“I have an idea that the only thing which makes it possible to regard this world we live in without disgust is the beauty which now and then (wo)men create out of the chaos. The pictures they paint, the music they compose, the books they write, and the lives they lead. Of all these the richest in beauty is the beautiful life. That is the perfect work of art.”
― W. Somerset Maugham, The Painted Veil
2 Hours Celtic Music
Let America Be America Again
Langston Hughes, 1902 – 1967
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!
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.”
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,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
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!
From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 1994 the Estate of Langston Hughes. Used not for profit but to educate and share and for Black History Month [which should be Black History Year]
Langston Hughes: A poet, novelist, fiction writer, and playwright, Langston Hughes is known for his insightful, colorful portrayals of black life in America from the twenties through the sixties and was important in shaping the artistic contributions of the Harlem Renaissance.
Sur le Fil – Yann Tiersen Music from the French Language Film “Amelie”
A familial facial reflection
Unneeded outlandish rejection
Replacing precedent’s expectation
With a necessary deregulation
Turning creator into slave labor
Not given necessary fortification
Craving reliable idolization
Causing dreams of undeniable suffocation
Due to lack of continual unaltered representation
Of adulteration and uplifting sensational glorification
Spirit denied spontaneous cleansing and clarification
Unspecified non-existent qualification
Not mentioned in self-ordination
Just some minor miniature restoration
Portraying similarities to specification
Of a ghostly nightmares petrification
Pitiful the need for constant ramification
Being receiver of nonexistent gratification
Smoked and mirrored reflections filling imagination
Tired of less than spontaneous regurgitation
Usage of words lacking depth and personification
Ideas are dying thoughts losing representation
Minds laying waste from bubble gum strangulation
Bodies losing life force removal of living sensation
Purposes and focus absent due to brains mortification
Spiritual awakening weakened minus enlightening stimulation
NOTE THE QUIET
Warning rage Alert
A Cautionary fable
Notice the quiet Threat
© kiley 16
The Sound of Silence – Simon & Grafunkel
ORDINARILY IT ISN’T
Know it isn’t yet
Rejecting a thought unsaid
What won’t happen won’t
Instead don’t believe
What isn’t can never be
Grasp the consciousness
© kiley 16
Posted on ‘Off the Rails – Track 451’ on 9th June 2016