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poetry meme, with a theme
I was planning to dig out my copy of Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand and transcribe Korga's dragon-hunting song, for that poetry meme that's been going around. (I've failed to find the file in which I'd previously transcribed it, and really thought I'd saved.)
But then I picked up this new book, Music and Drum -- which, contrary to what one might expect from the main title, is about war. "Voices of War and Peace, Hope and Dreams," as the subtitle reads. It's a children's book of verse; poetry. I have a mild addiction to children's books, but I almost never buy poetry 'for children.' This volume, however, was too topical to resist.
So. Selections from Music and Drum: Voices of War and Peace, Hope and Dreams.
Many of the poems are by children who have seen too much war.
"The Friend I Met While Running from the War"
by Song Myong-ho, translated from the Korean by Ann Sung-hi Lee
He went away,
his father carrying him piggyback,
following the brook
where the clouds rush noisily by,
the friend I met while running from the war.
When the cannons' roar
came over the mountain ridge,
the cicadas stopped singing
and there was only the barking of the dog
keeping watch alone
in the house of camellias
behind the garden walls.
We would take turns eating
mouthfuls of wild strawberries
and share green apples,
the friend whose name I never knew,
running from the war.
In June,
my friend's face
rises
in the clouds of flowers.
Dearer than a hometown friend,
I haven't heard from him since,
the friend I met while running from the war.
"The Lost Years"
by Fionnuala Bogues, age 16 (Ireland)
They talk, the older folks,
And paint a rosy past.
Oh! I am tired of hearing
How things were in Belfast.
They talk and tell me stories
Of the good times they once had
And the more they talk about it all
The more it makes me sad.
For I cannot remember
A childhood free from strife;
To me the bombs and bullets
Are just a way of life.
So I have just one question
To ask our violent men:
What about my wasted childhood,
Can you bring it back again?
"The Paint Box"
by Tali Shurek, age 13 (Israel)
I had a paint box--
Each color glowing with delight;
I had a paint box with colors
Warm and cool and bright.
I had no red for wounds and blood,
I had no black for an orphaned child,
I had no white for the face of the dead,
I had no yellow for burning sands.
I had orange for joy and life,
I had green for buds and blooms,
I had blue for clear bright skies,
I had pink for dreams and rest.
I sat down and painted Peace.
"O Mother Mine"
by Gassoub Serhan, age 14 (Jordan)
In my dream, O mother mine,
I saw an angel with wings pure white
Breaking the rifles one by one,
Shattering to pieces each gun,
Which then into the fire he dashes
And turns smouldering ashes.
In my dream, O mother mine,
I saw an angel with wings pure white
Scattering the ashes clean
Over the glittering scenes,
And the ashes turning into a white dove,
Hovering over the east, jubilant above.
In my dream, O mother mine,
I saw an angel with wings pure white
Lifting Moses and Mohammed up to the skies
And demanding they shake hands and be wise
I heard his voice thunder and echo after them:
Quick, make haste, O sons of Shem--
Behold he is coming, the Herald of Peace,
Singing a song of praise to Peace.
"Birdsong"
by an unknown child at Terezin concentration camp (Czech Republic)
He doesn't know the world at all
Who stays in his nest and doesn't go out.
He doesn't know what birds know best
Nor what I want to sing about,
That the world is full of loveliness.
When dewdrops sparkle in the grass
And earth's aflood with morning light,
A blackbird sings upon a bush
To greet the dawning after night.
Then I know how fine it is to live.
Hey, try to open up your heart
To beauty; go to the woods someday
And weave a wreath of memory there.
Then if the tears obscure your way
You'll know how wonderful it is
To be alive.
There are also classics, from as far back as the Song of Solomon, to as recent as Langston Hughes, by adults -- all of whom, once, were children, too. They speak of hope, of the wisdom of years that says, no, war is neither necessary nor inevitable, that peace is both preferable and inevitable.
All One People
by Carl Sandburg
What did Hiamovi, the red man, Chief of the Cheyennes, have?
To a great chief at Washington and to a chief of the peoples across the waters, Hiamovi spoke:
"There are birds of many colors -- red, blue, green, yellow,
Yet it is all one bird.
There are horses of many colors -- brown, black, yellow, white,
Yet it is all one horse.
So cattle, so all living things, animals, flowers, trees.
So men in this land, where once were only Indians, are now men of many colors -- white, black, yellow, red,
Yet all one people.
That this should come to pass was in the heart of the Great Mystery.
It is right thus -- and everywhere there shall be peace."
Thus Hiamovi, out of a tarnished and weather-worn heart of old gold, out of a living dawn gold.
And there are a few poems by modern poets; this was my favourite, and far and away the most timely, though I believe it was actually written in reaction to the Vietnam conflict of the 1960s.
"The Coward"
by Eve Merriam
You, weeping wide at war, weep with me now.
Cheating a little at peace, come near
And let us cheat together here.
Look at my guilt, mirror of my shame.
Deserter, I will not turn you in:
I am your trembling twin!
Afraid, our double knees lock in knocking fear;
Running from the guns we stumble upon each other.
Hide in my lap of terror: I am your mother.
--Only we two, and yet our howling can
Encircle the world's end.
Frightened, you are my only friend.
And frightened, we are everyone.
Someone must take a stand.
Coward, take my coward's hand.
Out of the mouths of babes, out of the lessons of history, out of every corner of the globe: cries for peace. At least sit down and listen, if you won't stand up and join in.
But then I picked up this new book, Music and Drum -- which, contrary to what one might expect from the main title, is about war. "Voices of War and Peace, Hope and Dreams," as the subtitle reads. It's a children's book of verse; poetry. I have a mild addiction to children's books, but I almost never buy poetry 'for children.' This volume, however, was too topical to resist.
So. Selections from Music and Drum: Voices of War and Peace, Hope and Dreams.
Many of the poems are by children who have seen too much war.
"The Friend I Met While Running from the War"
by Song Myong-ho, translated from the Korean by Ann Sung-hi Lee
He went away,
his father carrying him piggyback,
following the brook
where the clouds rush noisily by,
the friend I met while running from the war.
When the cannons' roar
came over the mountain ridge,
the cicadas stopped singing
and there was only the barking of the dog
keeping watch alone
in the house of camellias
behind the garden walls.
We would take turns eating
mouthfuls of wild strawberries
and share green apples,
the friend whose name I never knew,
running from the war.
In June,
my friend's face
rises
in the clouds of flowers.
Dearer than a hometown friend,
I haven't heard from him since,
the friend I met while running from the war.
by Fionnuala Bogues, age 16 (Ireland)
They talk, the older folks,
And paint a rosy past.
Oh! I am tired of hearing
How things were in Belfast.
They talk and tell me stories
Of the good times they once had
And the more they talk about it all
The more it makes me sad.
For I cannot remember
A childhood free from strife;
To me the bombs and bullets
Are just a way of life.
So I have just one question
To ask our violent men:
What about my wasted childhood,
Can you bring it back again?
"The Paint Box"
by Tali Shurek, age 13 (Israel)
I had a paint box--
Each color glowing with delight;
I had a paint box with colors
Warm and cool and bright.
I had no red for wounds and blood,
I had no black for an orphaned child,
I had no white for the face of the dead,
I had no yellow for burning sands.
I had orange for joy and life,
I had green for buds and blooms,
I had blue for clear bright skies,
I had pink for dreams and rest.
I sat down and painted Peace.
"O Mother Mine"
by Gassoub Serhan, age 14 (Jordan)
In my dream, O mother mine,
I saw an angel with wings pure white
Breaking the rifles one by one,
Shattering to pieces each gun,
Which then into the fire he dashes
And turns smouldering ashes.
In my dream, O mother mine,
I saw an angel with wings pure white
Scattering the ashes clean
Over the glittering scenes,
And the ashes turning into a white dove,
Hovering over the east, jubilant above.
In my dream, O mother mine,
I saw an angel with wings pure white
Lifting Moses and Mohammed up to the skies
And demanding they shake hands and be wise
I heard his voice thunder and echo after them:
Quick, make haste, O sons of Shem--
Behold he is coming, the Herald of Peace,
Singing a song of praise to Peace.
by an unknown child at Terezin concentration camp (Czech Republic)
He doesn't know the world at all
Who stays in his nest and doesn't go out.
He doesn't know what birds know best
Nor what I want to sing about,
That the world is full of loveliness.
When dewdrops sparkle in the grass
And earth's aflood with morning light,
A blackbird sings upon a bush
To greet the dawning after night.
Then I know how fine it is to live.
Hey, try to open up your heart
To beauty; go to the woods someday
And weave a wreath of memory there.
Then if the tears obscure your way
You'll know how wonderful it is
To be alive.
There are also classics, from as far back as the Song of Solomon, to as recent as Langston Hughes, by adults -- all of whom, once, were children, too. They speak of hope, of the wisdom of years that says, no, war is neither necessary nor inevitable, that peace is both preferable and inevitable.
All One People
by Carl Sandburg
What did Hiamovi, the red man, Chief of the Cheyennes, have?
To a great chief at Washington and to a chief of the peoples across the waters, Hiamovi spoke:
"There are birds of many colors -- red, blue, green, yellow,
Yet it is all one bird.
There are horses of many colors -- brown, black, yellow, white,
Yet it is all one horse.
So cattle, so all living things, animals, flowers, trees.
So men in this land, where once were only Indians, are now men of many colors -- white, black, yellow, red,
Yet all one people.
That this should come to pass was in the heart of the Great Mystery.
It is right thus -- and everywhere there shall be peace."
Thus Hiamovi, out of a tarnished and weather-worn heart of old gold, out of a living dawn gold.
And there are a few poems by modern poets; this was my favourite, and far and away the most timely, though I believe it was actually written in reaction to the Vietnam conflict of the 1960s.
by Eve Merriam
You, weeping wide at war, weep with me now.
Cheating a little at peace, come near
And let us cheat together here.
Look at my guilt, mirror of my shame.
Deserter, I will not turn you in:
I am your trembling twin!
Afraid, our double knees lock in knocking fear;
Running from the guns we stumble upon each other.
Hide in my lap of terror: I am your mother.
--Only we two, and yet our howling can
Encircle the world's end.
Frightened, you are my only friend.
And frightened, we are everyone.
Someone must take a stand.
Coward, take my coward's hand.
Out of the mouths of babes, out of the lessons of history, out of every corner of the globe: cries for peace. At least sit down and listen, if you won't stand up and join in.
no subject
I'm not sure how many artists are writing protest songs currently; the spectrum of popular music genres and subgenres has gotten so broad that it's entirely possible there are many I just don't hear because they're over in a different part of the radio dial than I tune into in the car. I wonder ... is there a web site collecting references to current protest songs across genres?