Born 80 years ago today, click for lots more, innermost circle of rotating seat-takers in My Sillyass Deserted Island Five Game, the above song this shitty blog's Theme Song 10, the above song's lyrics below
the phrases my own land and my homeland - where a man can stand by another man remind me of poems about the people by two twentieth-century midwesterners
The People, Yes
by Carl Sandburg
The people will live on. The learning and blundering people will live on. They will be tricked and sold and again sold And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds, The people so peculiar in renewal and comeback, You can't laugh off their capacity to take it. The mammoth rests between his cyclonic dramas.
The people so often sleepy, weary, enigmatic, is a vast huddle with many units saying: “I earn my living. I make enough to get by and it takes all my time. If I had more time I could do more for myself and maybe for others. I could read and study and talk things over and find out about things. It takes time. I wish I had the time.”
The people is a tragic and comic two-face: hero and hoodlum: phantom and gorilla twisting to moan with a gargoyle mouth: “They buy me and sell me . . . it's a game . . . sometime I'll break loose . . .” Once having marched Over the margins of animal necessity, Over the grim line of sheer subsistence Then man came To the deeper rituals of his bones, To the lights lighter than any bones, To the time for thinking things over, To the dance, the song, the story, Or the hours given over to dreaming, Once having so marched.
Between the finite limitations of the five senses and the endless yearnings of man for the beyond the people hold to the humdrum bidding of work and food while reaching out when it comes their way for lights beyond the prison of the five senses, for keepsakes lasting beyond any hunger or death. This reaching is alive. The panderers and liars have violated and smutted it. Yet this reaching is alive yet for lights and keepsakes. The people know the salt of the sea and the strength of the winds lashing the corners of the earth. The people take the earth as a tomb of rest and a cradle of hope. Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
The people is a polychrome, a spectrum and a prism held in a moving monolith, a console organ of changing themes, a clavilux of color poems wherein the sea offers fog and the fog moves off in rain and the labrador sunset shortens to a nocturne of clear stars serene over the shot spray of northern lights.
The steel mill sky is alive. The fire breaks white and zigzag shot on a gun-metal gloaming. Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers. There are men who can't be bought. The fireborn are at home in fire. The stars make no noise. You can't hinder the wind from blowing. Time is a great teacher. Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief the people march. In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people march: “Where to? what next?”
"We Are The People" John Mellencamp
If you're feelin' shut down May my thoughts be with you If you're a black man bein' beat down and shoved all around May my thoughts be with you If your world's gettin' a little too tough You know our thoughts are with you Hey, I know that it's crazy out there And my thoughts are with you
[Chorus:] We are the people And we live forever We are the people And our future's written on the wind On the wind
If you are one of the homeless May our thoughts be with you If you are scared and alone You know our thoughts are with you
If you are one of the fortunate ones We all know it's lonely up there We understand that nobody's got it made So our thoughts are with you
[Chorus]
You see yourself as a leader May my thoughts be with you If you try to divide and conquer We'll rise up against you We know only the strong will survive But the meek will inherit So if you've got a coat of arms, oh friend I suggest we wear it
the phrases my own land and my homeland - where a man can stand by another man
ReplyDeleteremind me of poems about the people by two twentieth-century midwesterners
The People, Yes
by Carl Sandburg
The people will live on.
The learning and blundering people will live on.
They will be tricked and sold and again sold
And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds,
The people so peculiar in renewal and comeback,
You can't laugh off their capacity to take it.
The mammoth rests between his cyclonic dramas.
The people so often sleepy, weary, enigmatic,
is a vast huddle with many units saying:
“I earn my living.
I make enough to get by
and it takes all my time.
If I had more time
I could do more for myself
and maybe for others.
I could read and study
and talk things over
and find out about things.
It takes time.
I wish I had the time.”
The people is a tragic and comic two-face:
hero and hoodlum: phantom and gorilla
twisting to moan with a gargoyle mouth: “They
buy me and sell me . . . it's a game . . .
sometime I'll break loose . . .”
Once having marched
Over the margins of animal necessity,
Over the grim line of sheer subsistence
Then man came
To the deeper rituals of his bones,
To the lights lighter than any bones,
To the time for thinking things over,
To the dance, the song, the story,
Or the hours given over to dreaming,
Once having so marched.
Between the finite limitations of the five senses
and the endless yearnings of man for the beyond
the people hold to the humdrum bidding of work and food
while reaching out when it comes their way
for lights beyond the prison of the five senses,
for keepsakes lasting beyond any hunger or death.
This reaching is alive.
The panderers and liars have violated and smutted it.
Yet this reaching is alive yet
for lights and keepsakes.
The people know the salt of the sea
and the strength of the winds
lashing the corners of the earth.
The people take the earth
as a tomb of rest and a cradle of hope.
Who else speaks for the Family of Man?
They are in tune and step
with constellations of universal law.
The people is a polychrome,
a spectrum and a prism
held in a moving monolith,
a console organ of changing themes,
a clavilux of color poems
wherein the sea offers fog
and the fog moves off in rain
and the labrador sunset shortens
to a nocturne of clear stars
serene over the shot spray
of northern lights.
The steel mill sky is alive.
The fire breaks white and zigzag
shot on a gun-metal gloaming.
Man is a long time coming.
Man will yet win.
Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
There are men who can't be bought.
The fireborn are at home in fire.
The stars make no noise.
You can't hinder the wind from blowing.
Time is a great teacher.
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for
keeps, the people march:
“Where to? what next?”
"We Are The People"
John Mellencamp
If you're feelin' shut down
May my thoughts be with you
If you're a black man bein' beat down and shoved all around
May my thoughts be with you
If your world's gettin' a little too tough
You know our thoughts are with you
Hey, I know that it's crazy out there
And my thoughts are with you
[Chorus:]
We are the people
And we live forever
We are the people
And our future's written on the wind
On the wind
If you are one of the homeless
May our thoughts be with you
If you are scared and alone
You know our thoughts are with you
If you are one of the fortunate ones
We all know it's lonely up there
We understand that nobody's got it made
So our thoughts are with you
[Chorus]
You see yourself as a leader
May my thoughts be with you
If you try to divide and conquer
We'll rise up against you
We know only the strong will survive
But the meek will inherit
So if you've got a coat of arms, oh friend
I suggest we wear it
[Chorus]