooooooooooooooo! *Obviously the original word is "ni-gger" without "-" i changed it, otherwise you would see just ******. Anyway you can see the original version just clicking on the below link More from Amiri Baraka and this poem in particular: http://www.amiribaraka.com /speech100202.html
Ya parte el galgo terrible (Pablo Neruda/Victor Jara) Ya parte el galgo terrible a matar niños morenos. Ya parte la cabalgata la jauria se desata exterminando chilenos ay que haremos, ay que haremos ya parte la cabalgata, ay que haremos, ay que haremos. Con el fusil en la mano disparan al mexicano y matan al panameño en la mitad de su sueño. Buscan la sangre y el oro los lobos de San Francisco, golpean a las mujeres y queman los cobertizos. Maldita sea la hora y el oro que se deshizo y para que nos vinimos de nuestro Valparaiso. Ya matan a los chilenos, ay que haremos, ay que haremos en la mitad de su sueño ay que haremos, ay que haremos. Casitas del Barrio Alto (Victor Jara) Las casitas del Barrio Alto con rejas y antejardin, una preciosa entrada de autos esperando un Peugeot. Hay rosadas, verdecitas, blanquitas y celestitas, las casitas del Barrio Alto todas hechas con resipol. Y las gentes de las casitas se sonrien y se visitan. Van juntitos al supermarket y todos tienen un televisor. Hay dentistas, comerciantes, latifundistas y traficantes, abogados y rentistas. Y todos visten policron, juegan bridge, toman martini-dry. Y los niños son rubiecitos y con otros rubiecitos van juntitos al colegio high. Y el hijito de su papi luego va a la universidad comenzando su problematica y la intringulis social. Fuman pitillos en Austin mini, juegan con bombas y con politicos, asesina generales, y es un gangster de la sedicion. Y las gentes de las casitas se sonrien y se visitan. Van juntitos al supermarket y todos tienen un televisor. Hay rosadas, verdecitas, blanquitas y celestitas, las casitas del Barrio Alto, todas hechas con resipol. ¿Quien mato a Carmencita? (Victor Jara) Con su mejor vestido bien planchado, iba temblando de ansiedad sus lagrimas corrian a los lejos gemidos de perros y de bocinas el parque estaba oscuro y la ciudad dormia. Apenas quince años y su vida marchita el hogar la aplastaba y el colegio aburria en pasillos de radios su corazon latia deslumbrando sus ojos los idolos del dia. Los frios traficantes de sueños en revistas que de la juventud engordan y profitan torcieron sus anhelos y le dieron mentiras la dicha embotellada, amor y fantasia. Apenas quince años y su vida marchita huyo, Carmencita murio en sus sienes la rosa sangro partio a encontrar su ultima ilusion. La muchacha ignoraba que la envenenarian que toda aquella fabula no le pertenecia conocer ese mundo de marihuana y piscina con Braniff International viajar a la alegria Su mundo era aquel, aquel del barrio Pila de calles aplastadas, llenas de griterias su casa estrecha y baja, ayudar la cocina mientras agonizaba otros se enriquecian. Los diarios comentaron: causa desconocida. Huyo, Carmencita murio en sus sienes la rosa sangro partio a encontrar su ultima ilusion. Abre tu ventana (Victor Jara) Maria, abre la ventana y deja que el sol alumbre por todos los rincones de tu casa. Maria, mira hacia afuera nuestra vida no ha sido hecha para rodearla de sombras y tristezas. Maria ya ves, no basta nacer, crecer, amar, para encontrar la felicidad. Paso lo mas cruel, ahora tus ojos se llenan de luz y tus manos de miel tus manos de miel tus manos de miel Maria... Tu risa brota como la mañana brota en el jardin. Maria.
Dalton was a patriot, a fighter, and a damn fine poet. You had to ruin things by quoting that no-talent hack Baraka in your next post.
"Rock'n'Roll Mythology," by Bob Holman gotta ROCK'N'ROLL MYTHOLOGY gotta total apocalypse pathology got the most PostHysterical Poetry & if it ain't comin' at you then it's breezed on by got the heavy-duty political intent got the worm farm free-form diamond noodle content I got breezy ways & boppin' rays when the word explodes the mother lode is where I'm at & it's light here but you cannot see doesn't matter anyway since you cannot breathe you see the words mean, they're putting on the squeeze that could strangle you -- hey, what's that mean say what he say say what he say he said he say he said he said say what he said go on & say he said what'd he say he said that's what he said that's what he said to say he said to say open up the book w/ yr finger hook & scan it w/ yr television eyes (televisionize televisionize televisionize televisionize) you can stick it w/ yr eyes stick out yr tongue & memorize it's just you reading the book is breathing time's new dimension settles in you are dancing on the edge of a thin thin dime cause you are marching to the phone booth w/ a refugee line you are baking in the kitchen when the walls cave you are crawling through the desert w/ a loony rave you are crossing all the x's for the love you save hey who hey who he hey you hey who you talkin' about, me? hey listen to me, hey listen to me, hey listen to me, hey listen to me hey listen to me, hey listen to me, hey listen to me, hey listen to me I got to say what I say to say what I see, I say I don't see what you say coming straight out of me hey I'm coming straight out of you why don't you try on that shoe try it on for size might give you a rise cause everything I said it, I said it cause I read it & everything I said it, I said it cause I read it & everything I said it, I said it cause I read it & everything I said it, I said it cause I read it gotta debunk all of those trashy ideals gotta reintegrate all the ideas you steal "I understand" means I stand under yr heel... woowie, hey man, you gotta light because really I think yr getting just a little bit too heavy. well I realize that. why don't you give me a break -- & a half. I could break yr arm. wouldn't do you any harm. it's in the book, see. just take a look-see. means what it says. says what it means. "it's" only it. seewhat I mean. I mean to say. there's nothing to it. the book's overdue. so go renew it. sing a song w/ a rock'n'roll band play the guitar w/ a feather in yr hand but the feather would rather fly than be plugged in & the poetry just has to be freed from the pen gotta gumbo anarchistic sensibility & I do not exclude those who reject me sail the manic Titanic awash in the wine-dark sea where the language is the water & the rocks are poetry gotta riptide w/ all hands going down into hot pants where the love runs aground gotta whamma jamma lamma w/ the low-down meltdown core gotta relax the wax, Max, to de-rug the floor gotta rocket in my pocket that can sock it more & more & the central calmness of my Being is predicated quite simply in the act of Seeing both within & without in a remarkable fashion to which one must remark as a part of that act gotta ROCK'N'ROLL MYTHOLOGY gotta total apocalypse pathology got the most PostHysterical Poetry & if it ain't comin' at you then it's breezed on by got the heavy-duty political intent got the worm farm free-form diamond noodle content I got breezy ways & boppin' rays & when -- hey, is this the end? where it begins ooo what a cheap shot what a piece of cake shot well. I suppose y'd rather leave it w/ a little downward trail o, a demitasse of denouement to daily detail not a bad idea in the kitchen making almond cakes & pies what a pleasant surprise go ahead & take a taste one tiny slice how nice
"Conservative" Anthem And, for the opposition, the "conservatives," a poem that distills all their obfuscation, all their boisterous ranting, to its essence: ANTHONY FINDLAY by Edgar Lee Masters BOTH for the country and for the man, And for a country as well as a man, ’Tis better to be feared than loved. And if this country would rather part With the friendship of every nation Than surrender its wealth, I say of a man ’tis worse to lose Money than friends. And I rend the curtain that hides the soul Of an ancient aspiration: When the people clamor for freedom They really seek for power o’er the strong. I, Anthony Findlay, rising to greatness From a humble water carrier, Until I could say to thousands “Come,” And say to thousands “Go,” Affirm that a nation can never be good, Or achieve the good, Where the strong and the wise have not the rod To use on the dull and weak.
"The Life," Mystic This is for warm days That drift away While the sun sets And the ghettos play Long nights on A hot summer's block Where you sip your brew And never touch your Glock This is for eyes That cry like yours and learn To smile again (Rise above the pain) This is for you and your crew The ones that's true Will always love you No matter what you do 'Cause it's the life The life, the life (The life, the life) It's the life, the life, the life (life) It's the life, the life, the life (your life, your life) It's the life, your life, my life (life) This is for soldiers Who bust they guns (Bust) In the name of freedom Not the game of fun True Queens Who raise they kids Implement the knowledge Show 'em how to live (Show 'em) This is for those Who stand in line to Feed their babies (I love you) While were runnin' Out of time This is for The Injustice, behind bars Our lovers, our leaders Our people... 'Cause it's the life The life, the life (The life, the life) It's the life, the life, the life (life) It's the life, the life, the life (my life, my life) It's my life, your life, our life (life) Don't let 'em Mis, misguide you They'll have you actin' Like the sun don't shine And the sky Ain't never blue But you know and I know it's all about survival This struggle of our people Is like that unrivalled The politicans they Was never in control (Never) It's deeper then that A true battle for the soul (Watch out) What they want is to Bring us to our knees So my people guard Your life by any means... This is for those Who know we all gon' die It was set up that way By an Infinite Power Those that know Who feel the change In the belly of the best And the mental strains This is for those who have Their own Fallen Angels Tryin to find a way home This is for everybody (Everybody) And anybody is so...life 'Cause it's the life The life, the life (The life, the life) It's the life, the life, the life (life) It's the life, the life, the life (my life, my life) It's my life, your life, our life (life)
"Beat Street" excerpt, Grandmaster Melle Mel and the Furious 5 A Newspaper Burns in the Sand And the headlines say MAN DESTROYS MAN Extra! Extra! Read all the bad news On the War on Peace that everybody would lose. The Rise and Fall, The Last Great Empire, The sound of the whole world caught on fire, The Ruthless Struggle, the Desperate Gamble, The Game that left the whole world in shambles. The cheats, the lies, the alibis, And the foolish attempt to conquer the skies, “Lost in Space,” and what is it worth? The President just forgot about Earth. Spending multi-billions, and maybe even trillions, The cost of weapons ran into zillions. There’s gold in the street and there’s diamond under feet, And the children in Africa don’t even EAT. Flies on their faces, They’re living like mice, And their houses Even make the ghetto look nice. The water tastes funny; it’s forever too sunny, And they work all month and don’t make NO money. A Fight for Power, A Nuclear Shower, People shout out in the Darkest Hour, Sight unseen, and voices unheard, And finally the Bomb gets the Last Word. Christians kill Muslims, Germans killed Jews, And everybody’s bodies are used and abused, Minds are poisoned, Souls are polluted, Superiority Complex is deep rooted. Allegiance and license, People got prices, Egomaniacs control the Self-Righteous, Nothing is Sacred, nothing is Pure, So the Revelation of Death is our cure. Hitler and Caesar, Custard and Regan, Napoleon, Castro, Mussolini and Begin. Genghis Khan and the Shah of Iran, Mixed with the blood of the weaker man, The People are in Terror, The Leaders made the Error, And now they can’t even look in the Mirror, ‘Cause we got to suffer, While things get rougher, And that’s the reason why we got to get Tougher, Learn from the Past, Work for the Future, And don’t be a Slave to no Computer, ‘Cause the Children of Man Inherits the Land, And the Future of the World is in Your Hands. So just throw your hands in the air, And wave ‘em like you just don’t care, And if You Believe that You’re the Future Scream it out and say “OH YEAH!”
lol...so its "Favorite Political Tracks" now is it? Sinaloa Cowboys - Springsteen Miguel came from a small town in northern Mexico. He came north with his brother Louis to California three years ago They crossed at the river levee, when Louis was just sixteen And found work together in the fields of the San Joaquin They left their homes and family Their father said, "My sons one thing you will learn, for everything the north gives, it exacts a price in return." They worked side by side in the orchards From morning till the day was through Doing the work the hueros wouldn't do. Word was out some men in from Sinaloa were looking for some hands Well, deep in Fresno county there was a deserted chicken ranch And there in a small tin shack on the edge of a ravine Miguel and Louis stood cooking methamphetamine You could spend a year in the orchards Or make half as much in one ten hour shift Working for the men from Sinaloa But if you slipped the hydriodic acid Could burn right through your skin They'd leave you spittin' up blood in the desert If you breathed those fumes in It was early one winter evening as Miguel stood watch outside When the shack exploded, lighting up the valley night Miguel carried Louis' body over his shoulder down a swale To the creekside and there in the tall grass, Louis Rosales died Miguel lifted Louis' body into his truck and then he drove To where the morning sunlight fell on a eucalyptus grove There in the dirt he dug up ten-thousand dollars. all that they'd saved Kissed his brothers lips and placed him in his grave
"Compared to What?" by Les McCann and Eddie Harris Another song, but oh well... Another night a night of love A hangin' on me, push an' shove Posession is the motivation That is hangin' up the goddamn nation Looks like we always end up in a rut Everybody now Tryin' to make it real...compared to what? Come on baby, now Slaughter houses are killin' hogs Twisted children are killin' frogs Poor dumb rednecks rollin' logs Tired old lady, kissin' dogs I hate the human love of that stinkin' mutt I can't use it Tryin' to make it real...compared to what? Come on baby, now The President, he's got his war Folks don't know just what it's for Nobody gives us rhyme or reason Half of one doubt, they call it treason We chicken feathers all without one nut Goddamn it! Tryin' to make it real...compared to what? Sock it to me Church on Sunday, sleep and nod Trying to duck the wrath of God Preachers fillin' us with fright They all trying to teach us with what they think is right They really got to be some kind of nut I can't use it Tryin' to make it real...compared to what? Lover, baby, hey Where's that bee and where's that honey Where's my god and where's my money Unreal values, a crass distortion Unwed mothers need abortion Kinda brings to mind ol' young King Tut He did it now Tryin' to make it real...compared to what?
Red, White and Blue by Toby Keith American girls and American guys will always stand up and salute; Will always recognize When we see ol' glory flying, There's a lot of men dead, So we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our head. My daddy served in the army, Where he lost his right eye. But he flew a flag out in our yard 'til the day that he died. He wanted my mother, my brother, my sister and me To grow up and live happy in the land of the free. Now this nation that I love has fallen under attack. A mighty sucker punch came flying in from somewhere in the back. Soon as we could see clearly through our big black eye, Man we lit up your world like the Fourth of July. Hey Uncle Sam put your name at the top of his list, And the Statue of Liberty started shaking her fist. And the eagle will fly, And there's gonna be Hell, When you hear Mother Freedom start ringing her bell! It's gonna feel like the whole wide world is raining down on you... Brought to you courtesy of the Red, White and Blue! Oh, Justice will be served and the battle will rage. This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage You'll be sorry that you messed with the US of A 'Cuz we'll put a boot in your ass It's the American way. Hey Uncle Sam put your name at the top of his list, And the Statue of Liberty started shaking her fist. And the eagle will fly, And there's gonna be Hell, When you hear Mother Freedom start ringing her bell! And it'll feel like the whole wide world is raining down on you... Brought to you courtesy of the Red, White and Blue! Of the Red, White and Blue.. Of my Red, White and Blue...
W.S. Merwin (1) GREEN FIELDS By this part of the century few are left who believe in the animals for they are not there in the carved parts of them served on plates and the pleas from the slatted trucks are sounds of shadows that possess no future there is still game for the pleasure of killing and there are pets for the children but the lives that followed courses of their own other than ours and older have been migrating before us some are already far on the way and yet Peter with his gaunt cheeks and point of white beard the face of an aged Lawrence Peter who had lived on from another time and country and who had seen so many things set out and vanish still believed in heaven and said he had never once doubted it since his childhood on the farm in the days of the horses he had not doubted it in the worst times of the Great War and afterward and he had come to what he took to be a kind of earthly model of it as he wandered south in his sixties by that time speaking the language well enough for them to make him out he took the smallest roads into a world he thought was a thing of the past with wildflowers he scarcely remembered and neighbors working together scything the morning meadows turning the hay before the noon meal bringing it in by milking time husbandry and abundance all the virtues he admired and their reward bounteous in the eyes of a foreigner and there he remained for the rest of his days seeing what he wanted to see until the winter when he could no longer fork the earth in his garden and then he gave away his house land everything and committed himself to a home to die in an old chateau where he lingered for some time surrounded by those who had lost the use of body or mind and as he lay there he told me that the wall by his bed opened almost every day and he saw what was really there and it was eternal life as he recognized at once when he saw the gardens he had made and the green fields where he had been a child and his mother was standing there then the wall would close and around him again were the last days of the world
BABI YAR Five points to the soccer fan who can name the ill-fated soccer event(s) related to this valley... BABI YAR By Yevgeni Yevtushenko Translated by Benjamin Okopnik No monument stands over Babi Yar. A steep cliff only, like the rudest headstone. I am afraid. Today, I am as old As the entire Jewish race itself. I see myself an ancient Israelite. I wander o'er the roads of ancient Egypt And here, upon the cross, I perish, tortured And even now, I bear the marks of nails. It seems to me that Dreyfus is myself. The Philistines betrayed me - and now judge. I'm in a cage. Surrounded and trapped, I'm persecuted, spat on, slandered, and The dainty dollies in their Brussels frills Squeal, as they stab umbrellas at my face. I see myself a boy in Belostok Blood spills, and runs upon the floors, The chiefs of bar and pub rage unimpeded And reek of vodka and of onion, half and half. I'm thrown back by a boot, I have no strength left, In vain I beg the rabble of pogrom, To jeers of "Kill the Jews, and save our Russia!" My mother's being beaten by a clerk. O, Russia of my heart, I know that you Are international, by inner nature. But often those whose hands are steeped in filth Abused your purest name, in name of hatred. I know the kindness of my native land. How vile, that without the slightest quiver The antisemites have proclaimed themselves The "Union of the Russian People!" It seems to me that I am Anna Frank, Transparent, as the thinnest branch in April, And I'm in love, and have no need of phrases, But only that we gaze into each other's eyes. How little one can see, or even sense! Leaves are forbidden, so is sky, But much is still allowed - very gently In darkened rooms each other to embrace. -"They come!" -"No, fear not - those are sounds Of spring itself. She's coming soon. Quickly, your lips!" -"They break the door!" -"No, river ice is breaking..." Wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar, The trees look sternly, as if passing judgement. Here, silently, all screams, and, hat in hand, I feel my hair changing shade to gray. And I myself, like one long soundless scream Above the thousands of thousands interred, I'm every old man executed here, As I am every child murdered here. No fiber of my body will forget this. May "Internationale" thunder and ring When, for all time, is buried and forgotten The last of antisemites on this earth. There is no Jewish blood that's blood of mine, But, hated with a passion that's corrosive Am I by antisemites like a Jew. And that is why I call myself a Russian!
Apostroph - Walt Whitman O MATER! O fils! O brood continental! O flowers of the prairies! O space boundless! O hum of mighty products! O you teeming cities! O so invincible, turbulent, proud! O race of the future! O women! O fathers! O you men of passion and the storm! O native power only! O beauty! O yourself! O God! O divine average! O you bearded roughs! O bards! O all those slumberers! O arouse! the dawn bird’s throat sounds shrill! Do you not hear the cock crowing? O, as I walk’d the beach, I heard the mournful notes foreboding a tempest—the low, oft-repeated shriek of the diver, the long-lived loon; O I heard, and yet hear, angry thunder;—O you sailors! O ships! make quick preparation! O from his masterful sweep, the warning cry of the eagle! (Give way there, all! It is useless! Give up your spoils O sarcasms! Propositions! (O if the whole world should prove indeed a sham, a sell! ) O I believe there is nothing real but America and freedom! O to sternly reject all except Democracy! O imperator! O who dare confront you and me? O to promulgate our own! O to build for that which builds for mankind! O feuillage! O North! O the slope drained by the Mexican sea! O all, all inseparable—ages, ages, ages! O a curse on him that would dissever this Union for any reason whatever! O climates, labors! O good and evil! O death! O you strong with iron and wood! O Personality! O the village or place which has the greatest man or woman! even if it be only a few ragged huts; O the city where women walk in public processions in the streets, the same as the men; O a wan and terrible emblem, by me adopted! O shapes arising! shapes of the future centuries! O muscle and pluck forever for me! O workmen and workwomen forever for me! O farmers and sailors! O drivers of horses forever for me! O I will make the new bardic list of trades and tools! O you coarse and wilful! I love you! O South! O longings for my dear home! O soft and sunny airs! O pensive! O I must return where the palm grows and the mocking-bird sings, or else I die! O equality! O organic compacts! I am come to be your born poet! O whirl, contest, sounding and resounding! I am your poet, because I am part of you; O days by-gone! Enthusiasts! Antecedents! O vast preparations for These States! O years! O what is now being sent forward thousands of years to come! O mediums! O to teach! to convey the invisible faith! To promulge real things! to journey through all The States! O creation! O to-day! O laws! O unmitigated adoration! O for mightier broods of orators, artists, and singers! O for native songs! carpenter’s, boatman’s, ploughman’s songs! shoemaker’s songs! O haughtiest growth of time! O free and extatic! O what I, here, preparing, warble for! O you hastening light! O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take his height—and you too will ascend; O so amazing and so broad! up there resplendent, darting and burning; O prophetic! O vision staggered with weight of light! with pouring glories! O copious! O hitherto unequalled! O Libertad! O compact! O union impossible to dissever! O my Soul! O lips becoming tremulous, powerless! O centuries, centuries yet ahead! O voices of greater orators! I pause—I listen for you O you States! Cities! defiant of all outside authority! I spring at once into your arms! you I most love! O you grand Presidentiads! I wait for you! New history! New heroes! I project you! Visions of poets! only you really last! O sweep on! sweep on! O Death! O you striding there! O I cannot yet! O heights! O infinitely too swift and dizzy yet! O purged lumine! you threaten me more than I can stand! O present! I return while yet I may to you! O poets to come, I depend upon you!
POTUS Poetry by Dubya Roses are red Violets are blue Oh my, lump in the bed How I've missed you. Roses are redder Bluer am I Seeing you kissed by that charming French guy. The dogs and the cat, they missed you too Barney's still mad you dropped him, he ate your shoe The distance, my dear, has been such a barrier Next time you want an adventure, just land on a carrier Bushites, how can you stand it?...how can you stand to look at this fool and take him seriously? With every step he takes, with every move he makes, every sound he utters, he confirms - with hard data - his place in my world...and mine in his.
Kral Majales And the Communists have nothing to offer but fat cheeks and eyeglasses and lying policemen and the Capitalists proffer Napalm and money in green suitcases to the Naked, and the Communists create heavy industry but the heart is also heavy and the beautiful engineers are all dead, the secret technicians conspire for their own glamour in the Future, in the Future, but now drink vodka and lament the Security Forces, and the Capitalists drink gin and whiskey on airplanes but let Indian brown millions starve and when Communist and Capitalist as$holes tangle the Just man is arrested or robbed or has his head cut off, but not like Kabir, and the cigarette cough of the Just man above the clouds in the bright sunshine is a salute to the health of the blue sky. For I was arrested thrice in Prague, once for singing drunk on Narodni street, once knocked down on the midnight pavement by a mustached agent who screamed out BOUZERANT, once for losing my notebooks of unusual sex politics dream opinions, and I was sent from Havana by planes by detectives in green uniform, and I was sent from Prague by plane by detectives in Czechoslovakian business suits, Cardplayers out of Cezanne, the two strange dolls that entered Joseph K's room at morn also entered mine and ate at my table, and examined my scribbles, and followed me night and morn from the houses of the lovers to the cafes of Centrum - And I am the King of May, which is the power of sexual youth, and I am the King of May, which is long hair of Adam and Beard of my own body and I am the King of May, which is Kraj Majales in the Czechoslovakian tongue, and I am the King of May, which is old Human poesy, and 100,000 people chose my name, and I am the King of May, and in a few minutes I will land at London Airport, and I am the King of May, naturally, for I am of Slavic parentage and a Buddhist Jew who whorships the Sacred Heart of Christ the blue body of Krishna the straight back of Ram the beads of Chango the Nigerian singing Shiva Shiva in a manner which I have invented, and the King of May is a middleeuropean honor, mine in the XX century despite space ships and the Time Machine, because I have heard the voice of Blake in a vision and repeat that voice. And I am the King of May that sleeps with teenagers laughing. And I am the King of May, that I may be expelled from my Kingdom with Honor, as of old, To show the difference between Caesar's Kingdom and the Kingdom of the May of Man - and I am the King of May because I touched my finger to my forehead saluting a luminous heavy girl trembling hands who said "one moment Mr. Ginsberg" before a fat young Plainclothesman stepped between our bodies - I was going to England - and I am the King of May, in a giant jetplane touching Albion's airfield trembling in fear as the plane roars to a landing on the gray concrete, shakes & expels air, and rolls slowly to a stop under the clouds with part of blue heaven still visible. And tho' I am the King of May, the Marxists have beat me upon the street, kept me up all night in Police Station, followed me thru Springtime Prague, detained me in secret and deported me from our kingdom by airplane. This I have written this poem on a jet seat in mid Heaven. May 7, 1965
Take up the White Man's burden-- In patience to abide, To veil the threat of terror And check the show of pride; By open speech and simple, And hundred times made plain, To seek another's profit And work another's gain. How eerily prophetic. If Bush wasn't functionally illiterate, I'd say he must've read this and taken it to heart. Maybe he had Cheney read it for him.
I've read this poem a dozen or so times. Never thought I could tell if it was meant tounge-in-cheek or if he was really championing this. For some reason I now think it was the former.
Domestic Dissent by Anne F. Scotch Plains, NJ This is my silent rebellion. I'm waiting for you to take notice. This is the peak of years-smothered anger. I'm waiting to flail against you. This is me asserting myself. I'm waiting for the slow effect. This is me turning my back, not my cheek. I'm waiting to see how you stand. This is my independence. I'm just waiting for your nod of approval.
Thomas Hardy Then And Now When battles were fought With a chivalrous sense of Should and Ought, In spirit men said "End we quick or dead, Honour is some reward! Let us fight fair -- for our own best or worst; So, Gentlemen of the Guard, Fire first!" In the open they stood, Man to man in his knightlihood: They would not deign To profit by a stain On the honourable rules, Knowing that practice perfidy no man durst Who in the heroic schools Was nurst. But now, behold, what Is warfare wherein honour is not! Rama laments Its dead innocents: Herod breathes: "Sly slaughter Shall rule! Let us by modes once called accurst Overhead, under water, Stab first." 1915
War crime Locked into my incendiary chamber Furiously fighting fire with fire Tortured and torturer taking turns Applying coals to Newcastle But 'friendly fire' wounds very well And free the foregone conclusion An ashen space for Amida's stage A plain at pains for purity To the ground my burning indignation Equal all on this sweeping level Yes, even here is Pure Land plain Plain as our cruelly stupid complicity (© Gregg Heathcote, 3 August 2002)
Mr. Business went to church He never missed a Sunday Mr. Business went to Hell For what he did on Monday