English 11 Supplemental Readings
Mr. Roberson
Mrs. Ryan
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Unit One: The Elusive Destiny
Declaration of Independence – Thomas Jefferson……………………………….
I Hear America Singing – Walt Whitman………………………………………..
I Sing the Body Electric – Walt Whitman……………………………………….
Democracy – Leonard Cohen……………………………………………………
The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost…………………………………………….
Much Madness is divinest sense – Emily Dickinson……………………………
Anyone lived in a pretty how town – e.e. cummings……………………………
Excerpts from “A Model on Christian Charity – John Winthrop ………………
The Flesh and the Spirit – Anne Bradstreet…………………………………..…
As Weary Pilgrim – Anne Bradstreet…………………………………………...
For You – Carl Sandburg………………………………………………………..
The Gift – William Carlos Williams…………………………………………….
God’s World – Edna St. Vincent Millay………………………………………..
Black Rook in Rainy Weather – Sylvia Plath…………………………………..
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Unit Two: There is an “I” in everything
Incident – Countee Cullen………………………………………………………
I, Too – Langston Hughes………………………………………………………
Sympathy – Paul Laurence Dunbar…………………………………………….
We Wear the Masks – Paul Laurence Dunbar………………………………….
The Weary Blues – Langston Hughes………………………………………….
Translation- Adrienne Rich…………………………………………………….
Breaking Tradition- Janice Mirikitani………………………………………….
Suicide Note- Janice Mirikitani…………………………………………………
To Live in the Borderlands- Gloria Anzaldua………………………………….
Batteries and Futures not Included- Conor Rowell…………………………….
3rd Gender- Kit Yan…………………………………………………………….
The Tide Rises The Tide Falls – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow………………
The Bee Is Not Afraid of Me – Emily Dickinson……..………………………..
I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed – Emily Dickinson……………………………
May Flower – Emily Dickinson………………………………………………..
Nature – the Gentlest Mother is - Emily Dickinson……………………………
Pioneers! O Pioneers! – Walt Whitman.................................………………….
All Morning – Theodore Roethke………………………………………………
The Far Field – Theodore Roethke……………………………………………..
Song of the Redwood Tree – Walt Whitman…………………………………..
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Unit Three: The American Dream vs A Restless Nation
Harlem – Langston Hughes…………………………………………………….
Let America Be America Again – Langston Hughes…………………………..
America – Neil Diamond ………………………………………………………
I am Black Woman – Mari Evans ……………………………………………...
Dreaming America – Joyce Carol Oates………………………………………..
Daily Joy of Being Alive- Jimmy Santiago Baca……………………………….
**Restless Nation: Starting Over in America (excerpts in additional packet)
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Biographies of the Writers……………………………………………………..
Bibliography……………………………………………………………………
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Unit One: The Elusive
Destiny
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Declaration of Independence – Thomas Jefferson
When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the
political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the
powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of
nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they
should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are
endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are
instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That
whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the
people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on
such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely
to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long
established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all
experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are
sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are
accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the
same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it
is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future
security. --Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies; and such is now the
necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government. The history
of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all
having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these states. To
prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world.
He has refused his assent to laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of immediate and pressing importance,
unless suspended in their operation till his assent should be obtained; and when so
suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other laws for the accommodation of large districts of people,
unless those people would relinquish the right of representation in the legislature, a right
inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant
from the depository of their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into
compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his
invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected;
whereby the legislative powers, incapable of annihilation, have returned to the people at
large for their exercise; the state remaining in the meantime exposed to all the dangers of
invasion from without, and convulsions within.
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He has endeavored to prevent the population of these states; for that purpose obstructing
the laws for naturalization of foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their
migration hither, and raising the conditions of new appropriations of lands.
He has obstructed the administration of justice, by refusing his assent to laws for
establishing judiciary powers.
He has made judges dependent on his will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the
amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of new offices, and sent hither swarms of officers to harass
our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, standing armies without the consent of our
legislature.
He has affected to render the military independent of and superior to civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution,
and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his assent to their acts of pretended legislation:
For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by mock trial, from punishment for any murders which they should
commit on the inhabitants of these states:
For cutting off our trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing taxes on us without our consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of trial by jury:
For transporting us beyond seas to be tried for pretended offenses:
For abolishing the free system of English laws in a neighboring province, establishing
therein an arbitrary government, and enlarging its boundaries so as to render it at once an
example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule in these colonies:
For taking away our charters, abolishing our most valuable laws, and altering
fundamentally the forms of our governments:
For suspending our own legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to
legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated government here, by declaring us out of his protection and waging war
against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burned our towns, and destroyed the lives
of our people.
He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign mercenaries to complete the works
of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of cruelty and perfidy
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scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the head of a
civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow citizens taken captive on the high seas to bear arms against
their country, to become the executioners of their friends and brethren, or to fall
themselves by their hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavored to bring on the
inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian savages, whose known rule of warfare, is
undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.
In every stage of these oppressions we have petitioned for redress in the most humble
terms: our repeated petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A prince,
whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the
ruler of a free people.
Nor have we been wanting in attention to our British brethren. We have warned them
from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction
over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement
here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured
them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would
inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the
voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity,
which denounces our separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, enemies
in war, in peace friends.
We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress,
assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our
intentions, do, in the name, and by the authority of the good people of these colonies,
solemnly publish and declare, that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be free
and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown,
and that all political connection between them and the state of Great Britain, is and ought
to be totally dissolved; and that as free and independent states, they have full power to
levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts
and things which independent states may of right do. And for the support of this
declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually
pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.
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I Hear America Singing – Walt Whitman
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the
steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The woodcutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon
intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or
washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
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I Sing the Body Electric – Walt Whitman
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I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
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The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself
balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.
The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of
his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist
and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.
The sprawl and fullness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the
folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the
contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through
the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls
silently to and from the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the
horse-man in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open
dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer's daughter in the garden or
cow-yard,
The young fellow hosing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six
horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty,
good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown after work,
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The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine
muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes
suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv'd
neck and the counting;
Such-like I love--I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother's
breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with
the firemen, and pause, listen, count.
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I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.
This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and
beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness
and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were
massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,
He drank water only, the blood show'd like scarlet through the
clear-brown skin of his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail'd his boat himself, he
had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had
fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish,
you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit
by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.
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I have perceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly
round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.
There is something in staying close to men and women and looking
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on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.
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This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what
was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response
likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all
diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling
and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of
love, white-blow and delirious nice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day.
This the nucleus--after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the
outlet again.
Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the
exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.
The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.
As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness,
sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.
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The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
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He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is
utmost become him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to
the test of himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes
soundings at last only here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)
The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred--is it the meanest one in the
laborers' gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as
much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.
(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)
Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has
no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and
the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?
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A man's body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.
Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one
animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.
In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.
Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in
tendon and nerve,
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They shall be stript that you may see them.
Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby,
good-sized arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.
Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires,
reachings, aspirations,
(Do you think they are not there because they are not express'd in
parlors and lecture-rooms?)
This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be
fathers in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.
How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring
through the centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace
back through the centuries?)
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A woman's body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.
Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations
and times all over the earth?
If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more
beautiful than the most beautiful face.
Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool
that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.
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O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and
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women, nor the likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of
the soul, (and that they are the soul,)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and
that they are my poems,
Man's, woman's, child, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's,
father's, young man's, young woman's poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or
sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the
ample side-round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger,
finger-joints, finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round,
man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your
body or of any one's body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping,
love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked
meat of the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward
toward the knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the
marrow in the bones,
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,
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O I say now these are the soul!
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Democracy – Leonard Cohen
It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that this ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the wars against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming through a crack in the wall;
on a visionary flood of alcohol;
from the staggering account
of the Sermon on the Mount
which I don't pretend to understand at all.
It's coming from the silence
on the dock of the bay,
from the brave, the bold, the battered
heart of Chevrolet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the sorrow in the street,
the holy places where the races meet;
from the homicidal bitchin'
that goes down in every kitchen
to determine who will serve and who will eat.
From the wells of disappointment
where the women kneel to pray
for the grace of God in the desert here
and the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on
O mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
Past the Reefs of Greed
Through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail on.
It's coming to America first,
the cradle of the best and of the worst.
It's here they got the range
and the machinery for change
and it's here they got the spiritual thirst.
It's here the family's broken
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and it's here the lonely say
that the heart has got to open
in a fundamental way:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming from the women and the men.
O baby, we'll be making love again.
We'll be going down so deep
the river's going to weep,
and the mountain's going to shout Amen!
It's coming like the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway,
imperial, mysterious,
in amorous array:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
Sail on, sail on ...
I'm sentimental, if you know what I mean
I love the country but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I'm junk but I'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
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The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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Much Madness is divinest Sense – Emily Dickinson
Much Madness is divinest Sense -To a discerning Eye -Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -Assent -- and you are sane -Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -And handled with a Chain –
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anyone lived in a pretty how town – e.e. cummings
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did
Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then) they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men (both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
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Excerpts from “A Model on Christian Charity” by John Winthrop
There are two rules whereby we are to walk one towards another: Justice and
Mercy. These are always distinguished in their act and in their object, yet may they both
concur in the same subject in each respect; as sometimes there may be an occasion of
showing mercy to a rich man in some sudden danger or distress, and also doing of mere
justice to a poor man in regard of some particular contract, etc. There is likewise a double Law by which we are regulated in our conversation
towards another. In both the former respects, the Law of Nature and the Law of Grace
(that is, the moral law or the law of the gospel) to omit the rule of justice as not properly
belonging to this purpose otherwise than it may fall into consideration in some particular
cases. By the first of these laws, man as he was enabled so withal is commanded to love
his neighbor as himself. Upon this ground stands all the precepts of the moral law, which
concerns our dealings with men. To apply this to the works of mercy, this law requires
two things. First, that every man afford his help to another in every want or distress. Secondly, that he perform this out of the same affection which makes him careful
of his own goods, according to the words of our Savior (from Matthew 7:12), whatsoever
ye would that men should do to you. This was practiced by Abraham and Lot in
entertaining the angels and the old man of Gibea. The law of Grace or of the Gospel hath
some difference from the former (the law of nature), as in these respects: First, the law of
nature was given to man in the estate of innocence. This of the Gospel in the estate of
regeneracy. Secondly, the former propounds one man to another, as the same flesh and
image of God. This as a brother in Christ also, and in the communion of the same Spirit,
and so teacheth to put a difference between Christians and others. Do good to all,
especially to the household of faith. Upon this ground the Israelites were to put a
difference between the brethren of such as were strangers, though not of the
Canaanites.
Thirdly, the Law of Nature would give no rules for dealing with enemies, for all
are to be considered as friends in the state of innocence, but the Gospel commands love
to an enemy. Proof: If thine enemy hunger, feed him; "Love your enemies... Do good to
them that hate you" (Matt. 5:44). This law of the Gospel propounds likewise a difference of seasons and occasions.
There is a time when a Christian must sell all and give to the poor, as they did in the
Apostles’ times. There is a time also when Christians (though they give not all yet) must
give beyond their ability, as they of Macedonia (2 Cor. 8). Likewise, community of perils
calls for extraordinary liberality, and so doth community in some special service for the
church. Lastly, when there is no other means whereby our Christian brother may be
relieved in his distress, we must help him beyond our ability rather than tempt God in
putting him upon help by miraculous or extraordinary means. This duty of mercy is
exercised in the kinds: giving, lending and forgiving (of a debt).
…
It rests now to make some application of this discourse, by the present design,
which gave the occasion of writing of it. Herein are four things to be propounded; first
the persons, secondly, the work, thirdly the end, fourthly the means. First, for the persons. We are a company professing ourselves fellow members of
Christ, in which respect only, though we were absent from each other many miles, and
21
had our employments as far distant, yet we ought to account ourselves knit together by
this bond of love and live in the exercise of it, if we would have comfort of our being in
Christ. This was notorious in the practice of the Christians in former times; as is testified
of the Waldenses, from the mouth of one of the adversaries Aeneas Sylvius "mutuo
ament pene antequam norunt" --- they use to love any of their own religion even before
they were acquainted with them. Secondly for the work we have in hand. It is by a mutual consent, through a
special overvaluing providence and a more than an ordinary approbation of the churches
of Christ, to seek out a place of cohabitation and consortship under a due form of
government both civil and ecclesiastical. In such cases as this, the care of the public must
oversway all private respects, by which, not only conscience, but mere civil policy, doth
bind us. For it is a true rule that particular estates cannot subsist in the ruin of the public.
Thirdly, the end is to improve our lives to do more service to the Lord; the
comfort and increase of the body of Christ, whereof we are members, that ourselves and
posterity may be the better preserved from the common corruptions of this evil world, to
serve the Lord and work out our salvation under the power and purity of his holy
ordinances. Fourthly, for the means whereby this must be effected. They are twofold, a
conformity with the work and end we aim at. These we see are extraordinary, therefore
we must not content ourselves with usual ordinary means. Whatsoever we did, or ought
to have done, when we lived in England, the same must we do, and more also, where we
go. That which the most in their churches maintain as truth in profession only, we must
bring into familiar and constant practice; as in this duty of love, we must love brotherly
without dissimulation, we must love one another with a pure heart fervently. We must
bear one another’s burdens. We must not look only on our own things, but also on the
things of our brethren. Neither must we think that the Lord will bear with such failings at our hands as he
doth from those among whom we have lived; and that for these three reasons: First, in regard of the more near bond of marriage between Him and us, wherein
He hath taken us to be His, after a most strict and peculiar manner, which will make Him
the more jealous of our love and obedience. So He tells the people of Israel, you only
have I known of all the families of the earth, therefore will I punish you for your
transgressions. Secondly, because the Lord will be sanctified in them that come near Him. We
know that there were many that corrupted the service of the Lord; some setting up altars
before his own; others offering both strange fire and strange sacrifices also; yet there
came no fire from heaven, or other sudden judgment upon them, as did upon Nadab and
Abihu, whom yet we may think did not sin presumptuously. Thirdly, when God gives a special commission He looks to have it strictly
observed in every article; When He gave Saul a commission to destroy Amaleck, He
indented with him upon certain articles, and because he failed in one of the least, and that
upon a fair pretense, it lost him the kingdom, which should have been his reward, if he
had observed his commission. Thus stands the cause between God and us. We are entered into covenant with
Him for this work. We have taken out a commission. The Lord hath given us leave to
draw our own articles. We have professed to enterprise these and those accounts, upon
22
these and those ends. We have hereupon besought Him of favor and blessing. Now if the
Lord shall please to hear us, and bring us in peace to the place we desire, then hath He
ratified this covenant and sealed our commission, and will expect a strict performance of
the articles contained in it; but if we shall neglect the observation of these articles which
are the ends we have propounded, and, dissembling with our God, shall fall to embrace
this present world and prosecute our carnal intentions, seeking great things for ourselves
and our posterity, the Lord will surely break out in wrath against us, and be revenged of
such a people, and make us know the price of the breach of such a covenant. Now the only way to avoid this shipwreck, and to provide for our posterity, is to
follow the counsel of Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God.
For this end, we must be knit together, in this work, as one man. We must entertain each
other in brotherly affection. We must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities,
for the supply of others’ necessities. We must uphold a familiar commerce together in all
meekness, gentleness, patience and liberality. We must delight in each other; make
others’ conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together,
always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members
of the same body. So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace. The Lord
will be our God, and delight to dwell among us, as His own people, and will command a
blessing upon us in all our ways, so that we shall see much more of His wisdom, power,
goodness and truth, than formerly we have been acquainted with. We shall find that the
God of Israel is among us, when ten of us shall be able to resist a thousand of our
enemies; when He shall make us a praise and glory that men shall say of succeeding
plantations, "may the Lord make it like that of New England." For we must consider that
we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us. So that if we shall
deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken, and so cause Him to
withdraw His present help from us, we shall be made a story and a by-word through the
world. We shall open the mouths of enemies to speak evil of the ways of God, and all
professors for God's sake. We shall shame the faces of many of God's worthy servants,
and cause their prayers to be turned into curses upon us till we be consumed out of the
good land whither we are going. And to shut this discourse with that exhortation of Moses, that faithful servant of
the Lord, in his last farewell to Israel, Deut. 30. "Beloved, there is now set before us life
and death, good and evil," in that we are commanded this day to love the Lord our God,
and to love one another, to walk in his ways and to keep his Commandments and his
ordinance and his laws, and the articles of our Covenant with Him, that we may live and
be multiplied, and that the Lord our God may bless us in the land whither we go to
possess it. But if our hearts shall turn away, so that we will not obey, but shall be
seduced, and worship other Gods, our pleasure and profits, and serve them; it is
propounded unto us this day, we shall surely perish out of the good land whither we pass
over this vast sea to possess it. Therefore let us choose life, that we and our seed may
live, by obeying His voice and cleaving to Him, for He is our life and our prosperity.
23
The Flesh and the Spirit – Anne Bradstreet
In secret place where once I stood
Close by the Banks of Lacrim flood,
I heard two sisters reason on
Things that are past and things to come.
One Flesh was call’d, who had her eye
On worldly wealth and vanity;
The other Spirit, who did rear
Her thoughts unto a higher sphere.
“Sister,” quoth Flesh, “what liv’st thou on
Nothing but Meditation?
Doth Contemplation feed thee so
Regardlessly to let earth go?
Can Speculation satisfy
Notion without Reality?
Dost dream of things beyond the Moon
And dost thou hope to dwell there soon?
Hast treasures there laid up in store
That all in th’ world thou count’st but poor?
Art fancy-sick or turn’d a Sot
To catch at shadows which are not?
Come, come. I’ll show unto thy sense,
Industry hath its recompence.
What canst desire, but thou maist see
True substance in variety?
Dost honour like? Acquire the same,
As some to their immortal fame;
And trophies to thy name erect
Which wearing time shall ne’er deject.
For riches dost thou long full sore?
Behold enough of precious store.
Earth hath more silver, pearls, and gold
Than eyes can see or hands can hold.
Affects thou pleasure? Take thy fill.
Earth hath enough of what you will.
Then let not go what thou maist find
For things unknown only in mind.”
Spirit.
“Be still, thou unregenerate part,
Disturb no more my settled heart,
For I have vow’d (and so will do)
Thee as a foe still to pursue,
And combat with thee will and must
Until I see thee laid in th’ dust.
Sister we are, yea twins we be,
24
Yet deadly feud ‘twixt thee and me,
For from one father are we not.
Thou by old Adam wast begot,
But my arise is from above,
Whence my dear father I do love.
Thou speak’st me fair but hat’st me sore.
Thy flatt’ring shews I’ll trust no more.
How oft thy slave hast thou me made
When I believ’d what thou hast said
And never had more cause of woe
Than when I did what thou bad’st do.
I’ll stop mine ears at these thy charms
And count them for my deadly harms.
Thy sinful pleasures I do hate,
Thy riches are to me no bait.
Thine honours do, nor will I love,
For my ambition lies above.
My greatest honour it shall be
When I am victor over thee,
And Triumph shall, with laurel head,
When thou my Captive shalt be led.
How I do live, thou need’st not scoff,
For I have meat thou know’st not of.
The hidden Manna I do eat;
The word of life, it is my meat.
My thoughts do yield me more content
Than can thy hours in pleasure spent.
Nor are they shadows which I catch,
Nor fancies vain at which I snatch
But reach at things that are so high,
Beyond thy dull Capacity.
Eternal substance I do see
With which inriched I would be.
Mine eye doth pierce the heav’ns and see
What is Invisible to thee.
My garments are not silk nor gold,
Nor such like trash which Earth doth hold,
But Royal Robes I shall have on,
More glorious than the glist’ring Sun.
My Crown not Diamonds, Pearls, and gold,
But such as Angels’ heads infold.
The City where I hope to dwell,
There’s none on Earth can parallel.
The stately Walls both high and trong
Are made of precious Jasper stone,
The Gates of Pearl, both rich and clear,
And Angels are for Porters there.
25
The Streets thereof transparent gold
Such as no Eye did e’re behold.
A Crystal River there doth run
Which doth proceed from the Lamb’s Throne.
Of Life, there are the waters sure
Which shall remain forever pure.
Nor Sun nor Moon they have no need
For glory doth from God proceed.
No Candle there, nor yet Torch light,
For there shall be no darksome night.
From sickness and infirmity
Forevermore they shall be free.
Nor withering age shall e’re come there,
But beauty shall be bright and clear.
This City pure is not for thee,
For things unclean there shall not be.
If I of Heav’n may have my fill,
Take thou the world, and all that will.”
26
As Weary Pilgrim – Anne Bradstreet
As weary pilgrim, now at rest,
Hugs with delight his silent nest,
His wasted limbs now lie full soft
That mirey steps have trodden oft,
Blesses himself to think upon
His dangers past, and travails done.
The burning sun no more shall heat,
Nor stormy rains on him shall beat.
The briars and thorns no more shall scratch,
Nor hungry wolves at him shall catch.
He erring paths no more shall tread,
Nor wild fruits eat instead of bread.
For waters cold he doth not long
For thirst no more shall parch his tongue.
No rugged stones his feet shall gall,
Nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall.
All cares and fears he bids farewell
And means in safety now to dwell.
A pilgrim I, on earth perplexed
With Sins, with cares and sorrows vext,
By age and pains brought to decay,
And my clay house mold’ring away.
Oh, how I long to be at rest
And soar on high among the blest.
This body shall in silence sleep,
Mine eyes no more shall ever weep,
No fainting fits shall me assail,
Nor grinding pains my body frail,
With cares and fears ne’er cumb’red be
Nor losses know, nor sorrows see.
What though my flesh shall there consume,
It is the bed Christ did perfume,
And when a few years shall be gone,
This mortal shall be clothed upon.
A corrupt carcass down it lies,
A glorious body it shall rise.
In weakness and dishonour sown,
In power ’tis raised by Christ alone.
Then soul and body shall unite
And of their Maker have the sight.
Such lasting joys shall there behold
As ear ne’er heard nor tongue e’er told.
Lord make me ready for that day,
Then come, dear Bridegroom, come away.
27
For You – Carl Sandburg
The peace of great doors be for you. Wait at the knobs, at the panel oblongs. Wait for the great hinges.
The peace of great churches be for you, Where the players of loft pipe organs Practice old lovely fragments, alone.
The peace of great books be for you, Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages, Bleach of the light of years held in leather.
The peace of great prairies be for you. Listen among windplayers in cornfields, The wind learning over its oldest music,
The peace of great seas be for you. Wait on a hook of land, a rock footing For you, wait in the salt wash.
The peace of great mountains be for you,
The sleep and the eyesight of eagles,
Sheet mist shadows and the long look across.
The peace of great hearts be for you, Valves of the blood of the sun, Pumps of the strongest wants we cry. The peace of great silhouettes be for you, Shadow dancers alive in your blood now, Alive and crying, " Let us out, let us out"
The peace of great changes be for you. Whisper, Oh beginners in the hills. Tumble, Oh cubs—to-morrow belongs to you.
The peace of great loves be for you.
Rain, soak these roots; wind, shatter the dry rot.
Bars of sunlight, grips of the earth, hug these.
The peace of great ghosts be for you,
Phantoms of night-gray eyes, ready to go
To the fog-star dumps, to the fire-white doors.
Yes, the peace of great phantoms be for you, 28
Phantom iron men, mothers of bronze, Keepers of the lean clean breeds.
29
The Gift – William Carlos Williams
As the wise men of old brought gifts
guided by a star
to the humble birthplace
of the god of love,
the devils
as an old print shows
retreated in confusion.
What could a baby know
of gold ornaments
or frankincense and myrrh,
of priestly robes
and devout genuflections?
But the imagination
knows all stories
before they are told and knows the truth of this one
past all defection
The rich gifts so unsuitable for a child
though devoutly proffered,
stood for all that love can bring.
The men were old
how could they know
of a mother's needs
or a child's appetite?
But as they kneeled
the child was fed.
They saw it
and gave praise!
A miracle
had taken place,
hard gold to love,
30
a mother's milk!
before their wondering eyes.
The ass brayed
the cattle lowed.
It was their nature.
All men by their nature give praise.
It is all
they can do.
The very devils by their flight give praise.
What is death,
beside this?
Nothing. The wise men
came with gifts
and bowed down to worship
this perfection.
31
God’s World – Edna St. Vincent Millay
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart, -- Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year;
My soul is all but out of me, -- let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
32
Black Rook in Rainy Weather – Sylvia Plath
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident
To set the sight on fire
In my eye, not seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Leap incandescent
Out of the kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then ---
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent
By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant
Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
33
The long wait for the angel.
For that rare, random descent.
34
Unit Two: There is an “I” in
Everything
35
Incident – Countee Cullen
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."
I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That's all that I remember.
36
I, too – Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed-I, too, am America.
37
Sympathy – Paul Laurence Dunbar
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, And the faint perfume from its chalice steals — I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars And they pulse again with a keener sting — I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,— When he beats his bars and he would be free; It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings — I know why the caged bird sings!
38
We Wear the Mask – Paul Laurence Dunbar
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes-This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but oh great Christ, our cries
To Thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
39
The Weary Blues – Langston Hughes
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan-"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more-"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied-I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.
40
Translations- Adrienne Rich
December 25, 1972
You show me the poems of some woman
my age, or younger
translated from your language
Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow
enough to let me know
she's a woman of my time
obsessed
with Love, our subject:
we've trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power
I begin to see that woman
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn
trying to make a call
from a phonebooth
The phone rings endlessly
in a man's bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
Never mind. She'll get tired.
hears him telling her story to her sister
who becomes her enemy
and will in her own way
light her own way to sorrow
ignorant of the fact this way of grief
is shared, unnecessary
and political
41
Breaking Tradition- Janice Mirikitani
My daughter denies she is like me,
her secretive eyes avoid mine.
She reveals the hatreds of womanhood
already veiled behind music and smoke and telephones.
I want to tell her about the empty room
of myself.
This room we lock ourselves in
where whispers live like fungus,
giggles about small breasts and cellulite
where we confine ourselves to jealousies,
bedridden by menstruation.
The waiting room where we feel our hands
are useless, dead speechless clamps
that need hospitals and forceps and kitchens
and plugs and ironing boards to make them useful.
I deny I am like my mother. I remember why:
She kept her room neat with silence,
defiance smothered in requirements to be otonashii;
passion and loudness wrapped in an obi,
her steps confined to ceremony,
the weight of her sacrifice she carries like
a foetus. Guilt passed on in our bones.
I want to break tradition -- unlock this room
where women dress in the dark
Discover the lies my mother told me.
The lies that we are small and powerless
that our possibilities must be compressed
to the size of pearls, displayed only as
passive chokers, charms around our neck.
Break Tradition.
I want to tell my daughter of this room
of myself
filled with tears of shakuhachi,
the light in my hands,
poems about madness,
the music of yellow guitars-sounds shaken from barbed wire and
goodbyes and miracles of survival.
This room of open window where daring ones escape
My daughter denies she is like me
her secretive eyes are walls of smoke
and music and telephones,
her pouting ruby lips, her skirts
swaying to salsa, Madonna and the Stones,
42
her thighs displayed in carnivals of color.
I do not know the contents of her room.
She mirrors my aging.
She is breaking tradition.
43
Suicide Note - Janice Mirikitani
How many notes written . . .
ink smeared like birdprints in snow.
not good enough not pretty enough not smart enough
dear mother and father.
I apologize
for disappointing you.
I've worked very hard,
not good enough
harder, perhaps to please you.
If only I were a son, shoulders broad
as the sunset threading through pine,
I would see the light in my mother's
eyes, or the golden pride reflected
in my father's dream
of my wide, male hands worthy of work
and comfort.
I would swagger through life
muscled and bold and assured,
drawing praises to me
like currents in the bed of wind, virile
with confidence.
not good enough not strong enough not good enough
I apologize.
Tasks do not come easily.
Each failure, a glacier.
Each disapproval, a bootprint.
Each disappointment,
ice above my river.
So I have worked hard.
not good enough.
My sacrifice I will drop
bone by bone, perched
on the ledge of my womanhood,
fragile as wings.
not strong enough
It is snowing steadily
surely not good weather
for flying - this sparrow
sillied and dizzied by the wind
on the edge.
not smart enough.
I make this ledge my altar
to offer penance.
This air will not hold me,
44
the snow burdens my crippled wings,
my tears drop like bitter cloth
softly into the gutter below.
not good enough not strong enough not smart enough
Choices thin as shaved
ice. Notes shredded
drift like snow
on my broken body,
covers me like whispers
of sorries.
Perhaps when they find me
they will bury
my bird bones beneath
a sturdy pine
and scatter my feathers like
unspoken song
over this white and cold and silent
breast of earth.
45
To Live in the Borderlands- Gloria Anzaldua
To live in the Borderlands means you
are neither hispana india negra espanola ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed
caught in the crossfire between camps while carrying all five races on your back not
knowing which side to turn to, run from;
To live in the Borderlands means knowing that the india in you, betrayed for Soo years, is
no longer speaking to you, that mexicanas call you rajetas, that denying the Anglo inside
you is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;
Cuando vives en la frontera
people walk through you, the wind steals your voice, you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat,
forerunner of a new race, half and half-both woman and man, neithera new gender;
To live in the Borderlands means to put chile in the borscht, eat whole wheat tortillas,
speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent; be stopped by la migra at the border
checkpoints;
Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to resist the gold elixir beckoning from
the bottle, the pull of the gun barrel, the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;
In the Borderlands you are the battleground where enemies are kin to each other; you are
at home, a stranger, the border disputes have been settled the volley of shots have
shattered the truce you are wounded, lost in action dead, fighting back;
To live in the Borderlands means the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off
your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart pound you pinch you roll you out
smelling like white bread but dead;
To survive the Borderlands you must live sin fronteras be a crossroads.
46
Batteries & Futures Not Included- Conor Rowell
Ugh,
the fluorescent lights are killing me.
Somehow,
they reflect on the cheap off-white tiles
beneath my worn-out sneakers.
Okay, why am I here again?
Oh that's right...
Toy aisle.
Which is a total misnomer
because there is never just
one aisle of sweatshop joys.
Alright, here we are:
Boys or Girls Toys
Did I take my Xanax?
Yeah I did.
A present for my little girl.
Peering into the girls' aisle,
my senses fill with pink,
and plush,
and lace(?!)
and oh god that blond stereotype doll.
No I can't get these;
here is where young girls find their first paradox.
Maybe she'd like a boy toy better
(Well, not in that sense until she's older).
Army men,
fast cars,
guns,
tight muscles
yet no genitals;
here is where young boys find their first paradox.
What can I do?
47
3rd Gender- Kit Yan
all right so gender should be as simple as gay or straight
cuz if you are attracted to the opposite gender
you’re straight
if you are attracted to the same gender
well i guess you’re gay
therefore if you have a penis you’re a man
and if you have a vagina you’re a woman
straight shot
straight answer
gender
see gender is man next to woman
not touching but separate
gender is america’s controlled nationalism bullshit
gender is birth certificates for babies born into gender
housing applications check boxes and even getting an email address
this is gender
but i ask you
is it truly worth
embarrassment
imprisonment
or harassment
for your gender identity?
so excuse me are you a man or are you a woman
48
and you’ve changed your name to Kit now
so do you wanna be straight?
and you look like a boy now so you’re straight, right?
but back when you were Laura you were gay
as if sexuality and gender were something that you could purchase on impulse
pulling up to the register and carefully picking out
gay straight
man or woman
neatly packaged for easy consumption
then you should be able to do it with ease
purchasing a gold foiled bar of gay and plastic bag of man
and walking out of that grocery store fabulously onto the set of Queer Eye
but it’s not that easy
because sometimes my gender is
boy who looks like a girl who likes boys
and sometimes my gender is trans
and sometimes my gender is chilling out in between
but most of the time my gender is f*@! you mind your own business
but it can’t be that way
because gender is so rigidly defined
neatly outlined and nicely colonized
organized and clearly understandable
yet the gap is becoming gendered and
i’m standing in line for the bathroom with
49
girls birls boys bis transsexual transgendered queer questioning curious polyamorous
intersexed flexual asexual trisexual omnisexual multisexual pansexual gender neutral
genderqueer multigendered androgynous drag king drag queen butch femme fairy twospirit bear dyke lipstick tranny boi (with an i) ftm mtf boydyke bi-dyke half-dyke
queerboi ex-straight and that’s just the beginning
but ask a member of the Zuni tribe about the lhamana’s gender
and they’ll tell you it’s lhamana
the South Asians about the hijaras
and they’ll tell you that it’s hijaras
the Hawaiians about mahus
and they’ll tell you that it’s mahu
the Americans about the trannies
and they’ll tell you that they don’t know
see there may be as many as a million genders identities and sexualities
just floating around waiting for the right person to snatch them up
put them on and proudly parade around in their new skin
unrestricted by layers and identity
or limitations of culture society or social construction
this new gender is a function of inner desire and
genuine understanding of self to be lived
so go ahead
and show us where the bathroom is
50
51
The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveler hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore.
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
52
The Bee Is Not Afraid of Me – Emily Dickinson
The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially -The Brooks laugh louder when I come -The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?
53
I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed – Emily Dickinson
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
When the landlord turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
54
May Flower – Emily Dickinson
Pink, small, and punctual,
Aromatic, low,
Covert in April,
Candid in May,
Dear to the moss,
Known by the knoll,
Next to the robin
In every human soul.
Bold little beauty,
Bedecked with thee,
Nature forswears
Antiquity.
55
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is – Emily Dickinson
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child -The feeblest -- or the waywardest -Her Admonition mild -In Forest -- and the Hill -By Traveller -- be heard -Restraining Rampant Squirrel -Or too impetuous Bird -How fair Her Conversation -A Summer Afternoon -Her Household -- Her Assembly -And when the Sun go down -Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket -The most unworthy Flower -When all the Children sleep -She turns as long away
As will suffice to light Her lamps -Then bending from the Sky -With infinite Affection -And infiniter Care -Her Golden finger on Her lip -Wills Silence -- Everywhere –
56
Pioneers! O Pioneers! – Walt Whitman
Come my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!
For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental
blood intervein'd,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
57
O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,
(bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang'd and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon'd mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
See my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
On and on the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill'd,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill'd.
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the pulses of the world,
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Life's involv'd and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
58
Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,
We to-day's procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Not for delectations sweet,
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock'd and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding
on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the daybreak call--hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,
Swift! to the head of the army!--swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
59
All Morning – Theodore Roethke
Here in our aging district the wood pigeon lives with us,
His deep-throated cooing part of the early morning,
Far away, close-at-hand, his call floating over the on-coming traffic,
The lugubriously beautiful plaint uttered at regular intervals,
A protest from the past, a reminder.
They sit, three or four, high in the fir-trees back of the house,
Flapping away heavily when a car blasts too close,
And one drops down to the garden, the high rhododendron,
Only to fly over to his favorite perch, the cross-bar of a telephone pole;
Grave, hieratic, a piece of Assyrian sculpture,
A thing carved of stone or wood, with the dull iridescence of long-polished wood,
Looking at you without turning his small head,
With a round vireo's eye, quiet and contained,
Part of the landscape.
And the Steller jay, raucous, sooty headed, lives with us,
Conducting his long wars with the neighborhood cats,
All during mating season,
Making a racket to wake the dead,
To distract attention from the short-tailed ridiculous young ones
Hiding deep in the blackberry bushes—
What a scuttling and rapping along the drainpipes,
A fury of jays, diving and squawking,
When our spayed female cat yawns and stretches out in the sunshine—
And the wrens scold, and the chickadees frisk and frolic,
Pitching lightly over the high hedgerows, dee-deeing,
And the ducks near Lake Washington waddle down the highway after a rain,
Stopping traffic, indignant as addled old ladies,
Pecking at crusts and peanuts, their green necks glittering;
And the hummingbird dips in and around the quince tree,
Veering close to my head,
Then whirring off sideways to the top of the hawthorn,
Its almost-invisible wings, buzzing, hitting the loose leaves intermittently—
A delirium of birds!
Peripheral dippers come to rest on the short grass,
Their heads jod-jodding like pigeons;
The gulls, the gulls far from their waves
Rising, wheeling away with harsh cries,
Coming down on a patch of lawn:
It is neither spring nor summer: it is Always,
With towhees, finches, chickadees, California quail, wood doves,
With wrens, sparrows, juncos, cedar waxwings, flickers,
With Baltimore orioles, Michigan bobolinks,
And those birds forever dead,
60
The passenger pigeon, the great auk, the Carolina paraquet,
All birds remembered, O never forgotten!
All in my yard, of a perpetual Sunday,
All morning! All morning!
61
The Far Field – Theodore Roethke
I
I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut,
Where the car stalls,
Churning in a snowdrift
Until the headlights darken.
II
At the field's end, in the corner missed by the mower,
Where the turf drops off into a grass-hidden culvert,
Haunt of the cat-bird, nesting-place of the field-mouse,
Not too far away from the ever-changing flower-dump,
Among the tin cans, tires, rusted pipes, broken machinery, --
One learned of the eternal;
And in the shrunken face of a dead rat, eaten by rain and ground-beetles
(I found in lying among the rubble of an old coal bin)
And the tom-cat, caught near the pheasant-run,
Its entrails strewn over the half-grown flowers,
Blasted to death by the night watchman.
I suffered for young birds, for young rabbits caught in the mower,
My grief was not excessive.
For to come upon warblers in early May
Was to forget time and death:
How they filled the oriole's elm, a twittering restless cloud, all one morning,
And I watched and watched till my eyes blurred from the bird shapes, -- Cape May, Blackburnian, Cerulean, -- Moving, elusive as fish, fearless, Hanging, bunched like young fruit, bending the end branches,
Still for a moment,
Then pitching away in half-flight,
Lighter than finches,
While the wrens bickered and sang in the half-green hedgerows,
62
And the flicker drummed from his dead tree in the chicken-yard.
-- Or to lie naked in sand,
In the silted shallows of a slow river,
Fingering a shell,
Thinking:
Once I was something like this, mindless,
Or perhaps with another mind, less peculiar;
Or to sink down to the hips in a mossy quagmire;
Or, with skinny knees, to sit astride a wet log,
Believing:
I'll return again,
As a snake or a raucous bird,
Or, with luck, as a lion.
I learned not to fear infinity,
The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,
The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,
The wheel turning away from itself,
The sprawl of the wave,
The on-coming water.
III
The river turns on itself,
The tree retreats into its own shadow.
I feel a weightless change, a moving forward
As of water quickening before a narrowing channel
When banks converge, and the wide river whitens;
Or when two rivers combine, the blue glacial torrent
And the yellowish-green from the mountainy upland, -- At first a swift rippling between rocks,
Then a long running over flat stones
Before descending to the alluvial plane,
To the clay banks, and the wild grapes hanging from the elmtrees.
The slightly trembling water
Dropping a fine yellow silt where the sun stays;
And the crabs bask near the edge,
The weedy edge, alive with small snakes and bloodsuckers, -- I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
63
My mind moves in more than one place,
In a country half-land, half-water.
I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.
IV
The lost self changes,
Turning toward the sea,
A sea-shape turning around, -- An old man with his feet before the fire,
In robes of green, in garments of adieu.
A man faced with his own immensity
Wakes all the waves, all their loose wandering fire.
The murmur of the absolute, the why
Of being born falls on his naked ears.
His spirit moves like monumental wind
That gentles on a sunny blue plateau.
He is the end of things, the final man.
All finite things reveal infinitude: The mountain with its singular bright shade
Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow, The after-light upon ice-burdened pines;
Odor of basswood on a mountain-slope,
A scent beloved of bees;
Silence of water above a sunken tree : The pure serene of memory in one man, --
A ripple widening from a single stone
Winding around the waters of the world.
64
Song of the Redwood Tree – Walt Whitman
1
A CALIFORNIA song!
A prophecy and indirection—a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air;
A chorus of dryads, fading, departing—or hamadryads departing;
A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky,
Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.
Farewell, my brethren,
Farewell, O earth and sky—farewell, ye neighboring waters;
My time has ended, my term has come.
2
Along the northern coast,
Just back from the rock-bound shore, and the caves,
In the saline air from the sea, in the Mendocino country,
With the surge for bass and accompaniment low and hoarse,
With crackling blows of axes, sounding musically, driven by strong arms,
Riven deep by the sharp tongues of the axes—there in the Redwood forest dense,
I heard the mighty tree its death-chant chanting.
The choppers heard not—the camp shanties echoed not;
The quick-ear’d teamsters, and chain and jack-screw men, heard not,
As the wood-spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years, to join the refrain;
But in my soul I plainly heard.
Murmuring out of its myriad leaves,
Down from its lofty top, rising two hundred feet high,
Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs—out of its foot-thick bark,
That chant of the seasons and time—chant, not of the past only, but the future.
3
You untold life of me,
And all you venerable and innocent joys,
Perennial, hardy life of me, with joys, ’mid rain, and many a summer sun,
And the white snows, and night, and the wild winds;
O the great patient, rugged joys! my soul’s strong joys, unreck’d by man;
(For know I bear the soul befitting me—I too have consciousness, identity,
And all the rocks and mountains have—and all the earth;)
Joys of the life befitting me and brothers mine,
Our time, our term has come.
Nor yield we mournfully, majestic brothers,
We who have grandly fill’d our time;
With Nature’s calm content, and tacit, huge delight,
We welcome what we wrought for through the past,
65
And leave the field for them.
For them predicted long,
For a superber Race—they too to grandly fill their time,
For them we abdicate—in them ourselves, ye forest kings!
In them these skies and airs—these mountain peaks—Shasta—Nevadas,
These huge, precipitous cliffs—this amplitude—these valleys grand—Yosemite,
To be in them absorb’d, assimilated.
4
Then to a loftier strain,
Still prouder, more ecstatic, rose the chant,
As if the heirs, the Deities of the West,
Joining, with master-tongue, bore part.
Not wan from Asia’s fetishes,
Nor red from Europe’s old dynastic slaughter-house,
(Area of murder-plots of thrones, with scent left yet of wars and scaffolds every
where,)
But come from Nature’s long and harmless throes—peacefully builded thence,
These virgin lands—Lands of the Western Shore,
To the new Culminating Man—to you, the Empire New,
You, promis’d long, we pledge, we dedicate.
You occult, deep volitions,
You average Spiritual Manhood, purpose of all, pois’d on yourself—giving, not taking
law,
You Womanhood divine, mistress and source of all, whence life and love, and aught that
comes
from life and love,
You unseen Moral Essence of all the vast materials of America, (age upon age,
working
in Death the same as Life,)
You that, sometimes known, oftener unknown, really shape and mould the New World,
adjusting
it to Time and Space,
You hidden National Will, lying in your abysms, conceal’d, but ever alert,
You past and present purposes, tenaciously pursued, may-be unconscious of
yourselves,
Unswerv’d by all the passing errors, perturbations of the surface;
You vital, universal, deathless germs, beneath all creeds, arts, statutes,
literatures,
Here build your homes for good—establish here—These areas entire, Lands of the
Western
Shore,
We pledge, we dedicate to you.
66
For man of you—your characteristic Race,
Here may be hardy, sweet, gigantic grow—here tower, proportionate to Nature,
Here climb the vast, pure spaces, unconfined, uncheck’d by wall or roof,
Here laugh with storm or sun—here joy—here patiently inure,
Here heed himself, unfold himself (not others’ formulas heed)—here fill
his time,
To duly fall, to aid, unreck’d at last,
To disappear, to serve.
Thus, on the northern coast,
In the echo of teamsters’ calls, and the clinking chains, and the music of choppers’ axes,
The falling trunk and limbs, the crash, the muffled shriek, the groan,
Such words combined from the Redwood-tree—as of wood-spirits’ voices ecstatic,
ancient and
rustling,
The century-lasting, unseen dryads, singing, withdrawing,
All their recesses of forests and mountains leaving,
From the Cascade range to the Wasatch—or Idaho far, or Utah,
To the deities of the Modern henceforth yielding,
The chorus and indications, the vistas of coming humanity—the settlements, features all,
In the Mendocino woods I caught.
5
The flashing and golden pageant of California!
The sudden and gorgeous drama—the sunny and ample lands;
The long and varied stretch from Puget Sound to Colorado south;
Lands bathed in sweeter, rarer, healthier air—valleys and mountain cliffs;
The fields of Nature long prepared and fallow—the silent, cyclic chemistry;
The slow and steady ages plodding—the unoccupied surface ripening—the rich ores
forming
beneath;
At last the New arriving, assuming, taking possession,
A swarming and busy race settling and organizing every where;
Ships coming in from the whole round world, and going out to the whole world,
To India and China and Australia, and the thousand island paradises of the Pacific;
Populous cities—the latest inventions—the steamers on the rivers—the railroads—with
many a thrifty farm, with machinery,
And wool, and wheat, and the grape—and diggings of yellow gold.
6
But more in you than these, Lands of the Western Shore!
(These but the means, the implements, the standing-ground,)
I see in you, certain to come, the promise of thousands of years, till now deferr’d,
Promis’d, to be fulfill’d, our common kind, the Race.
67
The New Society at last, proportionate to Nature,
In Man of you, more than your mountain peaks, or stalwart trees imperial,
In Woman more, far more, than all your gold, or vines, or even vital air.
Fresh come, to a New World indeed, yet long prepared,
I see the Genius of the Modern, child of the Real and Ideal,
Clearing the ground for broad humanity, the true America, heir of the past so grand,
To build a grander future.
68
Unit Three: American Dream
vs. A Restless Nation
69
Harlem – Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
70
Let America Be America Again – Langston Hughes
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
71
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
72
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again! 73
America – Neil Diamond
Far
We've been travelling far
Without a home
But not without a star
Free
Only want to be free
We huddle close
Hang on to a dream
On the boats and on the planes
They're coming to America
Never looking back again
They're coming to America
Home, don't it seem so far away
Oh, we're travelling light today
In the eye of the storm
In the eye of the storm
Home, to a new and a shiny place
Make our bed, and we'll say our grace
Freedom's light burning warm
Freedom's light burning warm
Everywhere around the world
They're coming to America
Every time that flag's unfurled
They're coming to America
Got a dream to take them there
They're coming to America
Got a dream they've come to share
They're coming to America
They're coming to America
They're coming to America
They're coming to America
They're coming to America
Today, today, today, today, today
My country 'tis of thee
(Today)
Sweet land of liberty
(today)
74
Of thee I sing
(today)
Of thee I sing
(today)
75
I am a Black Woman – Mari Evans
I am a black woman
the music of my song
some sweet arpeggio of tears
is written in a minor key
and I
can be heard humming in the night
Can be heard
humming
in the night
I saw my mate leap screaming to the sea and I/with these hands/cupped the lifebreath from my issue in the canebrake I lost Nat's swinging body in a rain of tears
and heard my son scream all the way from Anzio
for Peace he never knew....I
learned Da Nang and Pork Chop Hill in anguish Now my nostrils know the gas and these trigger tire/d fingers seek the softness in my warrior's beard
I am a black woman tall as a cypress strong beyond all definition still defying place and time and
circumstance assailed
impervious indestructible Look on me and be renewed
76
Dreaming America – Joyce Carol Oates
When the two-lane highway was widened
the animals retreated.
Skunks, raccoons, rabbits - even their small corpses
disappeared from the road- transformed into rags
then into designs
then into stains
then nothing.
When the highway was linked to another
then to another
six lanes then nine then twelve rose
sweeping to the horizon
along measured white lines.
The polled Herefords were sold.
When the cornfields were bulldozed
the farmhouses at their edges turned into shanties;
the outbuildings fell.
When the fields were paved over
Frisch's Big Boy rose seventy-five feet in the air.
The Sunoco and Texaco and Gulf signs competed
on hundred-foot stilts
like eyeballs on stalks
white optic-nerves
miraculous.
Illuminated at night.
Where the useless stretch of trees lay
an orange sphere like a golf ball
announces the Shopping Mall, open
for Thursday evening shopping.
There, tonight, droves of teenagers hunt
one another, alert on the memorized pavement.
Where did the country go? - cry the travelers, soaring
past. Where did the country go? - ask the strangers.
The teenager never ask.
Where horses grazed in a dream that had no history,
tonight a thirteen-year-old girl stands dreaming
into the window of Levitz's Record Shop.
We drive past, in a hurry. We disappear.
We return.
77
Daily Joy of Being Alive- Jimmy Santiago Baca
No matter how serene things
may be in my life,
how well things are going,
my body and soul
are two cliff peaks
from which a dream of who I can be
falls, and I must learn
to fly again each day,
or die.
Death draws respect
and fear from the living.
Death offers
no false starts. It is not
a referee with a pop-gun
at the startling
of a hundred yard dash.
I do not live to retrieve
or multiply what my father lost
or gained.
I continually find myself in the ruins
of new beginnings,
uncoiling the rope of my life
to descend ever deeper into unknown abysses,
tying my heart into a knot
round a tree or boulder,
to insure I have something that will hold me,
that will not let me fall.
My heart has many thorn-studded slits of flame
springing from the red candle jars.
My dreams flicker and twist
on the altar of this earth,
light wrestling with darkness,
light radiating into darkness,
to widen my day blue,
and all that is wax melts
in the flameI can see treetops!
78
Biographies
Gloria Anzaldua- (September 26, 1942 - May 15, 2004) was a pioneer of
Chicana/lesbian/feminist theory and a poet, writer, activist, theorist, and teacher.
Anne Bradstreet – (c. 1612 – September 16, 1672) was an English-American writer, the
first notable American poet, and the first woman to be published in Colonial America.
Her work was very influential to Puritans in her time.
Jimmy Santiago Baca- (January 2, 1952- Present ) is a poet, memoirist, and novelist. At
a young age Baca was sentenced to five years in prison, which inspired him to become a
writer. He is the winner of the Pushcart Prize, the American Book Award, the
International Hispanic Heritage Award, and prestigious International Award for his
memoir A Place to Stand. In 2006 he won the Cornelius P. Turner Award. The national
award recognizes one GED graduate a year who has made outstanding contributions to
society in education, justice, health, public service and social welfare.
Leonard Cohen – (born September 21, 1934) is a singer-songwriter, musician, poet and
novelist. Cohen published his first book of poetry in Montreal in 1956 and his first novel
in 1963. His work often deals with the exploration of religion, isolation, sexuality and
interpersonal relationships. Famously reclusive, having once spent several years in a Zen
Buddhist monastery, and possessing a persona frequently associated with mystique, he is
extremely well-regarded by critics for his literary accomplishments, for the richness of
his lyrics, and for producing an output of work of high artistic quality over a five-decade
career.
Countee Cullen – (March 30, 1903–January 9, 1946) was an American Romantic poet.
Cullen was one of the leading African American poets of his time, associated with the
generation of black poets of the Harlem Renaissance.
e.e. cummings – (October 14, 1894 – September 3, 1962) was an American poet, painter,
essayist, author, and playwright. His body of work encompasses approximately 2,900
poems, two autobiographical novels, four plays and several essays, as well as numerous
drawings and paintings. He is remembered as a preeminent voice of 20th century poet, as
well as one of the most popular.
Neil Diamond – (born January 24, 1941) is an American singer-songwriter. As a
successful pop music performer, Diamond scored a number of hits worldwide in the
1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. Common themes in Diamond's songs are "a deep sense of
isolation and an equal desire for connection. A yearning for home – and at the same time,
the allure of greater freedom. The good, the bad and the ugly about a crazy little thing
called love."
79
Emily Dickinson – (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Born in
Amherst, Massachusetts, to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a
mostly introverted and reclusive life. After she studied at the Amherst Academy for seven
years in her youth, she spent a short time at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before
returning to her family's house in Amherst. Thought of as an eccentric by the locals, she
became known for her penchant for white clothing and her reluctance to greet guests or,
later in life, even leave her room. Most of her friendships were therefore carried out by
correspondence.
Although Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly eighteen
hundred poems were published during her lifetime. The work that was published during
her lifetime was usually altered significantly by the publishers to fit the conventional
poetic rules of the time. Dickinson's poems are unique for the era in which she wrote;
they contain short lines, typically lack titles, and often use slant rhyme as well as
unconventional capitalization and punctuation. Many of her poems deal with themes of
death and immortality, two recurring topics in letters to her friends.
Paul Laurence Dunbar – (June 27, 1872– February 9, 1906) was a seminal African
American poet of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Dunbar gained national
recognition for his 1896 “Ode to Ethiopia,” one poem in the collection Lyrics of Lowly
Life. Much of Dunbar's work was authored in conventional English, while some was
rendered in African American dialect. Dunbar remained always suspicious that there was
something demeaning about the marketability of dialect poems.
Mari Evans – (born July 16, 1923 in Toledo, Ohio) is an African-American poet, living
in Indianapolis. She attended the University of Toledo, then pursued a teaching career.
She lectured on literature and writing; she produced, wrote and directed the television
program called "The Black Experience." She is known for her many poems. One, called
"When In Rome", is taught in many high school and college English classes. The poem
ends, "I'm tired of eatin' what they eats in Rome..", which is how the poem received its
famous title. It is a dialogue poem, between Mattie and her possible slave owner, offering
her unfamiliar foods in the pantry. She is also well known for the line, "I have never been
contained except I made the prison."
Robert Frost – (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. He is highly
regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial
speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the
early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes.
A popular and often-quoted poet, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime,
receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry.
Langston Hughes – (February 1, 1902 – May 22, 1967) was an American poet, novelist,
playwright, short story writer, and columnist. He was one of the earliest innovators of the
new literary art form jazz poetry. Hughes is best-known for his work during the Harlem
Renaissance. He is also best known for what he wrote about the Harlem Renaissance,
"Harlem was in vogue."
80
James Macdonald Jasper – (1957- Present) is a writer and sociologist who has taught
Ph.D. students at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York since 2007. He
is best known for his research and theories about culture and politics, especially the
cultural and emotional dimensions of protest movements. His books include Nuclear
Politics, about energy policy in France, Sweden, and the United States; The Animal
Rights Crusade, an examination of the moral dimensions of protest coauthored with
Dorothy Nelkin; The Art of Moral Protest, which developed cultural understandings of
social movements and reintroduced emotions as an analytic dimension; Restless Nation,
which looks at the negative and positive effects of Americans’ propensity to move so
often; and Getting Your Way, which offers a sociological language for talking about
strategic action that avoids the determinism of game theory.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) was an
American educator and poet whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", The Song of
Hiawatha, and "Evangeline". He was also the first American to translate Dante
Alighieri's The Divine Comedy and was one of the five Fireside Poets.
Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, then part of Massachusetts, and studied at
Bowdoin College. After spending time in Europe he became a professor at Bowdoin and,
later, at Harvard College. His first major poetry collections were Voices of the Night
(1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). Longfellow retired from teaching in 1854 to
focus on his writing, living the remainder of his life in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in a
former headquarters of George Washington. His first wife, Mary Potter, died in 1835
after a miscarriage. His second wife, Frances Appleton, died in 1861 after sustaining
burns from her dress catching fire. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing
poetry for a time and focused on his translation. He died in 1882.
Longfellow predominantly wrote lyric poems which are known for their musicality and
which often presented stories of mythology and legend. He became the most popular
American poet of his day and also had success overseas. He has been criticized, however,
for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses.
Edna St. Vincent Millay – (February 22, 1892 – October 19, 1950) was an American
lyrical poet and playwright and the first woman to receive the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.
She was also known for her unconventional, bohemian lifestyle and her many love
affairs. She used the pseudonym Nancy Boyd for her prose work.
Janice Mirikitani – (1941- Present) is a poet that lives in San Francisco. She has
authored four books of poetry – Awake in the River; Shedding Silence; We, the
Dangerous, and Love Works -- and is the editor of nine landmark anthologies which
provide platforms for writers of color, women, youth and children. She also has a passion
for helping women and families who have struggled with rape, incest, domestic violence,
health, and substance abuse.
81
Joyce Carol Oates – (born June 16, 1938) is an American author. Oates published her
first book in 1963 and has since published over fifty novels, as well as many volumes of
short stories, poetry, and non-fiction. Her novel them (1969) won the National Book
Award, and her novels Black Water (1992), What I Lived For (1994), and Blonde (2000)
were nominated for the Pulitzer Prize. With a reputation for prolificity, Oates has been
one of the leading American novelists since the 1960s.
Sylvia Plath – (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist,
children's author, and short story author.
Known primarily for her poetry, Plath also wrote a semi-autobiographical novel, The Bell
Jar, under the pseudonym Victoria Lucas. The book's protagonist, Esther Greenwood, is
a bright, ambitious student at Smith College who begins to experience a mental
breakdown while interning for a fashion magazine in New York. The plot parallels
Plath's experience interning at Mademoiselle magazine and subsequent mental
breakdown and suicide attempt.
Plath, along with Anne Sexton, is credited with advancing the genre of confessional
poetry initiated by Robert Lowell and W. D. Snodgrass.
Adrienne Rich – ( May 16, 1929 - March 27, 2012) was a scholar, academic author,
journalist, and poet whose work exhibits her commitment to the women's movement and
a lesbian/feminist aesthetic influence. She was a champion for women’s rights and won
countless awards for her writing and activism. In fact, she has been called “one of the
most widely read and influential poets of the second half of the 20th century."
Theodore Roethke – (May 25, 1908 – August 1, 1963) was an American poet, who
published several volumes of poetry characterized by its rhythm and natural imagery. He
was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1954 for his book, The Waking.
Conor Rowell- is a college student at CSU Chico majoring in philosophy that believes in
embracing the beauty of being an individual and the power of egalitarian attitudes
towards all genders.
Walt Whitman – (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist,
journalist, and humanist. He was a part of the transition between Transcendentalism and
realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential
poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse. His work was very
controversial in its time, particularly his poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was
described as obscene for its overt sexuality.
Born on Long Island, Whitman worked as a journalist, a teacher, a government clerk, and
a volunteer nurse during the American Civil War in addition to publishing his poetry.
Early in his career, he also produced a temperance novel, Franklin Evans (1842).
Whitman's major work, Leaves of Grass, was first published in 1855 with his own
money. The work was an attempt at reaching out to the common person with an
American epic. He continued expanding and revising it until his death in 1892. After a
stroke towards the end of his life, he moved to Camden, New Jersey where his health
further declined. He died at age 72 and his funeral became a public spectacle.
Whitman's sexuality is often discussed alongside his poetry. Though biographers
82
continue to debate his sexuality, he is usually described as either homosexual or bisexual
in his feelings and attractions. However, there is disagreement among biographers as to
whether Whitman had actual sexual experiences with men. Whitman was concerned with
politics throughout his life. He supported the Wilmot Proviso and opposed the extension
of slavery generally. His poetry presented an egalitarian view of the races, and at one
point he called for the abolition of slavery, but later he saw the abolitionist movement as
a threat to democracy.
William Carlos Williams - (September 17, 1883 – March 4, 1963) was an American
poet closely associated with modernism and Imagism. He was also a pediatrician and
general practitioner of medicine. Williams "worked harder at being a writer than he did at
being a physician," wrote biographer Linda Wagner-Martin; but during his long lifetime,
Williams excelled at both.
John Winthrop - (12 January 1587/8– 26 March 1649) obtained a royal charter, along
with other wealthy Puritans, from King Charles for the Massachusetts Bay Company and
led a group of English Puritans to the New World in 1630. He was elected the governor
of the Massachusetts Bay Colony the year before. Between 1639 and 1648, he was voted
out of the governorship and then re-elected a total of 12 times. Winthrop is most famous
for his "City upon a Hill" sermon (as it is known popularly, its real title being A Model of
Christian Charity) in which he declared that the Puritan colonists emigrating to the New
World were part of a special pact with God to create a holy community. The phrase "city
upon a hill" is derived from the Bible's Sermon on the Mount: "You are the light of the
world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden." Winthrop's speech is often seen as a
forerunner to the concept of American exceptionalism. The speech is also well known for
arguing that the wealthy had a holy duty to look after the poor.
Kit Yan- Featured in the HBO Documentary Asians Aloud, Kit Yan tell stories through
slam poetry from the lens of a queer and transgender Asian American from Hawaii who
travels all over the world on tour. Through touching love poems, coming out stories, and
comedic tales of his childhood.
83
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