POEM BY MIRZA GHALIB 19TH CENTURY INDIAN SUFI URDU POET
The drop dies in the river
The drop dies in the river
of its joy
pain goes so far it cures itself
in the spring after the heavy rain the cloud
disappears
that was nothing but tears
in the spring the mirror turns green
holding a miracle
Change the shining wind
the rose led us to our eyes
let whatever is be open
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
dd 12/30/08 STATEMENT BY ISRAELI PEACE ACTIVIST URI AVNERY AT PEACE CONGRESS CONVENED IN HONOR OF HIS 85TTH BIRTHDAY IN ISRAEL
THIS IS FROM DEC. 27. AVNERY IS THE GRAND OLD MAN OF THE ISRAELI PEACE MOVEMENT.
A Congress of Peace Seekers
27/12/08 I couldn’t imagine a more enjoy able and exciting birthday.
“Gush Shalom” has acceded to my wish to mark my 85th birthday not with a public celebration, as on my 80th, but with a brain-storming session devoted to the main issues concerning Israel.
At the close of the event, I was given the floor. This is what I said:
DEAR FRIENDS, DEAR PARTNERS,
I have to admit that I am moved. Throughout my long life I have not been pampered with expressions of affection. I am much more used to manifestations of hate. Therefore, please excuse me if I am a bit embarrassed.
PEOPLE ASK ME: How does it feel to be 85?
Well, it is strange. After all, only yesterday I was 42, the youngest member of the Knesset. I don’t feel any older or wiser than I did then.
85 is (in the old Hebrew way of numbering by letters) PH. PH can mean “poh”, here - and yes, I am here and fully intend to remain here for a while to come – first, because I enjoy it, and second, because I still have some things to finish.
PH can also mean peh, mouth – the mouth that enables me to voice my thoughts. I would like to take this opportunity to share with you some of the thoughts that are occupying my mind today.
What is special about 85-year-olds in Israel? First of all, we are the generation that founded the state. As such – I feel – we bear an additional responsibility for what is happening here. If our state is not what we imagined it should be – it’s our duty to act to change it.
AND HERE we face a strange paradox. We are partners in a historic success. And we are partners in a dismal failure.
Perhaps only members of my generation can fully grasp the extend of our success in the transformation of the national consciousness.
Many people ask me: where do I draw my optimism from when the situation becomes very bad, when good people are seized by depression and despair? At such moments I remind myself - and remind the people who listen to me – where we started from. I bring this up again and again for those who did not live through it, and those who have forgotten:
On the morrow of that war, the ‘48 war, when some of us said that there exists a Palestinian people and that we must make peace with them, we were a tiny handful here and in the whole world. We were laughed at. There are no Palestinians, we were told. “There is no such thing as a Palestinian people!” Golda Meir was still asserting much later.
Is there anyone today who denies the existence of the Palestinian people?
We argued that in order to achieve peace, a Palestinian state must come into being. They laughed at us. What? Why? There is Jordan. There is Egypt. There are 22 Arab states. That’s enough!
Today it is a world-wide consensus – two states for two peoples.
We said that we must talk with the enemy, and the enemy was then the PLO. Four cabinet ministers demanded that I should be put on trial for high treason when I met with Yasser Arafat in Beirut during the siege. All four of them later met with Arafat, and the State of Israel signed official treaties with the PLO.
True, the treaties were not implemented and did not lead to peace. But the mutual recognition between Israel and the PLO, between Israel and the Palestinian people, became a fact. That was a revolution, and it cannot be reversed.
Today we are saying: we must talk with Hamas. Hamas is an integral part of the Palestinian reality. And this idea, too, is gaining ground.
What an uproar we caused when we said that Jerusalem must become the capital of the two states! Today almost everybody knows that this must happen, that it will happen.
I have devoted 60 years of my life to this struggle, and it is still in full swing. But we have defeated the idea of a Greater Israel and put forward the alternative of the two states, which has carried conviction in Israel and throughout the world. So much so, that even those in the successive Israeli governments who strongly oppose the idea are now compelled to pretend to support it in order to attract votes.
Think about this when you feel despair. Look at the whole picture, not only at the nearest small part of it.
BUT AS BIG as our victory is our defeat.
It is enough to look at these coming elections: the three big parties talk almost the same language, and not one of them puts forward a plan for peace.
There are small parties which say good and honest things, but at this juncture we simply need more than that. What is lacking is a major political force that is ready to come to power in order to make peace.
It is quite clear that the results of this coming election will be bad – and the only question is whether they will be just bad, or very bad, or even worse.
Why is this happening? There are many reasons, many pretexts. We criticize – and rightly so - many things, the media, the education system, all our successive governments, the President of the United States, all the world.
But I miss one criticism – the criticism of ourselves.
My father used to tell me: if the situation is bad, the first thing to do is to ask yourself if you are alright. So I am asking: Am I alright? Are we alright?
Yes, we have voiced the right ideas. Our ideas have won. But what have we done to realize these ideas in practice, on the political battlefield?
Politics is a matter of power. What have we done to create a progressive political force in Israel? How did it happen that the Left, the camp of peace and progress, has almost been eradicated from the political map? Why don’t we have political power, why don’t we have, for example, even one newspaper, radio or TV station? How did the Israeli Left lose, in the last generation, all its levers of power?
We in the peace camp include many wonderful men and women, who confront the army every week in the fight against the Wall, who monitor the checkpoints, who refuse to serve in the occupation army, who fight against the occupation in dozens of ways. Many of us, of all ages, take part in these actions.
But while we stand and protest, the settlers rush ahead. Another goat and another dunam (1000 square meters), another hill and another outpost. Sometimes I, too, have the feeling that the dogs bark and the caravan moves on – and I am not content with being the dog. We chase the mosquitoes, but the swamp that produces the mosquitoes gets bigger and bigger.
The swamp is political. Only a political force can drain it. In other words: only a force that can confront the ruling powers, influence the decisions of the government and the Knesset.
That is a historic failure, and we bear the responsibility for it.
IF I may be permitted to voice a birthday wish: the day after the elections I would like us to start thinking about the next elections.
We have to think anew. From the ground up. Examine everything we have done up to now and find out where we went wrong.
Why did we not succeed in convincing enough of the young, of the Oriental Jewish community, of the immigrants from Russia, of the Arab community in Israel, of the moderate religious sector – that there is somebody to talk with, that it is possible to bring about change, that indeed – we can! Why did we not succeed in touching the heart of the young generation that is disgusted by politics – by the politics they know?
What is needed is something completely new, a new act of creation. I would say: we must prepare the ground for an Israeli Obama.
Obama means: to kindle hope where there was no hope before. To demand a change from the foundations up and believe that it is possible to bring about this change. To ignite the enthusiasm of masses of young people for a message that stirs the heart, a message of ending the occupation, of social justice, of caring for the planet. The longing for a different system – secular, just, decent, seeking peace.
The new message must address the mind and the heart, speak to the emotions and not only to the intellect. It must arouse again the idealism that is hiding in many a heart and dare not show its face.
The great obstacle to such an explosion is despair. It is so much easier to despair. So much more comfortable. It doesn’t demand anything. It is easier to say that everything is lost. That they have stolen our state. But pessimism, as is well known, does not give birth to anything, it just leads to internal or external emigration.
I refuse to be pessimistic. In my 85 years I have seen too many unexpected, surprising, amazing, things – both good and bad – for me not to believe in the unexpected. Obama was unexpected, and here it happened before our very eyes. The fall of the Berlin wall was unexpected, and nobody could even have imagined it a moment before it happened. Even the victory of the Greens in the recent municipal election in Tel-Aviv was like that.
I WANT to propose the start of a new endeavor a day after the elections. I would like the best of the intellectuals and the peace activists, the social activists and the fighters for the environment to gather and start thinking together, in order to bring about the Israeli miracle.
Perhaps there should be a grand congress of those who want change, a Sanhedrin of peace and human rights activists, a kind of alternative Knesset.
From the heights of my 85 years I want to call all those to whom our future here is close to the heart, Jews and Arabs, and especially the young, to mobilize for a joint effort to prepare the ground for the big change, for the Other Israel, for a state where it will be fun to live, an Israel we can be proud of.
This is not a game that can be played between existing organizations, but a completely new political creation, that will speak a new language, that will bring a new message.
I believe that this will happen, if not tomorrow then the day after. I wish for myself, and for all of you present in this hall, that we shall see it with our own eyes, that we shall be partners, that we shall be able to say: we have succeeded, we are entrusting the state to good hands.
AND NOW I want to express my heartfelt thanks to all of you, my friends, who have come to mark my birthday with me by exchanging views and debating the issues that are so important to all of us.
Heartfelt thanks to the moderators and the speakers, who have bared the issues for us, to the organizers of this beautiful event, to the members of Gush Shalom who made it possible. Thanks to all of you, who have come from near and afar, and thanks for the good wishes you have showered on me.
I couldn’t imagine a more enjoyable and exciting birthday. Thank you.
BLOG OF THESE POSTS CAN BE FOUND AT http://papamousedailydose.blogspot.com/
A Congress of Peace Seekers
27/12/08 I couldn’t imagine a more enjoy able and exciting birthday.
“Gush Shalom” has acceded to my wish to mark my 85th birthday not with a public celebration, as on my 80th, but with a brain-storming session devoted to the main issues concerning Israel.
At the close of the event, I was given the floor. This is what I said:
DEAR FRIENDS, DEAR PARTNERS,
I have to admit that I am moved. Throughout my long life I have not been pampered with expressions of affection. I am much more used to manifestations of hate. Therefore, please excuse me if I am a bit embarrassed.
PEOPLE ASK ME: How does it feel to be 85?
Well, it is strange. After all, only yesterday I was 42, the youngest member of the Knesset. I don’t feel any older or wiser than I did then.
85 is (in the old Hebrew way of numbering by letters) PH. PH can mean “poh”, here - and yes, I am here and fully intend to remain here for a while to come – first, because I enjoy it, and second, because I still have some things to finish.
PH can also mean peh, mouth – the mouth that enables me to voice my thoughts. I would like to take this opportunity to share with you some of the thoughts that are occupying my mind today.
What is special about 85-year-olds in Israel? First of all, we are the generation that founded the state. As such – I feel – we bear an additional responsibility for what is happening here. If our state is not what we imagined it should be – it’s our duty to act to change it.
AND HERE we face a strange paradox. We are partners in a historic success. And we are partners in a dismal failure.
Perhaps only members of my generation can fully grasp the extend of our success in the transformation of the national consciousness.
Many people ask me: where do I draw my optimism from when the situation becomes very bad, when good people are seized by depression and despair? At such moments I remind myself - and remind the people who listen to me – where we started from. I bring this up again and again for those who did not live through it, and those who have forgotten:
On the morrow of that war, the ‘48 war, when some of us said that there exists a Palestinian people and that we must make peace with them, we were a tiny handful here and in the whole world. We were laughed at. There are no Palestinians, we were told. “There is no such thing as a Palestinian people!” Golda Meir was still asserting much later.
Is there anyone today who denies the existence of the Palestinian people?
We argued that in order to achieve peace, a Palestinian state must come into being. They laughed at us. What? Why? There is Jordan. There is Egypt. There are 22 Arab states. That’s enough!
Today it is a world-wide consensus – two states for two peoples.
We said that we must talk with the enemy, and the enemy was then the PLO. Four cabinet ministers demanded that I should be put on trial for high treason when I met with Yasser Arafat in Beirut during the siege. All four of them later met with Arafat, and the State of Israel signed official treaties with the PLO.
True, the treaties were not implemented and did not lead to peace. But the mutual recognition between Israel and the PLO, between Israel and the Palestinian people, became a fact. That was a revolution, and it cannot be reversed.
Today we are saying: we must talk with Hamas. Hamas is an integral part of the Palestinian reality. And this idea, too, is gaining ground.
What an uproar we caused when we said that Jerusalem must become the capital of the two states! Today almost everybody knows that this must happen, that it will happen.
I have devoted 60 years of my life to this struggle, and it is still in full swing. But we have defeated the idea of a Greater Israel and put forward the alternative of the two states, which has carried conviction in Israel and throughout the world. So much so, that even those in the successive Israeli governments who strongly oppose the idea are now compelled to pretend to support it in order to attract votes.
Think about this when you feel despair. Look at the whole picture, not only at the nearest small part of it.
BUT AS BIG as our victory is our defeat.
It is enough to look at these coming elections: the three big parties talk almost the same language, and not one of them puts forward a plan for peace.
There are small parties which say good and honest things, but at this juncture we simply need more than that. What is lacking is a major political force that is ready to come to power in order to make peace.
It is quite clear that the results of this coming election will be bad – and the only question is whether they will be just bad, or very bad, or even worse.
Why is this happening? There are many reasons, many pretexts. We criticize – and rightly so - many things, the media, the education system, all our successive governments, the President of the United States, all the world.
But I miss one criticism – the criticism of ourselves.
My father used to tell me: if the situation is bad, the first thing to do is to ask yourself if you are alright. So I am asking: Am I alright? Are we alright?
Yes, we have voiced the right ideas. Our ideas have won. But what have we done to realize these ideas in practice, on the political battlefield?
Politics is a matter of power. What have we done to create a progressive political force in Israel? How did it happen that the Left, the camp of peace and progress, has almost been eradicated from the political map? Why don’t we have political power, why don’t we have, for example, even one newspaper, radio or TV station? How did the Israeli Left lose, in the last generation, all its levers of power?
We in the peace camp include many wonderful men and women, who confront the army every week in the fight against the Wall, who monitor the checkpoints, who refuse to serve in the occupation army, who fight against the occupation in dozens of ways. Many of us, of all ages, take part in these actions.
But while we stand and protest, the settlers rush ahead. Another goat and another dunam (1000 square meters), another hill and another outpost. Sometimes I, too, have the feeling that the dogs bark and the caravan moves on – and I am not content with being the dog. We chase the mosquitoes, but the swamp that produces the mosquitoes gets bigger and bigger.
The swamp is political. Only a political force can drain it. In other words: only a force that can confront the ruling powers, influence the decisions of the government and the Knesset.
That is a historic failure, and we bear the responsibility for it.
IF I may be permitted to voice a birthday wish: the day after the elections I would like us to start thinking about the next elections.
We have to think anew. From the ground up. Examine everything we have done up to now and find out where we went wrong.
Why did we not succeed in convincing enough of the young, of the Oriental Jewish community, of the immigrants from Russia, of the Arab community in Israel, of the moderate religious sector – that there is somebody to talk with, that it is possible to bring about change, that indeed – we can! Why did we not succeed in touching the heart of the young generation that is disgusted by politics – by the politics they know?
What is needed is something completely new, a new act of creation. I would say: we must prepare the ground for an Israeli Obama.
Obama means: to kindle hope where there was no hope before. To demand a change from the foundations up and believe that it is possible to bring about this change. To ignite the enthusiasm of masses of young people for a message that stirs the heart, a message of ending the occupation, of social justice, of caring for the planet. The longing for a different system – secular, just, decent, seeking peace.
The new message must address the mind and the heart, speak to the emotions and not only to the intellect. It must arouse again the idealism that is hiding in many a heart and dare not show its face.
The great obstacle to such an explosion is despair. It is so much easier to despair. So much more comfortable. It doesn’t demand anything. It is easier to say that everything is lost. That they have stolen our state. But pessimism, as is well known, does not give birth to anything, it just leads to internal or external emigration.
I refuse to be pessimistic. In my 85 years I have seen too many unexpected, surprising, amazing, things – both good and bad – for me not to believe in the unexpected. Obama was unexpected, and here it happened before our very eyes. The fall of the Berlin wall was unexpected, and nobody could even have imagined it a moment before it happened. Even the victory of the Greens in the recent municipal election in Tel-Aviv was like that.
I WANT to propose the start of a new endeavor a day after the elections. I would like the best of the intellectuals and the peace activists, the social activists and the fighters for the environment to gather and start thinking together, in order to bring about the Israeli miracle.
Perhaps there should be a grand congress of those who want change, a Sanhedrin of peace and human rights activists, a kind of alternative Knesset.
From the heights of my 85 years I want to call all those to whom our future here is close to the heart, Jews and Arabs, and especially the young, to mobilize for a joint effort to prepare the ground for the big change, for the Other Israel, for a state where it will be fun to live, an Israel we can be proud of.
This is not a game that can be played between existing organizations, but a completely new political creation, that will speak a new language, that will bring a new message.
I believe that this will happen, if not tomorrow then the day after. I wish for myself, and for all of you present in this hall, that we shall see it with our own eyes, that we shall be partners, that we shall be able to say: we have succeeded, we are entrusting the state to good hands.
AND NOW I want to express my heartfelt thanks to all of you, my friends, who have come to mark my birthday with me by exchanging views and debating the issues that are so important to all of us.
Heartfelt thanks to the moderators and the speakers, who have bared the issues for us, to the organizers of this beautiful event, to the members of Gush Shalom who made it possible. Thanks to all of you, who have come from near and afar, and thanks for the good wishes you have showered on me.
I couldn’t imagine a more enjoyable and exciting birthday. Thank you.
BLOG OF THESE POSTS CAN BE FOUND AT http://papamousedailydose.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
12/23/08 DAILY DOSE lyrics to "If I ever leave this wold alive," by FLOGGING MOLLY
If I Ever Leave This World Alive lyrics
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll thank for all the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll come back down and sit beside your
feet tonight
Wherever I am you'll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll take on all the sadness
That I left behind
If I ever leave this world alive
The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word don't shed a tear
I'll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive
So when in doubt just call my name
Just before you go insane
If I ever leave this world
Hey I may never leave this world
But if I ever leave this world alive
She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right
She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right
Yeah should be alright
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll thank for all the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll come back down and sit beside your
feet tonight
Wherever I am you'll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll take on all the sadness
That I left behind
If I ever leave this world alive
The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word don't shed a tear
I'll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive
So when in doubt just call my name
Just before you go insane
If I ever leave this world
Hey I may never leave this world
But if I ever leave this world alive
She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right
She says I'm okay; I'm alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right
Yeah should be alright
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
DD 12/16/08 Song by Marie Summerwood
The Syracuse Community Choir had our Winter Solstice conert, this past Saturday night. We sang this sweet little song by my dear friend Marie Summerwood.
Dark of December by Marie Summerwood
We had a little dream in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We had a little dream in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
We heard a little bird in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We heard a little bird in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
We lit a little candle in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We lit a little candle in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
We sang a little song in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We sang a little song in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
Dark of December by Marie Summerwood
We had a little dream in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We had a little dream in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
We heard a little bird in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We heard a little bird in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
We lit a little candle in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We lit a little candle in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
We sang a little song in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
We sang a little song in the dark of December
A magical thing and sweet to remember
And sing, and sing, light up our hearts and sing
And sing, and sing, we can do anything.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
NOTHING LIGHTHEARTED TODAY... DD 12/2/08
HERE'S A GREAT ARTICLE ON OBAMA'S CABINET CHOICES
Barack Obama's Kettle of Hawks
Monday 01 December 2008
»
by: Jeremy Scahill, The Guardian UK
Barack Obama's national security team has been called a cast of rivals. (Photo: Reuters)The absence of a solid anti-war voice on Obama's national security team means that US foreign policy isn't going to change.
Barack Obama has assembled a team of rivals to implement his foreign policy. But while pundits and journalists speculate endlessly on the potential for drama with Hillary Clinton at the state department and Bill Clinton's network of shady funders, the real rivalry that will play out goes virtually unmentioned. The main battles will not be between Obama's staff, but rather against those who actually want a change in US foreign policy, not just a staff change in the war room.
When announcing his foreign policy team on Monday, Obama said: "I didn't go around checking their voter registration." That is a bit hard to believe, given the 63-question application to work in his White House. But Obama clearly did check their credentials, and the disturbing truth is that he liked what he saw.
The assembly of Hillary Clinton, Robert Gates, Susan Rice and Joe Biden is a kettle of hawks with a proven track record of support for the Iraq war, militaristic interventionism, neoliberal economic policies and a worldview consistent with the foreign policy arch that stretches from George HW Bush's time in office to the present.
Obama has dismissed suggestions that the public records of his appointees bear much relevance to future policy. "Understand where the vision for change comes from, first and foremost," Obama said. "It comes from me. That's my job, to provide a vision in terms of where we are going and to make sure, then, that my team is implementing." It is a line the president-elect's defenders echo often. The reality, though, is that their records do matter.
We were told repeatedly during the campaign that Obama was right on the premiere foreign policy issue of our day - the Iraq war. "Six years ago, I stood up and opposed this war at a time when it was politically risky to do so," Obama said in his September debate against John McCain. "Senator McCain and President Bush had a very different judgment." What does it say that, with 130 members of the House and 23 in the Senate who voted against the war, Obama chooses to hire Democrats who made the same judgement as Bush and McCain?
On Iraq, the issue that the Obama campaign described as "the most critical foreign policy judgment of our generation", Biden and Clinton not only supported the invasion, but pushed the Bush administration's propaganda and lies about Iraqi WMDs and fictitious connections to al-Qaida. Clinton and Obama's hawkish, pro-Israel chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, still refuse to renounce their votes in favour of the war. Rice, who claims she opposed the Iraq war, didn't hold elected office and was not confronted with voting for or against it. But she did publicly promote the myth of Iraq's possession of WMDs, saying in the lead up to the war that the "major threat" must "be dealt with forcefully". Rice has also been hawkish on Darfur, calling for "strik[ing] Sudanese airfields, aircraft and other military assets".
It is also deeply telling that, of his own free will, Obama selected President Bush's choice for defence secretary, a man with a very disturbing and lengthy history at the CIA during the cold war, as his own. While General James Jones, Obama's nominee for national security adviser, reportedly opposed the Iraq invasion and is said to have stood up to the neocons in Donald Rumsfeld's Pentagon, he did not do so publicly when it would have carried weight. Time magazine described him as "the man who led the Marines during the run-up to the war - and failed to publicly criticise the operation's flawed planning". Moreover, Jones, who is a friend of McCain's, has said a timetable for Iraq withdrawal, "would be against our national interest".
But the problem with Obama's appointments is hardly just a matter of bad vision on Iraq. What ultimately ties Obama's team together is their unified support for the classic US foreign policy recipe: the hidden hand of the free market, backed up by the iron fist of US militarism to defend the America First doctrine.
Obama's starry-eyed defenders have tried to downplay the importance of his cabinet selections, saying Obama will call the shots, but the ruling elite in this country see it for what it is. Karl Rove, "Bush's Brain", called Obama's cabinet selections, "reassuring", which itself is disconcerting, but neoconservative leader and former McCain campaign staffer Max Boot summed it up best. "I am gobsmacked by these appointments, most of which could just as easily have come from a President McCain," Boot wrote. The appointment of General Jones and the retention of Gates at defence "all but puts an end to the 16-month timetable for withdrawal from Iraq, the unconditional summits with dictators and other foolishness that once emanated from the Obama campaign."
Boot added that Hillary Clinton will be a "powerful" voice "for 'neoliberalism' which is not so different in many respects from 'neoconservativism.'" Boot's buddy, Michael Goldfarb, wrote in The Weekly Standard, the official organ of the neoconservative movement, that he sees "certainly nothing that represents a drastic change in how Washington does business. The expectation is that Obama is set to continue the course set by Bush in his second term."
There is not a single, solid anti-war voice in the upper echelons of the Obama foreign policy apparatus. And this is the point: Obama is not going to fundamentally change US foreign policy. He is a status quo Democrat. And that is why the mono-partisan Washington insiders are gushing over Obama's new team. At the same time, it is also disingenuous to act as though Obama is engaging in some epic betrayal. Of course these appointments contradict his campaign rhetoric of change. But move past the speeches and Obama's selections are very much in sync with his record and the foreign policy vision he articulated on the campaign trail, from his pledge to escalate the war in Afghanistan to his "residual force" plan in Iraq to his vow to use unilateral force in Pakistan to defend US interests to his posturing on Iran. "I will always keep the threat of military action on the table to defend our security and our ally Israel," Obama said in his famed speech at the American Israel Public Affairs Committee last summer. "Sometimes, there are no alternatives to confrontation."
--------
Jeremy Scahill pledges to be the same journalist under an Obama administration that he was during Bill Clinton and George Bush's presidencies. He is the author of "Blackwater: The Rise of the World's Most Powerful Mercenary Army" and is a frequent contributor to The Nation and Democracy Now! He is a Puffin Foundation Writing Fellow at the Nation Institute.
Barack Obama's Kettle of Hawks
Monday 01 December 2008
»
by: Jeremy Scahill, The Guardian UK
Barack Obama's national security team has been called a cast of rivals. (Photo: Reuters)The absence of a solid anti-war voice on Obama's national security team means that US foreign policy isn't going to change.
Barack Obama has assembled a team of rivals to implement his foreign policy. But while pundits and journalists speculate endlessly on the potential for drama with Hillary Clinton at the state department and Bill Clinton's network of shady funders, the real rivalry that will play out goes virtually unmentioned. The main battles will not be between Obama's staff, but rather against those who actually want a change in US foreign policy, not just a staff change in the war room.
When announcing his foreign policy team on Monday, Obama said: "I didn't go around checking their voter registration." That is a bit hard to believe, given the 63-question application to work in his White House. But Obama clearly did check their credentials, and the disturbing truth is that he liked what he saw.
The assembly of Hillary Clinton, Robert Gates, Susan Rice and Joe Biden is a kettle of hawks with a proven track record of support for the Iraq war, militaristic interventionism, neoliberal economic policies and a worldview consistent with the foreign policy arch that stretches from George HW Bush's time in office to the present.
Obama has dismissed suggestions that the public records of his appointees bear much relevance to future policy. "Understand where the vision for change comes from, first and foremost," Obama said. "It comes from me. That's my job, to provide a vision in terms of where we are going and to make sure, then, that my team is implementing." It is a line the president-elect's defenders echo often. The reality, though, is that their records do matter.
We were told repeatedly during the campaign that Obama was right on the premiere foreign policy issue of our day - the Iraq war. "Six years ago, I stood up and opposed this war at a time when it was politically risky to do so," Obama said in his September debate against John McCain. "Senator McCain and President Bush had a very different judgment." What does it say that, with 130 members of the House and 23 in the Senate who voted against the war, Obama chooses to hire Democrats who made the same judgement as Bush and McCain?
On Iraq, the issue that the Obama campaign described as "the most critical foreign policy judgment of our generation", Biden and Clinton not only supported the invasion, but pushed the Bush administration's propaganda and lies about Iraqi WMDs and fictitious connections to al-Qaida. Clinton and Obama's hawkish, pro-Israel chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, still refuse to renounce their votes in favour of the war. Rice, who claims she opposed the Iraq war, didn't hold elected office and was not confronted with voting for or against it. But she did publicly promote the myth of Iraq's possession of WMDs, saying in the lead up to the war that the "major threat" must "be dealt with forcefully". Rice has also been hawkish on Darfur, calling for "strik[ing] Sudanese airfields, aircraft and other military assets".
It is also deeply telling that, of his own free will, Obama selected President Bush's choice for defence secretary, a man with a very disturbing and lengthy history at the CIA during the cold war, as his own. While General James Jones, Obama's nominee for national security adviser, reportedly opposed the Iraq invasion and is said to have stood up to the neocons in Donald Rumsfeld's Pentagon, he did not do so publicly when it would have carried weight. Time magazine described him as "the man who led the Marines during the run-up to the war - and failed to publicly criticise the operation's flawed planning". Moreover, Jones, who is a friend of McCain's, has said a timetable for Iraq withdrawal, "would be against our national interest".
But the problem with Obama's appointments is hardly just a matter of bad vision on Iraq. What ultimately ties Obama's team together is their unified support for the classic US foreign policy recipe: the hidden hand of the free market, backed up by the iron fist of US militarism to defend the America First doctrine.
Obama's starry-eyed defenders have tried to downplay the importance of his cabinet selections, saying Obama will call the shots, but the ruling elite in this country see it for what it is. Karl Rove, "Bush's Brain", called Obama's cabinet selections, "reassuring", which itself is disconcerting, but neoconservative leader and former McCain campaign staffer Max Boot summed it up best. "I am gobsmacked by these appointments, most of which could just as easily have come from a President McCain," Boot wrote. The appointment of General Jones and the retention of Gates at defence "all but puts an end to the 16-month timetable for withdrawal from Iraq, the unconditional summits with dictators and other foolishness that once emanated from the Obama campaign."
Boot added that Hillary Clinton will be a "powerful" voice "for 'neoliberalism' which is not so different in many respects from 'neoconservativism.'" Boot's buddy, Michael Goldfarb, wrote in The Weekly Standard, the official organ of the neoconservative movement, that he sees "certainly nothing that represents a drastic change in how Washington does business. The expectation is that Obama is set to continue the course set by Bush in his second term."
There is not a single, solid anti-war voice in the upper echelons of the Obama foreign policy apparatus. And this is the point: Obama is not going to fundamentally change US foreign policy. He is a status quo Democrat. And that is why the mono-partisan Washington insiders are gushing over Obama's new team. At the same time, it is also disingenuous to act as though Obama is engaging in some epic betrayal. Of course these appointments contradict his campaign rhetoric of change. But move past the speeches and Obama's selections are very much in sync with his record and the foreign policy vision he articulated on the campaign trail, from his pledge to escalate the war in Afghanistan to his "residual force" plan in Iraq to his vow to use unilateral force in Pakistan to defend US interests to his posturing on Iran. "I will always keep the threat of military action on the table to defend our security and our ally Israel," Obama said in his famed speech at the American Israel Public Affairs Committee last summer. "Sometimes, there are no alternatives to confrontation."
--------
Jeremy Scahill pledges to be the same journalist under an Obama administration that he was during Bill Clinton and George Bush's presidencies. He is the author of "Blackwater: The Rise of the World's Most Powerful Mercenary Army" and is a frequent contributor to The Nation and Democracy Now! He is a Puffin Foundation Writing Fellow at the Nation Institute.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
November 25, 2008 - Tuesday DD - A Pirate Poem by the Great McGonagall
CAPTAIN TEACH ALIAS "BLACK BEARD"
by William McGonagall
Edward Teach was a native of Bristol, and sailed from that port
On board a privateer, in search of sport,
As one of the crew, during the French War in that station,
And for personal courage he soon gained his Captain's approbation.
'Twas in the spring of 1717, Captain Harnigold and Teach sailed from Providence
For the continent of America, and no further hence;
And in their way captured a vessel laden with flour,
Which they put on board their own vessels in the space of an hour.
They also seized two other vessels and took some gallons of wine,
Besides plunder to a considerable value, and most of it most costly design;
And after that they made a prize of a large French Guinea-man,
Then to act an independent part Teach now began.
But the news spread throughout America, far and near,
And filled many of the inhabitants' hearts with fear;
But Lieutenant Maynard with his sloops of war directly steered,
And left James River on the 17th November in quest of Black Beard,
And on the evening of the 21st came in sight of the pirate;
And when Black Beard spied his sloops he felt elate.
When he saw the sloops sent to apprehend him,
He didn't lose his courage, but fiendishly did grin;
And told his men to cease from drinking and their tittle-tattle,
Although he had only twenty men on board, and prepare for battle.
In case anything should happen to him during the engagement,
One of his men asked him, who felt rather discontent,
Whether his wife knew where he had buried his pelf,
When he impiously replied that nobody knew but the devil and himself.
In the Morning Maynard weighed and sent his boat to sound,
Which, coming near the pirate, unfortunately ran aground;
But Maynard lightened his vessel of the ballast and water,
Whilst from the pirates' ship small shot loudly did clatter.
But the pirates' small shot or slugs didn't Maynard appal,
He told his men to take their cutlasses and be ready upon his call;
And to conceal themselves every man below,
While he would remain at the helm and face the foe.
Then Black Beard cried, "They're all knocked on the head,"
When he saw no hand upon deck he thought they were dead;
Then Black Beard boarded Maynard'a sloop without dismay,
But Maynard's men rushed upon deck, then began the deadly fray.
Then Black Beard and Maynard engaged sword in hand,
And the pirate fought manfully and made a bold stand;
And Maynard with twelve men, and Black Beard with fourteen,
Made the most desperate and bloody conflict that ever was seen.
At last with shots and wounds the pirate fell down dead,
Then from his body Maynard severed the pirate's head,
And suspended it upon his bowsprit-end,
And thanked God who so mercifully did him defend.
Black Beard derived his name from his long black beard,
Which terrified America more than any comet that had ever appeared;
But, thanks be to God, in this age we need not be afeared,
Of any such pirates as the inhuman Black Beard.
by William McGonagall
Edward Teach was a native of Bristol, and sailed from that port
On board a privateer, in search of sport,
As one of the crew, during the French War in that station,
And for personal courage he soon gained his Captain's approbation.
'Twas in the spring of 1717, Captain Harnigold and Teach sailed from Providence
For the continent of America, and no further hence;
And in their way captured a vessel laden with flour,
Which they put on board their own vessels in the space of an hour.
They also seized two other vessels and took some gallons of wine,
Besides plunder to a considerable value, and most of it most costly design;
And after that they made a prize of a large French Guinea-man,
Then to act an independent part Teach now began.
But the news spread throughout America, far and near,
And filled many of the inhabitants' hearts with fear;
But Lieutenant Maynard with his sloops of war directly steered,
And left James River on the 17th November in quest of Black Beard,
And on the evening of the 21st came in sight of the pirate;
And when Black Beard spied his sloops he felt elate.
When he saw the sloops sent to apprehend him,
He didn't lose his courage, but fiendishly did grin;
And told his men to cease from drinking and their tittle-tattle,
Although he had only twenty men on board, and prepare for battle.
In case anything should happen to him during the engagement,
One of his men asked him, who felt rather discontent,
Whether his wife knew where he had buried his pelf,
When he impiously replied that nobody knew but the devil and himself.
In the Morning Maynard weighed and sent his boat to sound,
Which, coming near the pirate, unfortunately ran aground;
But Maynard lightened his vessel of the ballast and water,
Whilst from the pirates' ship small shot loudly did clatter.
But the pirates' small shot or slugs didn't Maynard appal,
He told his men to take their cutlasses and be ready upon his call;
And to conceal themselves every man below,
While he would remain at the helm and face the foe.
Then Black Beard cried, "They're all knocked on the head,"
When he saw no hand upon deck he thought they were dead;
Then Black Beard boarded Maynard'a sloop without dismay,
But Maynard's men rushed upon deck, then began the deadly fray.
Then Black Beard and Maynard engaged sword in hand,
And the pirate fought manfully and made a bold stand;
And Maynard with twelve men, and Black Beard with fourteen,
Made the most desperate and bloody conflict that ever was seen.
At last with shots and wounds the pirate fell down dead,
Then from his body Maynard severed the pirate's head,
And suspended it upon his bowsprit-end,
And thanked God who so mercifully did him defend.
Black Beard derived his name from his long black beard,
Which terrified America more than any comet that had ever appeared;
But, thanks be to God, in this age we need not be afeared,
Of any such pirates as the inhuman Black Beard.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Daily Dose 11/12/08 IN OU TIME OF JOY, SOBER OBSERVATIONS BY A GEAT UUGUAYAN AUTHOR
Subject: Eduardo Galeano: Hopes and Fears
Eduardo Galeano: Hopes and FearsThe Progressive posted November 7, 2008
http://www.progressive.org/mag/galeano110708.html
Hopes and Fears
by Eduardo Galeano
Once in office, will Obama prove that his bellicose threatsagainst Iran and Pakistan were just words spoken to lure ina certain category of voter during the election? Let's hopeso. And let's hope he isn't for a moment tempted to repeatthe exploits of George W. Bush. After all, Obama had thedignity to oppose the war in Iraq while the Republican andDemocratic parties cheered the announcement of thisbloodbath.
During his campaign, "leadership" was the most frequentlyused word in Obama's speeches.
As President, will he continue to believe that his countrywas chosen to save the world, a toxic idea that he shareswith almost all of his colleagues? Will he continue toassert that the U.S. is the leader of the world and believein its messianic mission to command?
Let's hope that the current crisis, which is shaking theimperial foundations, will at least serve to provide theincoming government with a healthy dose of realism andhumility.
Will Obama accept that racism is permissible when practicedagainst countries that his country invades? Is it notracism to meticulously tally the deaths of the invaders ofIraq while ignoring with Olympian arrogance the far largernumber of Iraqi dead? Isn't it racist that the world hasfirst, second, and third class citizens and first, second,and third class dead?
Obama's victory was universally celebrated as a victory inthe battle against racism. Let us hope that from his firstacts as President he accepts and lives up to this beautifulresponsibility.
Will the Obama Administration confirm yet again thatDemocrat and Republican are two names for the same party?
Let us hope that the will for change that these electionshave consecrated is more than just a promise and a hope.May the new Administration have the courage to break withthe tradition of the single party disguised as two that atthe hour of truth behave almost identically while theypretend to be fighting one another.
Will Obama make good on his promise to close the sinisterprison at Guantanamo?
Let us hope so, and that he will end the sinister blockadeof Cuba.
Will Obama continue to believe that it is a good idea tobuild a wall along the Mexican border to keep Mexicans fromcrossing into the US., while vast sums of money move acrosswithout ever showing a passport?
During the campaign Obama never candidly discussed thesubject of immigration. Let us hope that from today on, nolonger having to worry about losing votes, he will be ableand willing to abandon this idea of the wall--which wouldbe far longer and more shameful than the Berlin Wall--andindeed all walls that violate people's freedom of movement.
Once President, will Obama, who supported the recent giftof $700 billion to the banking industry, continue the usualpractice of privatizing profits while socializing losses?
I fear that he will, though I hope that he won't.
Will Obama sign and abide by the Kyoto agreement, or willhe continue to allow the biggest polluter on the planet topollute with impunity? Will he govern for people, or forautomobiles? Will he shift the devastating course of a wayof life in which the few steal the destiny of the many?
I fear he won't, though I hope he will.
Will Obama, the first black President of the United States,realize the dream of Martin Luther King, or the nightmareof Condoleezza Rice?
This White House, which is now his house, was built with the labor of black slaves. Let's hope he never forgets that.
[Eduardo Galeano, Uruguayan writer and journalist, is author of Open Veins of Latin America and Memories of Fire.]
Eduardo Galeano: Hopes and FearsThe Progressive posted November 7, 2008
http://www.progressive.org/mag/galeano110708.html
Hopes and Fears
by Eduardo Galeano
Once in office, will Obama prove that his bellicose threatsagainst Iran and Pakistan were just words spoken to lure ina certain category of voter during the election? Let's hopeso. And let's hope he isn't for a moment tempted to repeatthe exploits of George W. Bush. After all, Obama had thedignity to oppose the war in Iraq while the Republican andDemocratic parties cheered the announcement of thisbloodbath.
During his campaign, "leadership" was the most frequentlyused word in Obama's speeches.
As President, will he continue to believe that his countrywas chosen to save the world, a toxic idea that he shareswith almost all of his colleagues? Will he continue toassert that the U.S. is the leader of the world and believein its messianic mission to command?
Let's hope that the current crisis, which is shaking theimperial foundations, will at least serve to provide theincoming government with a healthy dose of realism andhumility.
Will Obama accept that racism is permissible when practicedagainst countries that his country invades? Is it notracism to meticulously tally the deaths of the invaders ofIraq while ignoring with Olympian arrogance the far largernumber of Iraqi dead? Isn't it racist that the world hasfirst, second, and third class citizens and first, second,and third class dead?
Obama's victory was universally celebrated as a victory inthe battle against racism. Let us hope that from his firstacts as President he accepts and lives up to this beautifulresponsibility.
Will the Obama Administration confirm yet again thatDemocrat and Republican are two names for the same party?
Let us hope that the will for change that these electionshave consecrated is more than just a promise and a hope.May the new Administration have the courage to break withthe tradition of the single party disguised as two that atthe hour of truth behave almost identically while theypretend to be fighting one another.
Will Obama make good on his promise to close the sinisterprison at Guantanamo?
Let us hope so, and that he will end the sinister blockadeof Cuba.
Will Obama continue to believe that it is a good idea tobuild a wall along the Mexican border to keep Mexicans fromcrossing into the US., while vast sums of money move acrosswithout ever showing a passport?
During the campaign Obama never candidly discussed thesubject of immigration. Let us hope that from today on, nolonger having to worry about losing votes, he will be ableand willing to abandon this idea of the wall--which wouldbe far longer and more shameful than the Berlin Wall--andindeed all walls that violate people's freedom of movement.
Once President, will Obama, who supported the recent giftof $700 billion to the banking industry, continue the usualpractice of privatizing profits while socializing losses?
I fear that he will, though I hope that he won't.
Will Obama sign and abide by the Kyoto agreement, or willhe continue to allow the biggest polluter on the planet topollute with impunity? Will he govern for people, or forautomobiles? Will he shift the devastating course of a wayof life in which the few steal the destiny of the many?
I fear he won't, though I hope he will.
Will Obama, the first black President of the United States,realize the dream of Martin Luther King, or the nightmareof Condoleezza Rice?
This White House, which is now his house, was built with the labor of black slaves. Let's hope he never forgets that.
[Eduardo Galeano, Uruguayan writer and journalist, is author of Open Veins of Latin America and Memories of Fire.]
Monday, November 3, 2008
[IN HONOR OF OUR BELOVED ELECTORAL PROCESS, I WANTED TO SEND OUT A PIRATE SONG FOR ELECTION DAY... NOT A REAL PIRATE SONG BUT MY FAVOITE ONE.]
Stan Rogers - Barrett's Privateers Lyrics Album:
Oh, the year was 1778, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
A letter of marque came from the king,
To the scummiest vessel I'd ever seen,God damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
Oh, Elcid Barrett cried the town, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
For twenty brave men all fishermen whowould make for him the Antelope's crew
God damn them all!I was told
we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
The Antelope sloop was a sickening sight,HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
She'd a list to the port and and her sails in rags
And the cook in scuppers with the staggers and the jagsGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
On the King's birthday we put to sea, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
We were 91 days to Montego BayPumping like madmen all the wayGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
On the 96th day we sailed again, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
When a bloody great Yankee hove in sight
With our cracked four pounders we made to fightGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American goldWe'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
The Yankee lay low down with gold, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
She was broad and fat and loose in the staysBut to catch her took the Antelope two whole daysGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
Then at length we stood two cables away, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
Our cracked four pounders made an awful din
But with one fat ball the Yank stove us inGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
The Antelope shook and pitched on her side, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggsAnd the Maintruck carried off both me legsGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
So here I lay in my 23rd year, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
It's been 6 years since we sailed away
And I just made Halifax yesterdayGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
Stan Rogers - Barrett's Privateers Lyrics Album:
Oh, the year was 1778, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
A letter of marque came from the king,
To the scummiest vessel I'd ever seen,God damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
Oh, Elcid Barrett cried the town, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
For twenty brave men all fishermen whowould make for him the Antelope's crew
God damn them all!I was told
we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
The Antelope sloop was a sickening sight,HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
She'd a list to the port and and her sails in rags
And the cook in scuppers with the staggers and the jagsGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
On the King's birthday we put to sea, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
We were 91 days to Montego BayPumping like madmen all the wayGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
On the 96th day we sailed again, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
When a bloody great Yankee hove in sight
With our cracked four pounders we made to fightGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American goldWe'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
The Yankee lay low down with gold, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
She was broad and fat and loose in the staysBut to catch her took the Antelope two whole daysGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
Then at length we stood two cables away, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
Our cracked four pounders made an awful din
But with one fat ball the Yank stove us inGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
The Antelope shook and pitched on her side, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggsAnd the Maintruck carried off both me legsGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tearsNow I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers.
So here I lay in my 23rd year, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
It's been 6 years since we sailed away
And I just made Halifax yesterdayGod damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns-shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pierThe last of Barrett's Privateers.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
DD 10/29/08 Poem by my hero, the Great McGonagall
THE TAY BRIDGE DISASTER
by William McGonagall
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
by William McGonagall
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tuesday DD 10/21/08 Poem by William Stafford
Traveling Through The Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
William Stafford
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
William Stafford
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
DD 10/14/08 Broadside ballad THE RAT-CATCHER'S DAUGHTER
Broadside ballad published in mid 1800s
Transcription
THE
RAT-CATCHER'S
DAUGHTER.
In Westminster, not long ago,
There lived a rat-catcher's daughter-
She was not born in Westminster,
But on t'other side of the water.
Her father kill'd rats, and she sold sprats;
All round and over the water,
And the gentlefolks they all bought sprats
Of the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
Of the pretty, &c.
She wore no hat upon her head,
No cap, or dandy bonnet-
Her hair it hung about her neck,
Just like a bunch of carrots,
If she cried sprats in Westminster,
She'd such a loud sweet voice, sirs,
You might hear her all down Parliamentstreet,
As far as Charing Cross, sirs.
As far, &c.
The rich and great came far and near,
To marry her all sought her,
But at friends and foes she cock'd her nose,
Did the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
For there was a man cried lily white sand,
In Cupid's net had caught her,
And over head and ears in love,
Was the pretty ratcatcher's daughter.
Was the, &c,
Now lily white sand so run in her head,
When coming along the Strand, sirs-
She forgot she'd got sprats, so 'tis Said,
And cried, "buy my lily white sand O!"
The folks amaz'd all thought her craz'd,
All along the strand O-
To hear a girl with sprats on her head,
Cry, "buy my lily white sand, O!"
Cry, &c.
The rat catcher's daughter so run in his head,
He didn't know what he was arter-
'Stead of crying, buy my lily white sand,
Cried, "d'ye want any rat-catcher's daugh-ter?"
The donkey cock'd his ears and bray'd-
Folks wonder'd what he was arter-
To hear a lily white sand-man cry,"
Do you want any rat-catcher's daughter?"
Do you, &c.
Now they agree'd to married be
Upon the Easter Sunday-
But the rat catcher's daughter had a dream,
She shouldn't be alive on the Monday,
To buy some sprats once more she went,
And tumbled into the water-
And down to the bottom, all cover'd with mud,
Went the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
Went, &c.
When the lily white sand-man heard the news,
Both his eyes run down with water-
Says he, " in love, I'll constant prove-
Blow me if I live long arter!"
So he cut his throat with a bit of glass,
And stabb'd his donkey arter,
So donkey and lily white sand-man died
Through love of the rat-catcher's daughter.
Through, &c.
Transcription
THE
RAT-CATCHER'S
DAUGHTER.
In Westminster, not long ago,
There lived a rat-catcher's daughter-
She was not born in Westminster,
But on t'other side of the water.
Her father kill'd rats, and she sold sprats;
All round and over the water,
And the gentlefolks they all bought sprats
Of the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
Of the pretty, &c.
She wore no hat upon her head,
No cap, or dandy bonnet-
Her hair it hung about her neck,
Just like a bunch of carrots,
If she cried sprats in Westminster,
She'd such a loud sweet voice, sirs,
You might hear her all down Parliamentstreet,
As far as Charing Cross, sirs.
As far, &c.
The rich and great came far and near,
To marry her all sought her,
But at friends and foes she cock'd her nose,
Did the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
For there was a man cried lily white sand,
In Cupid's net had caught her,
And over head and ears in love,
Was the pretty ratcatcher's daughter.
Was the, &c,
Now lily white sand so run in her head,
When coming along the Strand, sirs-
She forgot she'd got sprats, so 'tis Said,
And cried, "buy my lily white sand O!"
The folks amaz'd all thought her craz'd,
All along the strand O-
To hear a girl with sprats on her head,
Cry, "buy my lily white sand, O!"
Cry, &c.
The rat catcher's daughter so run in his head,
He didn't know what he was arter-
'Stead of crying, buy my lily white sand,
Cried, "d'ye want any rat-catcher's daugh-ter?"
The donkey cock'd his ears and bray'd-
Folks wonder'd what he was arter-
To hear a lily white sand-man cry,"
Do you want any rat-catcher's daughter?"
Do you, &c.
Now they agree'd to married be
Upon the Easter Sunday-
But the rat catcher's daughter had a dream,
She shouldn't be alive on the Monday,
To buy some sprats once more she went,
And tumbled into the water-
And down to the bottom, all cover'd with mud,
Went the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
Went, &c.
When the lily white sand-man heard the news,
Both his eyes run down with water-
Says he, " in love, I'll constant prove-
Blow me if I live long arter!"
So he cut his throat with a bit of glass,
And stabb'd his donkey arter,
So donkey and lily white sand-man died
Through love of the rat-catcher's daughter.
Through, &c.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
DD 10/7/08 THEY'RE MOVING FATHER'S GRAVE TO BUILD A SEWER
Here's an old favorite British drinking song. For some reason, it kept unning through my head during the Obama Mc Cain debate tonight.
They're moving father's grave to build a sewer
They're moving it regardless of expense.
They're moving his remains to lay down nine-inchdrains
To irrigate some rich bloke's residence.
Now what's the use of having a religion?
If when you're dead you cannot get some peace
'Cause some high society twit wants a pipeline for his shit
They won't let poor old Daddy rest in peace...
Now father in his life was not a quitter
And I'm sure that he'll not be a quitter now.
And in his winding sheet, he will haunt that shit-house seat
And only let them go when he'll allow.
Now won't there be some bleedin' constipation,
And won't those city toffs begin to rave!
But it's no more than they deserve, 'cause they hadthe bleedin' nerve
To muck about a British workman's grave.
They're moving father's grave to build a sewer
They're moving it regardless of expense.
They're moving his remains to lay down nine-inchdrains
To irrigate some rich bloke's residence.
Now what's the use of having a religion?
If when you're dead you cannot get some peace
'Cause some high society twit wants a pipeline for his shit
They won't let poor old Daddy rest in peace...
Now father in his life was not a quitter
And I'm sure that he'll not be a quitter now.
And in his winding sheet, he will haunt that shit-house seat
And only let them go when he'll allow.
Now won't there be some bleedin' constipation,
And won't those city toffs begin to rave!
But it's no more than they deserve, 'cause they hadthe bleedin' nerve
To muck about a British workman's grave.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Tuesday's Daily Dose 9/23/08 THE MOON'S THE NORTH WIND'S COOKY
This poem is in my all-time favorite anthology, which my mother read to me from though my entire childhood. The book is called Silver Pennies, and it was edited by Blanche Jennings Thompson, and published by MacMillan in 1927.If you can find a copy get it! It's filled with poems about fairies, and about children in touch with the world's magic.Last time I looked on line, used copies were easily findable.
THE MOON'S THE NORTH WIND'S COOKY
[What the Little Girl Said]
The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky.
He bites it,day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den.
And bakes a crisp new moon that... greedy
North...Wind...eats...again!
--Vachel Lindsay
THE MOON'S THE NORTH WIND'S COOKY
[What the Little Girl Said]
The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky.
He bites it,day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den.
And bakes a crisp new moon that... greedy
North...Wind...eats...again!
--Vachel Lindsay
Monday, September 15, 2008
DD 9/16/08 TIM WISE THIS IS YOUR NATION ON WHITE PRIVILEGE
Date: Mon, 15 Sep 2008 From: news@freedomarchives.orgSubject: [News] This is Your Nation on White Privilege
This is Your Nation on White Privilege
September, 14 2008
By Tim Wise
For those who still can't grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are constantly looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.
White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because "every family has challenges," even as black and Latino families with similar "challenges" are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.
White privilege is when you can call yourself a "fuckin' redneck," like Bristol Palin's boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll "kick their fuckin' ass," and talk about how you like to "shoot shit" for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.
White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.
White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you're "untested."
White privilege is being able to say that you support the words "under God" in the pledge of allegiance because "if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it's good enough for me," and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the "under God" part wasn't added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.
White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you. White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto was "Alaska first," and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she's being disrespectful.
White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you're being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college--you're somehow being mean, or even sexist.
White privilege is being able to convince white women who don't even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because all of a sudden your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a "second look."
White privilege is being able to fire people who didn't support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.
White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God's punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you're just a good church-going Christian, but if you're black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you're an extremist who probably hates America.
White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a "trick question," while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O'Reilly means you're dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.
White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism is, as Sarah Palin has referred to it a "light" burden.
And finally, white privilege is the only thing that could possibly allow someone to become president when he has voted with George W. Bush 90 percent of the time, even as unemployment is skyrocketing, people are losing their homes, inflation is rising, and the U.S. is increasingly isolated from world opinion, just because white voters aren't sure about that whole "change" thing. Ya know, it's just too vague and ill-defined, unlike, say, four more years of the same, which is very concrete and certain.
White privilege is, in short, the problem.
Tim Wise is the author of White Like Me (Soft Skull, 2005, revised 2008), and of Speaking Treason Fluently, publishing this month, also by Soft Skull. For review copies or interview requests, please reply to publicity@softskull.com
Freedom Archives522 Valencia StreetSan Francisco, CA 94110
415-863-9977
www.Freedomarchives.org
This is Your Nation on White Privilege
September, 14 2008
By Tim Wise
For those who still can't grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are constantly looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.
White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because "every family has challenges," even as black and Latino families with similar "challenges" are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.
White privilege is when you can call yourself a "fuckin' redneck," like Bristol Palin's boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll "kick their fuckin' ass," and talk about how you like to "shoot shit" for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.
White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.
White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you're "untested."
White privilege is being able to say that you support the words "under God" in the pledge of allegiance because "if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it's good enough for me," and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the "under God" part wasn't added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.
White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you. White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto was "Alaska first," and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she's being disrespectful.
White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you're being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college--you're somehow being mean, or even sexist.
White privilege is being able to convince white women who don't even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because all of a sudden your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a "second look."
White privilege is being able to fire people who didn't support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.
White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God's punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you're just a good church-going Christian, but if you're black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you're an extremist who probably hates America.
White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a "trick question," while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O'Reilly means you're dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.
White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism is, as Sarah Palin has referred to it a "light" burden.
And finally, white privilege is the only thing that could possibly allow someone to become president when he has voted with George W. Bush 90 percent of the time, even as unemployment is skyrocketing, people are losing their homes, inflation is rising, and the U.S. is increasingly isolated from world opinion, just because white voters aren't sure about that whole "change" thing. Ya know, it's just too vague and ill-defined, unlike, say, four more years of the same, which is very concrete and certain.
White privilege is, in short, the problem.
Tim Wise is the author of White Like Me (Soft Skull, 2005, revised 2008), and of Speaking Treason Fluently, publishing this month, also by Soft Skull. For review copies or interview requests, please reply to publicity@softskull.com
Freedom Archives522 Valencia StreetSan Francisco, CA 94110
415-863-9977
www.Freedomarchives.org
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
DD 9/2/08 Line from a poem by Lea Walker Wood
From the poem EARTH DAY, by Lea Walker Wood:
"How can every day NOT be Earth Day?"
"How can every day NOT be Earth Day?"
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
DD 8/19/08 Poem about the moon by William Topaz McGonnagal, Poet and Tragedian
The Great McGonnagal [as he was known in his lifetime]was widely regaded as the worst poet in the English language. He lived in the city of Dundee in Scotland. His work is widely loved in Great Britain and elsewhere. If you, like me enjoy his work, you can find all his published poems at
www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk
you can subscibe, like I do to receive a poetic gem a day at this link
http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/cgi-bin/mcmail
The Moon
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou seemest most charming to my sight;
As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high,
A tear of joy does moisten mine eye.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the Esquimau in the night;
For thou lettest him see to harpoon the fish,
And with them he makes a dainty dish.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the fox in the night,
And lettest him see to steal the grey goose away
Out of the farm-yard from a stack of hay.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the farmer in the night,
and makes his heart beat high with delight
As he views his crops by the light in the night.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the eagle in the night,
And lettest him see to devour his prey
And carry it to his nest away.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the mariner in the night
As he paces the deck alone,
Thinking of his dear friends at home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the weary traveller in the night;
For thou lightest up the wayside around
To him when he is homeward bound.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the lovers in the night
As they walk through the shady groves alone,
Making love to each other before they go home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the poacher in the night;
For thou lettest him see to set his snares
To catch the rabbit and the hares.
www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk
you can subscibe, like I do to receive a poetic gem a day at this link
http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/cgi-bin/mcmail
The Moon
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou seemest most charming to my sight;
As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high,
A tear of joy does moisten mine eye.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the Esquimau in the night;
For thou lettest him see to harpoon the fish,
And with them he makes a dainty dish.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the fox in the night,
And lettest him see to steal the grey goose away
Out of the farm-yard from a stack of hay.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the farmer in the night,
and makes his heart beat high with delight
As he views his crops by the light in the night.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the eagle in the night,
And lettest him see to devour his prey
And carry it to his nest away.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the mariner in the night
As he paces the deck alone,
Thinking of his dear friends at home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the weary traveller in the night;
For thou lightest up the wayside around
To him when he is homeward bound.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the lovers in the night
As they walk through the shady groves alone,
Making love to each other before they go home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the poacher in the night;
For thou lettest him see to set his snares
To catch the rabbit and the hares.
Friday, August 15, 2008
DD 3/22/05 A LITTLE MADNESS IN THE SPRING BY EMILY DICKINSON
DD 5/3/05 POEM BY DENISE LEVERTOV
The Métier of Blossoming
Denise Levertov
Fully occupied with growing--that'sthe amaryllis.
Growing especiallyat night:
it would takeonly a bit more patience than
I've got
to sit keeping watch with it till daylight;
the naked eye could register every hour's
increase in height.
Like a child against a barn door,
proudly topping each year's achievement,
steadily upgoes each green stem, smooth, matte,
traces of reddish purple at the base, and almost
imperceptible vertical ridges
running the length of them:
Two robust stems from each bulb,
sometimes with sturdy leaves for company,
elegant sweeps of blade with rounded points.
Aloft, the gravid buds, shiny with fullness.
One morning--and so soon!--the first flower
has opened when you wake.
Or you catch it poisedin a single, brief
moment of hesitation.
Next day, another,
shy at first like a foal,
even a third, a fourth,
carried triumphantly at the summit
of those strong columns, and each
a Juno, calm in brilliance,
a maiden giantess in modest splendor.
If humans could be
that intensely whole, undistracted, unhurried,
swift from sheer
unswerving impetus! If we could blossom
out of ourselves, giving
nothing imperfect, withholding nothing!
Denise Levertov
Fully occupied with growing--that'sthe amaryllis.
Growing especiallyat night:
it would takeonly a bit more patience than
I've got
to sit keeping watch with it till daylight;
the naked eye could register every hour's
increase in height.
Like a child against a barn door,
proudly topping each year's achievement,
steadily upgoes each green stem, smooth, matte,
traces of reddish purple at the base, and almost
imperceptible vertical ridges
running the length of them:
Two robust stems from each bulb,
sometimes with sturdy leaves for company,
elegant sweeps of blade with rounded points.
Aloft, the gravid buds, shiny with fullness.
One morning--and so soon!--the first flower
has opened when you wake.
Or you catch it poisedin a single, brief
moment of hesitation.
Next day, another,
shy at first like a foal,
even a third, a fourth,
carried triumphantly at the summit
of those strong columns, and each
a Juno, calm in brilliance,
a maiden giantess in modest splendor.
If humans could be
that intensely whole, undistracted, unhurried,
swift from sheer
unswerving impetus! If we could blossom
out of ourselves, giving
nothing imperfect, withholding nothing!
DD 5/17/05 POEM BY MICHELANGELO
For those who occasionally feel discouraged...
After Michelangelo had finished his work on the Sistine Chapel he wrote a poem of his agony during the painting of this Sistine Chapel.
I've got myself a goiter from this strain, As water gives the cats in Lombardy Or maybe it is in some other country; My belly's pushed by force beneath my chin.
My beard toward Heaven, I feel the back of my brain Upon my neck, I grow the breast of a Harpy; My brush, above my face continually, Makes a splendid floor by dripping down.
My Loins have penetrated to my paunch, My rump's a crupper, as a counterweight, And pointless the unseeing steps I go.
In front of me my skin is being stretched While it folds up behind and forms a knot, And I am bending like a Syrian bow.
And judgment, hence must grow, Borne in mind, peculiar and untrue; You cannot shoot well when the gun's askew.
John, come to the rescue Of my dead painting now, and of my honor; I'm not in a good place, and I'm no painter.
After Michelangelo had finished his work on the Sistine Chapel he wrote a poem of his agony during the painting of this Sistine Chapel.
I've got myself a goiter from this strain, As water gives the cats in Lombardy Or maybe it is in some other country; My belly's pushed by force beneath my chin.
My beard toward Heaven, I feel the back of my brain Upon my neck, I grow the breast of a Harpy; My brush, above my face continually, Makes a splendid floor by dripping down.
My Loins have penetrated to my paunch, My rump's a crupper, as a counterweight, And pointless the unseeing steps I go.
In front of me my skin is being stretched While it folds up behind and forms a knot, And I am bending like a Syrian bow.
And judgment, hence must grow, Borne in mind, peculiar and untrue; You cannot shoot well when the gun's askew.
John, come to the rescue Of my dead painting now, and of my honor; I'm not in a good place, and I'm no painter.
DD 12/11/07 LITTLE POEM BY STEVEN CANE
A man said to the universe, "
Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
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