April 17, 2008

"Some Notes for the [enter Democractic nominee's name here] Campaign, If Wanted"

In 2004, Wendell Berry published a commentary entitled Some Notes for the Kerry Campaign, If Wanted in Orion Magazine (later included in the 2005 book "The Way of Ignorance").

Four years later, just months away from another presidential election, Berry's commentary is still vitally, somewhat depressingly relevant.  The stakes are the same; only the names have changed. McCain will try to sound more and more like George W. Bush in order to win back the conservative base - but without mentioning Bush by name, so the media can continue to portray him as a straight-talking maverick. We don't yet know the Democratic nominee, but it now seems likely that, come the general election, Obama or Clinton will face a barrage of attacks similar to those orchestrated by Karl Rove and the Swiftboat Veterans for Truth in 2004.

To my way of thinking, Berry's advice that Kerry should campaign "solidly and clearly on the traditional principles of  politics and religion" is still the best strategy for victory in 2008. Such a message can resonate with voters across the political and socioeconomic spectra. It has the added benefit of being the right thing to do - elevating the political discourse and promoting unity by appealing to our common heritage.  (I have a strong opinion as to which Democratic candidate can best embody and embrace this message, as regular readers of this blog certainly know. But I will leave that for another time.)

Here is Wendell Berry's 2004 essay:

Facing this year's presidential election, our people are bitterly divided. This division is perhaps as great a threat to our future as is the possibility of a second term for Mr. Bush. And so the paramount question for Sen. Kerry's campaign is how to oppose Mr. Bush effectively without so exacerbating the country's political differences as to reduce the possibility of effective government should Sen. Kerry win the election.

One answer, I believe, is to base the campaign solidly and clearly upon our traditional principles of politics and religion. (I am reluctant to say that religion ought to be a political issue in the United States, but it is unstoppably an issue in this campaign.) If the campaign is based soundly enough on principles, then it can be carried out, at least by Democrats, as a reasoned argument, and thus without sensationalizing personal and emotional differences. The further great advantage is that the Bush administration can be shown all too handily to be in violation of many of our country's traditional political and religious principles.

Our government was understood by its founders, and it is understood by many of us still, as a government of laws -- of laws based in part on the laws of God. But the Bush administration, by various arrogations of power, has led us dangerously in the direction of autocracy. A government of laws cannot pardonably ignore either the rights of its citizens or its international treaties. A lot of people now long for national officials who are constantly and strictly mindful of our Bill of Rights.

Our government has a long -- though imperfect and incomplete -- history of international cooperation, the good results of which are now seriously threatened by Mr. Bush's unilateralism and his doctrine of preemptive war.

Both our political and religious traditions instruct us that the truth makes us free. Our kind of government can govern effectively only by telling the truth, just as effective citizenship depends on knowing the truth. Official secrecy and official lies, even in a "good cause," can carry us toward tyranny. Our government is meant to conduct the public's business in public.

Traditionally we have believed, and sometimes have acted on our belief, that political democracy depends upon a significant measure of economic democracy. Since World War II we have changed rapidly from a country owned by many people to a country owned by a few. This has been explicitly the program of some administrations, including that of Mr. Bush. We need an administration that is opposed to such a program. This country should not be entirely owned and run by the great corporations.

Our federal system was conceived as a way to balance national unity with local self-determination and self-sufficiency. Terrorism has made local economic integrity more necessary than ever before. All the regions of our country are dangerously dependent on long-distance transportation. The emphasis in agriculture should now be on genetic diversity, local adaptation, and conservation of energy. We need, for a change, an agriculture policy that focuses above all on the health of the land and the economic prosperity of smaller farmers, rather than the agribusiness corporations.

Along with all the rest of the world's people, we have inherited ancient instructions for the stewardship and good husbandry of the earth, with clear warnings, now significantly verified, of the disasters that will (and already do) attend our failure. We have responded by continuing our elaborately rationalized destructions. But bad precedent is no excuse for bad behavior. The Bush attitude toward the natural (God-given) world is sacrilegious and wildly uneconomic.

The human norm, as established by Christ (and others), is love even for enemies, forgiveness, neighborliness, and peace. It is therefore troubling that members of the present administration, while making much of their commitment to Christ, are insisting on the normality of hatred, greed, revenge, and unremitting war. To make us afraid, they speak much of the willingness of our terrorist enemies to kill themselves in order to kill us, as if this were an innovation. They forget, or they would like us to forget, that our policy of nuclear defense has been suicidal from the beginning. Our increasing destructiveness of the natural world is likewise suicidal. Such desperate security and prosperity cannot be reconciled with reverence for our Creator, who endowed all humans with certain inalienable rights, including life
.

April 14, 2008

My Favorite New Blog...

Thecow

is the The Artist and the Farmer. The picture above is a painting-in-progress by The Artist.

April 13, 2008

Untitled Poem No. 2

i do not see your face in the moon
though once i saw your face in the moonlight, and
i cannot find you in the sunset
though once we walked
through an explosion of amber, ruby and topaz
and talked of nothing and all things and sun things.
i look for you in the stars of steel
and space-age plastics that orbit my backyard,
relaying phone calls not from you and television programs
     you never approved of.
once i had you but now I have lost you.
yet i do not suffer from the delusions of the brokenhearted,
because i do not see you everywhere i go.
i see only that you are not with me.

April 12, 2008

Poem Of The Week

Ramón Chaparro is a good friend of mine - more like family, really.

He is restless, a kind of vagabond poet-theologian, with a heart for the far-flung and the forgotten, and a knack for creating community wherever he goes. (I sometimes imagine that he must have a lot in common with Rich Mullins, the late singer-songwriter.)

Throughout the month of April, Ramón is posting one of his poems each day on his website. "A Long Week" is my favorite so far, and not just because it reflects the author's intelligence, sensitivity, wit, and deep wisdom. It's just really, really good.

I posted it on the Burnside Writers Collective blog as the Poem Of The Day. If there is anyone who visits this site but doesn't regularly visit the BWC blog, you should read Ramón's poem by going to either the BWC or Ramón's personal blog.

April 11, 2008

9/11/02

The rivers run.
The tides change,
And the mountains are gradually worn down to a nub.
And I,
I go to sleep each night to the sound of the shopping
    network that takes over our local CBS affiliate in the
    early hours of the morning,
Secure in the knowledge that if anything truly
    momentous happens
Dan Rather will interrupt the TV personalities peddling costume
    jewelry
And I,
I will be the first to know.
The rivers run.
The tides change,
The desert advances, like an army,
And the insomniacs and the senior citizens keep the wheels of
    capitalism turning long into the night.

April 09, 2008

Shop Talk

Dominant Male, requires adoring and
obedient submissive for strict discipline
and body worship.

Vintage-model SWM, 50, looking for
experienced driver with well-kept garage who
prefers smooth driving for possible long-distance
adventure. I handle mountain roads well and

still have juice in the battery.
Voice Mailbox 50235.
She circles this one with her felt-tip
pen and mumbles a kind of voodoo

mantra, willing the red ink,
this unbroken circle of her own blood, to
keep out the others. She saw him first.
She claims 50235 for herself and they consume

each other with the fierce, impetuous
hunger of books she is to proud to read.
She calls and leaves a message:
whispering semi-erotic shop talk

about garages and tools and classic cars and
how she is getting hot. Mmm, so hot.

Now they are zipping through the Sierras in 50235’s
Cadillac – a convertible – his platinum
hair impervious to the wind
and he is so dashing. He smiles

this disarming smile…shockingly white teeth (all real)
…and his bronze skin a leather landscape…
and they listen to good jazz as they drive…
and, God, she is so witty.

Friendship and more. SWF seeking
feminine middle-aged man hater with
no sexual hang-ups.
This is unexplored territory for her.

Now they are sharing a plate of sashimi and
oyster shooters at The Raw Bar. Now they are going
to poetry readings at the Pink Flamingo…
and they sit in front of the fireplace…hot

on her skin…and she is soft…
and men – the bastards – are the furthest
thing from her mind

as 61834 moves a hand
further up her thigh.

Faithfully yours. Two Ch men, one shy,
one outgoing, seeking 2 Ch women, for private Bible
study, must have humor, sensitivity, security,
nonsmokers only.

MWF seeking anybody,
warm hands but cold feet,
pours over the personals each evening at
her kitchen table and lives a 2nd-hand

life there. Oldest son upstairs
annihilating zombies on his computer.
Husband throwing touchdown passes
from the pocket of his La-Z-Boy chair.

The Artist and the Farmer

I've added a new blog to the "People to See" list at left. It's called The Artist and the Farmer and is maintained by a fantastic writer who also happens to be Dave's wife. You should check it out.

April 08, 2008

Blogging Poetry

I mentioned in a previous post that I am posting a new poem each day on the Burnside Writers Collective blog in honor of National Poetry Month. And - can I just say? - I'm loving it. I read for at least twenty hours a week, immersing myself in novels, memoirs and biographies, books on science, nature, history, and Americana. But, with the exception of a survey class I took in college, this is the first time I have interacted with poetry - especially poetry from a diverse group of poets - on a daily basis. I don't want it to end. I'm sad for the inevitability of May.

I'm considering different ways of carrying on this project after April ends. One idea is to post a "poem of the day" here on The Goblin, with a format similar to the one I'm using now on the BWC.

I'm also considering starting a new blog called something like "The Poetry Almanac," which would feature daily poems, historical information, poetry news from around the web, book reviews, and more. I foresee at least three problems with starting a "Poetry Almanac."

The first problem is one of practicality: I already maintain one blog (and inconsistently at that), contribute to a second blog, and owe outstanding "assignments" for a third site. Where would I find the time for a new blog?

The second problem is one of legality: What are the copyright requirements for posting poetry on a blog, since I wouldn't want to limit my poems to those in the public domain (i.e., dead white dudes)?

The third problem is one of reality: The word "almanac" implies, if not comprehensive knowledge, then at least wide-ranging familiarity with a subject, which I certainly do not have with poetry. Any poetry blog would necessarily flow from my own inexperience. (This is the actually the least of my concerns; a little water behind the ears could conceivably be an asset.)

Do any of you have opinions/advice for me?

National Poetry Month has also caused me to dig deep into my personal archives to find my own erstwhile attempts at poetry. I've written a total of ten poems in my life, with no immediate plans to write more. I imagine that poets labor over their poems like a labor over my prose (blog excepted), obsessing over words, balancing precision with rhythm and tone and pitch. I've never written a poem that way. My poems come in flashes of inspiration and seem to write themselves. I rarely revise and I'm sure it shows.

That being said, in a burst of April exuberance I am sure I will come to regret, I've decided to post several of my own poems here on The Goblin, starting tomorrow. The last time these poems saw the light of day was when my younger brother Dustin bullied me into reading them at one of his coffee shop concerts. Dustin, a gifted singer-songwriter, is the real poet in the family. (You can see him play at Muddy Waters in Portland on April 26.) Strangely, that my poems are  unpolished and unsophisticated doesn't bother me enough to keep them buried in my computer hard drive. I blame it on National Poetry Month.

Update: Two friends (Ramon and Kimberly) are posting on their blogs poems they've written. Check them out.

April 03, 2008

Bury My Heart, Part 1

Last weekend I started reading Dee Brown’s book, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. It is a sad, condemning book, with story after story of broken promises and the steady, unapologetic eradication of one people group after another. I picked up Bury My Heart on the recommendation of my friend Dustin, and it fits within a growing desire to understand and (where possible) emulate the values and way of life of these peoples, particularly as I try to figure out how to interact with the land in a way that is cooperative rather than dominating and destructive.

I’m also aware of the fact (and I’d be interested to hear what people think about this) that I want to know these stories so that I can feel the guilt and remorse of being the beneficiary of America’s original sin. By the end of the introductory chapter, the list of names of cultures that are gone and the land that has been destroyed is overwhelming:

“On the mainland of America, the Wampanoags of Massasoit and King Philip had vanished, along with the Chesapeakes, the Chickahominys, and the Potomacs of the great Powhatan confederacy. (Only Pocahontas was remembered.) Scattered or reduced to remnants were the Pequots, Montauks, Nanticokes, Machapungas, Catawbas, Cheraws, Miamis, Hurons, Eries, Mohawks, Senecas, and Mohegans. (Only Uncas was remembered.) Their musical names remained forever fixed on the American land, but their bones were forgotten in a thousand burned villages or lost in forests fast disappearing before the axes of twenty million invaders. Already the once sweet-watered streams, most of which bore Indian names, were clouded with silt and the wastes of man; the very earth was being ravaged and squandered. To the Indians it seemed that these Europeans hated everything in nature – the living forests and their birds and beasts, the grassy glades, the water, the soil, and the air itself.”

I don’t know if this should make a difference, but the fact that these people lived the kind of communal, spiritual, and sustainable lifestyle that I want for myself (and hope is still available) makes their stories all the more tragic.

Another passage from the opening chapter:

“To justify these breaches of the ‘permanent Indian frontier,’ the policy makers in Washington invented Manifest Destiny, a term which lifted land hunger to a lofty plane. The Europeans and their descendants were ordained by destiny to rule all of America. They were the dominant race and therefore responsible for the Indians – along with their lands, their forests, and their mineral wealth. Only the New Englanders, who had destroyed or driven out all their Indians, spoke against Manifest Destiny.”

Here’s something I don’t know what to do with: my feelings of guilt often feel self-congratulatory, like I’m soo enlightened. (This seems like a common malady of social justice liberals – our concern goes right up to the end of the book we’re reading or coffee shop conversation we’re having.) But really I’m like the New Englanders – protesting injustice from a position of comfort and security that is built on the injustice I protest. I guess my hope is that reading this book will make me aware of the opportunities for action that are out there, even if they are (necessarily) small actions when compared to the injustice that requires them.

"April 4, 1968," by Michael Eric Dyson

Dr. Michael Eric Dyson was the guest on Talk of the Nation this morning. Dyson has written a new book entitled "April 4, 1968" about the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. and its effect on America. In the interview, Dyson talked about the temptation to construct MLK mythologies that ultimately fit our own agendas. These mythologies are the result of a combination of amnesia and nostalgia. He put it this way: "Whites want [Dr. King] clawless; blacks want him flawless."  Dyson explained in the interview:

Many white Americans have denied that Martin Luther King, Jr. was hounded and harassed for most of his public career in America. The FBI failed to warn him of credible death threats. White racist hate groups were out to get him. And millions applauded when King's death was announced...[We forget] that many white Americans felt him to be, as the second in command  at the FBI called him, the most dangerous Negro leader in America. Now we have removed those claws...His danger has been sweetened. His threat has been removed.

This reminds me of the time California Republicans used images of Dr. King at the 1963 March on Washington and perhaps that speech's most famous line  ("I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.") in advertisements attacking affirmative action. (Dyson discusses this episode in his exceelent book "I May Not Get There With You: The True Martin Luther King, Jr.")

Dyson describes the second half of the clawless/flawless trap:

On the other hand, many African-American people...want [Dr. King] to be this perfect icon of saintly achievement without the marks of his striving, without the failures and his foibles and his fragility in the flesh; they don't want to acknowledge that he made mistakes.

In this fascinating and wide-ranging interview, Dyson goes on to talk about how King wrestled with death, came to grips with it, and used it for his cause. Toward the end, King was so sure of his impending death that he suffered from fits of hiccups that would last for hours. He felt safest in rooms with no windows, but really did not feel safe at all. Still, King pressed on.

Dyson also says that he thinks King would have supported women's rights and gay rights. This assertion and the form in which it is given - a fictional interview in "April 4, 1968" between Dyson and King - has been highly controversial. Dyson acknowledged on Talk of the Nation that he has no way of knowing this for sure and admits he may be guilty of some mythologizing of his own. But Dyson is confident that this is where King would have ended up, had the trajectory of his convictions been given a chance to run their course.

I had hoped to read "April 4, 1968" and offer a review before tomorrow's anniversary. I just haven't had the time and probably won't for a while. Instead, I've decided to post a short excerpt from "April 4, 1968" (from the NPR website).

You cannot hear the name Martin Luther King, Jr. and not think of death. You might hear the words "I have a dream," but they will doubtlessly only serve to underscore an image of a simple motel balcony, a large man made small, a pool of blood. For as famous as he may have been in life, it is – and was – death that ultimately defined him. Born into a culture whose main solace was Christianity's Promised Land awaiting them after the suffering of this world, King took on the power of his race's presumed destiny and found in himself the defiance necessary to spark change. He ate, drank, and slept death. He danced with it, he preached it, he feared it, and he stared it down. He looked for ways to lay it aside, this burden of his own mortality, but ultimately knew that his unwavering insistence on a non-violent end to the mistreatment of his people could only end violently….

From the time he began to speak out, King was haunted by death – mugged by the promise of destruction for seeking an end to black indignity and the beginning of equality with whites. After a few years spent up North acquiring his education, King chose to return to where he would be needed most in the coming years—the white-hot center of the burgeoning Civil Rights Movement and Montgomery, Alabama. At twenty-six he took on the responsibilities of a Baptist pulpit, joining forces with the local NAACP, and dug in for the year-long bus boycott created to end the Jim Crow law of racial segregation in public transportation. During this conflict his house was bombed—his wife Coretta and their ten-week-old daughter Yolanda were home, but escaped injury. It was the first time King would be tested with violence aimed at his life, but far from the last. Later in the boycott a shotgun blast was fired into King's home. King did not capitulate, but instead he emerged from the ashes of these attempts as the true Phoenix of the newly minted movement. Once again, his mortality challenged, he accepted his calling without hesitation.

A couple of years after the boycott ended, King was in Harlem at Blumstein's department store signing Stride Toward Freedom, his account of the movement's success. From out of nowhere, a clearly disturbed black woman, Izola Ware Curry, sunk a letter opener into his chest after asking if he was Martin Luther King. Though considered an act of instability, this attack was still colored by Curry's irrational hatred of what King and the NAACP were trying to do, and by her own fear of being killed because of his constant stirring of the pot. Even so, it was one of the rare instances of black public hate directed at King, the kind that would later be famously associated with his colleague and competitor Malcolm X.

As he took flight to snip the bullying wings of Jim Crow, King ruffled the feathers of white racists who grew more determined to bring him down. There was striking physical intimidation of King. In a show of naked aggression, two white cops attempted to block his entry into a Montgomery courtroom for the trial of a man who had attacked his comrade Ralph Abernathy. Despite a warning from the cops, King poked his head inside the courtroom looking for his lawyer to help him get inside. His actions ignited their rage. The policemen twisted his arm behind his back and manhandled him into jail. King said the cops "tried to break my arm; they grabbed my collar and tried to choke me, and when they got me to the cell, they kicked me in." A photographer happened by to capture the scene. The shot of King – dressed in a natty tan suit, stylish gold wristwatch and a trendy snap-brim fedora – wincing as he is banished to confinement is an iconic civil rights image.

As King addressed the 1962 convention of his organization, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), a two hundred pound young white man rushed the stage and landed a brutal blow on his left cheek. The crowd reacted in hushed disbelief. The diminutive King never flinched or retreated, even as the young brute delivered several more blows, first to the side of his face as he stood behind King, and then two blows to his back. King gently spoke to his attacker as he continued to pummel his body. He knocked King backward as the orator dropped his hands – legendary activist Septima Clark, in attendance that day, said King let down his hands "like a newborn baby" – and faced his assailant head on.

Finally, SCLC staff leader Wyatt Tee Walker and others intervened as King pleaded, "Don't touch him! Don't touch him. We have to pray for him." King quietly assured the young man he wouldn't be harmed. The leader and his aides retreated to a private office to talk with his assailant, who was, King told the audience when he returned, a member of the American Nazi Party. As King held an ice-filled handkerchief to his jaw, he informed the crowd he wouldn't press charges. Most in attendance were amazed at King's calm as violence flashed.

Obviously nonviolence was more than a method and a creed; it answered assault with acts of steadfast courage.


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