Like many people, I’ve been appalled by the rise of nativist racism in the US in the last couple of years & in particular in the current presidential campaigns. I’ve wanted to write something & have twice sat down to attempt some kind of statement, if not an analysis, of the phenomenon, but both times I just wound up sputtering helplessly & inarticulately. This morning, though, I was working on the syllabus for my Modern American Poetry class next semester, when I came across “Ode in Time of Crisis” by Genevieve Taggard in Cary Nelson’s anthology [follow link for complete text]. Taggard, writing during the Second World War, eloquently expresses my own feelings. Here are the first two stanzas:
Now in the fright of change when bombed towns vanish
In fountains of debris
We say to the stranger coming across the sea
Not here, not here, go elsewhere!
Here we keep
Bars up. Wall out the danger, tightly seal
The ports, the intake from the alien world we fear.It is a time of many errors now.
And this the error of children when they feel
But cannot say their terror. To shut off the stream
In which we moved and still move, if we move.
The alien is the nation, nothing more nor less.
How set ourselves at variance to prove
The alien is not the nation. And so end the dream.
Forbid our deep resource from whence we came,
And the very seed of greatness.
_________________________________
Note: The companion website for Nelson’s Modern American Poetry is well worth looking at, providing commentary & background information on the poets in the anthology itself.
PERISHING REPUBLICS DRINK A BLOOD-DIMMED TIDE WHEN HEARTLEAPS AND DEEP HOPES
OF PEACE SINK INTO WARTIMES
Here a bearable past is choked used perceptions.
Glowing bars cooled down.
Emotions, squads of geese.
It’s a strange world as all old poets know
and bouncing off of older poets show.
Dreams are a barren barn.
We all now live midway on the block
on the railroad side where the moron
bleats and clarion blasts clutch
at self-contempt warbling and jugging
in the dust masquerading as common sense.
Absence of proof doesn’t mean an opposite.
Dogs delight to bark and bite, but
little children, no, Ruth Mycue warned.
Now she and my others dead, I tell it you.
Listen, children, as you drink your beer
we have much to fear: a republic is ending.
EDWARD MYCUE
and, joseph, may i add another of my poems from the http://www.poetsagainstthe war.org. if so, i hope this will attach. ed
em Title Poem Date
mycue, edward PERISHING REPUBLICS DRINK A BLOOD-DIMMED TIDE WHEN HEARTLEAPS AND DEEP DREAMS OF PEACE SINK 12/22/2005
mycue, edward BLOOD IN THE SNOW 12/26/2005
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