This, however, was an atrocity -
Praise song for the day.
Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
WEW WEW - GRAMMAR POLICE - PULL OVER! Anyway -
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.
WOT?
This is why you should not ever recite poetry at an inauguration unless you are an obvious genius, as Robert Frost and Maya Angelou are/were. (Don't have much of an opinion on Miller Williams). When Robert Frost was selected as the first inaugural poet, the poor guy was 86 years old and didn't have it in him to read the poem he wrote for the occasion, so he recited one he knew by heart, which starts like this:
The land was ours before we were the land's.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people.
Ahhh..... that is like a warm comforting blanket compared to the nails on chalkboard of this "praise song," with its forced pretension and utter meaninglessness.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, any poet can be selected (apparently), any sentence passed off as meaningful.
Funny part, when the poem started people left in serious numbers
oh yes, I don't recommend cowboy poetry to anyone accept cowboys. And even then, only begrudgingly.
Bleh, if I want Western imagery I'll read Cormac McCarthy!
cowboy poetry isn't just a Texas thing. It is all over the west and tons of poets get up in cowboy-garb and pretend to be cowboys with deep, hardened souls. There are a bunch of actual cowboys who live the life and write poetry on the side. It is supposed to be simple verse written by hard men who lead hard lives. They hold conventions and everything.
But, I tried to find some poets from Texas and came across a list of Texas Poet Laureates over the years. There isn't much poetry going on in that state, as there has been quite a few dry spells.
:::link:::
I took a look - GWB never had a Poet Laureate as Governor of Texas. Cowboy philosophy expressed via poetry? It probably starts something like this -
Roses are red
violets are blue
Now that I've just disparaged the literary establishment of an entire state, can someone point me to a Texan poet of reknown?
Poetry is a written art for the most part. When I read her poem I liked it a lot more than when I heard it. There have only been a handful of poets I have seen whose work actually benefited from them reading it.
I do think that Bush should have had a cowboy poet at his inauguration. Big grey mustache, a red bandana tied around his neck, and a little camp fire next to the podium. Reading a poem with a title like "Gathering Colts" or "Cow Birth on my Gloves".
Agree about the Poet. Disagree about the speech.