Song of a Continent
A woman arrives in Virginia from Africa in chains. In this cruel new land she sings.
A woman arrives in New England more dead than alive. Was it blessing or curse she didn’t miscarry aboard ship? She gives birth to her daughter and sings.
In tobacco field, by lake shore, under redwood canopy, on canyon rim, a woman sings.
From Poland, Russia, Italy, China, Vietnam, Mexico more women arrive. Each sings in her own voice. That is her magic. When all learn to sing together, that is her strength.
Garden Gifts
My garden is a gift from God, Or as I should have known, It is the produce He provides; The garden stays His own.
And should God choose to give the gift To woodchucks, not to me, It’s churlish of me to begrudge His generosity.
Destination
From port to port I’ve sailed the charted course these forty years or more. There came to me a pleasure in emergencies that kill the dull routine of oft-repeated chores: A calm that nailed us to one spot of sea. My dunderheaded crew all drunk or ill found tasks like trimming sails beyond their grip. A storm that nearly sank us far from land. Fierce winds that broke the mast and tore the sails required the crew to jury-rig the ship. We once were boarded by a pirate band. But in the end the thrill of peril pales.
So when the opportunity appears, to set sail for the island, I agree. I never will, I know, return from there. The skills I’ve learned at sea these forty years— to read the sextant, prophesy the sea from clouds and from a feeling in the air, to lead the crew with mix of force and guile— All these and more will be required throughout the trip, but meet no need once journey’s done. My craft will count for nothing on that isle.
I’ve heard so many different tales about the island that I do not know which one to trust. And so I put my faith in none. But I have learned from men whom I esteem the landing will be rough, mid rocks and caves. The island silhouette has not begun to show on the horizon, still it seems my ears detect the roar of breaking waves.
The time approaches for the ship to berth. I do not fear the isle. I fear the surf.
Swept Away
This dome: so well constructed that it stood while everything on acres all around was swept away that dreadful August day when from the sky there fell a single bomb.
Terms like Mesozoic and the like were judged too hard for grade-school kids to learn. And so the textbook gave them simpler names; it called them Era of the Ancient Life, of Middle Life, of Modern Life. With these, our teacher Mrs. Keck said we must now include Atomic Age. How did she gain a wisdom giving her so clear a view?
The very air above Hiroshima was torn in two, and so was history. Along with buildings and the people there, the blast obliterated rationale for war as instrument for policy and claims of sovereignty by any land. What Mrs. Keck so quickly grasped back then, the leaders of the world have yet to learn.
Century for Freedom, Century for Peace
It is 1809. I will not write about the devotion of slaves to their masters, the benevolence of masters toward their slaves, the culture that leisure has allowed the masters to develop, the habit of hard work that has been instilled within the slaves. I will not write about the widows and orphans who would be destitute were it not for the slaves they own, nor of the morality that the religion of their masters has instilled in the slaves. In the cause of a greater good, I must reject both the half truths and the claptrap. I will never accept that I have a right to own another human merely because his skin color is different from my own. Then by the end of this century, slavery will be rare, and the world will find slavery and slave owners repugnant. And if anyone argues that these changes will come about not through any advance in human morality but through economic forces that have made slavery unprofitable and obsolete, I will not argue; I will only applaud the consequences.
It is 2009. I will not write about the camaraderie of a group of men thrown together to kill or be killed. I will not write about the sacrifices of our ancestors as they fought so that our country could prevail over another. I will not watch photographs, paintings, and films that glorify war. I will not watch parades or listen to speeches that extol the virtues of those warriors. I will not reiterate the advantages that combat brings to our rural and urban poor, opportunities to see other nations of the world and to develop the habits of discipline, obedience and respect for their superiors. I will not reiterate the benefits to the peoples in the lands we conquer, the presence of our young people and the plans our leaders make for their nation’s future. In the cause of a greater good, I must reject both the half truths and the claptrap. I will never accept that I have a right to kill another human merely because his nationality is different from my own. Then by the end of this century, war will be rare, and the world will find warfare and warriors repugnant. And if anyone argues that these changes will come about not through any advance in human morality but through advances in weaponry that have made warfare unprofitable and obsolete, I will not argue; I will only applaud the consequences.
|