Out of the Fable Endlessly Weeping
after Walt Whitman Out of the fable endlessly weeping Out of the machines that always break down Out of the ground gouged, torn and earth-quaked wantonly The people pretend They believe in god, want only What’s right — and step on the weak to mount their creed … Why not? The poor you have with you always, They do not matter.
Matter does not matter To the thieves raiding the fable For slogans and lies to seduce the intemperate many Who can’t understand they can’t be the One (Simple math of endless greed, oldest math there is) But who can be recruited To rape, plunder, torture, and kill Since the energy of their bodies trapped so long in a “soul” (But a word to fatten tyrants’ scorn) Explodes as it must, the world in its wake, Children in shreds of limbs and brains and infant organs Earth will never experience the wonders of, The Einstein or the Newton or the Curie or the Gandhi Now under shovels Furiously clanging, splattering Blood and dirt for the incoming pit-full.
No birds for the boy, he-birds or she-birds, in their nest, Watching their eggs, so carefully watching, The boy, who wasn’t like other boys … Loved Lincoln, And wept when the man, as good probably as a man can be (Which at best is middlin’ good), Died in the swarm of race and hatred No old-testament plague Remotely so violent, merciless, and nasty.
Let the boy who loved a place once called America Speak to you if you want to learn to sing, Sing of yourself ... But be careful — You must contain multitudes and dare, yes, dare, To imagine a dream. Oh, do you feel the dare in the dream? The dream at the dare?
after Walt Whitman Out of the fable endlessly weeping Out of the machines that always break down Out of the ground gouged, torn and earth-quaked wantonly The people pretend They believe in god, want only What’s right — and step on the weak to mount their creed … Why not? The poor you have with you always, They do not matter.
Matter does not matter To the thieves raiding the fable For slogans and lies to seduce the intemperate many Who can’t understand they can’t be the One (Simple math of endless greed, oldest math there is) But who can be recruited To rape, plunder, torture, and kill Since the energy of their bodies trapped so long in a “soul” (But a word to fatten tyrants’ scorn) Explodes as it must, the world in its wake, Children in shreds of limbs and brains and infant organs Earth will never experience the wonders of, The Einstein or the Newton or the Curie or the Gandhi Now under shovels Furiously clanging, splattering Blood and dirt for the incoming pit-full.
No birds for the boy, he-birds or she-birds, in their nest, Watching their eggs, so carefully watching, The boy, who wasn’t like other boys … Loved Lincoln, And wept when the man, as good probably as a man can be (Which at best is middlin’ good), Died in the swarm of race and hatred No old-testament plague Remotely so violent, merciless, and nasty.
Let the boy who loved a place once called America Speak to you if you want to learn to sing, Sing of yourself ... But be careful — You must contain multitudes and dare, yes, dare, To imagine a dream. Oh, do you feel the dare in the dream? The dream at the dare?
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Walt Whitman, ca. 1865, digitally enhanced. Original photo by Mathew Brady. Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints, and Photographs, Photography Collection.
The wonder that was exploration beyond the limits cynicism pitched? The moon and Pluto and the deep-sea thermal vents? The black hole at the center of our Milky Way? The Genome mapped and the diseases cured? The aspiration, the human dreaming, to contain, Yes, contain, multitudes?
For which they will scorn you and queer you (Chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter)And kill all the birds that ever flew or nested or fledged their young Out of the cradle endlessly rocking.
For which they will scorn you and queer you (Chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter)And kill all the birds that ever flew or nested or fledged their young Out of the cradle endlessly rocking.