Winter clouds snow-laden, cotton fluff flying,
None or few the unfallen flowers.
Chill waves sweep through steep skies,
Yet earth's gentle breath grows warm.
Only heroes can quell tigers and leopards
...And wild bears never daunt the brave.
Plum blossoms welcome the whirling snow;
Small wonder flies freeze and perish.
- Mao
cigarette soliloquies
external exegesis
naked cave at lethe
yellow crane tower boulder
black wind blowing
Social scientific inquiry into liberation theory, scientific socialism and critical theory perspectives on contemporary culture.
Monday, January 31, 2011
To a Foiled Revolter or Revoltress.
1 COURAGE! my brother or my sister!
Keep on! Liberty is to be subserved, whatever occurs;
That is nothing, that is quelled by one or two failures,
or any number of failures,
Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people,
or by any unfaithfulness,
Or the show of the tushes of power—soldiers, cannon,
penal statutes.
2 What we believe in waits latent forever through
Asia, Africa, Europe, North and South America,
Australia, Cuba, and all the islands and archi-
pelagoes of the sea.
3 What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing,
sits in calmness and light, is positive and com-
posed, knows no discouragement,
Waits patiently its time—a year—a century—a
hundred centuries.
4 The battle rages with many a loud alarm and fre-
quent advance and retreat,
The infidel triumphs—or supposes he triumphs,
The prison, scaffold, garrote, hand-cuffs, iron necklace
and anklet, lead-balls, do their work,
The named and unnamed heroes pass to other
spheres,
The great speakers and writers are exiled—they lie
sick in distant lands,
The cause is asleep—the strongest throats are still,
choked with their own blood,
The young men drop their eyelashes toward the
ground when they meet,
But for all this, liberty has not gone out of the place,
nor the infidel entered into possession.
5 When liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first
to go, nor the second or third to go,
It waits for all the rest to go—it is the last.
6 When there are no more memories of the superb
lovers of the nations of the world,
The superb lovers' names scouted in the public
gatherings by the lips of the orators,
Boys not christened after them, but christened after
traitors and murderers instead,
Tyrants' and priests' successes really acknowledged
anywhere, for all the ostensible appearance,
You or I walking abroad upon the earth, elated at
the sight of slaves, no matter who they are,
And when all life, and all the Souls of men and women
are discharged from any part of the earth,
Then shall the instinct of liberty be discharged from
that part of the earth,
Then shall the infidel and the tyrant come into
possession.
7 Then courage!
For till all ceases, neither must you cease.
8 I do not know what you are for, (I do not what I am
for myself, nor what any thing is for,)
But I will search carefully for it in being foiled,
In defeat, poverty, imprisonment—for they too are
great.
9 Did we think victory great?
So it is—But now it seems to me, when it cannot be
helped, that defeat is great,
And that death and dismay are great.
- Walt Whitman
1 COURAGE! my brother or my sister!
Keep on! Liberty is to be subserved, whatever occurs;
That is nothing, that is quelled by one or two failures,
or any number of failures,
Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people,
or by any unfaithfulness,
Or the show of the tushes of power—soldiers, cannon,
penal statutes.
2 What we believe in waits latent forever through
Asia, Africa, Europe, North and South America,
Australia, Cuba, and all the islands and archi-
pelagoes of the sea.
3 What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing,
sits in calmness and light, is positive and com-
posed, knows no discouragement,
Waits patiently its time—a year—a century—a
hundred centuries.
4 The battle rages with many a loud alarm and fre-
quent advance and retreat,
The infidel triumphs—or supposes he triumphs,
The prison, scaffold, garrote, hand-cuffs, iron necklace
and anklet, lead-balls, do their work,
The named and unnamed heroes pass to other
spheres,
The great speakers and writers are exiled—they lie
sick in distant lands,
The cause is asleep—the strongest throats are still,
choked with their own blood,
The young men drop their eyelashes toward the
ground when they meet,
But for all this, liberty has not gone out of the place,
nor the infidel entered into possession.
5 When liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first
to go, nor the second or third to go,
It waits for all the rest to go—it is the last.
6 When there are no more memories of the superb
lovers of the nations of the world,
The superb lovers' names scouted in the public
gatherings by the lips of the orators,
Boys not christened after them, but christened after
traitors and murderers instead,
Tyrants' and priests' successes really acknowledged
anywhere, for all the ostensible appearance,
You or I walking abroad upon the earth, elated at
the sight of slaves, no matter who they are,
And when all life, and all the Souls of men and women
are discharged from any part of the earth,
Then shall the instinct of liberty be discharged from
that part of the earth,
Then shall the infidel and the tyrant come into
possession.
7 Then courage!
For till all ceases, neither must you cease.
8 I do not know what you are for, (I do not what I am
for myself, nor what any thing is for,)
But I will search carefully for it in being foiled,
In defeat, poverty, imprisonment—for they too are
great.
9 Did we think victory great?
So it is—But now it seems to me, when it cannot be
helped, that defeat is great,
And that death and dismay are great.
- Walt Whitman
In Memory Of The Paris Commune, Born March 18, 1871,
and Died In June The Same Year
What wingéd shape, with waving torch aflame,
Wild with winds of March, and streaming hair
Above the storm clouds, doth to men declare
What message, and a memory doth claim?
A star through drifting smoke of praise and blame -
The toilers' beacon, still to re-appear
With spring-tide hopes new quickening year by year
Since bright in Freedom's dawn the COMMUNE came.
Maligned, betrayed, short-lived to act and teach,
Whose blood lies still upon the hands that slew:
E'en now, when Labour knocks upon the gate
That shuts on Privilege, He thinks of you,
And what men dared and suffered, and their fate
Who ruled a City, once, for all and each.
Walter Crane
and Died In June The Same Year
What wingéd shape, with waving torch aflame,
Wild with winds of March, and streaming hair
Above the storm clouds, doth to men declare
What message, and a memory doth claim?
A star through drifting smoke of praise and blame -
The toilers' beacon, still to re-appear
With spring-tide hopes new quickening year by year
Since bright in Freedom's dawn the COMMUNE came.
Maligned, betrayed, short-lived to act and teach,
Whose blood lies still upon the hands that slew:
E'en now, when Labour knocks upon the gate
That shuts on Privilege, He thinks of you,
And what men dared and suffered, and their fate
Who ruled a City, once, for all and each.
Walter Crane
I Am The Clouds And The SKY
I am the clouds and the sky
I wonder what is unfolding below
I hear the cries of children and the screams of women
I see a holocaust unfolding before me
I want this horror to stop
But I am merely the clouds and the sky.
I pretend that all is well where I dwell
I feel the tempest of pain from sufferers
I touch the tormented hearts and souls
I worry the hurricane of death will never cease
I cry so that my tears may wash away the blood I see
But I am merely the clouds and the sky.
I understand the hurt and loss of those beneath me
I speak soothing words to assuage the injured grass
I dream the sun will shine through me and bring hope
I try to tornado this hurricane
I hope the evil will dissolve in my grasp
But I am merely the clouds and the sky.
Mohammad J. Alam
I am the clouds and the sky
I wonder what is unfolding below
I hear the cries of children and the screams of women
I see a holocaust unfolding before me
I want this horror to stop
But I am merely the clouds and the sky.
I pretend that all is well where I dwell
I feel the tempest of pain from sufferers
I touch the tormented hearts and souls
I worry the hurricane of death will never cease
I cry so that my tears may wash away the blood I see
But I am merely the clouds and the sky.
I understand the hurt and loss of those beneath me
I speak soothing words to assuage the injured grass
I dream the sun will shine through me and bring hope
I try to tornado this hurricane
I hope the evil will dissolve in my grasp
But I am merely the clouds and the sky.
Mohammad J. Alam