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Bread and Roses—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

2 May 2020 at 03:07
Bread and Roses introduced and sung by Utah Phillips. May Day— the real International Labor Day is sort of a holy day for me and millions of others who come out of the union movement, socialist, Marxist, anarchist, and immigrant justice movements.   The sacrifices working people are making during the world-wide Coronavirus pandemic health care workers, first responders of all types, and as vital parts of our strained food chain and social infrastructure remind us of the deep connections of solidarity even if we cannot be on the streets as usual.   So do the demands that governments and employers provide ample personal protective equipment (PPE) and safe, sanitary working conditions.   And don’t forget the support of working famili...

Virtual May Day Celebrations in a Time of Plague

1 May 2020 at 11:52

For the first time in 130 years workers will not be for the most part filling the streets worldwide for International Labor Day.  As much as unions, labor militants, socialists, Communists, and anarchists want to display their solidarity and flex their muscles on May Day most are loath to risk their supporters’ health and lives and breach a broader solidarity with society by assembling during the Coronavirus pandemic.
Others have not been so responsible. In the United States Trump supporters are trying to usurp the labor celebrationwith several planned Make America Great Again (MAGA) rallies that will echothe Cheeto-in-charge’s call to “Liberate!” states and cities that insist on enforcing closing orders and social distancing.  Some of these events, like the siege yesterday at the Michigan capitol in Lansing will include heavily armed neo-fascists.  Imagine what would happen if true labor demonstrators or outraged Blacks made such a showing.  
Poland, the birthplace of the Solidarity union uprising against the repressive Soviet dominated Communist regime that inspired workers’ power movements around the world has fallen so deeply into overt fascism that state sanctioned May Day marches today will call for draconian suppressionof LGBTQ rights and criminalization of individuals, suppression of women’s organizations that blocked plans to re-criminalize abortion, attack mostly Muslim refugees, and revive official anti-Semitism.  Other right-wingregimes will likewise coopt May Day.
Old fashion repression is the order of the day elsewhere.  In Turkey where the oppressive government as violently attacked May Day marches for the last three years acted preemptively to arrest the entire leadership of one major union federation and probably others.  India has made similar threats.

There will be strike actions in the U.S. today.  Meat cutters and packers in Nebraska and elsewhere are on strike to protest back to work orders in Coronavirus hot spots by Donald Trump’s proclamation that meat and poultry plants are “essential.”  Lack of protective equipment and safety precautionshas also been marked by several walk-out and demonstrations by front line health care workers.
Most ambitiously food chain workers at Whole Foods, Target, and Instacart as well as warehouse and delivery personnel at Amazon have announced a May Day General strike and consumer boycott.  While that effort will be far from universal it is a sign that a militant labor movement is growing even under the current adverse conditions.


If you, like me, need to scratch your May Day yen there are many virtual options available.  On a global level LabourStart and several international unions have are streaming an all-day virtual May Day from around the worlds starting at 9 am Eastern DaylightTime from Australia with speakers and entertainers from around the world.  It will be steaming live on LabourStart’s Facebook page or on Vimeo.



Most major American cities are having virtual May Day events which you can easily find in a Google search. In Chicago that includes the Laying of Rosesat the Haymarket Martyrs Memorial at Forest Home Cemetery in Forest Park from 11 am-Noon Central Daylight Time sponsored by the Greater Chicago IWW: Virtual May Day from 3-4 pm cosponsored by the Illinois Labor History Society and the Chicago Federation of Labor; and Mother Jones We Shall Rise Party from 4:30 to 9 pm sponsored by Mother Jones Lives.
We will close today with a poem that was inspired by a huge Chicago May Day march in 2017.


It Ain’t May I Day 
May 1, 2017

It ain’t May I Day, Bub!
No, siree.
It’s get the hell out of our way
May Day,
beg no damn pardon
May Day,
get your paws off of her
May Day,
leave those kids alone
May Day,
all hands on deck
May Day,
we and us and ours
May Day,
five finger fist
May Day,
We win,
May Day
Venceremos,
May Day,
Get it now?

—Patrick Murfin

The End by The Doors—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

1 May 2020 at 01:47
The End written by Jim Morrison and recorded by The Doors. We wound up our annual National Poetry Month on the blog earlier today and that got me thinking about the end, whatever the hell that is.   And that led inevitably to The Doors 1967 song The End which was written and sung by a guy who always considered himself a poet first—Jim Morrison. Morrison initially wrote the lyrics about his break up with his girlfriend Mary Werbelow, a fairly routine sad rock song, but it evolved through months of performances at Los Angeles’s   Whisky a Go Go into a much longer songwith apocalyptic over tones.   The Doors recorded a nearly 12-minute version for their self-titled debut album, which was released on January 4, 1967 and soon became a ...

Content Warning—A Fitting End to National Poetry Month 2020

30 April 2020 at 09:56
So called Open Up America protestors have taken to the streets when others won't to claim their time in the lime light.
I was just about to post a re-tread from several years ago to close out our National Poetry Month 2020series when multiple folks shared this stunning brand new poetic rant on Facebook.  It is raw with rage and grief but it dared to speak to what many of us are feeling during this Coronavirus pandemic cum charnel house as yahoos, cult zombies, and outright fascists parade around egged on by the White House and bankrolled by deep dark pockets demandingtheir rights to spit in the face of the rest of us, kill us and our loved ones.

C.S.E. Cooney
According to her web site C.S.E. Cooney lives and writes in Queens, whose borders are water. She is an audiobook narrator, the singer/songwriter Brimstone Rhine, and the author of Desdemona and the Deepand the World Fantasy Award-winning Bone Swans: Stories.  Her work includes three albums: Alecto! Alecto!, The Headless Bride, and Corbeau Blanc, Corbeau Noir, and a poetry collection, How to Flirt in Faerieland and Other Wild Rhymes. The latter features her 2011 Rhysling Award-winning The Sea King’s Second Bride.
Note—this is not for the prissy, the weak of heart, or any knee jerk on-the-other-hand types

Gun toting neo-fascists were a prominent part of the first open up rally at the Michigan capitol in Lancing.  Trump tweeted "Liberate Michigan!"  "Liberate Minnesota!"  "Liberate Virginia!"


Content Warning
if that is freedom, fuck it
i don’t want it
to walk bare as a genital wart in the mayo clinic
swollen with liberty, flying the colors of the flag
fuck it, fuck your freedoms
give me plexiglass prisons, given me wardens in hazmat
give me solitary confinement
give me an oubliette
so I can forget
you and your fanfaronade freedoms

to hold my dying elder’s hand in hospice
that is freedom
you, your ilk, you kick it to dust
you kick it to dust with your leather shoes
to meet at feast together, eat together
marry on the day we choose
let our doctors see their children again
such freedom
you crush with as much disgust as the snake
beneath your heel

my venom grows
every night, every morning
chokevine murderthoughts
thorn and strangle me:
the freedom to be kind, to forgive
to live and let live
all flayed away
I am a criminal in my own mind
I deserve my chains

I don’t know what you deserve
(to do time for war crimes is what you deserve)
I don’t know what you think you deserve
but you take it anyway
no matter what it takes away from
all the rest of us

my friend, swaddled like a sarcophagus in the morgue
for one last look at her sister’s face
my friend, in her lonely hotel room, decontaminating her scrubs
while she Skypes with her cat
my friend, who stares out the window as Washington Heights
bangs its pots and pans
so tired, too tired to join the humble éclat, tired
from doing nothing, from staying inside, keeping the city safe

you spit in the face of my friends
you spit in the face of my friends
you little shit
you little shit


C.S.E. Cooney


Alone Again (Naturally) —Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

29 April 2020 at 20:40
Alone Again (Naturally) by Gilbert O'Sullivan.

It’s a particularly gloomy day here in northern Illinois where it has been raining more or less steadily since yesterday afternoon.  I can’t get out for my daily life affirming constitutionaland our little dog who won’t go out when there is as much as a dropfalling is miserable and moping.  Must be time for a vein opener.  Alone Again (Naturally) definitely fits that bill.

The sleeve for the 1972 British release of Alone Again (Naturally).
Irish singer/songwriter Gilbert O’Sullivan—born Raymond Edward O'Sullivan—scored a huge international hit with Alone Again which was written when he was just 21 and recorded a year later in 1972.  The lilting ballad about a man jilted before his wedding and then describing the deaths of his parents was often presumed to be autobiographical.  But he was never engaged his father, who had abused his mother died when he was 11 years old, and his mother was still alive.O’Sullivan said “it was just one of the songs I was writing at the time.”  

It charted #1 in Ireland, the United Kingdom, the U.S., Canada, and France as well as #2 in Australia, New Zealand, and the Netherlands.


O'Sullivan's odd appearance and image as the cloth capped Bisto Kid with the bad bowl haircut and funny assumed name were all his own creation to mask a deep shyness.
Neil Diamond who was one of the artists who covered Alone Againsaid that he couldn’t believe a 21-year-old wrote it.

Eavan Boland—National Poetry Month 2020

29 April 2020 at 10:45
Beloved Irish poet Eavan Boland

Ireland is deeply mourning loss of Eavan Boland one of the greatest of her contemporary poets who died yesterday at the age of 75 at her Dublin home.  Her prolific body of work wrestled with often thorny issues of Irish identity and insisted on the recognition of the roleof women including their domestic situations.  It became so central to the conversation about evolving modern Ireland that her poems are studied by are studied by Irishstudents who take the Leaving Certificate, the final exam of secondary students required for admission to a college or university.  Mary Robinson selected her to read a poem at her 1990 inauguration as the first woman President of Éire and Barack Obama quoted her at a White House St. Patrick’s Day reception. 
Eavan Frances Boland was born on September 24, 1944 in Dublin to career diplomat Frederick Boland and his wife noted painter Frances Kelly.  When she was six in 1950 her father was appointed Ambassador to the United Kingdom to the most important Irish diplomatic post at a time when relations between the country were tense over Ireland’s neutrality during World War II and continuing claims on Northern Ireland.  As a child in London she first experienced anti-Irish sentiment which strengthened her identification with her Irish heritagewhich she later described in her poem An Irish Childhood in England: 1951. 
Boland in academic robes with her friend and contemporary Mary Robinson, first woman president of Ireland and Nobel Peace Prize winner.

At 14, she returned to Dublin to attend Holy Child School in Killiney and them Trinity College where she was a classmate of Mary Robinson and where she published a first pamphlet 23 Poems in 1962.  She earned her BA with First Class Honors in English Literature and Languagefrom Trinity in 1966.
Since then she held numerous teaching positions and published poetry, prose criticism, and essays. Boland married the novelist Kevin Casey in 1969 and had two daughters. Her experiences as a wife and mother influenced her to write about the centrality of the ordinary, as well as providing a frame for more political and historical themes.
Boland on her wedding day with husband Kevin Casey and her father Fredrick Boland.

She taught at Trinity College, University College, Dublin, and Bowdoin College in Main, and was a member of the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa. She was also writer in residence at Trinity and at the National Maternity Hospital.
In the late 1970s and 1980s, Boland taught at the School of Irish Studies in Dublin. From 1996 she was a tenured Professor of English at Stanford University and divided her time between Palo Alto, and her home in Dublin.
Boland’s first book of poetry was New Territory published in 1965 followed by The War Horse in 1975, In Her Own Image (1980) and Night Feed (1982), which established her reputation as a writer on the ordinary lives of women and on the difficulties faced by women poets in a male-dominated literary world.

                                    Boland reading in a pub.
She published dozens of collections most recently Eavan Boland: A Poet’s Dublin edited by Paula Meehan and Jody Allen Randolph and A Woman Without A Country both in 2014.
Boland’s many honors and awards on both sides of the Atlanticare too numerous to mention.  Her work best speaks for itself.
My friend and radical poet Jerry Pendergast selected this apt poem about the Irish famine and the typhoid epidemic that accompanied it to remember Boland.
Quarantine
In the worst hour of the worst season
of the worst year of a whole people
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking—they were both walking—north.

She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and west and north.
Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.

In the morning they were both found dead.
Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins of a whole history.
But her feet were held against his breastbone.
The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.

Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.
There is no place here for the inexact
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:

Their death together in the winter of 1847.
Also what they suffered. How they lived.
And what there is between a man and woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved.

Eavan Boland


This one cuts to the quick of shame and guilt.


Domestic Violence

1.

It was winter, lunar, wet. At dusk
Pewter seedlings became moonlight orphans.
Pleased to meet you meat to please you
said the butcher's sign in the window in the village.

Everything changed the year that we got married.
And after that we moved out to the suburbs.
How young we were, how ignorant, how ready
to think the only history was our own.

And there was a couple who quarreled into the night,
Their voices high, sharp:
nothing is ever entirely
right in the lives of those who love each other.

               2.

In that season suddenly our island
Broke out its old sores for all to see.
We saw them too.
We stood there wondering how

the salt horizons and the Dublin hills,
the rivers, table mountains, Viking marshes
we thought we knew
had been made to shiver

into our ancient twelve by fifteen television
which gave them back as gray and grayer tears
and killings, killings, killings,
then moonlight-colored funerals:

nothing we said
not then, not later,
fathomed what it is
is wrong in the lives of those who hate each other.

             3.

And if the provenance of memory is
only that—remember, not atone—
and if I can be safe in
the weak spring light in that kitchen, then

why is there another kitchen, spring light
always darkening in it and
a woman whispering to a man
over and over what else could we have done?

               4.

We failed our moment or our moment failed us.
The times were grand in size and we were small.
Why do I write that
when I don't believe it?

We lived our lives, were happy, stayed as one.
Children were born and raised here
and are gone,
including ours.

As for that couple did we ever
find out who they were
and did we want to?
I think we know. I think we always knew.

Eavan Boland

How We Made New Art on Old Ground wan in Boland's collection Against Love Poems.



Finally one on the complex interactions of history, the natural world, love, and art.

How We Made New Art on Old Ground

A famous battle happened in this valley.   
                     You never understood the nature poem.   
Till now. Till this moment—if these statements   
                     seem separate, unrelated, follow this   

silence to its edge and you will hear   
                     the history of air: the crispness of a fern   
or the upward cut and turn around of   
                     a fieldfare or thrush written on it.   

The other history is silent: The estuary   
                     is over there. The issue was decided here:   
Two kings prepared to give no quarter.   
                     Then one king and one dead tradition.   

Now the humid dusk, the old wounds   
                     wait for language, for a different truth:   
When you see the silk of the willow   
                     and the wider edge of the river turn   

and grow dark and then darker, then   
                     you will know that the nature poem   
is not the action nor its end: it is   
                     this rust on the gate beside the trees, on

the cattle grid underneath our feet,   
                     on the steering wheel shaft: it is   
an aftermath, an overlay and even in   
                     its own modest way, an art of peace:

I try the word distance and it fills with   
                     sycamores, a summer's worth of pollen   
And as I write valley straw, metal   
                     blood, oaths, armour are unwritten.   

Silence spreads slowly from these words   
                     to those ilex trees half in, half out   
of shadows falling on the shallow ford   
                     of the south bank beside Yellow Island   

as twilight shows how this sweet corrosion   
                     begins to be complete: what we see   
is what the poem says:   
                     evening coming—cattle, cattle-shadows—

and when bushes and a change of weather   
                     about to change them all: what we see is how
the place and the torment of the place are   
                     for this moment free of one another.

Eavan Boland


I Hope You Dance—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

28 April 2020 at 21:05
I Hope You Dance sung by Lee Ann Womack. I never thought of the 2000 Country and pop crossover mega-hit I Hope You Dance as likely fodderfor the Home Confinement Music Festival until Billy Seger sang if for our Tree of Life UU Congregation’s Flower Communion service last Sunday.   But of course it’s perfect. Lee Ann Womack's top hit album. I Hope You Dance was written by Mark D. Sanders and Tia Sillers  for Country diva Lee Ann Womack who recorded it with Sons of the Desert, a band fronted by lead vocalist Drew Womack and his brother Tim on lead guitar.   The brothers Womack were no relation to Lee Ann. The song reached #1 on both the Billboard Hot Country Singles & Tracks and Hot Adult Contemporary Tracks charts, and # 14 on the ...

Starhawk’s Verses of Muscular Spirituality and Eco-Feminism—National Poetry Month 2020

28 April 2020 at 07:00
Young Starhawk in the California woods..
When the history of religion and spirituality in the late 20th Century America is written it is possible that the most influential person might not be some mega-church pastor with a perfect pompadour and dazzling white smile, a learned theologian with a break-out idea, a Prelate or President of some denomination, or the guru of some eastern mysticism, but a nice Jewish girl from St. Paul, Minnesotawith wild hair and a penchant for colorful flowing robes.
Miriam Simos was born on June 17, 1951.  Both of her parents were the children of Jewish emigrants from Russia.  Her father died when she was only 5 and she was brought up by her mother, Bertha Claire Goldfarb Simos,a professor of social work at the University of California at Berkley.  They lived in Venice, a beach townthat was a center of surfing and alternative lifestyles.
Miriam’s mother was a feminist and she was an activist herself by the time she attended high school where she was close to fellow student Christina Hoff Sommers, who would go on in later years to fame as a leading conservative critic of modern feminism.
Miriam was a bright student and a spongefor the social changes swirling around her.  Enrolling at UCLA she aspired to be a writer, graduating in 1973.  While going on to pursue a graduate degree in film there she wrote A Weight of Gold an autobiographical novel and screen play about growing up in Venice, which won the prestigious Samuel Goldwyn Writing Award.  
Although the novel was not published, the recognition and encouragement led her to try to make a literary career in New York.  She then returned to California.  Basing herself in the Bay Area she was active in feminist, peace, anti-nuclear, ecological, and anarchist circles.
She was drawn to the burgeoning neo-pagan movement, especially Wicca and took the craft name Starhawk, under which she would climb to fame and influence within the movement.  She studied under Victor Anderson, who synthesized various world shamanistic traditions and founded the Feri Tradition to make those beliefs accessible to Americans.  She also studied with Zsuzsanna Budapest, founder of Dianic Wicca, a monotheistic goddess worshiping group who meet in women-only covens.  Budapest’s Susan B. Anthony Coven was both feminist/separatist and engaged in the politics of the world.

The 20th Anniversary editions of Starhawk' influential manifesto for eco-feminist and activist paganism.
Starhawk herself was also drawn deeply to a mystic connection to the earth.   She was alienated by the refusal of many of her neo-pagan contemporaries, particularly in main stream Wicca to engage in the world.  She synthesized her experienced into a manifesto of sorts on a muscular Goddess worship, The Spiral Dance which she completed in 1977.  Frustratingly, she was unable to find a publisher.  
Feminist religious scholar Carol P. Christ included an article by Starhawk on witchcraft and the Goddess movement in her influential anthology, Womanspirit Rising in 1979.  In that book Starhawk explained herself:
I am a witch, by which I mean that I am somebody who believes that the earth is sacred, and that women and women’s bodies are one expression of that sacred being.My spirituality has always been linked to my feminism.  Feminism is about challenging unequal power structures. So, it also means challenging inequalities in race, class, sexual preference. What we need to be doing is not just changing who holds power, but changing the way we conceive of power. There is the power we’re all familiar with—power over. But there is another kind of power—power from within. For a woman, it is the power to be fertile either in terms of having babies or writing books or dancing or baking bread or being a great organizer. It is the kind of power that doesn’t depend on depriving someone else.
Inclusion in that book led to the publication of The Spiral Dance: A Rebirth of the Ancient Religion of the Great Goddess by Harper and Rowlater the same year.  It became one of the bestselling and most influential neo-pagan books ever published.  It was a compendium of theological thought, history, and ritual practices.  New editions published on the 10th and 20th anniversaries of the first edition expanded on the original with additional reflection on the growth and evolutions of Starhawks’s thought.
The book was widely influential well beyond the still small and idiosyncratic world of neo-paganism.  It was avidly read by feminists, those interested in deep ecology, and women in small towns and cities who had felt isolated and alone.
Meanwhile Starhawk was also pursuing a Masters Degree in Psychology from the University of Antioch West in San Francisco, from which she graduated in 1982 leading to an academic careerat institutions that include John F. Kennedy University, Antioch West, the Institute of Culture and Creation Spirituality at Holy Names College, and Wisdom University. She is presently adjunct faculty at the California Institute of Integral Studies, and is currently affiliated with United for Peace and Justice, Earth Activist Training, and other groups. 
Starhawk’s deep critique of the common rhetoric of patriarchy and her concern that connection to the Earth and nature calls for a kind of activism in the world that was new to neo-paganism.  She pointedly asked,  “What do we do...those of us who do believe the earth is sacred, who do believe that we have a responsibility to care for the living systems that sustain us, and who do believe that we have a responsibility to take care of each other?”
Brining that activism to the public has been key.  In 1979 to celebrate the publication of her book Starhawk and friends organized a Bay Area Samhain (Halloween) celebration including a mass Spiral Dance.  Out of that loose association grew the Reclaiming Community, now an international movement that fuses neo-paganism with activism and offers classes in non-violence, civil disobedience, organizing and the like.  It is particularly active in overcoming the sense of white privilege which Starhawk believes has infested much of the neo-pagan community.  
Starhawk was active in founding CUUPS which helped lead to the adoption of the Unitarian Universalsit 7th Principle--"respect for the independent web of existance of which we are a part.
Starhawk was an early and influentially active member of the Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans (CUUPS).  She contributed heavily to the adoption of the Unitarian Universalist Association’s Seventh Principle, “Respect for the Interdependent Web of All Existence of Which We Are a Part” in 1983, a move led by the faith’s growing eco-feminist movement.  That inclusion has in many ways profoundly changed traditional Unitarian Universalism broadening its roots from radical Christianity and modern Humanism, influencing the way the faith act in the world, and being a major catalyst for a revival of spirituality in the liberal faith.  She continues to lead CUUPS workshops and retreats.
Although she helped found and continues to be active in the Covenant of the Goddess, legally recognized as a church since 1977. Starhawk’s interest transcends institutionalism in organized religion.  Through various activities, agencies, and groups she seeks to share a broad vision that transcends any single cult or practice.  To this end she has published widely.  In addition for the editions of the Spiral Dance her many books include Dreaming the Dark: Magic, Sex, and Politics in 1982, where she elaborated on the role of ritual as an agent of societal change; Truth Or Dare: Encounters with Power, Authority and Mystery in 1987, a synthetization her views on personal development, political action and witchcraft into a psychology of liberation; and the ecotopiannovel The Fifth Sacred Thing in 1993.  In addition her articles and essays have been widely published and translated around the world.
In the late ‘80’s Starhawk revisited her old interest in films, writing and staring in three films known collectively as the Women and Spirituality Trilogy for the National Film Board of Canada.  The widely hailed poetic documentaries include Goddess Rememberedin 1989, The Burning Times in 1990, and Full Circle in 1993.  In addition she has released numerous spoken word CDs.
Activism as continued to be important to Starhawk.  She leads training sessions in mindful activism and civil disobedience for many groups.  She contributes to a YouTube video series aimed at Unitarian Universalist activists and she wrote the call-to-action for the women’s peace organization Code Pink which engaged in numerous high profile civil disobedience actions in protest to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Today Starhawk is probably the most influential elder or crone of feminist neo-paganism.
Today her earth-based, feminist spirituality is widely influential beyond the growing neo-pagan community.  She is taught in theological schools and seminaries and theologians seek to reconcile the Divine Feminine and active, muscular reverence for the Earth with traditional Christianity.  Starhawk address this wider world as a major contributor to Belief Net and as a columnist for On Faith, the Newsweek/Washington Post online forum on religion.  
At 63 Starhawk lives communally with her second husband David Miller in San Francisco and also spends time at a simple hut in the woods western Sonoma County, California, where she practices permaculture in her extensive gardens, meditates, and writes.
Starhawk wrote in 2017, “In the midst of the swirling chaos of this political momentcomes the festival of Brigid, ancient Celtic Goddess of fire and water, of smithcraft, poetry and healing. Below is a Brigid poem, loosely based on the invocation I offered at a Reclaiming’s Brigid ritual, as thousands crowded into airportsaround the country to resist Trump’s illegal Muslim ban.”

Starhawk chose this illustration for her poem--A stylized Unitarian Universalist chalice superimposed of Brigid's fiery forge.


Brigid of the Forge,
the alchemy of making metal out of rock,
forging tools and weapons both.

We are a community uncomfortable with weapons.
We have spent our lives, some of us,
fighting against them.

Yet now there are lessons we need to learn
from the blade.

We have been hammered.
Now teach us to have an edge,
sharp and discerning,
to cut through lies.

We need the unity, the determination,
the momentum of a sword thrust.
The warrior’s selfless focus,
to be strategic,
to have a point.

We would rather wield
the digging fork or the pruning hook,
but we are called now,
not only to defend,
but to advance.

Brigid you are fire and water,
Holy well and sacred flame.
May the protectors of water
drink from your well.
May the homeless, the refugees,
warm themselves at your hearth.

You are smith, but also poet and healer.

May our words ring true as steel,
or better, as a great, chiming bell,
cracks mended.

May we carve out a space,
where our hands are free
to let go the grip on the hilt,
and open
to the caress of healing.

And may our hands
join with your great hand
to grasp that torch of liberty
and raise it high
above the currents’ rush and swell— 
a welcome, a promise, a pledge.

—Starhawk

In 2012 as U.S. remote control warcontinued rage in a Iraq, Afghanistan, and other corners of the world Starhawk spoke out.


A Maenad Prophecy dance.


Maenad Prophecy

When kings wage unjust war,
When poison fills the skies,
When the rich prey on the poor,
When hope for justice dies

When a spell lies o’er the land,
Of malice and of lies,
Then a wild and fearless band
Of women shall arise

Crazy saints, yoginis,
Peering through the gloom,
Maenads and dakinis
Witches grab your brooms!

Sweep away the stench
Sweep away the sneers!
Sweep away the clench
Of hunger and of fears

Dance to feel the passion
Dance to wake the wild,
To honor deep compassion,
For the forest and the child,

Dance to keep the Arctic cool,
To keep the jungle green,
Dance for every holy fool,
For every wound unseen.

Dance for justice, dance for peace
Dance for life to thrive,
May beauty, health and joy increase
For every being alive

Dance in love, dance in wrath,
For chains to fall apart,
Dance to choose a better path,
Dance for strength of heart,

All across the nation,
Bankers quail and glower,
Cracked is the foundation
Of the bastions of power

Strong walls crumble,
Kings face their final hour,
An angry earth shall rumble,
Down shall fall the Tower.

And through its stones shall weave the roots
Of a living tree
That offers us its shining fruits
Of truth and liberty

Fruit to fill each empty hand
With sweet gifts of the earth
Dance to heal this bleeding land--

A new world comes to birth.

—Starhawk 



Both of those protest poems were rooted in Starhawk's most enduring value—

Community
Somewhere, there are people
to whom we can speak with passion
without having the words catch in our throats.
Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us,
eyes will light up as we enter, 
voices will celebrate with us
whenever we come into our own power.
Community means strength that joins us our strength
to do the work that needs to be done.
Arms to hold us when we falter.
A circle of healing.  A circle of friends.
Someplace where
we can be free.

—Starhawk

Tomorrow from Annie—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

27 April 2020 at 21:02

Tomorrow from Annie sung by Andrea McArdle.

Tomorrow from the 1977 Broadway smash Annie is probably the most hopeful and optimistic anthem of the American stage.  As such it has thoroughly disgusted cynics and sophisticates becoming a perennial favorite of middle brow audiences.  
Harold Grey's Sandy and Annie with those weird blank round eyes.                                                                                                                                                                                                     
Annie was based on Harold Grey’s long-running comics page serial Little Orphan Annie and set smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression featuring the adventures of a plucky waif and her shaggy dog Sandy.  As in the strip, Annie finds reluctant refuge with millionaire war profiteer Daddy Warbucks.  The girl was supposed to represent an up-from-the-bootstraps attitude that didn’t want or need any damn handout.  Grey was an arch-conservative with nothing but disdain and hatred for the socialist New Deal, a position that endeared him to his publisher Colonel Robert R. McCormick of the Chicago Tribune.
Thomas Meehan who wrote the book for the musical had vastly different ideas.  Annie is a symbol of the downtrodden poor.  The New Deal and Franklin D. Roosevelt are themselves beacons of hope.  Annie even sang a reprise of the song directly to FDR.
The song was written by Charles Strouseand lyrics by Martin Charnin.  With different lyrics it was originally intended for a musical version of Flowers for Algernon but was lifted for Annie which was floundering in Washington, D.C. tryouts to beef up the first act.

Andrea McArdle and Reid Shelton as Daddy Warbucks in the original Broadway Production of Annie.
Since Andrea McArdle first took the stage as the moppet thousands of girls—and a handful of boys—have belted out the number in hundreds of stage productions around the world—revivals, tours, regional theater, community, and schools as well as two movies—1982 and 2014— and a Wonderful World of Disney T.V. adaption.
But I will always associate the song with the 2008 shooting at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville, Tennessee where members of two UU congregations gathered to hear a performance of Annie, Jr.  Fortunately the children in the cast had not yet taken the stage when a deranged gunman opened up killing four and wounding several others.  The next day at a memorial service organized by churches and congregations across Knoxville the children demanded to be allowed to sing Tomorrow.  There was not a dry eye in the crowd and I was moved to write a poem, Knoxville: 7/27/2008 10:26 a.m.

Today we will hear the original Annie singing Tomorrow on the 1977 Tony Awards TV broadcast.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            


Easter, 1916—National Poetry Month 2020

27 April 2020 at 11:43
Irish Volunteers on the march in Dublin in the outset of the 1916 Easter Rebellion.

Last Friday, April 24 was 104th anniversary of the day when the Irish Volunteers, Irish Citizen’s Army, the 200 women members of Cumann na mBan, and a small force of Hibernian Rifles seized key buildings in Dublin, including the General Post Office and read the Proclamation of the Irish Republic.  It was, by no coincidence, Easter Monday.

In thefive bloody days that followed the Royal Navy shelled the city and thousands of troops poured ineventually crushing the rebellionwith heavy casualties.  All seven signatories of the Proclamation including Padraig Pearce and the wounded socialist and radical labor unionist James Connolly and seven others, including men who were not even directly involved, were executed by firing squads.

Stunned crowds gather before the bombed out ruins of the Dublin General Post Office after the surrender of the Rebels.

Over 1,500 rebelswere placed in virtual concentration camps where they met in secretand plotted revolution.  
The Rebellion was crushed but despite epic British repression, the flame of Irish independence and liberty was never extinguished.  Survivors of the insurrection and those inspired by the sacrifices the Irish martyrs met and organized in secret over the next years under the political leadership of the Sinn Féinparty and the creation of the Irish Republican Army. The Declaration of Independence was a document adopted by Dáil Éireann, the revolutionary parliament of theIrish Republic, at its first meeting in the Mansion House in Dublin on January 21, 1919. 
A bloody and remorseless year a half guerilla war revolution followed.  By mid-1920 revolutionary forces we in de facto control of most of the country except for the capital in Dublin and majority ProtestantUlster where a particularly savage civil war was contested.  The British were exhausted by the monumental losses of the Great War of 1914-1918 public opinion was rising against continuing a war in Ireland.
In May 1921, Ireland was partitioned under British law by the Government of Ireland Act, which created Northern Ireland. Both sides agreed to a truce on July 11. The post-ceasefire talks led to the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty on December 6.1921.  This ended British rule in most of Ireland and, after a ten-month transitionalperiod overseen by a provisional government, the Irish Free Statewas created as a self-governing Dominionof the British Empire on December 6, 1922 while Northern Ireland remained within the United Kingdom

The assassination of Michael Collins during the Irish Civil War.
But Republicans were bitterly divided over the exclusion of Ulster from the rest of the country. After the ceasefire, violence in Belfast and fighting in border areas of Northern Ireland continued, and the factions of the IRA launched a failed Northern offensivein May 1922. In June disagreement among republicans over the Anglo-Irish Treaty broke out into the eleven-month Irish Civil War.  Eamon DeVallera rallied forces against the Provisional Government headed by Michael Collins, IRA commander during the revolution.  Collins was assassinated August and many anti-treaty Republican leaders were also killed.  Casualties probably greatly exceeded those lost during the Revolution.  The Free State government finally prevailed.
But DeVallera and his hyper-Catholic nationalists made steady political gains over the next decade and a half while the anti-treaty or irregular IRA continued to operate on a low level in the North.   Following a national plebiscite in July 1937 a new Constitution of Ireland replaced the Constitution of the Irish Free State and adopted Éire as the new name of the country.  While Articles 2 and 3 of the Constitution defined the national territory to be the whole island, they also confined the state’s jurisdiction to the area that had been the Irish Free State.
DeVallera’s Fianna Fáil party became the dominant force in the country and he became  Taoiseach—prime minister serving three times.  

Eamon DeVallera  dominated Irish politics after the Civil War  and the creation of Éire.

The dream of uniting Ireland never went away and there were periodic campaigns by IRA elements in Ulster for years.  The late 1960’s saw the beginning of The Troubles that continued for decades until 1998 when a shaky cease fire and a drawn-out peace process began.  Finally the St Andrews Agreement between the British and Irish governments and Northern Ireland's political parties in relation to the devolution of power in the region led to a final withdrawal of British troops in Northern Ireland and Sinn Féin finally agreeing to participate in Northern Ireland’s parliament.

Youths in Free Derry confront and taunt British troops duing the Troubles.  It was a dangerous game.

The ride has not been all smooth since then, but general peace has prevailed.  Brexit has threatened to erect a tariff wall between the Republic and the North since Éire remained staunchly attached to the European Unionwhich could destroy the common economy of the island. 
On the other hand the government in the South has finally shaken domination by the Catholic Church and adopted liberal reforms allowing for divorce and even abortion which makes the South less threatening to Protestants in the North.  Even those Protestants, now on the verge of becoming a minority in Ulster, also rejected Brexit although they were dragged into it.  It is not inconceivable the Northern Ireland like Scotland and perhaps Wales could seek to leave the United Kingdom to rejoin Europe which could finally lead to the reunification of Ireland.

William Butler Yeats  regarded as one of the greatest poets writing in English of the 20th Century.

That’s a lot of history and drama.  Which makes William Butler Yeats’ powerful poem Easter 1916 seem more prophetic. Yeats, generally listed along with Anglo-American T.S. Eliotas one of the greatest English Language poets of the 20th Century, witnessed the Rising but did not participate.  In fact at first he was ambivalentat first as were many surprised Dubliners.  But he was moved by the executions of the leaders.  Easter, 1916 became a Republican rallying cry.  It is always read at annual commemorations of the Rising in Dublin.

Padraig Pearce post the Proclamation of the Irish Republic on the General Post Office with a guard of his Irish Volunteers while Dubliners went about their business on Easter Sunday 1916.
Easter, 1916

I have met them at close of day  
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey  
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head  
Or polite meaningless words,  
Or have lingered awhile and said  
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done  
Of a mocking tale or a gibe  
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,  
Being certain that they and I  
But lived where motley is worn:  
All changed, changed utterly:  
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent  
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers  
When, young and beautiful,  
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school  
And rode our wingèd horse;  
This other his helper and friend  
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,  
So sensitive his nature seemed,  
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,  
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,  
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone  
Through summer and winter seem  
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road,  
The rider, the birds that range  
From cloud to tumbling cloud,  
Minute by minute they change;  
A shadow of cloud on the stream  
Changes minute by minute;  
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,  
And a horse plashes within it;  
The long-legged moor-hens dive,  
And hens to moor-cocks call;  
Minute by minute they live:  
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.  
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part  
To murmur name upon name,  
As a mother names her child  
When sleep at last has come  
On limbs that had run wild.  
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;  
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith  
For all that is done and said.  
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;  
And what if excess of love  
Bewildered them till they died?  
I write it out in a verse—
MacDonagh and MacBride  
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:  
A terrible beauty is born.

William Butler Yeats

Tip Toe Through the Tulips—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

26 April 2020 at 18:16
Tip Toe Through the Tulips sung by Nick Lucas in the film Gold Diggers of Broadway. Today at my church, the Tree of Life Unitarian Universalist Congregation in McHenry we celebrated a virtual Flower Communion during our Zoom services.   The Flower Communion is one of the few entirely original rituals for U.U.s and is generally observed in the Spring as a celebration of communityand the enduring rejuvenation of beauty and life.   Generally it involves some way of sharing flowers brought to the services to all in attendance.   We could only show our flowers to our computer cameras, or if we had nothing yet blooming in our yards or maybe wear something with a flower print or show a work of art. In honor of the occasion I thought a flower...

Poetry for Ramadan—National Poetry Month 2020

26 April 2020 at 07:00
Observation of the rising of the crescent new moon marking the beginning of the month officially begins Ramadan. In most of the Islamic world Ramadan the ninth month of the Muslim Calendar, began Thursday at sun down. The date is calculated by the first sighting of the crescentafter the New Moon.   Since this can vary in different parts of the world, so can the marked beginning of the month.   In the United States the western calendar date was April 23. Ramadan was the month in which the first versesof the Qur’an were revealedto the Prophet Mohammad. The month of cleansing as the faithful rededicate themselves to Allah by emphasizing patience, humility, and spiritualityby an absolute fast observed by all Muslims over the age of puber...

The Liar Tweets Tonight—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

25 April 2020 at 19:00
The Liar Tweets Tonight by Ron Zimmerman and the ReZisters. I have posted no overtly political songs so far in the Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival or any of the several satires created for the Coronavirus epidemic that have been posted all over social media and YouTube.   Instead I have preferred to harvest and present existing sounds in various genres that in some way speak to our present condition.   But Roy Zimmerman’s fresh new video The Liar Tweets Tonight is to spot on and hilarious to pass up. Roy Zimmerman on stage. Zimmerman has often been compared to Tom Lehrer over his thirty-year career—topical, insightful, and hilarious.   His songs have also been compared to the long-running ensemble revues by the Capital Step...

Jane Hirshfield—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

25 April 2020 at 07:00
Jan Hirshfield with some of her books. Jane Hirshfield is not only a leading American poet with eight highly acclaimed collections under her belt, a slew of awards and prestigiousfellowships, and wide teaching experience but she is also now officially a leading face and voice for American verse as a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets. She was born in New York City on February 24, 1953.   She was a member of the first class of Princeton University to graduate women.    As a young woman teaching part time at distinguished universities her tastes and influences were wide.   She studied and became fluent in Japanese and was drawn to Zen Buddhism receiving a lay ordination in 1979 in Soto Zen at the San Francisco Zen Center.   B...

One Love-People Get Ready—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

24 April 2020 at 21:09
One Love/People Get Ready by Bob Marley and the Wailers. What could be better for our Home Confinement Music Festival today than the song that was named song of the millennium by the World Health Organization (WHO), picked as the best of Jamaican music in the last 50 years, and has been an irresistible international favorite? One Love/People Get Ready is a reggaesong by Bob Marley & The Wailersfrom their 1977 album Exodus . It was first recorded in a ska style—an earlier Jamaican music genre—by   Marley’s original group,   named simply The Wailers in 1965 and was released as a single and was included on their first singles compilation The Wailing Wailers later that year. It was rerecorded as part of the 1970 medley All In One, wh...

Poems for Nurses—National Poetry Month 2020

24 April 2020 at 11:57
A stunned and exhausted nurse may become the iconic image of the Coronavirus pandemic.
In 2001 the iconic heroes of 9/11 were the firefighters—both the ones who rushed into the twin towers after the aircraft impacts and those covered in ash and grief in the hours and days after the buildings collapsed.  In war time they have often been soldiers like those who stormed the beaches of Normandy or raised the flag on Iwo Jima.  In the aftermath of earthquakes, floods, tornados and other natural disasters they are the rescuers searching frantically for survivors.
This year the iconic heroes of the Coronavirus pandemic are the nurses.  Sure, other get and deserve attention—first responders, doctors and other medical personnel, scientists seeking treatmentsor vaccines, and even other usually ignored essential workers including grocery clerks, truck drivers and delivery persons, custodians and cleaners.  But nurses have riveted our attention and sympathy with their tireless devotion in the midst of overwhelming chaosand suffering.
The most lasting images of this time might well be the portraits of exhaustednurses, their faces deeply marked by their masks, noses rubbed raw, sweaty, hair awry under caps and the same thousand yard stare of a shell shocked GI.  A close second might be the pictures of nurses in scrubs, arms folded calming blocking the path of screaming and abusive yahoos in trucks demanding the right to infect and kill.
Nursing is as old as humanity itself.  There have always been those who tended and cared for the sick, the old, the woundedfamily members, tribe members, or neighbors.  Their tasks were not to cure—that was the provinceof shamans, witch doctors, or later physicians.  It was to provide comfort and solace.  By Medieval times orders of nuns and friars were organized as were primitive hospitals and asylums.
But nursing did not become an organized profession until the 19th Century arising out of the bloody mayhem of war.  Florence Nightingale became the celebrated Lady with a Lamp during the Crimean War and then returned to England to found the first schools of nursing.  On this side of the pond Clara Barton and Dorothea Dix filled similar roles and found fame and adulation.

A World War I eastern European post card of a Red Cross nurse as an angel.
War time nurses often were called angels for their selfless ministrations.  They treated Doughboys in France, were trapped with their charges on doomed Corregidor and endured years as prisoners of war, were there in front line MASH units in Korea and Vietnam, and wore desert camo as they attended the mutilated bodies of soldiers ripped apartby roadside bombs.

Romance novel nurse.
In civilian life nurses became familiar figures in their spotless white uniformsand starched caps in hospitals and doctors’ offices providing efficient but tender care.  Romance between nurses and patients and between nurses and doctors became a staple of popular culture in novels like Ernest Hemmingway’s A Farewell to Arms, in countless films like the Dr. Killdeer series, in soap operas, comic books, pulp novels, and the prime time TV hospital dramasfrom Saint Elsewhere to Chicago Med.
On the darker side of that is the sexploitation of “slutty nurses” in countless porno films and videos.
Poets have long found nurses irresistible muses.  Here are some examples.

American Henry Wadsworth Longfellow first referred to Florence Nightingale as "The Lady with the Lamp"

In 1857 The Atlantic Monthly, a relatively new American literary magazine published Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem Santa Filomena which was inspired by accounts of Florence Nightingale’s service in the Crimean War.  Saint Philomena is a patron of the sick.  In the poem Longfellow coined the phraseThe Lady with the Lamp” which forever became associated with the heroic nurse.

Santa Filomena

Whene’er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene’er is spoken a noble thought,
   Our hearts, in glad surprise,
   To higher levels rise.

The tidal wave of deeper souls
Into our inmost being rolls,
   And lifts us unawares
   Out of all meaner cares.

Honor to those whose words or deeds
Thus help us in our daily needs,
   And by their overflow
   Raise us from what is low!

Thus thought I, as by night I read
Of the great army of the dead,
   The trenches cold and damp,
   The starved and frozen camp,—  

The wounded from the battle-plain,
In dreary hospitals of pain,
   The cheerless corridors,
   The cold and stony floors.

Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see
   Pass through the glimmering gloom,
   And flit from room to room.

And slow, as in a dream of bliss,
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss
   Her shadow, as it falls
   Upon the darkening walls.

As if a door in heaven should be
Opened and then closed suddenly,
   The vision came and went,
   The light shone and was spent.

On England’s annals, through the long
Hereafter of her speech and song,
   That light its rays shall cast
   From portals of the past.

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand
In the great history of the land,
   A noble type of good,
   Heroic womanhood.

Nor even shall be wanting here
The palm, the lily, and the spear,
   The symbols that of yore
   Saint Filomena bore.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A woodcut of Walt Whitman as a Civil War nurse.



Next to Clara Barton Walt Whitman was the most famous nurse of the American Civil War.  He volunteered to tend the injured on the battlefield after the Battle of Fredericksburg in 1862 and continued his ministrations in Washington hospitals.  He wrote about his experience in his book Drum-Taps.

The Wound-Dresser
1

An old man bending I come among new faces,
Years looking backward resuming in answer to children,
Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me,
(Arous’d and angry, I’d thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war,
But soon my fingers fail’d me, my face droop’d and I resign’d myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;)
Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances,
Of unsurpass’d heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;)
Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth,
Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us?
What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,
Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains?

2

O maidens and young men I love and that love me
What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your talking recall
Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover’d with sweat and dust,
In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge,
Enter the captur’d works—yet lo, like a swift running river they fade,
Pass and are gone they fade—I dwell not on soldiers’ perils or soldiers’ joys,
(Both I remember well—many of the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.)

But in silence, in dreams’ projections,
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,
With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up there,
Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.)

Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,
Straight and swift to my wounded I go,
Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in,
Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground,
Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital,
To the long rows of cots up and down each side I return,
To each and all one after another I draw near, not one do I miss,
An attendant follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail,
Soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill’d again.

I onward go, I stop,
With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds,
I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable,
One turns to me his appealing eyes—poor boy! I never knew you,
Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.

3

On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
The crush’d head I dress, (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away,)
The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through I examine,
Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard,
(Come sweet death! be persuaded O beautiful death!
In mercy come quickly.)

From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood,
Back on his pillow the soldier bends with curv’d neck and side falling head,
His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody stump,
And has not yet look’d on it.

I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep,
But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking,
And the yellow-blue countenance see.

I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet-wound,
Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive,
While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and pail.

I am faithful, I do not give out,
The fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,
These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)

4

Thus in silence in dreams’ projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals,
The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young,
Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad,
(Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested,
Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

—Walt Whitman





Michael Earl Craig is a contemporary poet who lives near Livingston, Montana, where his day job is a farrier.  He looks at a nurse as a patient, perhaps one who is slightly delirious

Night Nurse

This night nurse is different.
She walks into my room and does not turn the light on.
She thinks I am sleeping.
I have just barely opened my left eye,
am looking through the slightest slit,
as moonlight exposes the room
for what it really is — a collection
of surfaces; lines and planes, mostly.
The night nurse puts a foot up on the radiator
and braces her clipboard on her knee
as she appears to take down a few notes.
I imagine she is working on a sonnet,
and that her ankle looks like polished walnut.
You imagine she is working on a crossword,
and that her feet are killing her.
The slightest slit is like an old gate
at a Japanese tea garden at night,
in the rain, that is supposed to be closed,
that is supposed to be locked.
“Someone has locked up poorly,” you’d say.
“Incorrectly.” But no one has asked you.

Michael Earl Craig


Ray Buchanan, the 89 year old Coronavirus victim who nurse Doug Rae comforted as he died.

Doug Rae, an intensive-carenurse at St. Paul’s Hospital in Vancouver wrote a poem about his final moments with Ray Buchanan, an accomplished, 89-year-old costume designer who had worked in theatre and film


Today I held his hand
I told him
He was strong
This virus had
Taken over
No more fighting
To be done

Today I held his hand
And in the other
Held a phone
His family said
We love you
It’s time to say
Goodbye

Today I held his hand
As I hung up
On that phone
His breathing pattern
Changed
His heart beating
No more

Today I held his hand
Tears behind my
Plastic face mask
This protective suit
I’m wearing
Cannot shield
humanity

Today I held his hand
So he wouldn’t be
alone.

Doug Rae




On the Sunny Side of the Street—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

23 April 2020 at 21:29
 On the Sunny Side of the Street  by Tommy Dorsey and His Orchestra with the Sentimentalists.


Feeling a little stir crazy today?  Well just get up and take a stroll on the sunny side of the street.  Even Chicago mayor Lori Lightfoot whose stern visage enforcing social distancing and telling everyone to just stay home and has become a viral meme sensation says that it’s alright to go out for a walk for exercise. 

Mayor Lightfoot is watching but even she will let you take a walk if you social distance.
On the Sunny Side of the Street was a 1930 song composed by Jimmy McHughwith lyrics by Dorothy Fields. Some writer claim that Fats Waller was the actual composer, but sold the rights—not an uncommon thing for cash strapped Black musicians to do, especially in the Depression.  It was introduced on Broadway in Lew Leslie’s International Revuestarring Harry Richman and Gertrude Lawrence.  Richman had a hit record that year with the song but Ted Lewis and His Orchestra had a bigger one.  It became one of the quirky clarinetist/singer’s signature songs.  

Ted Lewis with his clarinet and trademark bashed in top hat with his band circa 1930.
It quickly became a jazz standard with instrumentals recoded by Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Lionel Hampton, Erroll Garner, Count Basie, Dizzy Gillespie, Art Tatum, Lester Young, Earl “Fatha” Hines, and Dave Brubeck.   Singers who performed it included Billie Holiday, Bing Crosby,  Dinah Washington, Ella Fitzgerald, Judy Garland, Doris Day, Frankie Laine, Keely Smith, Nat King Cole, Jo Stafford with The Pied Pipers, Frank Sinatra, and Willie Nelson

The Sentimentalists a/k/a the Clark Sisters were the vocalists on Tommy Dorsey's hit recording.
Today we are listening to the most popular arrangement by Tommy Dorsey and the Sentimentalists which charted in 1945 reaching the #16.


Letitia Elizabeth Landon—National Poetry Month 2020

23 April 2020 at 11:14
English Romantic poet Letitia Elizabeth Landon was often compared to Lord Byron but his promiscuity was winked at or even admired while mere rumors of hers destroyed her.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon was once perhaps the most esteemed English Female Romantic Poet but even as her reputation soared she was beset with rumor and innuendo over alleged sexual dalliances and perhaps even a bastard child or aborted pregnancies.  The extent to which those rumors were true is still unclear and in debate.  What is true is that bubbling scandal ruined her promising life, led to an early and tragic death, and eventually caused later scandalizedVictorians to erase her literary memory.  The charming roguery of a Lord Byron did not harm his public esteem, but even the hint of sexual adventures was fatal to the young woman.
Landon was born on August 14, 1802 in Chelsea, London to John Landon and his wife Catherine Jane.  A precocious child, Landon learned to read as a toddler.
At the age of five, Landon began attending Frances Arabella Rowden’s school in Knightsbridge.  Rowden was an engaging teacher, a poet, and had a particular enthusiasm for the theatre. According to Mary Russell Mitford, ‘she had a knack of making poetesses of her pupils” like Caroline Ponsonby, later Lady Caroline Lamb; Emma Roberts, the travel writer; Anna Maria Fielding, who publishedas Mrs. S. C. Hall; and Rosina Doyle Wheeler, who published her many novels as Rosina Bulwer Lytton.  Landon would surpass them all.
The Landons moved to the country in 1809, so that her could carry out a model farm project. Letitia was educated at home by her older cousin Elizabeth who quickly found her knowledge and abilities outstripped by those of her pupil.  During those years she was extremely close to her younger brother Whittington Henry, born in 1804 and the pair enjoyed many bucolic adventures together.
After an agricultural depression in 1815 forced the family to move back to London in reduced circumstances young Letitia began selling some of her poetry to help support the family.  She charmed and came under the tutelage of William Jerdan, editor of the Literary Gazette which first published one of her verses in 1820.  Jerdan thought of her ideas as “original and extraordinary.”  The following year grandmother underwrote her first book of poetry, The Fate of Adelaide, under her full name. The book met with little critical notice, but sold well.  The publisher soon failed and Landon received no profits.

Landon from the front piece of one of her books of poetry.

She was soon publishing more often in the Gazette signing her work L.E.L the byline with which she gained fame.  Landon went on to serve as the Gazette’s chief reviewer as she continued to write poetry.  Her second collection, The Improvisatrice, appeared in 1824 to some acclaim.  Her father died later that year, and she was forced to write as the sole support of her family.  Although literary work by gentlewomen was considered acceptable a woman writing professionally was a scandal some believed was little short of prostitution.
Her bother Whittington was the chief beneficiary of her labors.  She paid for his education at Worcester College, Oxford.  He went on to become a minister and was deeply embarrassed by his “scandalous” sister going so far as to later spread rumors about her marriage and death.

Writer John Forster was Landon's fiancé who demanded proof of her guiltlessness then jilted her anyway.
By 1826, Landon’s reputation began to suffer as rumors circulated that she had had affairs or secretly borne children. She continued to publish poetry, and in 1831 her first novel, Romance and Reality. She became engaged to John Forster who became aware of the gossip regarding Landon's sexual activity, and asked her to refute them. Landon responded that Forster should “make every inquiry in [his] power” which he Forster did.  Although he proclaimed her blameless he none-the-less broke off their engagement. To him, she wrote:
The more I think, the more I feel I ought not—I can not—allow you to unite yourself with one accused of—I can not write it. The mere suspicion is dreadful as death. Were it stated as a fact, that might be disproved. Were it a difficulty of any other kind, I might say, Look back at every action of my life, ask every friend I have. But what answer can I give ... ? I feel that to give up all idea of a near and dear connection is as much my duty to myself as to you…
Desperate to escape the lingering scandal Landon began seeking a marriage that would take her away from England and the gossip mongers.  There were candidates but her association with them only fed the fire. In October 1836, Landon met George Maclean, Governor of the Gold Coast (now Ghana) at a dinner party given by Matthew Forster, and the two began a relationship. Maclean, however, moved to Scotland early the following year, to the surprise and distress of Landon and her friends. After much prodding, Maclean returned to England and they were married shortly on June 7. 1838.  But to spare Maclean scandal the marriage was kept secret, and Landon spent the first month of it living with friends.

Portrait of a cad--George Maclean, Governor of the Gold Coast.
Maclean was entirely unsuited for Landon having felt trapped into the marriage.  He treated her curtly and coldly while himself indulging in affairs.  In early July, the couple sailed for Cape Coast, arrived on 16 August 16 1838.  MacLean has to scurry of the ship ahead of his wife to make sure a long-time local Black mistress and their children had left town.
Landon was in despair.  She was also ill with a critical heart condition for which she was prescribed prussic acid, a deadly poison in all but the smallest doses. On October 15, 1838, Landon was found dead with a bottle prussic acid in her hand.  She was hastily buried in the courtyard of Cape Coast Castle.   Rumors swirled that Maclean or his former mistress poisoned her or that she committed suicide upon discovery of the relationship.  Others think that the overdose was accidental.   Whatever, she was dead at only 36 years old.
The immediate effect of the news of her death was an outpouring of support and admiration by some of England’s most admired literary figures including Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who wrote L.E.L.’s Last Question in homage; and Christina Rossetti, who published a tribute poem L.E.L in her 1866 volume The Prince's Progress and Other Poems.  Landon’s poetry was initially re-printedand anthologized.
But Victorians of the later years of the 19th Century took a much dimmer view and soon Landon was nearly a literary unperson.  In the next century her dated Romantic style was an excuse to ignore her, although far less adept Romantics—safely male—did not suffer.  

Lucasta Millers recent biography examines the double standard that destroyed Landon personally and as a literary figure.
Of late feminist scholars have revived interest in Landon and she was recently the subject of a new biography L.E.L.: The Lost Life and Scandalous Death of Letitia Elizabeth Landon, the Celebrated “Female Byron” by Lucasta Miller.  
Lines of Life
Orphan in my first years, I early learnt
To make my heart suffice itself, and seek
Support and sympathy in its own depths.

Well, read my cheek, and watch my eye, —
    Too strictly school’d are they
One secret of my soul to show,
    One hidden thought betray.

I never knew the time my heart
    Look’d freely from my brow;
It once was check’d by timidness,
     ‘Tis taught by caution now.

I live among the cold, the false,
    And I must seem like them;
And such I am, for I am false
   As those I most condemn.

I teach my lip its sweetest smile,
    My tongue its softest tone;
I borrow others’ likeness, till
    Almost I lose my own.

I pass through flattery’s gilded sieve,
    Whatever I would say;
In social life, all, like the blind,
    Must learn to feel their way.

I check my thoughts like curbed steeds
    That struggle with the rein;
I bid my feelings sleep, like wrecks
    In the unfathom’d main.

I hear them speak of love, the deep.
    The true, and mock the name;
Mock at all high and early truth,
    And I too do the same.

I hear them tell some touching tale,
    I swallow down the tear;
I hear them name some generous deed,
    And I have learnt to sneer.

I hear the spiritual, the kind,
    The pure, but named in mirth;
Till all of good, ay, even hope,
    Seems exiled from our earth.

And one fear, withering ridicule,
    Is all that I can dread;
A sword hung by a single hair
    For ever o’er the head.

We bow to a most servile faith,
    In a most servile fear;
While none among us dares to say
    What none will choose to hear.

And if we dream of loftier thoughts,
    In weakness they are gone;
And indolence and vanity
    Rivet our fetters on.

Surely I was not born for this!
    I feel a loftier mood
Of generous impulse, high resolve,
    Steal o'er my solitude!

I gaze upon the thousand stars
    That fill the midnight sky;
And wish, so passionately wish,
    A light like theirs on high.

I have such eagerness of hope
    To benefit my kind;
And feel as if immortal power
    Were given to my mind.

I think on that eternal fame,
    The sun of earthly gloom.
Which makes the gloriousness of death,
    The future of the tomb —

That earthly future, the faint sign
    Of a more heavenly one;
— A step, a word, a voice, a look, —
    Alas! my dream is done!

And earth, and earth's debasing stain,
    Again is on my soul;
And I am but a nameless part
    Of a most worthless whole.

Why write I this? because my heart
    Towards the future springs,
That future where it loves to soar
    On more than eagle wings.

The present, it is but a speck
    In that eternal time,
In which my lost hopes find a home,
    My spirit knows its clime.

Oh! not myself, — for what am I? —
    The worthless and the weak,
Whose every thought of self should rais
    A blush to burn my cheek.

But song has touch’d my lips with fire.
    And made my heart a shrine;
For what, although alloy’d, debased,
    Is in itself divine.
I am myself but a vile link
    Amid life's weary chain;
But I have spoken hallow’d words,
    O do not say in vain!

My first, my last, my only wish,
    Say will my charmed chords
Wake to the morning light of fame,
    And breathe again my words?

Will the young maiden, when her tears
    Alone in moonlight shine —
Tears for the absent and the loved —
    Murmur some song of mine?

Will the pale youth by his dim lamp,
    Himself a dying flame,
From many an antique scroll beside,
    Choose that which bears my name?

Let music make less terrible
    The silence of the dead;
I care not, so my spirit last
    Long after life has fled.

—L.E.L.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Earth Day Every Day (Celebrate) —Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

22 April 2020 at 19:08
Earth Day Every Day (Celebrate) by John Denver. It’s Earth Day and I have seen more than one reference to the idea that human beings are a virus infecting and killing our planet.   Be that as it may, we should pause to celebrate the unofficial global holiday’s 50th anniversary.   What better than with a song by ecological activist John Denver written in 1990 for the 20th anniversary. Even many of the ebullient balladeer’s fans may not be aware of Denver’s song Earth Day Every Day (Celebrate) .   It was off of his 22nd studio album Earth Songs which originally was for sale only by mail order and at his concerts.   All but three songs on the album were new version of familiar songs from previous albums like Rocky Mountain High,...

Earth Day Verse—National Poetry Month 2020

22 April 2020 at 12:45
Perhaps a futile wish on a not-at-all-happy Earth Day. Today is the 50th anniversary of the first Earth Day in 1970.   Millions of people should be in the streets around the world demanding immediate action to combat global climate change—a militant all-ages extension of Greta Thunberg’s youth-let Students Strike for Peace.   In the United States, Brazil, Bolivia and a handful of other countries the protests should be aimed at the downfall of anti-science climate change denying regimes led by neo and not so neo fascist would-be dictatorsover turning decades of environmental protections at the behest of shadowy oligarchs. Instead the streets are eerily empty.   They bring to mind the shots of post-nuclear war dead and vacant cities...

Smile—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

21 April 2020 at 19:00
Smile by Charlie Chaplain sung by Nat King Cole. Lady Gaga’s performance of Smile the other night on the One World: Together At Home TV special reminded me of just how apt the song is to our days of Coronavirus angst.   I encourage you to find it on YouTube.   But today we are listening to Nat King Cole’s 1954 hit. Charlie Chaplain as the Little Tramp and Paulette Godard as the Gamin in Modern Times. Smile is based on an instrumental theme used in the soundtrack for Charlie Chaplin’s 1936 movie Modern Times . Chaplin’s own composition was the inspired by Puccini’sopera Tosca .   It reflected the bitter sweet story of the Little Tramp’s love for the urchin girl   called the Gamin played by his real life wife Paulette Godar...

National Library Week Verse—National Poetry Month 2020

21 April 2020 at 07:00


National Library Week Verse—National Poetry Month 2020

April 21, 2020
What happens when National Poetry Monthand National Library Week collide?  Poetry about libraries, librarians, and readers, of course.  Most libraries are physically closed during the Coronavirus lock down but are doing valiant service finding ways to continue to serve their users many of whom are going bonkers and craving books like a crack head in withdrawal.  
Here is a sample of the verse libraries inspire.

Walt Whitman.
You knew that good old Walt Whitman who often felt the sting of censorship and the condemnation of the gate keepers to approved American culture would have something to say.

Shut Not Your Doors to Me Proud Libraries

Shut not your doors to me, proud libraries,
For that which was lacking among you all, yet needed most, I bring;
A book I have made for your dear sake, O soldiers,
And for you, O soul of man, and you, love of comrades;
The words of my book nothing, the life of it everything;
A book separate, not link’d with the rest, nor felt by the intellect;
But you will feel every word, O Libertad! arm’d Libertad!
It shall pass by the intellect to swim the sea, the air,
With joy with you, O soul of man.


Walt Whitman


Nikki Geovanni.
Nikki Geovanni is one of the most celebrated poets her generation who has popped up regularly in Poetry Month entries here. She has been associated with the Female Beats, and both Women’s Liberation and Black empowerment.
My First Memory (of Librarians)
This is my first memory:
A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky
       wood floor
A line of green shades—bankers’ lights—down the center
Heavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply
       too short
              For me to sit in and read
So my first book was always big

In the foyer up four steps a semi-circle desk presided
To the left side the card catalogue
On the right newspapers draped over what looked like
       a quilt rack
Magazines face out from the wall

The welcoming smile of my librarian
The anticipation in my heart
All those books—another world—just waiting
At my fingertips.

—Nikki Geovanni



Alberto Rios.



Alberto Rios was the first Arizona Poet Laureate of and the author of many poetry collections, including A Small Story about the Sky in 2015. In 1981, he received the Walt Whitman Award for his collection Whispering to Fool the Wind and he served as a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets from 2014 to 2020.

Don’t Go Into the Library

The library is dangerous—
Don’t go in. If you do

You know what will happen.
It’s like a pet store or a bakery—

Every single time you’ll come out of there
Holding something in your arms.

Those novels with their big eyes.
And those no-nonsense, all muscle

Greyhounds and Dobermans,
All non-fiction and business,

Cuddly when they’re young,
But then the first page is turned.

The doughnut scent of it all, knowledge
The aroma of coffee being made

In all those books, something for everyone,
The deli offerings of civilization itself.

The library is the book of books,
Its concrete and wood and glass covers

Keeping within them the very big,
Very long story of everything.

The library is dangerous, full
Of answers. If you go inside,

You may not come out
The same person who went in.

Alberto Rios



Mark Strand.



Mark Strand was awarded the Academy of American Poets Fellowshipin 1979 and the Wallace Stevens Awardin 2004. He served on Academy of American Poets Board of Chancellors from 1995 to 2000.

Eating Poetry

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Mark Strand



The Janitor as Poet from a 2004 newspaper clipping.



Finally one from the Old Man when he was not so old back in 2006 when post 9/11  hysteria and the Gulf War coughed up the so-calledPatriot Act, the most dangerous assault on American civil liberties since the Alien and Sedition Acts.  Everyone was afraid to raise a peep in protest.  When the American Library Association learned that their members could be served secret warrants for the usage recordsof their users and could be fined and imprisoned as national security threats themselves if they said anything about the warrant or search, they defiantly declared that they would not cooperate or violate their users’ privacy.  The Feds ranted and raved, issued dire threats, and launched a secret disinformationplan to smear librarians as traitors.  The librarians did not blink.  They refused to comply with secret warrants.  As far as I know, none were ever successfully prosecuted.  Although it was likely that the NSA or other spook organization got what they wanted by hacking library computer records, the stand of the Librarians was truly heroic.  I was so impressed, I committed poetry.

Librarians at the Breach
2006

Who would have thought it?

That prim spinster,
    severe hair in a bun pincushion
    for a slanting pencil,
    erect index finger epoxied 
    to permanently pursed lips
    sssshing to the recalcitrant
    in a thousand cartoons.

That iron gray matron
    of the Cheyenne Carnegie Public Library
    hovering date stamp in hand
    taunting my nightmares
    demanding my two cents a day
    for the Teddy Roosevelt biography
    days AWOL under a corner of the davenport.

That pale, tweedy nebbish of the stacks,
     guardian of arcane tomes,
     leather books with marbled edges
     unmolested for decades
     but ever ready for his urgent call.

That smiling story lady
     perched on her high stool
     rapt, worshipful and fidgety
     acolytes at her feet
     sing-songing the words
     of dreams upon the pages.

Who would have thought it?

That these unlikely heroes 
     would be called to unsheathe
     Excalibur from stone
     and set upon a Quest of Virtue,
     would need to set once more
     Liberty’s Red Cap upon the pole
     and storm again the Bastille,
     would resurrect the half-forgotten promises
     of Jefferson, Madison, Adams et. al.
     against aspiring despots.    

Who would have thought it, indeed?

Patrick Murfin


The Prayer from One World: Together At Home—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

20 April 2020 at 19:39
The Prayer performed by Celine Dion,Andrea Bocelli, Lady Gaga, classical pianist Lang Lang, and John Legend on The Prayer from One World: Together At Home.


Saturday night many of us watched the two-hour special One World: Together At Home, a benefit for Trump’s bête noir the World Health Organization (WHO) organized by Lady Gaga and Global Citizen.  If we were watching TV, on a computer, or other gizmo we hardly had a choice—it was aired on the heritage broadcast networks ABC, CBSand NBC; several cable channels, social media platforms like Facebook, and on YouTube.  Fox New was conspicuous by its absence.  Go figure.


The show came on the heels of other celebrity heavy programs to benefitvarious Coronavirus causes like Country Music Association (CMA) show in lieu of their cancelled awards ceremony and several streaming projects put together by music stars from every genre.  It went just about as you would suspect only more so.

Late night hosts Stephen Colbert and the two Jimmies, Fallon and Kimmel.
Co-Hosted by the three network late night stars Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Fallon, and Jimmy Kimmel, the program had several highlights.  Organizer Lady Gaga, sans glam costume and in restrained make up, her hair pulled back under headphones in a severe bun with dark roots encroaching deeply into her bleached blonde hair eschewed her own power pop to give a powerful and emotional versions of Charlie Chaplin’s bittersweet ballad Smile.  Other musical highlights included the Rolling Stones performing You Can’t Always Get What You Want in a Zoom style slit screen from their homes with Charlie Watts caught without his drum kit and having to mime his part to a recorded track; Jennifer Lopez channeling Barbra Streisand on People; Sir Elton John, veteran of so many celebrity benefit collaborations; Stevie Wonder with Bill Withers Lean on Me;and Taylor Swift confounding her detractors with an emotional version of Soon You’ll Get Better originally written for her cancer stricken mother.

Lady Gaga singing Charlie Chaplain's Smile.
Several global leaders made un-musical appetences including WHO Director General, Dr. Tedros Adhanomand United Nations Secretary General Secretary António Guterres.  But the joint appearance of former First Ladies Laura Bush and Michelle Obama must have driven the TV and ratings obsessed Cheeto-in-charge completely around the bend with jealousyand rage.
The climax of the show was a powerful rendition of The Prayer performed from the homes of Celine Dion, Andrea Bocelli, Lady Gaga, classical pianist Lang Lang, and John Legend.  The song was written by David Foster, Carole Bayer Sager, Alberto Testa, and Tony Renis for the 1998 animated feature The Quest for Camelot.  It was recorded by Dion in English and Bocelli in Italian and then as a duet by both singers. The song won a Golden Globe Award for Best Original Song and was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Original Song in 1999 and a Grammyfor Best Pop Collaboration with Vocalsin 2000.

Late 20th Century Irish-American Women Poets—National Poetry Month 2020

20 April 2020 at 11:14

Last October my wife Kathy and I spent a splendid Saturday at one of our favorite spots, the Irish American Heritage Center in Chicago. The occasion was the annual Irish Book, Arts, Music Festival (iBAM).  We enjoyed some fine music, attended a couple of fascinating lectures, browsed exhibits by authors, artists, and artisans, enjoyed some Jameson’s and Harp at the Fifth Province Pub, and endured some Irish cuisine that was about as good as you would expect.  We picked up a couple of author autographed books and a CD or two.  But the bonus for the day the Center’s library sale—surplus books for just one dollar each including a like-new hardback copy of Gerhard Herm’s The Celts and a slender gem, Unlacing: Ten Irish American Women Poets edited by Patricia Monaghan from Fireweed Press, Fairbanks, Alaska in 1987.


The title was a wink-and-nod to an old term for Irish Americans of a certain level of respectabilitylace curtain Irish.  Some of the poets had published collections, others had work culled from literary magazines.  None were particularly well known when the book was published and are more obscure today.  They included both immigrants and second or third generations assimilated but yearning to connect with lost rootsor struggling against the conventions and expectations of the new world.  They were young, old, and in-between; radical, pro-Irish Republicans or surprisingly apolitical, dutiful wives and sexually liberated rebels; urban as a late bus or caught up in nature and the new ecology movement; faithful Catholics, lapsed one and those seeking to connect with an ancient pagan tradition.
Monaghan revealed scant information about any of them in her brief introduction preferring for the poets to reveal themselves in their verses.
The collection reflects the turbulent timesin which it was assembled—The Troubles back in the old country, American urban unrest, rising environmentalism, post-Pill and pre-AIDS sexual liberation, and above all feminism.
In her introduction Monaghan also took on how Irish women writers had been marginalized.
When the Irish-American literary tradition is charted, it looks like a pub in the old country.  Finley Peter Dunne is there, and James Farrell with him.  Eugene O’Neill drops in as does F. Scott Fitzgerald and John O’Hara.  A couple of the new lads—William Kennedy, John Gregory Dunne—make a showing.  It’s a place for the boys to get away from the world of women, and where a woman who shows her head outside a “snug” is no lady.
On special occasions Mary McCarthy is let in for a round, or Kay Boyle, or Mary Gordon.  But the image of the Irish-American writer as a hard-drinking, priest and mother-ridden puer deterna doesn’t leave much room for them or other of our sex.  Irish-American poets find no acknowledged tradition here from which to draw.
Now let’s turn to a few of her choice picks.

Margaret Blanchard.
Margaret Blanchard has published six novels, two books of poetry, and three books on intuition. She is now a Professor Emerita of Graduate Studiesliving in Montpelier, Vermont.

The Convent, 1900: Eileen’s Choice
I’m sorry, so sorry, dear
lord, I cannot follow 
your call, as the sheep 
and the shepherd.  More like the fox
we tried once to tame,
I long to rush into the woods 
without even a glance 
back at the rigid
bars, pin-hole
vistas, constraining
rules which trap me here.
Fled is the simple 
faith which led
me along this narrow way,
went across the plains,
where one got lost forever
if she strayed.

Please don’t abandon
me now as I forsake
you holiest path.  The woods
are full if threats:
excommunication if they
forbid me to leave; the shame of
my family; the cage of
spinsterhood or the restraints
of marriage, the pit
of heathenism.
Like an unblazed trail, the path out
is crooked, steep.  One slip,
far from this comfortable
prison, and I could fall
to even worse: the mire 
of lost souls.

            Holy Mary, don’t
let them cast me out
of our mother the Church.
Please don’t let
this be a mistake
I’ll live the rest
Of my days regretting.

Soon I must choose.
I don’t care it’s never 
been done before; it’s the first
and only time for me too.
Once we’ve embraced the future 
as she leaves her touch on us.
As the century 
turns, for better or
worse, I begin to move.

Margaret Blanchard


Tess Gallagher in the 1970's.


Tess Gallagher was born into a logging family in 1943 and stayed in that area most of her life.  She is poet, essayist, short story writer who studied with Theodore Roethke at the University of Washington.  Her honors include a Guggenheim Foundation fellowship, a National Endowment for the Arts award, and the Maxine Cushing Gray Foundation Award.  This poem is from her collection Under the Stars published by Graywolf Press in 1978.

Conversation with a Fireman from Brooklyn

He offers, between planes,
to buy me a drink.  I’ve never talked
to a fireman before, not on from Brooklyn
anyway.  Okay.  Fine I say.  Somehow
the subject is bound to come up, women 
firefighters, and since I’m 
a woman and he’s a fireman, between
the two of us, we know something
about the subject.  Already
he’s telling me he doesn’t mind
women firefighters, but what 
they look like
after fighting a fire, well
they lose all respect.  He’s sorry, but
he looks at them,
covered with cinders of someone’s
lost hope, and he feels disgust, they
are sweaty and stinking, just like 
him, of course, but not the woman
he wants, you get me? And come to that—
isn’t it too bad, to be despised
for what you do to prove yourself
among men
who want to love you, to love you,
love you.

Tess Gallagher


Patricia Monaghan



Finally one from Monaghan herself who was born in 1946 on Long Island into an extended family was a poet, a writer, a spiritual activist, and an influential figurein the contemporary women’s spirituality movement. She wrote over 20 books on a range of topics including Goddess spirituality, earth spirituality, Celtic mythology, the landscape of Ireland, and techniques of meditation. In 1979, she published the first encyclopedia of female divinities, a book which has remained steadily in print since then and was republished in 2009 in a two volume set as The Encyclopedia of Goddesses and Heroines.  She died in 2012 at age 56.

In County Mayo

The turf settles as we again assign
blame for the unfathomable, cousins
in a house perishing with loss: sons
poisoned or dead, the border at hand,
a war at the table, wounded mother,
father poisoned with clarity.  My left
leg scalds from the blaze, my right
is numb from a doorway breeze.

It is one a.m.  Hot and damp in a crowded
bedroom, Ita coughs and calls from 
the other bed. Over here, secret forces
evade the grip of security police;
there is a plot to overthrow
the government and counter attempts
to unmask sixteen conspirators.
These dreams are as familiar as cousins
and jumprope rhymes, and strange
as an old land finally visited.

It was too easy when I said
there were things I might die for
but I did not know if I could kill.
The dreams, the dreams.  This split
island and its wars, grandfather
songs, glory-o, glory-o and
cousin’s stories late at night.

Patricia Monaghan


May Nothing Evil Cross This Door—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

19 April 2020 at 18:57
May Nothing Evil Cross This Door.


This Sunday we are turning to the song that is #1 in the Unitarian Universalist Association’s hymnal Singing the Living Tradition—May Nothing Evil Cross This Door.  It earns its place in the section of Celebrations of Life because it is used in the dedications of new church buildings or sanctuaries and is commonly sung on the first Sunday of the church year sometime around Labor Day for most congregations and often called homecoming.  

May Nothing Evil Cross This Door is the first hymn in the UUA's Singing the Living Tradition first published in 1003.

But in the Coronavirus pandemic when our church buildings are shuttered and congregations meeting remotely by Zoom, live streaming on web pages and social media, or posted to YouTube the song has taken a new significance and the door itself virtual and the people, not the building are the church.  At least one congregation, the Community Church of Chapel Hill, Unitarian Universalist, assembled their virtual choir for their first remote worship service on April 5.  There were probably others.
Many of us hunkering down in our own homes hold it in our hearts as the new plague stalk our communities.
The music for the hymn was written in 1903 by Robert N. Quaile, born in 1867 the son of a Methodist preacher who was a businessman in Mallow, Ireland and was published with different lyrics in 1906 in The English Hymnal.
Although the simple melody is lovely, it is the words set to it that are most memorable.

Louis Untermeyer. poet, critic, editor, and anthologist.
Louis Untermeyer was born in 1885 in New York City the son of German-Jewish jewelry manufacturer.  He dutifully joined his father’s businessbut was self-educated by veracious reading.  He published the first of 21 volumes of his own poetry in 1911.  Achieving widening attention he quit the family business in 1923 to pursue a full time literary career.  He is best remembered as the collector and editor of several popular poetry anthologies including multiple regularly updated versions of Modern American Poetry and Modern British Poetry as well as The Golden Book of Poems for the Very Young.
Like many of his literary contemporizes Untermeyer was a supporter of radical and socialist causes from his young manhood through the Depression and World War II years.  He wrote for magazines such as The Masses, through which he advocatedthat the United States stay out of World War I, which was suppressed by the government, The Liberatorwhich was published by the Workers Party of America, and the independent socialist.  The New Masses. On May 1, 1935, Untermeyer joined the League of American Writers whose members included Lillian Hellman, Dashiell Hammett, I.F. Stone, and Arthur Miller whose members were mostly either Communist Party members or so-called fellow travelers.  Untermeyer himself was never a member of the C.P.
In 1916 he was co-founder of The Seven Arts, a poetry magazine that introduced many new poets, including Robert Frost, who became Untermeyer’s long-term friend, correspondent, and the subject of his popular biography.

Untermeyer and Arlene Francis as celebrity panelists on What's My Line in 1950.
Witty and urbane, Untermeyer was a celebrity panelist on the first season of TV’s What’s My Line game show.  But his radical past caught up with him.  He was named during the hearings by the House Committee on Un-American Activities and the Catholic War Veterans and other right-wing organizations began hounding and harassing him.  Although the show’s producers, Goodson-Todman, initially stood by him, the sponsor, Stopette Deodorant, unceremoniously fired him and replaced him with a much safer literary figure, Bennett Cerfthe publisher of Random House Books.
Untermeyer was heartbroken and nearly crushed by the ordeal refusing to leave his apartment or to even speak to old friends like Arthur Miller for a year.  More than a decade later he received a public rehabilitation when he was named Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress—Poet Laureaate—in 1961 with the strong support of Robert Frost and President John F. Kennedy.

A glass mezuzah shows the prayer scroll inside.
It is tempting to read the words of May Nothing Evil Cross the Door and conclude that it was a response to his Red Scare persecution, but the poem was included in his 1923 collection Roast Leviathan.  Untermeyer, a secular Jew, was inspired by the mezuzah affixed to the doorpost of Jewish homes containing the Jewish prayer Shema Yisrael to ward off evil.

Fantasy and Sci-Fi Verse—National Poetry Month 2020

19 April 2020 at 09:14
Lurid but exciting covers like this attracted generation of young science fiction fans.  Poetry helped elevate speculative literature of all types reach wider and more adult audiences.
Science Fiction and Fantasy, the genres frequently lumped together as speculative fiction attempt to either seriously examine the moral, ethical, and philosophic issues of this world by imagining others.  On the other hand it can be simply the surrender to our inner ten year old.   But they have grown from the province of nerds with taped glasses with their stashes of lurid pulp magazines and dreamy little girls with unicorn and dragon fetishes, to a cultural power house that sometimes seem ready to crush and consume everything else like that Japanese reactor by a tsunami.  The mega-million selling series of fat books, the comic books, the block-buster high-tech movie epics, the odd and dark TV series, the fan conventions that fill giant exposition halls.  You know the inescapable drill.
But there has also been, maybe a tad quieter, a complimentary growth of SF poetry.  It even has its own organization, the Science Fiction Poetry Association (SFPA) founded by Suzette Haden Elgin in 1978 and a major prize, the Rhysling Award
The origins of modern speculative poetry are as hard to pin down as a hopping flea.  There are examples with characteristics dating back centuries, not to mention ancient myth, epic poetry, and folk ballads.  On the fantasy side of the tradition, revived interest in those old forms, including fairy tales by Victorian romanticsstimulated writers to weave their own tales and poems set in the worlds of those old tales or inspired by similar wonderand magic.

The English poet Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) is sometimes credited with the first modern fantasy poem for her narrative poem Goblin Market, fraught with sexual tension, in 1859.  It was published as the title poem of a collection 3 years later with illustrationsby her brother, the Pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti.  Below are the first two and final stanzas of that long poem.


An illustration from the original edition of Goblin Market by the poet's famous brother, Dante Gabriel Rossetti.  The poet was the model for both figures.



Goblin Market (Excerpts)
Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
“Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpeck’d cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries;—
All ripe together
In summer weather,—
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy:
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;
Come buy, come buy.”

               Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bow’d her head to hear,
Lizzie veil’d her blushes:
Crouching close togetherIn the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
“Lie close,” Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
“We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?”
“Come buy,” call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.


               Days, weeks, months, years
Afterwards, when both were wives
With children of their own;
Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their lives bound up in tender lives;
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning time:
Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,
Their fruits like honey to the throat
But poison in the blood;
(Men sell not such in any town):
Would tell them how her sister stood
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote:
Then joining hands to little hands
Would bid them cling together,
“For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
           To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astra
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands.”

Christina Rossetti

On the science fiction side, in which new possibilities are opened in this world by science and new worlds are envisioned in the future rather than the time misted past, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Edgar Allen Poe’s short story Murders in the Rue Morgue and his famous Balloon Hoax were among the first fiction pieces linked to modern Sci-Fi although both were also sometimes classified in the linked to the overlapping horror genre and Murders is often cited as the first detective story as well.  But the Frenchman Jules Vern, who was particularly inspired by Poe, generally gets the credit as the founder of science fiction.

At first, by its very nature, which often swung from gee-whiz science and technological innovation to testosterone heavy heroics in the early day, did not lend itself much to quality poetry.  Early verse pickings are slim, almost hints.  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, most famous in science fiction for his Lost World, penned some short verse that occasionally bumped up against ideas central to speculative fiction.  In this one he represents essential skepticism and the limits of our abilities to understand things beyond our experience, both eternal SF themes.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.


A Parable
The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
The Orthodox said that it came from the air,
And the Heretics said from the platter.
They argued it long and they argued it strong,
And I hear they are arguing now;
But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,
Not one of them thought of a cow.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Still, on the whole, fantasy has lent itself more easily to poetry.  The most influential of all fantasy writers, J. R. R. Tolkien, the English antiquarian scholar, translator, and artist whose epics of Middle Earth made fairy tales for adults.  He laced his books with verse, sometime in the guise of songs or lorefrom the many creatures that inhabited his strange lands.  Some have become little classics on their own like this one from chapter 10 of Lord of the Rings.



All That is Gold
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

J. R. R. Tolkien



Eventually science fiction, which was fostered in pulp magazines with lurid covers in the ‘20’s and’30’s, began to go deeper, ask more probing questions, especially in the aftermath of World War II and the dawn of the Atomic age raised questions about the inevitable progress of science.  Soon hard science writers like Isaak Asimov and Ray Bradbury were making serious alternative fiction.  Bradbury was also a poet.  This poem was written by Bradbury to be recited on a program with Arthur C. Clarke, Carl Sagan and others at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Labs in Pasadena to commemorate the Mariner 9 mission to Mars.



If Only We Had Taller Been

The fence we walked between the years
Did bounce us serene.
It was a place half in the sky where
In the green of leaf and promising of peach
We'd reach our hands to touch and almost touch the sky,
If we could reach and touch, we said,
‘Twould teach us, not to, never to, be dead.

We ached and almost touched that stuff;
Our reach was never quite enough.
If only we had taller been,
And touched God’s cuff, His hem,
We would not have to  go with them
Who've gone before,
Who, short as us, stood tall as they could stand
And hoped by stretching, tall, that they might keep their land,
Their home, their hearth, their flesh and soul.
But they, like us, were standing in a hole.

O, Thomas, will a Race one day stand really tall
Across the Void, across the Universe and all?
And, measured out with rocket fire,
At last put Adam's finger forth
As on the Sistine Ceiling,
And God's hand come down the other way
To measure man and find him Good,
And Gift him with Forever’s Day?
I work for that.

Short man, Large dream, I send my rockets forth
between my ears,
Hoping an inch of Good is worth a pound of years.
Aching to hear a voice cry back along the universal Mall:
We’ve reached Alpha Centauri!
We’re tall, O God, we’re tall!

—Ray Bradbury

Perhaps a woman who wrote some of the most enduring classics of both science fiction—The Left and of Darkness, The Dispossessed, and Lathe of Heaven—and fantasy—The Earthsea series—would be a natural at translating the spirit of those works into verse.  Ursula K. Le Guin who was born in 1929 two days after the great Stock Market Crash and died in 2018 at age 88, is one of my favorite contemporary American writers in any and all genres. 

Ursula K. Le Guin.


The Maenads
Somewhere I read 
that when they finally staggered off the mountain 
into some strange town, past drunk, 
hoarse, half naked, blear-eyed, 
blood dried under broken nails 
and across young thighs, 
but still jeering and joking, still trying 
to dance, lurching and yelling, but falling 
dead asleep by the market stalls, 
sprawled helpless, flat out, then 
middle-aged women, 
respectable housewives, 
would come and stand nightlong in the agora 
silent 
together 
as ewes and cows in the night fields, 
guarding, watching them 
as their mothers 
watched over them. 
And no man 
dared 
that fierce decorum.

—Ursula K. Le Guin

In recent years Millennials and their younger sibling, having grown up in a deeply frighteningworld that seems wildly out of their possible control and from which they are deeply alienated, have become fascinated with dystopian and apocalyptic literature.  Not that dystopianism is new—indeed it seems historically for every Utopia there is a black world gone horribly wrong.  But once speculative literature, especially science fiction, was largely optimistic.  Mirroring the words that once inspired 19th Century Unitarians and early 20th Century Humanists alike, Sci-Fi writers tended to expect a world transformed by technology and “the progress of mankind onward and upward forever.”  Bitter experience has just about crushed that dream, thus the radical turn to dystopianism and its appeal to the young in things like Suzzane Collins’s Hunger Games series and its many clones.  Margaret Atwood, born in 1939, whose The Handmaid’s Tale may have made her the spiritual godmother to current young writers, still catches the mood and spirit of this literature.


Margaret Atwood among her Handmaidens.


Siren Song

This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:

the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see beached skulls

the song nobody knows
because anyone who had heard it
is dead, and the others can’t remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don’t enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don’t enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.

I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song

is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique

at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time. 

—Margaret Atwood

All By Myself—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

18 April 2020 at 20:16
All By Myself by Eric Carmen.

The sun might be shining brightly today but grim headlines, insurrectionist idiots clamoring in the streets with guns and Confederate flags demanding the right to infect anyone, and dim prospects that shelter-in-place orders will be lifted here any time soon have me wallowing in self-pity.  The perfect song for this particular funk is All By Myself, a soft-rock power ballad by Eric Carmen that was perfect for a new 1970’s FM radio format aimed directly to the hearts of a mostly female audience who craved songs they could “play at work.”

Eric Carmen, left, with Raspberries--polyester and helmet hair.
Carmen had been something of a musical prodigy back home in Ohio and studied classical musicat John Carroll University while playing guitar, piano and singing with local rock bands.  One of those bands morphed into Raspberries, an early power pop band in 1970.  Carmen fronted the group and wrote its music.  They recorded four albums and scored hits including Go All the Way, I Wanna Be With You, and OvernightSensation (Hit Record).

All By Myself  45 rpm single sleeve.



In 1975 the band broke up and Carmen launched a solo career jettisoning the harder edges of the Raspberries for a mellower sound that in many ways presaged later Emo music.  All By Myself was the first single of his debut album and went to #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.  Like another hit from the album—Never Gonna Fall in Love Again (not to be confused with I’ll Never Fall in Love Again by Burt Bacharach and Hal David) the melody was derived from themes by Sergei Rachmaninoff.  
  
Carmen released four more studio solo albums over the balance of the ’70, each one falling off sales of its predecessor and singles not getting above mid-range on the Hot 100.  By the final album, no song even made the chart.

A swingin', studly  persona was essential for FM radio success.



Carmen pretty much gave up recording by the ‘80’s although he continued to write successfully for other artists and his songs were used in several films including Footloose and Dirty Dancing.
  
These days All By Myself is better remembered than the man who made it.                                                                                                                                           

Republicans Remember—Murfin Verse—National Poetry Month 2020

18 April 2020 at 07:00
Abe Lincoln at his desk engraved by John Sartain from a photograph by Ferdinand Thomas Lee Boyle.

 
Without explanation or commentary.  The Old Man commits poetry.

Republicans Remember
Headline:  Trump’s ‘LIBERATE MICHIGAN!’ Tweets Incite Insurrection
April 17, 2020

Ah yes, they remember it well—
            That time ol’ Abe sitting idly in the White House,
            his feet up on the desk petting a cat
            as Willy and Tad cavorted on the carpet
            with their goat
            scrawled a message and handed it
            to young John Hay
            to hustle over to the telegraph office
            at the War Department.

General Beauregard
Charleston, South Carolina
April 11, 1861

Sir—
            I share your outrage that the tyrannical Federal Government
            appears determined to squash your liberties stop
            Arms and reinforcements from New York for Ft. Sumter
            aboard the Star of the West were a knife
            at your noble throats stop
            Eighty-five jack booted thugs
            refuse to hand over the fortress stop
            LIBERATE SOUTH CAROLINA!
            Defend your Second Amendment Rights!
            Death to the Tyrants!
            To Arms! To Arms! stop

A.    A. Lincoln
The President’s House
Washington
District of Columbia

Yep, that’s just what happened.
            Ask any patriot.

—Patrick Murfin

The Bombardmment of Ft. Sumner  by Courier and Ives.



Sing Sing Sing —Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

17 April 2020 at 23:50
Sing Sing Sing by Benny Goodman and his Orchestra.

Alright all of Coronavirus couch cupcakesits time to get up and exercise—better yet dance, dance, dance! And what better to dance to than the Big Band Eraclassic Sing Sing Sing sometimes known as Swing Swing Swing.

Louis Prima wrote the music and lyrics for Sing Sing Sing.
Hyperkinetic jazz man Louis Prima wrote the music and lyrics for Sing Sing Singand recorded it on the Brunswick label with his New Orleans Gang on February 28, 1936.  Fletcher Henderson was the first out with a Big Band instrumental.  But it was Benny Goodman who made it all his own and his signature piece.
It all came about when a routine HollywoodColumbia Records recording session got wildly out of hand.  Goodman’s band for the session was star-studded and included Goodman on clarinet; Harry James, Ziggy Elman, and Chris Griffin on trumpets; Red Ballard and Murray McEachern on trombones; Hymie Schertzer and George Koenig on alto saxophones; Art Rolliniand Vido Musso on tenor saxophone; Jess Stacy on piano; Allan Reuss on guitar; Harry Goodman on bass; and Gene Krupa on drums.  The song was arranged by Jimmy Mundy for a typical 3½ minute 10 inch 78 rpm record.


According to Helen Ward  “Gene [Krupa] just refused to stop drumming when he got to the end of the third chorus, where the tune was supposed to end, so Benny blithely picked up the clarinet and noodled along with him. Then someone else stood up and took it, and it went on from there.” In the same way samples of another popular song Christopher Columbus by Chu Berry for the Fletcher Henderson band were added.  It was classic jazz improvisation, not the tight charts dance bands usually adhered to.  The result was an 8 min 43 seconds recording that took up both sides of a 12-inch 78.  That’s right, you had to get up and flipthe record on the phonograph to hear the whole thing.

Benny Goodman at Carnegie Hall in 1938.
The version Goodman and the boys played at their 1938 concert at Carnegie Hall was even longer coming in at 12 minutes and 30 seconds.  Critic Bruce Eder a described that night as “the single most important jazz or popular music concert in history: jazz’s ‘coming out’ party to the world of ‘respectable' music.’” The Famous 1938 Carnegie Hall Jazz Concert by Benny Goodman was released as a two-disc LP in 1950.  Goodman also recorded a version for the sound track of The Benny Goodman Story starring Steve Allen and Donna Reed and released by Universal-Internationalin 1956.

Goodman recorded Sing Sing Sing again for the bio-flick The Benny Goodman Story.
In 1950’s Louis Prima got to record the song again with lyrics changed to Swing swing swing with his wife Keely Smith.
But for most of us the song will be forever Goodman’s.

Jackie Robinson by Laura Brienza—National Poetry Month 2020

17 April 2020 at 13:18
Jackie Robinson, 1954 Topps baseball card.
Careful longtime readers of this little pop stand at the far end of the cul-de-sac may have noted I have certain interests.  Well, maybe obsessions.  History, poetry, social justice, Civil Rights, and baseball to name a few.  So when I find something that caters to all of these yearnings at once, I am in seventh heaven.
Seventy-two years ago on April 15, history was made when the first Black baseball player in the Major Leagues in the Modern Era stepped up to the plate for the Brooklyn Dodgers.  A couple of Black players reportedly made appearances with pro teams in the sport’s infancy in the 1870’s and ‘80’s and later some light skinned players passed themselves off a Cuban  But in the 20th Century baseball had been a citadel of Jim Crow segregation.

The 2013 bio-pic 42 Starring Chadwick Boseman, Harrison Ford, Christopher Meloni, and Nichole Beharie set me off in search of Jackie Robinson poems.
With all of the interest in Jackie Robinson generated by the release of the bio-pic 42 staring Chadwick Boseman as the man, Harrison Ford as Branch Rickey, Christopher Meloni as Leo Durocher, and John C. McGinley as Red Barber a few years ago I went surfing the net for poems.  And there are quite a few, including some popular song lyrics.  

Laura Brienza.
But the poem that really stuck me was posted by Laura Brienza on her innovative blog All the Poems That are Fit to Print back in 2013.  Alas, that project is no longer current but she describes her blog thusly:

All The Poems That Are Fit To Print began as an experiment in transformation.  Every day for one year, I decided to write a poem inspired by an article from the New York Times.  I began the project in 2010 unemployed, living with my parents, and heartbroken.  My hope was that an overdose of news and hundreds of poems later, that would all change.  And it did.  By the time a year of current events and metaphors had gone by, I was employed, attached, and living in New York City.
Poetry has long been a means of reacting to and exploring the world. This indefinable method of expression has explored the terrors of war, the joys of love, and the magnificence of science.  Once again, I aim to use it to explore current events in real time. 
Every week, I’ll post poetry inspired by The New York Times
Pretty damned ambitious stuff for a then 20-something writer.  But she seems up to over achievement.

She graduated from Georgetown University in 2009 where she studied poetry under Carolyn Forche and David Gewanter and won the Ora Mary Phelam Poetry Prize.

When she headed to New York not only did she launch this poetry blog, but also a career as a playwright.  
Brienza’s plays including Old Love New Love have been seen in Washington, DC, New York, New Jersey, and Rhode Island on stages like the Kennedy Center, the Lark Play Development Center, the New York International Fringe Festival, Luna Stage, and Sidecar Theater Company.  Her work has been published by Indie Theater Now and featured in publications such as WNYC, Motif Magazine, the New York Theater Review, Talkin’ Broadway, and the Washington Post.

Brienza's acclaimed ply Old Love New Love premiered at Luna Stage in West Orange, New Jersey.


She has scripted three short films and the 2019 A Taste of Summer on the Hallmark Channel—not my usual TV film stomping ground—which I miraculously stumbled on and enjoyed.
She is also an active free-lance journalist and critic and the author of two books, Discovering Vintage Washington, DC: A Guide to the City's Timeless Shops, Bars, Restaurants & More and New York’s Historic Restaurants, Inns & Taverns: Storied Establishments from the City to the Hudson Valley.
Today we will celebrate Laura, from whom we will all undoubtedly hear much more, and Jackie Robinson.

Jackie Robinson sliding home.


Jackie Robinson

he knows
this blood diamond
isn’t conflict free as
a small soul's cleats
dig into his soles
approaching first

they threatened to strike

he knows
this square
is symmetrical
in its slurs
as they chant nigger
in a four/four
time signature

they said go back to the cotton fields

he knows
Dodgers in the dugout
are digging themselves in
to the ground and
they’d bleach it white
if they could

they aimed for his head

but there’s no crying in baseball
so he crafts a new back
out of rubber
off which
words and balls can bounce
until gravity
will do them in

—Laura Brienza


When I’m Gone—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

16 April 2020 at 22:19
When I'm Gone by Phil Ochs.

Old Ben Johnson told scribbling Samuel Pepys, “Depend upon it, sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.”  The Coronavirus pandemic and the jarring, ever mounting death statistics likewise give us pause to contemplate our own fragile mortality.  Which reminds me of an old Phil Ochs song.

Phil Ochs and Bob Dylan were friendly rivals but rivals none the less.  Seen here with Greenwich Village folk scene staple Dave Van Ronk  at the 1944 Concert for Chile at the Felt Forum in New York City.     
Ochs was second only to Bob Dylan as the composer and troubadour of protest songs during the Great Folk Scare of the early 1960’s.  Dylan pretty much abandoned that genre for folk rock and country sounds.  Ochs persistedand built an impressive catalog over the next decade.  He had a devoted following but never had the huge popular success of Dylan.  Some say that contributed to the depressionand bouts of heavy drinking that culminated with his suicide in 1976 at the age of just 35.

Ochs's 1966 album ended with When I'm Gone.
Because of that some people assume that Ochs’s song When I’m Gone was a virtual late life suicide note.  It was not.  It was included on his 1966 Electra album Phil Ochs in Concert and usually the final song on his tour sets.
Chicago folk fans recognize the song as the sign-off every week for WFMT’s long running Midnight Special sung by Tom Paxton and recorded at an Old Town School of Folk Music concert.

Dream Variations by Langston Hughes—National Poetry Month 2020

16 April 2020 at 09:02
Langston Hughes by Winold Reiss. A few days ago I shared verses from some of the readers who were on tap to appear in the Poets In Resistance II program at Tree of Life U.U. Congregation in McHenry, Illinois on March 13 before it fell victim to Coronavirus cancelation.   But that wasn’t the only big event at Tree of Life that I was involved in that was postponed.   Our Social Justice Team had been working for two month on a special Sunday morning service for the Ides of March.   The Promise and Practice of Our Faith was based on materials developed by Black Lives UU which all spoke directly in Black voices, albeit read by members of our White congregation.   The service that Sunday had to be scrubbed as we heeded the call of Unitar...

Happy Days Are Here Again—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

15 April 2020 at 20:25
Happy Days Are Here Again sung by Annette Hanshaw and Her Boys.

Today we look back on the song that was supposed to cheer up Americans in the early days of the Great Depression and then became best remembered as Franklin D. Roosevelt’s 1932 presidential campaign song.  But happy days were not exactly on the doorstep.  The country would not really recover from the Depression until late 1939 with the ramp up of defense spending.  Then, of course, it was right into World War II which was not exactly a bed of roses either.  We are keeping our fingers crossed that our Coronavius depression and pseudo war doesn’t drag on just as long.
A surprise about Happy Days Are Here Again is that it was written, recorded, and included in a talking picture before the Black Friday 1929 stock market crash.  It was composed by Milton Agerwith lyrics by Jack Yellen and first recorded by Leo Reisman and His Orchestra featuring vocalis Lou Levin.  
A lobby card from the MGM musical Chasing Rainbow which featured Happy Days Are Here Again against the background of the World War I Armistice.
It was featured in the MGM musical Chasing Rainbows as the closing number which was filmed in two-strip Technicolor and was set against the Armistice to the Great War, not to economic catastrophe.  The film reunited Bessie Love and Charles King, the stars of the huge hit Broadway Melody with a supporting cast including Jack Benny, Marie Dressler, and Polly Moran.  The movie was shot on the MGM lot in 1929 but not released until 1930.

Barbara Streisand and Judy Garland sang a memorable duet of Get Happy and Happy Days Are Here Again on the Judy Garland Show in 1963.
There have been many covers but the most well known to current listeners are versions by Barbra Streisand whose parents had endured and been scarred by the Depression.  Instead of a fast, sunny romp her version was slow, plaintive, and ironic.  She first did it as part of a Those Were the Days segment on the Gary Moore Show and the sang it in a memorable duet medley with Get Happy with Judy Garland on her CBS variety show just days before the Kennedy assassination.  She featured it on her debut The Barbra Streisand Albumand it has become a signature partof her repertoire

Radio diva Annette Hanshaw.
But today we are going back to one of the first hit recordings of Happy Days by Annette Hanshaw and her Boys.  Henshaw was the biggest female radio star of the early 1930 and recorded a prolific 250 sides in her 10 year recording career making her a distaff Bing Crosby.

Verses for the New Plague—National Poetry Month 2020

15 April 2020 at 11:15
Poets tackle the Coronavirus pandemic.

One of the big jobs of poets is to reflect on the world around them.  Whole books were quickly assembled after the 9/11 terrorist attacks and after the launch of the War in Iraq.  The international refugee crisis and the U.S. persecution of asylum seekers and immigrant families is another recent example.  And, of course, resistance poetry has become a staple of the Trump maladministration.  So the Coronavirus pandemic and the extraordinary changes it has brought to all of our lives is fertile gistfor verse.  Here is a short roundup of just some of the poems and poets whose work I have encountered recently on social media.

Rev. Theresa Novack.
The Rev. Theresa Novak has been featured in previous National Poetry Month entries.  She frequently posts insightful poetry on her blog Sermon, Poetry, and Other MusingsA graduate of the University of California at Berkley, she had a career as a Social Security Administration managerbefore enrolling at Star King and embarking on a second career as a minister.  She is the Minister Emerita of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Ogden in Utah.  She lives in California with her wife.
Covid Poem

Live Your Life
Live your life
Such as it is now
This isn’t ending soon
The world grows smaller
Shrinks down to a neighborhood
A house, a room, a prison cell.
Our connections are more distant
But deeper too
As we share the fear
The grief, the loss.
Howling in the night
We find some small release.

Live your life
Such as it is
While you have it
While you can.
Relish the sunshine
Savor the flowers
Bursting with spring
They are
What your soul needs now.
Talk to your neighbor
From a distance of course
Help them if you can.
We are all refugees now
There is no escape.
There are no borders
Anymore.
This is the whole world
A planet in pain and fear.
Live Your Life
Live your life.
It is what you have
For now.
Enjoy each day, each moment
Find a way to laugh
To smile.
Courage will come.
This isn’t ending soon
I hope not for me
Or for you.

—Theresa  Novak



Ken Balmes.



Ken Balmes is a stalwart of the McHenry County poetry scene who has read at the Raue Center for the Performing Arts in Crystal Lake,  at Atrocious Poets programs in Woodstock, and at Poetry Night Open Mics at the Hidden Pearl in McHenry.  His work is deeply personal and often lingers in the quiet spaces of life.  He is noted for the devoted care of his disabled and wheelchair bound wife who he brings to all of his events and for the kilts he always wears.  He described himself as a “still living white male of mixed European ancestry (Celtic, Spanish, German, French Canadian) who never had a class in poetry.”

Covid Poem

Alone in the house
Not that unusual.
But mandated so
Makes verbal constraints
Feel as if physical.
A dictated singular solitude
Hiding from a twenty-first century plague.
Calling to neighbors across the way
Daring not to get closer.
Passers-by in the street
Greeted, but not approached.
At the market
Runs on goods and cash.
Days of overcast skies
Deepen the feel
Of imaginary bars on my door.
Those who could have prevented
Or lessened the scourge,
Did not.
Recalling Poe’s Masque of the Red Death
How fitting if they should meet that fate.
Yet out my window
Daffodils rising in the lawn
Birds at the feeder free to fly about.
There is hope, or at least solace
Life endures.

—Ken Balmes

Jerry Pendergast.
Jerry Pendergast is a Chicago poet and activist who frequently shares his work on the Chicago Revolutionary Poets Brigade Facebook group and can be seen at readings around the city at venues like The Guild Annex and Green Mill Tavern.  This highly topical poem was inspired not only by Easter but by the Covid 19 death of John Prine and other artists.

Easter 2020 USA

A line by Yeats Revisited
Was it needless death after all?
Fingers that will never press another key
Others that will never strum another string.
Or hold another bow
Songs left unfinished, unsung
How low have we sunk?
Feet on a bed
with the rest of someone’s body
mouth waiting for a breathing aid.
Will they ever touch a stage or even a floor again?
spring the body in a leap
or a glide?
If not, will it be needless death?
Is breath, that will never again
send notes rising and falling
Voices that will never sung or speak
another word,
Goodbyes remote
or only imagined
needless death?
When recovered unable
to thank some of those
who helped them
because they are gone,
            how deeper can we fall?
A panel that has no answer
Not even a guess
Are these needless deaths after all
Yes.

—Jerry Pendergast
Copyright 2020



Jessica Miller.

Jessica Miller is a young woman who lives in Crystal Lake and recently began attending the Tree of Life U.U. Congregation in McHenry.  About this poem she wrote, “Patrick Murfin from UU Tree of Life inspired me to write a pandemic poem. I’m looking forward to his event [Poets in Resistance] in the future! It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything, but I’m feeling the muse today.”

Untitled

Day by Day
Hour by hour
Minute by minute
I’m starting to know people
Who’ve got the Corona
A teacher
A friend
A Mother
A Brother
Touching us all
Sneaking past
Our carefully
Or not so carefully
Crafted tower defenses
Churches open in defiance
Anointed in the BLOOD of Jesus
And the innocents
Just trying to pay the rent
With a job in the gig economy
To put food on the table
That has been taken TO and FROM
With great risk
We navigate the
Invisible
China
Virus
Invisible
But making it’s self more visible
Day by Day
Hour by Hour
Minute by Minute
The death toll rises
1,997,666 DEAD

—Jessica Miller
            04/14/2020



The Old Man reading.



And finally one from the Old Man recycled from just a month ago.  Somehow it seems longer.

Love in the Time of a Plague

Have you wondered what it would be like—
            in an Egyptian mud hut when the Angels of Death
            did not passover your door?
            When the calls of bring out your dead
            rang from overburdened carts on London’s muddy lanes?
            When wrapping your children in the Small Pox blankets
            so kindly given to you by the invaders of your country?
            When Yellow Fever seemed to rise in the swamp air
            or Typhoid and Cholera did their mysterious work?
            When  Doughboy camps, refugee havens, and troopships
            brought death dwarfing the gore of the trenches?
            When ordinary summer colds sent children in the thousands
            into iron lungs on crowded wards?
            When the unwanted and despised were reaped by God’s wrath
            and rest stood aside until the innocent were touched?

Now we know, or imagine we do, as Cassandras cry alarm
            and we retreat into isolation.

That fear and isolation may be more lethal than an alien virus
            sapping our lonely souls even if our bodies are spared.

Now comes the time of love in the age of a plague—
            how do we reach out to caress a face we cannot touch?

—Patrick Murfin
March 15, 2020

Only the Lonely—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

14 April 2020 at 21:23
Only the Lonely by Roy Orbison.

Yesterday we let Ella Fitzgerald cheer us up.  But ridingthe manic depressive whiplash of ups and downs today we wallow in the despair of Coronovirus isolation.

Roy Orbison--the trademark look of a jet black pompadour and the heavy framed dark glasses that he wore due to an eye sight problem.
 Only the Lonely was written by Roy Orbison and Joe Melson and was released by  Monument Records in 1960.  Distributed by London Records, it became Orbison’s first major hit and went to #2 on Billboard Pop Music Chart and #14 on the BillboardR&B chart. It did even better in Britain where it soared to #1 on the UK Singles Chart.
Orbison’s record was aptly described by The New York Times as expressing “a clenched, driven urgency.”
The London Records single release of Only the Lonely.
Other artists have covered the song, most notably Sonny James who had a 1969 #1 Country hit with it.  But the song and sound will always be unique to Orbison.  His recording also featured his soon-to-be-famous falsetto and vibrato that showcased a powerful voice. According to biographer Alan Clayson, it “came not from his throat but deeper within.”  The song differed from the typical verse-chorus structure of popular music of the time by building and falling to a climax,with emotional expression then rare for male performers. 

Joy Harjo—National Poetry Month 2020

14 April 2020 at 19:58
Poet Laureate Joy Harjo with maybe the most famous tattoo in American literature since Ishmael. 
Last June Carla Hayden, the Librarian of the Congress announced the selection of a new Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to succeed Tracy K. Smith. Joy Harjo became the first Native American  so honored.  Hayden noted: 
Joy Harjo has championed the art of poetry – ‘soul talk’ as she calls it – for over four decades,” Hayden said. “To her, poems are ‘carriers of dreams, knowledge and wisdom,’ and through them she tells an American story of tradition and loss, reckoning and myth-making. Her work powerfully connects us to the earth and the spiritual world with direct, inventive lyricism that helps us reimagine who we are.
Multi-talented Harjo has also studied art; mastered the saxophone at age 40 becoming a recording artist; penned juvenile fiction, memoirs, and plays; and has had a distinguished academic career.  But her pathto our nation’s greatest achievementfor a poet has been anything but smoothand straight.
Harjo was born on May 9, 1951 as Joy Foster. Her father Allen W. Foster was Muscogee—Creek—and her mother Wynema Baker Foster, had mixed ancestryCherokee, French, and Irish.  She was the oldest of four children. Her parents divorced due to her father’s drinking and emotional and physical abusive behavior when drunk. Her mother’s second marriage was to a man who disliked Indians was equally abusive.  The trauma rendered her nearly mute and she struggled in school.
In her teen years she found solace and expression in art but her stepfather kicked her out of the family home when she was only 16.  Drifting in an out of the marginal lifestyleof an impoverished Native woman Joy found her way to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and enrolled in the Institute of American Indian Arts.
At age 19 she officially enrolled as a member of the Muscogee Nation and took her paternal grandmother’s last name Harjo, a common name among Muscogee and related peoples.
In Santa Fe Harjo met and married a fellow IAIA student, Phil Wilmon.  They had a son, Phil Dayn, before the youthful marriage ended in divorce.

Harjo in 1975.
Harjo moved on to the University of New Mexico, enrolling as a pre-med student but changing her major to art and then creative writing, as she was inspired by Native American writers.  There she met Simon Ortiz of the Acoma Pueblo at poetry readings.  The established poet became her mentorand eventually her lover and together they had a daughter, Rainy Dawn.
She graduated in 1976 already noted as a promising and then earned her Master of Fine Arts in creative writing from the prestigious University of Iowa.
Harjo returned to the IAIA to teach in 1978 and ‘79 and again in ‘83 and ‘84. She has also taught at Arizona State University, the University of Colorado from 1985 to 1988, the University of Arizona from 1988 to 1990, the University of New Mexico from 1991 to 1995, American Indian Studies Program at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaignin 2013, and was appointed to the Chair of Excellence in the Department of English at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville in 2016.
During her final years of study and through her academic career, Harjo published poetry and stories to growing acclaim beginning with The Last Song in 1975 and including She Had Some Horses in 1983, Secrets from the Center of the Worldin 1989, The Woman Who Fell From the Sky in 1994, A Map to the Next Worldin 2000, How We Became Human New and Selected Poems: 1975–2001 in 2004, Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings: Poems in 2015, and An American Sunrise: Poems this year.
Along the way Harjo reaped a slew of awards, recognition, and fellowships including a listing in the Outstanding Young Women in America and a National Endowment for the Arts Creative Writing Fellowship in 1978; the Arizona Commission on the Arts Poetry Fellowship in 1989; the American Indian Distinguished Achievement in the Arts Award in 1990; the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America and the American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation for In Mad Love and War in 1991; the Woodrow Wilson Fellowship at Green Mountain Collegein Poultney, Vermont in 1993; the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers Circle of The Americas in 1995; the New Mexico Governor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts in 1997; the Oklahoma Book Award for Poetry for How We Became Human in 2003; the Eagle Spirit Achievement Award in 2009; the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation Fellowship in 2014; the Wallace Stevens Award in Poetry by the Academy of American Poets Board of Chancellors in 2015; and the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize from the Poetry Foundation in 2017.  This list is neither complete nor exhaustive.

Harjo's 2012 memoirs.
If all of this seems like a smooth, steady climb to success and recognition, it was not. Harjo’s personal life was often chaotic.  She was wracked with self-doubt and restless both creatively and spiritually.  In addition to her poetry she continued to draw and create works of visual artthat she often incorporated in readings and performances.  
At the age of 40 after hearing recordingsof John Coltrane Harjo picked up the saxophone.  She brought that free form jazz spirit to music based on Native American traditions, lore, and rhythms.  She also sang.  Her five albums each received honors and in 2009 she won the Native American Music Award for best female artist. She frequently tours with her music group, the Arrow Dynamics and incorporates music into her readings in which she speaks with a musical tone, creating a song in every poem.
Harjo and her saxophone.  Music infuses her work across art forms and genres.
Harjo has also used her poetry and creative spirit in social justice activism not only around Native American issues but women’s rights and equal justice in today’s hostile environment.  Her web site includes insightful commentary on the issues in her blog.  Her activism for Native American rights and feminism stems from her belief in unity and the lack of separation among humans, animals, plants, sky, and earth. Harjo believes that we become most human when we understand the connectionamong all living things—what Unitarian Universalists like to call the interdependent web of all existence. She believes that colonialism led to Native American women being oppressedwithin their own communities, and she works to encourage more political equality between the sexes.
These beliefs spring especially from an ever deepening understanding of her Muscogee/Creek tradition but are not limited to it.  Due to her long time residency in the Southwest, many of her stories and poems are set there and reflect to stories of the Hopi and other tribes/nations of that region as well as the broader condition of native peoples throughout the Western Hemisphere.
Now to some samples of that work.
An America Sunrise is the title poem of her new from her collection from her long-time publisher W.W. Norton.  Then we sample poems from her long, creative career.



An American Sunrise

We were running out of breath, as we ran out to meet ourselves. We
were surfacing the edge of our ancestors’ fights, and ready to strike.
It was difficult to lose days in the Indian bar if you were straight.
Easy if you played pool and drank to remember to forget. We
made plans to be professional — and did. And some of us could sing
so we drummed a fire-lit pathway up to those starry stars. Sin
was invented by the Christians, as was the Devil, we sang. We
were the heathens, but needed to be saved from them — thin
chance. We knew we were all related in this story, a little gin
will clarify the dark and make us all feel like dancing. We
had something to do with the origins of blues and jazz
I argued with a Pueblo as I filled the jukebox with dimes in June,
forty years later and we still want justice. We are still America. We
know the rumors of our demise. We spit them out. They die
soon.

—Joy Harjo

This Morning I Pray for My Enemies

And whom do I call my enemy?
An enemy must be worthy of engagement.
I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking.
It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind.
The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun.
It sees and knows everything.
It hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing.
The door to the mind should only open from the heart.
An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.

—Joy Harjo

Harjo's  art and poetry are interwoven--Perhaps the World Ends Here.

Perhaps the World Ends Here

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

—Joy Harjo


Harjo speaking.



Once the World Was Perfect

Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world.
Then we took it for granted.
Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.
Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.
And once Doubt ruptured the web,
All manner of demon thoughts Jumped through—
We destroyed the world we had been given
For inspiration, for life—
Each stone of jealousy, each stone
Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light.
No one was without a stone in his or her hand.
There we were,
Right back where we had started.
We were bumping into each other
In the dark.
And now we had no place to live, since we didn’t know
How to live with each other.
Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another
And shared a blanket.
A spark of kindness made a light.
The light made an opening in the darkness.
Everyone worked together to make a ladder.
A Wind Clan person climbed out first into the next world,
And then the other clans, the children of those clans, their children,
And their children, all the way through time—
To now, into this morning light to you.

—Joy Harjo

I’ve Got The World on a String—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

13 April 2020 at 22:26
I've Got the World on a String sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Ok, it’s about time for another one of those chipper, jazzy real oldies to brighten up our confinement.   I’ve Got The World on a String was written by Tin Pan Alley stalwart Harold Arlen with lyrics written by Ted Koehler for a 1933 edition of Cotton Club review.   The song also reflected the yoyo fad sweeping the country The Cotton Club in Harlem..  Tap dancer Bill Robinson and bandleader Cab Calloway shared star billing.  The Up Town swell only had to plunk down a $1.50 for dinner but Prohibition drinks in a teacup set them back more. The Cotton Club in Harlem catered to uptown swells, Broadway habituates and society page denizens who didn’t my slumming in top hats and ...

Virtual Poets in Resistance—National Poetry Month 2020

13 April 2020 at 12:51
The first domino in the long line of canceled events and shut doors of the Coronavirus emergency in these parts was Poets in Resistance II on Friday, March 13 at the Tree of Life Unitarian Universalist Congregation in McHenry, Illinois.   It was supposed to be a big event and I had been working feverishly for two months to pull it together.   But that week cases of the deadly virus seemed to be erupting everywhere including Chicago and the looming crisis was taking over the news headlines.   The Center for Disease Control (CDC) made a recommendation—just that and with no enforcement provisions that gatherings of 50 or more should be postponed or canceled.   That Thursday, with great sorrow and reluctance I pulled the plug on the ev...

Easter Hymn—Jesus Christ is Risen Today—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

12 April 2020 at 16:00
Jesus Christ is Risen Today performed by brass ensemble, choir, and Congregation of the First Plymouth Congregational Church in Lincoln, Nebraska.

For Easter Sunday we offer you the full church experience.  

The Resurection by Noel Coypel, 1700. 

Jesus Christ Is Risen Today was written in Latin as a Bohemian hymnin the 14th Century by an unknown author titled Surrexit Christus hodie It was first translated into English in 1708 by John Baptist Walsh to be included in his Lyra Davidica (Collection of Divine Songs and Hymns). In 1740 Charles Wesley, one the founders of Methodism added a fourth verse to the hymn. The verses of the hymn were revised in 1749 by John Arnold. The hymn is also noted for having Alleluia as a refrain after every line.  The old Catholic hymn had become a Protestant favorite.
It is set to the melody of Easter Hymn. There was a later version of  Easter Hymn composed by William Henry Monk which is also used for Jesus Christ Is Risen Today. Some denominations just use one while others use both. The hymn is sometimes confused with Christ the Lord Is Risen Today, which was written by Wesley. This is because the wording is similar and Christ the Lord Is Risen Today is usually likewise sung to Easter Hymn.

The First Plymouth Congregational Church, Lincoln Nebraska.


Today we enjoy the impressive choir and brass ensemble and congregation of the First Plymouth Congregational Church of Lincoln, Nebraska performed in 2013 and arranged by the church’s Associate Minister of Music, Jeremy Bankson.

Sandburg for Easter—National Poetry Month 2020

12 April 2020 at 13:09
Carl Sandburg's contemporary, the Socialist cartoonist Art Young, shared his understanding of Jesus.

For those of you lost in the fog of Coronavirus sequestration, it’s Easter, the holiest day of the Christian year.  I bet some you wish some angel would roll the stone away from your tomb.  Anyway, blessings on all who hold this day in their hearts.  But if you checked in at this blog today for the whole Easter story, you will be disappointed.  You can find that plus lots of commentary this morning at any of the churches meeting virtually today.  I do notrecommend going out to one of those defiant churches open for business this morning—despite what the smarmy pastorsays the Lord will not protect you, your family, and anyone you come in contactwith from the current plague.

Carl Sandburg in Chicago.  He knew whereof he wrote.
Instead we are going to hear a different perspective by my favorite American poet—Carl Sandburg.  The small town son of Swedish immigrants, Spanish American War vet who never got to Cuba, sometimes hobo, Universalist, Socialist, and Chicago newspaper reporter was mightily put out by the shenanigans of Billy Sunday, the former baseball player and hair-on-fire tent show Evangelist.  He was even more outraged at the capitalist bosses and their bought-and-paid-for politicians who benefited from Sunday side show freak distraction.  Sandburg let loose a volcanic eruption of a poem.

Billy Sunday doing his schtick.
If the old poet was still with us today he would have no problem recognizing Billy Sunday’s heirs—Franklin Graham and a gaggle of others, or the evil oligarchy that uses them and their clownish front man, the Cheeto-in-Charge.

Have at ‘em, Carl!


To A Contemporary Bunkshooter

You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about
Jesus.
Where do you get that stuff?
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem
everybody liked to have this Jesus around because
he never made any fake passes and everything
he said went and he helped the sick and gave the
people hope.

You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist
and calling us all damn fools so fierce the froth slobbers
over your lips. . . always blabbing we're all
going to hell straight off and you know all about it.

I’ve read Jesus words. I know what he said. You don’t
throw any scare into me. I’ve got your number. I
know how much you know about Jesus.

He never came near clean people or dirty people but
they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your
crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers
hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out
of the running.

I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into
the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined
up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men
now lined up with you paying your way.

This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened
good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful
from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands
wherever he passed along.
You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human
blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching
about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who
lived a clean life in Galilee.

When are you going to quit making the carpenters build
emergency hospitals for women and girls driven
crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about
Jesus—I put it to you again: Where do you get that
stuff; what do you know about Jesus?

Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash
a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.
Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your
nutty head. If it wasn’t for the way you scare the
women and kids I’d feel sorry for you and pass the hat.
I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when
he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that’s got nerve and can pull off a great
original performance, but you—you’re only a bug-
house peddler of second-hand gospel—you’re only
shoving out a phony imitation of the goods this
Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.

You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it
up all right with them by giving them mansions in
the skies after they’re dead and the worms have
eaten ‘em.
You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need
is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without
having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of
age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross
and he’ll be all right.
You tell poor people they don’t need any more money
on pay day and even if it’s fierce to be out of a job,
Jesus’ll fix that up all right, all right—all they gotta
do is take Jesus the way you say.
I’m telling you Jesus wouldn’t stand for the stuff you’re
handing out. Jesus played it different. The bankers
and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and
murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus
wouldn't play their game. He didn’t sit in with
the big thieves.

I don’t want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won’t take my religion from any man who never works
except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory
except the face of the woman on the American
silver dollar.

I ask you to come through and show me where you’re
pouring out the blood of your life.

I’ve been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,
where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is
straight it was real blood ran from His hands and
the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red
drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed
in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.

—Carl Sandburg


Easter Parade—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

11 April 2020 at 21:39
Easter Parade from the 1948 film by Judy Garland and Fred Astaire.
This is Easter weekend and as good a time as any to note that far and away America’s favorite song for the holiday is not a hymn but entirely secular and written by an immigrant Jew to boot.  But that shouldn’t be surprising despite the fact that in normal years before the Coronavirus lock down Easter Sunday always had the highest attendance of the year, packed not only by the regular devotionists, but by once-a-year-on-Easter folks, many of them only nominally Christian.  The odd spring celebration of bunnies, baskets, and eggs annually has many more participants than all the church services  together.  It is shared by most of the authenticChristians but also by Jews and members of other faiths, neo-pagans who claim the trappings as vestiges of  an authentic primordial nature religion, and even fire breathing atheists who are loath to disappoint their children.
Prolific tunesmith Irving Berlin

Irving Berlin, May 11, 1888 to September 22, 1989, was commissioned by Paramount Pictures to create 12 entirely new songs for a vehicle for the studio’s biggest star,  Bing Crosby.  He also came up with the thin story line about two former night club partners, a rustic venue open only on holidays, and a farcical romantic triangle.  Recently freed from his RKO contract, Fred Astaire signed on to give the project megawatt star power.  Attractive blonde Marjorie Reynolds rounded out the leads.  The result was the biggest hit of 1942.  Three of the holiday themed songs became beloved standards including Happy Holidays and the Academy Award winning break-out hit White Christmas.  Easter Parade became to Easter what White Christmas was to the Winter holiday.  The movie also featured cringe worthy  Lincoln’s Birthday black face number with Crosby as an Uncle Tomish figure.
Bing Crosby crooned Easter Parade to Marjorie Reynold in 1942 Holiday Inn,

In the film Crosby crooned the song to Reynolds while driving a wicker open buggy past a quaint church, rustic rail fences, apple blossoms, and other Spring flowers.
By 1946 Berlin was under contract to MGM which wanted to build a new musical around songs in his extensive catalog.  Astaire was also now with the studio and paring him with their biggest female musical star, Judy Garland,  the plot was already familiar and shopworn—rising young vaudevillians team up, find success, are torn apart by ambition and jealousy, and are finally reunited in the final reel,  But who cared about a plot with such glorious songsand two stars at the peak of their careers?  Easter Parade was the most financially successful picture for both Garland and Astaire as well as the highest-grossingmusical of the year.

A lobby card for Irving Berlin's Easter Parade.
The studio had to stand on its head to get Garland to sing the title songwhich was obviously meant to be sung by a man to a woman.  They had Garland breeze into Astaire’s hotel room the morning after their reconciliation to find him in a silk top hat festoonedwith a ridiculous broad pink ribbon.  She plucksthe chapeaufrom his head and sings the song with mock seriousness until he removes the ribbon and the leave the suite arm in arm to be next seen in the epic long take of the Easter Parade of New York’s swells and wannabes strolling along Fifth Avenue.

Sam Walter Foss— National Poetry Month 2020

11 April 2020 at 08:45
Sam Walter Foss--a regionalis poet of the common man.
Why are the streets in Boston—even main thoroughfares—so damn crooked?  Sam Walter Foss could tell you.   Foss was a New Hampshire born, Brown University educated librarian who wrote a fresh poem every day for publication in the newspapers.  His poetry, in the rustic-voice-of-the-common-man stylewas popular with the public and a couple of his verses became oft-quoted staples of poetry anthologies.  But Foss is officially designated a minor poet, a not-very-successful regionalistalong the lines of the despised-by-the-cultural-guardians Hoosier Edgar Guest.   But Foss was deft and highly skilled at what he did.
Foss was born on June 19, 1858 in the family home on a rural road near Candia, New Hampshire.  He lost his mother when he was only four years old.  Otherwise his experience was much like other farm children of the era—taking an increasing load of the farm chores year by year as he grew and attending a local school in the winter when his hands were not needed at home.  But he was a good and promising student.  The farm was prosperous enough for his father to be able to send him to Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island.  He was so highly regarded there as a student that upon his graduation in 1882 his name was inscribed on the University’s ceremonial mace.
After graduation Foss worked as a journalist, editor, and writer, somewhat itinerant professions that took him to various corners of New England.  He married the lovely daughterof a Methodist minister with whom he would have a daughter and a son and settled down as the librarian of the Somerville Public Library in Massachusetts. 

Wiffs from the Wild Meadows, 1892, the second of seven volumes of Foss's collected poetry.
He supplemented his incomeby writing a daily poem in the local paper, surely not terribly remunerative.  But the poems were so highly thought of that they were picked up and reprinted in papers around New England and beyond.  There were enough of them—and enough demand for them, that he was able to publish seven volumes of collected verse before his death.
Foss’s poems were no mere trifles—they tended to run to several metered and rhymed verses each.  They were often humorous, observational, wry but sympathetic commentson human foibles, with gentle moral lessons that did not clobber the reader over the head.  He celebrated the common man, but wished him betterand wiser.  He spoke for tolerance and reason in matters of religion and had a perhaps naïve faith in progress—if that common man could shake the comfortable doldrums of the safely familiar.
Foss died at the relatively young age of 52 on February 26, 1911 in Boston and was buried at North Burial Ground in Providence near his beloved alma mater, Brown.

An old post card of the House by the Side of the Road, Foss's boyhood New Hampshire farm home which became a tourist attraction after the poem named for it became famous.
His most famous poem, The House by the Side of the Roadwas inspired by his boyhood New Hampshire home.
Foss’s other widely remembered poem, The Coming American, was a paean to hope and faith in his favorite common man, challenging him to a greatnessand nobility that he doesn’t even suspect that he has.  The opening quatrain from the poem were once inscribedon a granite wall at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs to inspire the cadets and officers, but they were removed in 2003 after the Academy began to admit womenbecause Foss’s old fashion use of the word men to represent humanity was now thought exclusionary.  

Bring me men to match my mountains,
Bring me men to match my plains,
Men with empires in their purpose,
And new eras in their brains.

But those lines found other homes. The words are engraved and displayed at Disney’s Epcot in Orlando, Florida, and on the Jesse M. Unruh State Office Building in Sacramento, California. They are also inscribed on the Rocky Mountain Cup trophy, which is contested annually between Major League Soccer teams Real Salt Lakeand Colorado Rapids
The Calf-Path might not be as well remembered as those verses, but is a prime example of his sense of place, wry observation, and a surprising gentle lesson

The Calf-Path
I.

One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;

But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.

Since then two hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.

II.

But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;

And then a wise bell-wether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,

And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bell-wethers always do.

And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made;

            III.

And many men wound in and out,
And dodged, and turned, and bent about

And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ‘twas such a crooked path.

But still they followed—do not laugh— 
The first migrations of that calf,

And through this winding wood-way stalked,
Because he wobbled when he walked.

VI.

This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again;

This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load

Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.

And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street,

And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare;

And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;

And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

V.

Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed the zigzag calf about;

And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.

A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.

They followed still his crooked way,
And lost one hundred years a day;

For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach,
Were I ordained and called to preach;

For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,

And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.

They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,

And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.

But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!

Ah! many things this tale might teach—
But I am not ordained to preach.

—Sam Walter Foss


The Old Rugged Cross—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

10 April 2020 at 21:56
The Old Rugged Cross sung by Johnny Cash and June Carter. Good Friday is such a sad day for Christians that it is hard to be chipper especially when believers, do not even have the consolation of coming together for worship these days.   And it makes it hard to pick out an appropriate song for the Home Confinement Music Festival.   Then I remember millions of American Protestants have long taken comfort in the Hymn The Old Rugged Cross. George Bennard, writer and composer of The Old Rugged Cross. It was written in 1912 by   evangelistand song-leader George Bennard, 1873–1958, who was saved as a young man by the Salvation Army who became a Methodist camp meeting revivalist.   It was popularized when two of evangelist Billy Sunday’...

Three on Good Friday—National Poetry Month 2020

10 April 2020 at 13:20
Crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth, a Medieval illustration from the 12th century Hortus deliciarum of Herrad of Landsberg. Good Friday is the most somber day of the Christian liturgical calendar it is the bleak but necessary set upto Easter and the celebration of the resurrection of Christ.   It seems not to have been central to worship in the earliest centuries of the Church.   It took generations for the central symbol of the day—the cross and later the crucifix with the hanging body of Jesus—to replace the fish as the universal icon of Christianity.   By the early Medieval period art depicting the crucifixion displayed the shift to concentrating in often ghastly detail the suffering of Jesus paying with his pain for the sins of ...

Klezmer Music—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

9 April 2020 at 20:36
Chassidic’s Klezmer Hora Medley 

Last night Jews gathered as families for the Passover Seder whether they were fortunate enough to confined together under one roof, connectedby technology like Zoom or streaming video, and sometimes only by longing.  This year the special poignancy of celebrating a night when a death-of-the-first-born-sons plague passed over the captive Hebrews must have been palpable.
Klezmer music reflects the joy of deliverance from slaveryin the Exodus story but also notes of underlying sorrow over the sacrifice of Egypt’s sons including the vast majorities of ordinary farmers, laborers, and servants who had nothing to do with the captivity of Jews.
Of course Klezmer is secular not sacred music but it seems to reflect that dichotomy which persisted through centuries of exile, wandering, and oppression.

A Ukrainian Klezmer band from around the turn ot the 20th Century.

Klezmer originated in the Ashkenazi shtetelsof Eastern Europe growing out of the social folk songs performed by violins, flutes, and simple drums at dances, weddings, and other gatherings.  Over the 19th Century Western instruments were introduced including brass cornets, trombones, and tubas as well a concertinas or accordions.  But no new instrument was more important than the clarinet which often took the lead from fiddles.  The evolving form also encouraged improvisation on the traditional melodies.
In the late 1880’s Klezmer was becoming establishedin the crowed immigrant tenement slums in New York, Boston, and other American cities.  By post-World War I Klezmer was influencing the development of Jazz because Jews were usually the first whites to adopt and play Black music.  That was especially evident in the use of the clarinet rather than the cornet or trumpetas the lead instrument in some jazz combosled by Ted Lewis and later Benny Goodman and occasional forays into minor keys.

Klezmer musician and dancers at an Orthodox Jewish wedding.

After another World War, jazz would feed backinto American Klezmer music now being performed by second and third generationJews developing a new distinctive sound.  Preservationists now keep the earlier European style alive in the U.S.and Israel and are sometimes harshly critical of non-traditional innovation.  But that, as they say, is like trying to squeeze the toothpaste back into the tube.

A contemporary American Klezmer band in includes an electric guitar, a full drum kit, and a woman fiddler.  She would have been barred from a traditional Orthodox group that practiced strict gender segregation.
Today’s selection is Chassidic’s Klezmer Hora Medley is from the compilation album Klezmer Violin & Clarinet Best Jewish Music

The Cannons Ceased to Roar—Civil War Verse—National Poetry Month 2020

9 April 2020 at 11:41
Grant and Lee at Appomattox by Louis Guillaume.  Grant was carelessly, but customarily, dressed in the blouse of a private soldier with his rank straps sewn to his shoulders, his boots scuffed and muddy.  Lee was resplendent in his best dress uniform with golden sash and gleaming boots.  They recalled they had met as comrades in another war.

155 years ago today, April 9, 1865 Robert E. Lee offered up his sword  in surrenderof the Army of Northern Virginia to Ulysses S Grant, Commanding General of the United States Army.  Grant gallantly refused to accept it and in fact let all Confederate officers retain their side arms and personal mounts.  In the popular imagination, this act was the end of the Civil War.

In fact, it just represented the collapse of the main Southern army facing the Union’s major forces, the Armies of the Potomac and the James.  Although the Confederate Government and President Jefferson Davis were on the lam, they hadn’t surrendered.  One by one the other armies capitulated, the last in far-away Texas where the last soldiers fruitlessly fell on May 15.

In the mid-19th Century poetrywas still the most popular literary form in America.  Everybody read it.  And it seems everyone literate enough to scratch out his or her name, tried their hand at it.  The events leading up to, during, and after the war were all documented in the popular press, both North and South as much by poetry as by battlefield dispatches.  Probably tens of thousands were published in newspapers and gazettes both small and large.   The vast majority, of course, were dreadful—mostly breast beating and cheeringfor each respective side or later maudlin grieving loss.  But some by poets famous, obscure, and anonymouspaint a vivid picture of the bloody turning point of American history.

Herman Melville in 1861.



Herman Melvillewas a struggling, nay failing, literary man in 1866 when he issued a collectionof poems about the war, most of which had appeared in the press.  Like almost everything else he had written, Battle Pieces and Aspects of the War sold poorly and was snubbed by most critics.  Melville was forced to take a patronage job as a Port of New York Customs Inspector to support his family.  But the verse was far above average and taken together trace the course of the conflict.  He starts before Fort Sumter with the execution of John Brown, a hero to him as for many of his New England Unitarian and Abolitionist friends.


The Portent

Hanging from the beam, 
      Slowly swaying (such the law), 
Gaunt the shadow on your green, 
      Shenandoah! 
The cut is on the crown 
      (Lo, John Brown), 
And the stabs shall heal no more.

Hidden in the cap 
      Is the anguish none can draw; 
So your future veils its face, 
      Shenandoah! 
But the streaming beard is shown 
      (Weird John Brown), 
The meteor of the war.

——Herman Melville 

As imagined by John Greenleaf Whittier--Barbara Frietche and her flag.

At war’s onset John Greenleaf Whittier had to make a terrible choice.  Known far and wide as the Quaker Poet he had to choose between his pacifist faith and his ardent abolitionism.  Abolitionism won out.  For the balance of the war he would worship with the Unitarians and lend his voice to the Union.  Early in the war he took reports of an act of heroism by an elderly lady in Marylandand created a poem that became a Union rallying cry and was required recitation material for generations of school children.  Like most tales, this one had a grain of truth wound up in legend.  In fact 90-year-old Barbara Frietche, who had been a personal friend of Francis Scott Key,did have a flag hung from her Fredrick, Maryland home.  But the old lady was sick in bed that day and had told her maid to bring the flag in for safe keeping.  The maid, also tasked with hiding the silver and other family valuables, forgot.  Troops under Lee did pass within a block of her home and seeing the flag peppered it with fire.  Fritche never came to the window and even if she had could probably not be heard.  But it was a great yarn for getting Yankee blood to boil. 

Barbara Frietche

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple- and peach-tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord 
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,—

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 
She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

“Halt!”— the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
“Fire!”— out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will.

“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country’s flag,” she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman’s deed and word:

“Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 
On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er, 
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear 
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town.

—John Greenleaf Whittier


A Union picket on night guard by N.C. Wyeth.



A surprising amount of Civil War poetry was soldier written.  No army in the history of the world to date was as literate as the boys in blue.  If the Confederates lagged in that department, they still had plenty of young men ready to take pencil stub to scrap of paper and send it home or to the home town paper.  Some of these poems are among the most poignant of the war.  This one captures the long periods between great battles when boredom and chance encounters were the order of the day.  And like other such poems, this one was eventually set to music and published to be sung around parlor pianos.

The Picket Guard

All quiet along the Potomac “they say,”
“Except now and then a stray Picket”
Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
‘Tis nothing—a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost, only one of the men,
Moaning out all alone the death rattle.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
O'er the light of the watch fire are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes
Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.

There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’s tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack, his face dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—
For their mother—may Heaven defend her.

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night when the love yet unspoken,
Leaped up to his lips, when low-murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
The footstep is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light.
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looks like a rifle—“Ha! Mary, good bye,”
And the life blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,
The Picket’s off duty forever.

—Anonymous song lyric
Probably soldier written
Johnson’s New Catalog of Songs

As the war dragged on the senseless horror of it overwhelmed the early romantic nonsense.  George Henry Boker was a very successful Philadelphia businessman who dabbled with some success as a poet and playwright.  The war converted the one-time Democrat into a staunch Republican and Unionist who lent his pen to the Federal cause.  As ardent as he was, by war’s end he was worn down by ceaseless tragedy.

Civil War dead photographed by Alexander Gardner.



As the war dragged on the senseless horror of it overwhelmed the early romantic nonsense.  George Henry Boker was a very successful Philadelphia businessmanwho dabbled with some success as a poet and playwright.  The war converted the one-time Democrat into a staunch Republican and Unionist who lent his pen to the Federal cause.  As ardent as he was, by war’s end he was worn down by ceaseless tragedy.

Untitled Poem

Blood, blood! The lines of every printed sheet
     Through their dark arteries reek with running gore;
     At hearth, at board, before the household door,
     'T is the sole subject with which neighbors meet.
Girls at the feast, and children in the street,
     Prattle of horrors; flash their little store
     Of simple jests against the cannon's roar,
     As if mere slaughter kept existence sweet.
O, heaven, I quail at the familiar way
     This fool, the world, disports his jingling cap;
     Murdering or dying with one grin agap!
Our very Love comes draggled from the fray,
     Smiling at victory, scowling at mishap,
     With gory Death companioned and at play.

—George Henry Boker
from Poems of the War (1864)

The Army of Northern Virginia stacks arms and furls its flags.


Since Herman Melville started all of this off, we will let him have the last word on behalf of the victorious Yanks.

The Surrender At Appomattox

(April, 1865)

As billows upon billows roll,
On victory victory breaks;
Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall
And crowning triumph wakes
The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run
By sea-shore, streams, and lakes.
The hope and great event agree
In the sword that Grant received from Lee.

The warring eagles fold the wing,
But not in Caesar’s sway;
Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing,
As on Pharsalia's day,
But Treason thrown, though a giant grown,
And Freedom’s larger play.
All human tribes glad token see
In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee.

—Herman Melville


When I Get to Heaven—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

8 April 2020 at 19:40
When I Get to Heaven by John Prine.

Just last Friday I shared John Prine’s early career song  Don’t Bury Me after he entered the hospital in critical condition with the Coronavirus.  I also posted this long blog entry  on his life, career, and his song lyrics as poetry.  Yesterday we got the news that he didn’t make it.
But take heart!  John had plansfor such an eventuality as he explained on his last studio album, The Tree of Forgiveness. 

Gwerful Mechain—National Poetry Month 2020

8 April 2020 at 13:06
Gwerful Mechain, celebrant of Medieval sex/
And now for something extremely different, old, and according to some very, very wicked.  On the other had some folks who have discovered the work of Gwerful Mechain, a 15th Century Medieval woman poet who wrote in Welsh see her as a fiery feminist-way-before-her-timeand defiant sexual libertine, an accomplishment few ever pulled offVictoria Claflin Woodhull comes to mind.
Little is known about Mechain’s life, roughly 1460 to 1502.  Her family connections are sketchy, not surprising for a time that biographers must rely on often incomplete church records, tax rolls, and hints in surviving work. According to Katie Gramich, the editorand translator of the recently published collection of her extant and assumed poems The Works of Gwerful Mechain, she was “the daughter of Hywel Fychan from Mechain in Powys”—a region in northeast Wales—and a woman named Gwenhwyfar; had at least four siblings; and, with her husband John ap Llewelyn Fychan, had a daughternamed Mawd.

Katie Gramich's The Works of Gwerful Mechain
Beginning as a young goodwife Mechain was confidently sharing private correspondence and verse with the leading Welsh poet of the day—Dafydd Llwyd and Llewyln ap Gutyn.  Scholars assume that Llwyd was her lover.
It may be a stretch, as one scholar has, to compare her to the #MeToo movement.  But there is the evidence of her terse, four line curse.
To her husband for beating her
A dagger through your heart’s stone—on a slant
To reach your breast bone:
May your knees break, your hands shrivel
And your sword plunge in your guts to make you snivel.

—Gwerful Mechain
Mechain’s most famous verse was titled in Welsh Cywydd y cedor which has been translated at Poem to a Cunt, Poem to a Vagina, or The Female Genitals depending on the embarrassment or prudery of the translator. She also wrote, for sake of even-handed observation, Dafydd ap Gwilym’s  or the Poem to the Penis.

A manuscript illumination of the sexual position we call today reverse cowgirl.
Poem to a Cunt
Every foolish drunken poet,
boorish vanity without ceasing,
(never may I warrant it,
I of great noble stock,)
has always declaimed fruitless praise
in song of the girls of the lands
all day long, certain gift,
most incompletely, by God the Father:
praising the hair, gown of fine love,
and every such living girl,
and lower down praising merrily
the brows above the eyes;
praising also, lovely shape,
the smoothness of the soft breasts,
and the beauty’s arms, bright drape,
she deserved honour, and the girl’s hands.
Then with his finest wizardry
before night he did sing,
he pays homage to God’s greatness,
fruitless eulogy with his tongue:
leaving the middle without praise
and the place where children are conceived,
and the warm quim, clear excellence,
tender and fat, bright fervent broken circle,
where I loved, in perfect health,
the quim below the smock.
You are a body of boundless strength,
a faultless court of fat’s plumage.
I declare, the quim is fair,
circle of broad-edged lips,
it is a valley longer than a spoon or a hand,
a ditch to hold a prick two hands long;
cunt there by the swelling arse,
song’s table with its double in red.
And the bright saints, men of the church,
when they get the chance, perfect gift,
don't fail, highest blessing,
by Beuno, to give it a good feel.
For this reason, thorough rebuke,
all you proud poets,
let songs to the quim circulate
without fail to gain reward.
Sultan of an ode, it is silk,
little seam, curtain on a fine bright cunt,
flaps in a place of greeting,
the sour grove, it is full of love,
very proud forest, faultless gift,
tender frieze, fur of a fine pair of testicles,
a girl’s thick grove, circle of precious greeting,
lovely bush, God save it.

—Gwerful Mechain

April, Come She Will—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

7 April 2020 at 20:56
April, Come She Will by Simon and Garfunkel.

It’s the most beautiful day yet here in McHenry County—mostly sunny with temperatures north of 70° with a light zephyr.  Warm enough to go out in my shirtsleeves for my daily walk and even to raise a mild sweat.  I could have broken out my straw cowboy hat, but I know I will be back in my old felt Stetson later in the week.  Outside the daffodils are finally out in full force and lawns are so green that mowers are getting pulled out and readied for work.  At home all of the windows are open and I even have my table fan cooling me at my desk as I pound this out.

Shortly before the release American release of the Sounds of Silence album Simon included April, Come She Will  on his British solo album The Paul Simon Songbook.  It was not available in the US until 1981 when it was included in a box set,  Paul Simon: Collected Works.
All of which begs the question—is it too early to trot out a second Simon and Garfunkel song for the Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival?  April, Come She Will is a Paul Simon tune off the duo’s second album Sounds of Silence in 1965.  As a single it was released as the B side of Scarborough Fair.  The song was also released as a solo that year on the British album The Paul Simon Songbook.  It got even more notice when it was included along with Mrs. Robinson and The Sounds of Silence on the soundtrack from The Graduate. 


The version we are sharing today comes from Simon And Garfunkel’s famed 1980 free Concert in Central Park before an audience of more than 500,000.  A double record live album of the concert on Columbia Records went triple platinum in sales.  The song featured Garfunkel’s soft tenor voice and Simon’s meticulous guitar work.

Ernesto Cardenal—National Poetry Month 2020

7 April 2020 at 11:14
Ernesto Cardenal in his signature black beret and beard,

Ernesto Cardenal, the renowned poet and Roman Catholic priest who became an icon of revolutionary versein Nicaragua and Latin America died on March 1 this year in Managua at age 95..  A champion of  Liberation Theology he was publicly shamed by Pope John Paul  II while he was serving as Minister of Culture in Daniel Ortega’s first Sandanista government and was suspended from the priesthood in 1983.  He was finally reinstated by Pope Francis in February 2019 36 years later.

Pope  John Paull II scolding Father Ernesto Cardenal on the tarmac at the Managua airport when the priest knelt to kiss the Pontiff's ring.
Cardenal was born on January 20, 1925 in Granada, Nicaragua to a wealthy family. He attended both the University of Mexico and Columbia University in New York City he also  studied with Trappist, poet, and philosopher Thomas Merton in Gethsemani, Kentucky.  He finished his studies in Cuernevaca, Mexico, where he was ordained in 1965.   

By that time he was fully engaged in Liberation theology and an opponent of the harsh, repressive U.S. backed dictatorship of Anastasio Somoza.  He foundeda community of peasants, poets, and paintersin 1966 on the Solentiname Islandsin Lake Nicaragua.  Cardenal supported the insurgency of the Sandinistas through a long and bloody revolutionary struggle while he was becoming noted for his poetry. Cardenal recognized that poetry and art are closely tied to politics, and used his poetry to protest the encroachments of outsiders in Nicaragua and to promote his own brand of Christian Marxism. When the Sandinistas finally came to power in 1979 he was an obvious prestige choice as Minister of Culture and his brother, Fernando  was named Minister of Education.  During the same years he co-founded the Casas de las Tres Mundos (Houses of the Third World), an international literary and cultural organization  based in Nicaragua.
Ernesto Cardenal as a young man,
The Sandinista government fell from power in 1988 after elections brought a U.S. backed conservative government to power.  Cardenal never held public office again but remained a critical voice.  He traveled extensively reading his poems.

But when Ortega returned to the Presidency in 2007, Cardenal denounced what he called the beginning of a family dictatorship. And in 2018, when anti-government protests broke out that posed the biggest challenge to Ortega’s increasingly authoritarian hold on power, he quickly aligned himself with the opposition. “What we want is for there to be a different government, a democratic republic,” he said in a handwritten message of support, adding that dialogue with the Ortega camp would be useless.

Cardinal’s opposition led to personal and legal harassment by the government which also tried to erase him from history.  In 2015, when Cardenal turned 90, he was feted in Mexico  where he had lived and studied theology as a young man but the Sandinista government had nothing but silence for a man it viewed as a turncoat.

The poems of his earlier revolutionary period were collected in Zero Hour and Other Documentary Poems published in English in 1980.  More recent work has included Golden UFOs: The Indian Poems/Los ovnis de oro: poemas indios  in 1992,  Cosmic Canticle in 2002, Pluriverse: New and Selected Poems in 2009 and Origin of the Species and Other Poemsin 2011which examined science in the context of religion.


From Zero Hour



Tropical nights in Central America,

with moonlit lagoons and volcanoes

and lights from presidential palaces,

barracks and sad curfew warnings.

“Often while smoking a cigarette

I’ve decided that a man should die,”

says Ubico smoking a cigarette . . .

In his pink-wedding-cake palace

Ubico has a head cold. Outside, the people

were dispersed with phosphorous bombs.

San Salvador laden with night and espionage,

with whispers in homes and boardinghouses

and screams in police stations.

Carías’ palace stoned by the people.

A window of his office has been smashed,

and the police have fired upon the people.

And Managua the target of machine guns

from the chocolate-cookie palace

and steel helmets patrolling the streets.



Watchman! What hour is it of the night?

Watchman! What hour is it of the night?



The campesinos of Honduras used to carry their money in their hats

when the campesinos sowed their seed

and the Hondurans were masters of their land.

When there was money

and there were no foreign loans

or taxes for J.P. Morgan & Co.,

and the fruit company wasn’t competing with the little dirt farmer.

But the United Fruit Company arrived

with its subsidiaries the Tela Railroad Company

and the Trujillo Railroad Company

allied with the Cuyamel Fruit Company

and Vaccaro Brothers & Company

later Standard Fruit & Steamship Company

of the Standard Fruit & Steamship Corporation:

                        the United Fruit Company

with its revolutions for the acquisition of concessions

and exemptions of millions in import duties

and export duties, revisions of old concessions

and grants for new exploitations,

violations of contracts, violations

of the Constitution . . .

And all the conditions are dictated by the Company

with liabilities in case of confiscation

(liabilities of the nation, not of the Company)

and the conditions composed by the latter (the Company)

for the return of the plantations to the nation

(given free by the nation to the Company)

at the end of 99 years . . .   

“and all the other plantations belonging

to any other persons or companies or enterprises

which may be dependents of the contractors and in which

this latter has or may have in the future

any interest of any kind will be as a consequence

included in the previous terms and conditions . . .”

(Because the Company also corrupted prose.)

The condition was that the Company build the Railroad,

but the Company wasn't building it,

because in Honduras mules were cheaper than the Railroad,

and “a Gongressman was chipper than a mule,”

                     as Zemurray used to say,

even though he continued to enjoy tax exemptions

and a grant of 175,000 acres of the Company,

with the obligation to pay the nation for each mile

that he didn’t build, but he didn't pay anything to the nation

even though he didn't build a single mile (Carías is the dictator

who didn't build the greatest number of miles of railroad)

and after all, that shitty railroad was

of no use to the nation

because it was a railroad between two plantations

and not between the cities of Trujillo and Tegucigalpa.



They corrupt the prose and they corrupt the Congress.

The banana is left to rot on the plantations,

or to rot in the cars along the railroad tracks

or it's cut overripe so it can be rejected

when it reaches the wharf or be thrown into the sea;

the bunches of bananas declared bruised, or too skinny,

or withered, or green, or overripe, or diseased:

so there’ll be no cheap bananas,

                         or so as to buy bananas cheap.

Until there’s hunger along the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua.



And the farmers are put in jail for not selling at 30 cents

and their bananas are slashed with bayonets

and the Mexican Trader Steamship sinks with their barges on them

and the strikers are cowed with bullets.

(And the Nicaraguan congressmen are invited to a garden party.)

But the black worker has seven children.

And what can you do? You've got to eat,

And you've got to accept what they offer to pay.

                        24 cents a bunch.

While the Tropical Radio Subsidiary was cabling Boston:

"We assume that Boston will give its approval to

the payment made to the Nicaraguan congressmen of the majority   

         party

because of the incalculable benefits that it represents for   

       the Company."

And from Boston to Galveston by telegraph

and from Galveston by cable and telegraph to Mexico

and from Mexico by cable to San Juan del Sur

and from San Juan del Sur by telegraph to Puerto Limón

and from Puerto Limón by canoe way into the mountains

arrives the order of the United Fruit Company:

“United is buying no more bananas.”

And workers are laid off in Puerto Limón.

And the little workshops close.

Nobody can pay his debts.

And the bananas rotting in the railroad cars.

                   So there’ll be no cheap bananas

                   And so that there'll be bananas cheap,

                              19 cents a bunch.

The workers get IOUs instead of wages.

Instead of payment, debts,

And the plantations are abandoned, for they’re useless now,

and given to colonies of unemployed.

And the United Fruit Company in Costa Rica

with its subsidiaries the Costa Rica Banana Company

and the Northern Railway Company and

the International Radio Telegraph Company

and the Costa Rica Supply Company

                     are fighting in court against an orphan.

The cost of derailment is $25 in damages

(but it would have cost more to repair the track).



And congressmen, cheaper than mules, Zemurray used to say.

Sam Zemurray, the Turkish banana peddler

in Mobile, Alabama, who one day took a trip to New Orleans

and on the wharves saw United throwing bananas into the sea

and he offered to buy all the fruit to make vinegar,

he bought it, and he sold it right there in New Orleans

and United had to give him land in Honduras

to get him to break his contract in New Orleans,

and that's how Sam Zemurray abbointed bresidents in Jonduras.

He provoked border disputes between Guatemala and Honduras

(which meant between the United Fruit Company and hiscompany)

proclaiming that Honduras (his company) must not lose

"one inch of land not only in the disputed strip

but also in any other zone of Honduras

(of his company) not in dispute . . ."

(while United was defeating the rights of Honduras

in its lawsuit with Nicaragua Lumber Company)

until the suit ended because he merged with United

and afterward he sold all his shares to United

and with the proceed of the sale he bought shares in United

and with the shares he captured the presidency of Boston

(together with its employees the various presidents of Honduras)

and he was now the owner of both Honduras and Guatemala

and that was the end of the lawsuit over the exhausted lands

that were now of no use either to Guatemala or Honduras.



—Ernesto Cardenal

Translated by Donald D. Walsh

As Tears Go By—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

7 April 2020 at 01:50

As Tears Go By sung by Marianne Faithfull.

The Coronavirus is hitting my generation’s musical icons exceptionally hard.  This week came the news from London that Marianne Faithfull is battling the bug.  Faithful exploded on the music scene in 1964 as 17 year old blonde beauty with a sweet soprano singing voice with a trace of a vibrato.  From the beginning she fell in with a fast crowd in Swinging London including the Rolling Stones and their front man Mick Jagger who co-wrote her break out hit As Tears Go By and went on to have a tumultuous five year affair with her.  Not only did she score big in England she became the leading female performer of the British Invasion on this side of the Atlantic.
She was born December 29, 1946 in north London.  Her father was Major Robert Glynn Faithfull, was a British intelligence officer and professor of Italian Literature at Bedford College of London University as well as something of a Bohemian.  He mother was an Austrian aristocrat  styled herself as Eva von Sacher-Masoch, Baroness Erisso but was half Jewish and had once been a dancer in productions of works by the German theatrical  duo Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill.  Her family was also connected to Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, whose erotic novel, Venus in Furs, spawned the word masochism.
The family moved to Ormskirk, Lancashire the north of England while her father worked on a doctorate from Liverpool University.  They also spent time at a commune at Braziers Park, Oxfordshire, formed by Dr. John Norman Glaister.  Her parents divorced when she was just six years old and she moved with her mother to Milman Road in Reading. Living in greatly reduced circumstances, Faithfull’s child hood was marred by bouts of tuberculosis. She was a charitably subsidizedstudent pupil at St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic Convent Schooland was, for a time, a weekly boarder and a member of the student Progress Theatre group.
Out of school by age 17 she made a bee line exciting London performing as a folk singer in small coffee houses and clubs in 1964.  Falling easily into the hip young London scene she attended a Rolling Stones launch party and met Andrew Loog Oldham, the Stone’s manager and producer who discovered her.  Within week Oldham, Keith Richards and Jagger co-wrote As Tears Go By for her which  peakedat # nine on the UK singles chart. A string of other successful single followed including This Little Bird, Summer Nights, and Come and Stay With Me.

Marianne Faithful were the hottest celebrity couple in swinging London in the late 1960's
In the midst of all this success Faithfull married John Dunbar in May 1965 and she gave birth to son Nicholas in November.  Not long after the birth she left Dunbar to begin a relationship with Jagger.  They became probably the biggest celebrity couple making the rounds of all the London hot spots.  Inevitably the lifestyle led to heavy drug use.  By 1966 to the delight of the insatiable tabloid press she was arrested in a drug bust at Keith Richards’s house wrapped only like that is always enhancing and glamorizing. A woman in that situation becomes a slut and a bad mother.”  Two years later and a full blown cocaine addict she miscarried Jagger’s daughter at his Irish estate.
Jagger and Richards were inspired to write some of the Stones’s best known songs of the period by Faithfull including You Can’t Always Get What You Want, Wild Horses, and I Got the Blues.  In turn she co-wrote Sister Morphine with the pair but it took a nasty, protracted court battle to receive writing credits and the publishing royalties that went with it.

Faithfull in 1970 just before her downfall.
Faithfull was in a steep downward spiral.  In 1970 her relationship with Jagger crashed.  She was too unreliable to record or tour.  She lived on the Soho streetsfor two years, suffering from heroin addiction and anorexia nervosa.  The addiction and prolonged laryngitis permanently altered her voice, leaving it cracked and lower in pitch.  She was in and out of rehab most of the decade and would suffer relapses even later.  She squatted in a Chelsea flat without hot wateror electricity with then-boyfriend Ben Brierly, of the punk band the Vibrators and later shared flats in Chelsea and Regent’s Park with model Henrietta Moraes. 
In 1979 she was arrested for marijuana possession in Norway.  But here career began a recover that year with the release of a new album, the punk influence Broken English and the title track which addressed terrorism in Europe was dedicated toUlrike Meinhof of the German anarchist Badder-Meinhof Gang.  The album was critically praised and commercially successful.  Her new raspy voice was praised as authentic.  Faithfull’s brief marriage to Brierly which had helped inspire the song and style quickly broke up.
Since 1980 Faithful has regularly recorded new albums about every three years, all of them critically successful.  But her life remained turbulent.  One boyfriend Howard Tose, a dual diagnosed depressive and addict who she met in a Cambridge, Massachusettsrehab facility leapt to his death crashing through 14th floor window of the apartment they shared.

Faithful receiving the Women's World Award in Vienna in 2009
In 2009 a fifteen year relationship with her manager François Ravard ended after he was arrested for making a drunken scene at a London’s Gatwick Airport.
Despite acclaim and some success, Faithful has been plagued with health problems including collapsing on stage in Milan in 2004 reportedly of exhaustion;  breast cancer in 2006: years of suffering from Hepatitis C probably from needle sharing in her days of addiction; a back injury in 2013; a broken hip sustained on a Greek vacation in 2014 all before she was hospitalized with pneumonia on April 4 and quickly diagnosed with the Coronavirus.

Faithful on a recent red carpet.
Faithfull has shown herself to be a tough resilient survivor.  Let’s hope she is again.


Rachel “Raych” Jackson—National Poetry Month 2020

6 April 2020 at 11:06
Rachel "Raych" Jackson performing.

O.K.  It’s time to shake things up.  So far our National Poetry Month entries have skewed older, mostly Boomers like the proprietor of this pop standand exclusively white.  But that does not reflect the diversity of voices in contemporary poetry.  We will start with a Chicago slam poet whose work has gone from the printed page to vivid performance art.

Rachel “Raych” Jackson is a writer, educator,  and performer who while teaching third and fourth grade in Chicago Public Schools competed on numerous national poetry teams and in individual competitions. Her poems have gained over 2 million views on YouTube. She is the 2017 National Underground Poetry Invitational Competition (NUPIC) Champion and a 2017 Pink Door fellow. Jackson voiced DJ Raych in the Jackbox game, Mad Verse Cityand Tiffany in Battu, an upcoming animation. Her latest play, Emotions & Bots, premiered at the Woerdz Festival in Lucerne, Switzerland.

Jackson wrote a room dedicated to her city for 29Rooms’ first installment in Chicago, through Refinery 29. She co-created and co-hosts Big Kid Slam, a monthly poetry show in Chicago. Jackson’s work has been published by many journals including Poetry Magazine, The Rumpus, The Shallow Ends, and Washington Square Review. Her debut collection Even the Saints Auditionwas recently published  Button Poetry and was named Best New Poetry Collection by a Chicagoan in the Chicago Reader in the fall of 2019. 



First up, from the printed page in Flypaper Poetry Issue V.

Pantoum for Derrion Albert from the Plank

In September 2009 Derrion Albert’s murder was caught on tape. The video spread through theworld quicker than the Southside of Chicago could be gentrified through the Olympic bid.  Killers are shown kicking Derrion in the face and smashing his head with a wooden plank.

His hands were soft on my hips.
We were brown together.
How often does that happen?
Wooden individuals shaped and dyed
to look the same as them. Brown like the next.
We all look the same to them. Brown like the next.
Sturdy.

Wooden individuals shaped and dyed
to look the same as them. Brown like the next.
There are many uses for a snatched tree.
Easy to be broken and passed around.
Each ring tells achievements of sorts.
Sturdy.
He needed a capable dancer.

There are many uses for a snatched tree.
Easy to be broken and passed around.
Each ring tells achievements of sorts.
A partner whose spine can bend
with the grace of politicians tongues
built on corroding law enforcement.
He needed a capable dancer.
I’m someone that will sacrifice my body
spreading through skulls.

A partner whose spine bend
with the grace of politicians tongues
built on corroding law enforcement.
We danced to the music made that day.
A slow melody assembled
from the dull connection with heads and
shrieks carrying his name.
I’m someone that will sacrifice my body
spreading through skulls.
Admire me.
Focus on me.
I beat them all.

We danced to the music made that day.
A slow melody assembled
from the dull connection with heads and
shrieks carrying his name.
We all look the same to them. Brown like the next.
Admire me.
Focus on me.
I beat them all.
His hands were soft on my hips.
We were brown together.
How often does that happen?

Rachel “Raych” Jackson

As good as that piece is, a poetry slam artist must be seen and heard.  This is from her award winning turn at the 2017 National Underground Poetry Invitational Competition in Denver.


How Can I Keep from Singing?—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

5 April 2020 at 19:21
How Can I Keep from Singing sung by Enya.

It’s Sunday—Palm Sunday no less—and the perfect day for one of my favorite, uplifting, and inspiring hymnsHow Can I Keep from Singing? also known as My Life Flows On in Endless Song. The simple but lovely song is often mistaken for an uncredited, usually Quaker, traditional hymn.  The original lyrics were published  in The New York Observer under the Title Always Rejoicing  and attributed to a Pauline T. Baptist minister Robert Wadsworth Lowry included in the 1869 song book, Bright Jewels for the Sunday School and claimed authorship of the music.  

American Baptist minister Robert Wadsworth Lowry wrote the music to How Can I Keep From Singing? and included it in an 1868 song book.
The song was largely forgotten through much of the 20th Century and was included only in the 1941 edition of The Church Hymnal of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, and titled My Life Flows On.
Around  1950 Doris Plenn reported that she had learned the original hymn from her grandmother, who mistakenly believed that it dated from the early days of the Quaker movement. Plenn wrote a new version that eliminated some of the explicitly Christian references in the original and added this new verse:
            When tyrants tremble, sick with fear,
And hear their death-knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near,
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile,
Our thoughts to them go winging;
When friends by shame are undefiled,
How can I keep from singing?


Pete Seeger popularized Doris Penn's pacifist revision of How Can I Keep From Singing?
These lyrics were popularized by Pete Seeger during the folk revival of the late 1950’s and early ’60.  In this form it became popular in mainstream and liberal Protestant congregations.  In the late 1970s, How Can I Keep From Singing was recorded closely following the original lyric by Catholic folk musician Ed Gutfreund on the album From An Indirect Love  and then was published in the widely used Catholic Hymnal Glory and Praise.  It was especially popular in guitar masses.
The Plenn/Seeger version has been particularly embrace by the Society of Friends and other Peace churches and by the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA) and was included in the 1993 hymnal Singing the Living Tradition.

Irish New Age singer Enya brought  How Can I Keep From Singing? to new audiences.
The song received new prominence in 1991 when the ethereal Irish singer Enya, a New Age  music favorite released it her album Shepherd Moons following Seeger’s version including  changing the original lines “What tho’ my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Saviour liveth” to “What tho’ the tempest ‘round me roars, I hear the truth it liveth.”  Her video of the song included clips from then contemporary events like the Gulf War and the fall of the Soviet Union.
It was also performed by Celtic Woman in their Destinyshow live from the Round Room at the Mansion House in Dublin.

Shari Wagner—National Poetry Month 2020

5 April 2020 at 10:44
Hoosier poet Shari Wagner with two of her books.
I first heard of Shari Wagner last year when Sue Rekenthaler used her poem The Farm Wife Turns Off the TV Evangelist as an opening chalice lighting for a Tree of Life U.U. Congregation Social Justice Team meeting.  It was an apt pick for Sue who is a hard working vegetable farmer with her husband as well as an accomplished poet herself.  I was impressed by the choice and determined to find out more about the author.
It turns out that Wagner was Indiana’sfifth Poet Laureate from 2016 to 2017 and is the author of three booksof poems: The Harmonist at Nightfall: Poems of Indiana, Evening Chore and The Farm Wife’s Almanac.  She lived the life she writes about and embraces not only memoir pieces of farm life, but work inspired by Indiana history, and her love of nature and rural life.  But she is not the reflexive conservative you might suspect from a writer with official approbation in a deeply red state.  She has a social justice view point nurtured by her education at Goshen College, a Mennonite school and cross cultural  experiences in Somalia, Kenya, Haiti, and Honduras as well as domesticallywith the with the Clifton-Choctaw of Louisiana.
Downtown Markle, Indiana in the 1950's.  In the '60's Wagner's doctor father had an office on the street.
She was born in the Mennonite community of Goshen, Indiana and grew up near Markle, a small town along the Wabash River, in Wells and Huntington Counties.  Her father, Dr. Gerald Miller, was a family practitioner and her mother, Mary Mishler Miller,  contributed her leadership skills to  many community projects such as editing the town’s monthly newspaper and planningthe annual town festival.   Later she and her father co-wrote Making the Rounds:  Memoirs of a Small-Town Doctor about the healthful advantages of living in a place where people feel connected.  
At age 13 her family moved to the Horn of Africa where her father served Mennonite mission hospital in Somaliawhere she first started writing  poems to describe the guban—the desert area that surrounded the village.  She would later write another memoir with her father, A Hundred Camels: A Mission Doctor’s Sojourn and Murder Trial in Somalia detailing his story of being tried for murder after a patientdied on his operating table.   

The woods near Wagner's childhood home inspired some of her earliest poetry and is now a nature preserve,
Back in Indiana, the ten-acre woods where Shari had grown up seemed more mysteriousthan she remembered and she started searching for similes and metaphors to describe what she saw and felt. English teachers at Norwell High School encouraged her and a Poet-in-the-Schools gave her a valuable introduction to the elements of poetry writing.  
At home town Goshen College she studied with Nicholas Lindsay, the son of Illinois poet Vachel Lindsay and  a poet and carpenter who emphasized poetry’s connections to song, place, and people.  While in school she publishedtwo Pinchpenny Press volumes, When the Walls Crumble which included a one-act play, poetry, and a short story, and Feathers in My Hat, an anthology of poetry by residents at Fountainview Place, a senior facility in Elkhart, Indiana. She was editor of The Record, the Goshen student newspaper
After graduation and doing ethnographical work with the Clifton-Choctaw which sparked an interest in Native American life, Wagner earned a Master of Fine Arts Degree (MFA) in creative writing from Indiana University at Bloomington.
Wagner’s poems have been featured by Garrison Keillor on The Writer's Almanac and by former  U.S. Poet Lauriat Ted Kooser in his column, American Life in Poetry. Her poems have also appeared in North American Review, Shenandoah, Black Warrior Review, Indiana Review, The Christian Century, Poetry East, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and many other journals. Her work has been selected for the anthologiesBest American Nonrequired Reading, And Know This Place: Poetry of Indiana, and A Cappella: Mennonite Voices in Poetry..
She has been nominated four times for Pushcart Prizes, and she has been awarded two Creative Renewal Fellowshipsfrom the Arts Counsel of Indianapolis, as well as twelve grants from the Indiana Arts Commission. In 2009, her essay, Camels, Cowries & a Poemfor Aisha, was co-winner of Shenandoah’s Carter Prize for the Essay.
Wagner has taught creative writing and memoir writing to people of all ages and backgrounds, in grade schools, colleges, libraries, community centers, and nursing homes. She is the editor of Returning: Stories from the Indianapolis Senior Center and co-editor of I Remember: Creative Writing by Indianapolis Youth, 2012.  She teaches with the Indiana Writers Center, where she has been a faculty member since 2008.  She is also on the facultyfor  the Religion, Spirituality, and the Arts: A Program of Indiana University-Purdue University's Humanities Institute, taught at Bethany Seminary’s theopoetics and writing program.
She lives north of Indianapolis in Hamilton County with her husband Chuck Wagner, a poet and English teacher at Brebeuf Jesuit Preparatory School. They are the parents of two adult daughters.



The poems from The Farm Wife’s Almanac feature a fictional speaker of who Wagner says “many of her stories harken back to stories from my family tree. I peeled, sliced, and simmered these accounts, adding this and that, till they turned into something new, like the fruit preserves in the farm wife’s larder.”
The Farm Wife Turns Off the TV Evangelist
The Jesus I grew up with
likes to be outside.
If he’s not fishing, he’s picking figs
or showing us his mustard crop.

He prefers dusty roads, the common sparrow,
and lilies of the field.
When he knocks on your door
holding a lantern, you know it’s time
to buckle on overshoes
and go with him to feed the sheep.

But this preacher, who looks straight
into the camera and claims he knows
Jesus, says what he wants
is for me to believe in him
so he can come inside.

That sounds shifty to me.
Like a wolf with his paws dipped in flour.

Jesus who heals the blind
said we will know a tree by its fruit.

—Shari Wagner


Lean on Me—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

5 April 2020 at 01:36
Lean on Me by Bill Withers.

Just as his 1972 hit Lean on Me was becoming an anthem for front line health care workersand first responders during the Coronavirus pandemic Bill Withers died on March 30 with his family making the announcementyesterday.  The 81 year old singer and songwriter was not, however, a victim of the bug but succumbed to long standing heart problems.
Withers was a master of smooth soul music that often had an uplifting vibe during the 15 years of his active musical career in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s.
Long before he was a star he was a working class guy, experiences that have led some to call him a Black Bruce Springsteen but his life was even humbler and entailed plenty of dirt under the fingernails. 
He was born on July 4, 1938 as William Harrison Withers Jr.  in the tiny coal mining town of Slab Fork, West Virginia and brought up in nearby Berkley where a stutter made it hard to fit in.  His fatherdied when he was 13 leaving the family in dire financial straits.  Desperate to get out he joined the Navy as soon as he could at age 18 and served a full nine years of active duty.  He was rated as an aircraft mechanic but later joked he spent much of his time installing toilets.
While he was in the Navy Withers became interested in music and taught himself guitar and piano.  He left the Navy in 1965 and relocated to Los Angeles in 1967 to with an eye on a possible music career and because there were plenty of good blue collar jobs to support himself in the meantime un till he could start a music career.  He was a factory hand at several different companies including Douglas Aircraft Corporation, while recording demo tapes with his own money, shopping them around and performing in clubs at night. 

Bill Withers posed with his lunch box at is factory job for his first album which featured the break out hit Ain't No Sunshine.
In 1970 struggling Sussex Records signed him on the basis of those demo tapes and assigned him to work with producer and arranger Booker T. Jones formerly of Booker T. and the MGs at Staxx.  After three recording sessions stretched out over nearly a year Withers’s first album, Just as I Am was released in 1971 with the tracks, Ain’t No Sunshine and Grandma’s Hands as singles. Stephen Stills played lead guitar.  All the while Withers kept punching in at his day job because he believed the music business was a fickle industry The album cover even  pictured him at his job at Weber Aircraft in Burbank holding his lunch box.
When the singles, especially Ain’t No Sunshine which became an instant classic charted and album sales were brisk, Withers finally quit the day job and assembled a band built around members of the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band hit the road on tour.  Sunshine earned an RIAA Gold Record for sale of a million records in September of 1971 and the following year won a Grammy Award for Best R&B Song.  Withers was a certified star.

Bill Withers in live performance.
He followed up with a second album, Still Bill which featured the anthem Lean on Me which went to #1 as a single  on the week of July 8, 1972.  His second gold single had confirmed sales  of over three million.  Use Me, another went gold in October.  A month later he recorded Bill Withers, Live at Carnegie Hall.
But trouble lay ahead.  Up to this time Withers and Booker T. had free hands in selecting what they could record.  But Sussex Records was in trouble and disputes with company executive kept his third studio album +/Justments from being released.  When the company folded industry giant Columbia Records swooped in and bought Withers’s contract and his back catalogwhich enabled the label to re-issue compilations of his work.  But executives refused to allow Withers to record some his new material and leaned on him to add more covers.  A particularly bitter dispute erupted when they pressured him to cover an Elvis Pressley song.  He did an album a year for four years for Columbia, none of which matched his sales at Sussex.  The third album, Menagerie did better than the others had featured the moderate hit Lovely Day which did exceptionally well in Britain.
Fed up with Columbia, Withers spent most of his time after 1977 working in collaboration with other artists on their labels including Just the Two of Us with jazz saxophonist Grover Washington Jr. with which he won his third Grammy in 1980,  Soul Shadows with the Crusaders, and In the Name of Love with Ralph MacDonald, and the album Dreams in Stone with French singer Michel Berger. 
In 1985 he finally completed his contractual obligation to Columbia with a new studio album, Watching You Watching Me, which featured the Top 40-rated R&B single Oh Yeah.  In press interviews Withers complained that two of the first three singles released, were the same songs which were rejected in 1982 and that the label had signed and promoted non-singing actor Mr. T while preventing him from releasing his own music. 
After touring in support of the album with Jennifer Holliday Withers walked away from the music industry and never looked back.  He had lost all interest in the back stabbing and intrigue that were part of the recording end of the business and just plain tired of touring.  Not becoming a success until age 32 meant that in his words he was “socialized as a regular guy” who had a life before show businessand could  have an ordinary life again.

Withers with John Legend at his 2005 induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Withers seldom emerged in public, most notably at the At the 30th Annual Grammy Awards in 1988 when he won the Grammy for Best Rhythm & Blues Song Songwriter for the re-recording of  Lean on Me by Club Nouveau, in 2005 when he was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and 2015 when he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  In that awards program he jammed on stage with Stevie Wonder and John Legend on Lean on Me.
Withers summed up his career—“I’m not a virtuoso, but I was able to write songs that people could identify with. I don’t think I’ve done bad for a guy from Slab Fork, West Virginia.”

Jed Myers—National Poetry Month 2020

4 April 2020 at 07:00
Seattle Poet Jed Myers

Jed Myers was born in Philadelphia in 1952 to parents of Eastern European Jewish heritage. He studied Creative Writing with an emphasis in poetry at Tufts University, graduating in 1974, and went on, after medical training, to pursue a career in psychiatry.  He settled in Seattle, where he and his wiferaised three children. He maintains a solo therapy practice and teaches at the University of Washington. Meyers kept writing poems, but did not seek publication until the events of September 11th, 2001. Since that time, his work has been widely published. For several years now he has been active in maintaining a consortium of music-and-poetry open-mic cabarets called Easy Speak Seattle.  

Jed Myers, on drums, often performs with Band of Poets including John Burgess, Anna Jenkins, Ted McMahon, and Rosanne Olson sometimes joined by other musicians and poets.  
I first encountered Myers’s work last summer in in an on-line collection of work in response to the humanitarian immigration disaster on the Mexican-American border and the Trump maladministration of jettisoning traditional legal avenues of claiming asylum , forcibly turning back border crossers,  separating families, and indefinitely detaining most who got across in virtual concentration camps.  He commented about his contribution:

For all its shocking immediacy, an image of tragedy on our southern border seems to embody our burned-out distance. The drowned father and little daughter are casualties of our country’s deep currents of fear. The truth that we’re all Americans north and south is lost in the hubbub of nationhood. We take the river as border, denying our deeper unity. I hope my poem holds and conveys the embarrassment of our self-distancing.
The image of the bodies of asylum seekers Alberto Ramirez and his toddler daughter Valeria in the Rio Grande briefly caught the attention of Americans and shocked the shockable.


American Border Study—Two Bodies in a River

Oscar Alberto Martinez Ramirez and his daughter, Valeria, Rio Grande, Matamoros, Mexico

We’ll recall her small arm on his neck.
We’ll forget them there in the shallows.

We wonder at the black cloth they share.
We don’t get it was how he held her.

We see clearly her short red pants.
We miss the pink disposable diaper.

We note the bamboo stalks on the shore.
We grow our bamboo along the link fence.

We see sun in the river’s slow ripples.
We have no fierce current here in the frame.

We’re touched their dark heads wind up together.
We are spared their still-eyed stare.

We’re shocked the camera shot them in the back.
We’re not especially surprised.

We’re living the lives they might have.
We haven’t been breathing water.

We understand it’s father and daughter.
We don’t have our noses in the mud.

Jed Myers
from Poets Respond
June 30, 2019

This deeply personal poem won the 2013 Literal Latte Poetry Award.

Going to Bed

These nights I slip down into sleep 
in minutes, freed from a lifelong
ritual, the slow obsessive surrender
of my vigilance. Some nights it took hours

to check all measures on the interior
monitor — savings, the kids’
immunizations, endangered birds,
the boy down the block gone to war….

Now, it isn’t that peregrines nest
again on the Hudson’s bridges (they do), 
nor that the detainees are released 
from Guantanamo (they are not).

I know the cisterns of Hanford are fractured
and bleeding our cancers into the river.
I know the immigrants wait in the culverts
to cross into Texas. I drift anyway.

I’m sure it’s not that when I lie down  
in my bed, no one else is there 
in the flesh who will press the points
of the thorns of the day. And I’d swear

it isn’t that I am eased to know 
my children, nomads now on their own
in this carbon-hazed wilderness, succeed
in trading the gold of true affection.

It’s just that I slide into silence,
into the soil of sleep, down dream’s 
rivulets, with no resistance, knowing 
this: a few I’ve loved have descended

for good, from air into earth, left
the world still pressing its weather east,
spring's blackberry stalks infiltrating
the beach paths, mosquitoes drinking

the sweet sera of lovers asleep
in each other's arms at dawn…. We go on
crossing over our mingled lost,
our footfalls on the sun-stained grass

a comfort to them if they listen in 
their sleep (they can’t, but they haven't gone
far). We have our dark-hour meetings
(in topsoil? synapses?) — they thank us

for breathing, as we still play the leaves
while they take to the roots (a comfort 
to us as we draw the sheets like first
layers of dust up to our cheeks).

Last night my father and I took our seats
at a cafe table in part of the city
I’d never seen. His eyes gleamed
as he piped up Let’s eat. So it was

and it wasn’t real. He looked serene — 
not rushed as he’d always been
(in his vigilance). Dawn pressed
its way through the slats, and I surfaced.

He lingered. So I’ll sink
again tonight, in trust,
into the under-life, a surrender
to depths off the monitor, to the silt

where my mother’s father still picnics
and holds a baby girl up to the sun
by a Western Pennsylvania river —
where, a closed-eye blink later,

a thin boy in Lithuania runs
from a house on fire, toward America,
into the immeasurable brightness of love.
It’s this: up from the loam of devotion,

out of the night, some will return,
by the human xylem of heartwood
and vine, to gather actual sun, 
here in the blood's branches creaking

in time; some will remain in the night,
out of reach of the light's last fingers,
beneath our prisons, bridges, beds,
in the intricate unconscious mulch

where the world dreams its births, riots,
blooms, monsoons — a matter of inches
deep, under the lids of our eyes,
in this one tissue that sleeps and dies.

Jed Myers

And finally—

Poem for My Country

Not far from my city, I walked under tall trees
by a river whose name soon escaped me.

Silty-green eddies, white froth dressing
the rocks, flat current over what I thought

must be the depths, a riffle dazzled
the shallows. I lost perspective

to the strobe of the wind-shaken maples’
foliage fringing the shore. Were they swallows

who sped and veered, who caught the living
dust of the hovering bug constellations?

A few splashes some yards upriver,
little eruptions of silver, what might be

a fish, I bent for a better look under
a branch, and saw on the edge up ahead

a kid spin a flat rock to skip, and it did.
What country is this? A moment in wonder,

no answer. The water coursed past
in and out of the bright and the dark, I heard

the elements’ vigorous frictions, dignified
groans of the cedars and firs, and imagined

the current grinding away at the stones.
What country is this? Perhaps it is known

to the singing boughs spread over the banks,
to the stones, or the invisible fish.

—Jed Myers

Please Don’t Bury Me—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

3 April 2020 at 19:39
Please Don't Bury Me by John Prine.

As many of you know master singer/songwriter John Prine is in the hospital with the Coronavirus in serious but stable condition.  My National Poetry Month blog post earlier in the day has greater detail and an assessment personal and professionallife and work.  It makes sense to also feature him in our Confinement Music Festival.

Young John Prine was chill and a master of the casual slouch off stage.

Please Don’t Bury Me is one of the least well known songsoff of Prine’s sensational self-titled 1971 debut album.  It celebrates John’s playful side which is sometimes overlooked among his body of emotional, often gut-wrenching slice of life ballads.  But the many performers who shared the stage with him over the years and a lot of us who have followed him from the beginning during the great Chicago folk scene have always delighted in this side of him.
And I think John himself would appreciateit right now.  You be the judge.

John Prine—The Songwriter as Poet—National Poetry Month 2020

3 April 2020 at 13:11
John Prine with his Irish wife Fiona Whelan.

Note—When the news came out last Sunday that singer/songwriter John Prine was on a ventilator and in critical condition with the Coronavirus social media erupted with out pourings of concern, grief, and sympathy.  Fans and musical peers alike posted favorite songs or made their own video tributes.  For many of us of a certain age from Chicago it was also deeply personal.  Fortunately John’s wife Fiona has since reported that he is in serious but stable condition.  For a 73 year old man with a history of serious health problems he is not out of the woods yet.  During National Poetry Month in 2017 I posted an appreciation of Prine and the poetry of his lyrics.  Here it is again with some updating.



Ordinarily, we don’t think much of it, but song lyricsliterally verses—are poems set to music.  Perhaps that is because when it comes to modern popular music the words are secondary to other elements of the song—the melody or hook, beat, harmonies, arrangements and orchestrations, instrumentals, even, increasingly, theatrical stage or video presentation.  Lyrics have to be exceptionally strong to stand out.  But a lot are as disposable as used Kleenex, clichéd restatements of convenient and comfortable tropes.  It may not seem as corny as the Moon/June/Moon of vaudeville era pop standards, but from Nashville to Rap and all of the stops in between, there is plenty of plug-in-here familiarity to mix with vocal trills and tricks to make earworm music that is easy to love.

But in most songs, if you plunk the words down on paper to read without the music they don’t have legs to stand on their own.  Back in the day Steve Allen, the late night TV host andcomedian who was also a jazz aficionado, composer, self-proclaimed intellectual, and, let’s face it, something of a musical snob, could always get laughs by pulling out the lyrics to one of the new rock and roll songs and reading them with mock seriousness.


Well be-bop-a-lula she’s my baby,

Be-bop-a-lula I don't mean maybe.

Be-bop-a-lula she’s my baby

Be-bop-a-lula I don’t mean maybe

Be-bop-a-lula she's my baby doll,

My baby doll, my baby doll.



Well she’s the girl in the red blue jeans.

She’s the queen of all the teens.

She’s the one that I know

She’s the one that loves me so.



Say be-bop-a-lula she’s my baby,

Be-bop-a-lula I don’t mean maybe.

Be-bop-a-lula she's my baby doll

My baby doll, my baby doll

Let’s rock!



—Jean Vincent



I’ve probably seen a half a dozen comics do the same thing with everything from heavy metal to hip-hop to Rascal Flats.

Of course it was not always its way.  Music and poetry were inseparable from birth.  From drum chants around Neolithic fires, to Psalms, Homer, and Medieval ballads what we now think of as great poems were sung by bards and minstrels to long-lost melodies.  In the 18th and 19th famous poems were routinely set to music becoming the basis of everything from Protestant hymnals, romantic ballads, patriotic anthems, to German Lieder songs.  Then Tin Pan Alley and the three minute song—dictated by the capacity of a Victrola disk—and snappy came roaring into fashion.  A lot of wonderful songs with catchy patter and the foundation of what would become known as the Great American Song Book.  But the words on their own were seldom great poetry.

There were some exceptions, of course, moving forward in the 20th Century the archly playful words of Cole Porter were as clever as anything by Dorothy Parker.  The German exile Kurt Weil brought his European aesthetic and paired with great writers who produced real poetry to go along with his songs—Berthold Brecht, Ogden Nash (Speak Low), and Maxwell Anderson (September Song, Lost in the Stars.)  Richard Rogers could rise to the occasion.  And there were some smokey saloon songs from the film noir era, anti-love songs mostly, that hit the mark.

The ballad—the story telling not just any slow tempo love song—was relegated to the edges of popular music—hillbilly begetting country & western, and folk music through various waves of revivals.  Now it has even been bled out of modern country hits radiowhich prefers what is basically rock and roll with a nasal twang.

But in folk music, the words were always the thing.  Stripped down the accompanimentof a single guitar or a handful of acoustic instrument, voices sweet and perfect or raw and real, the lyrical content was front and center.

When I was in High School a hip English teacher had us study the lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel as poetry in an APP class for smarty pants nerds.  Everyone knew Bob Dylan was a poet.  Leonard Cohn was a poet before Judy Collins almost literally pushed him on stage.  Non-folk singer/songwriters like Laura Nyro were also writing lyrics that could be—and were—published comfortably as quality poetry.

Which brings us at long last to today’s subject.

Just last week a short news item floating around the web caught my attention from the Boston Globe.  


PEN New England will honor songwriter John Prine with its Song Lyrics of Literary Excellence Award, an accolade that has been previously upon Kris Kristofferson, Randy Newman, Chuck Berry, and Leonard Cohen. PEN New England hasn’t officially announced the selection, and it’s possible a second songwriter will be honored in addition to Prine. We learned of Prine’s selection by way of Rosanne Cash, who serves on the committee that chooses the honoree and spilled the beans to a New York Times reporter who wrote a profile of Prine   last week.  Prine, 69, has never enjoyed a lot of commercial success, but his songs, which range from wry acoustic folk to country, are much admired by his peers. The award ceremony will be held at the JFK Library, though the date has yet to be announced.

So there you have it.  No less an august body than a section of PEN, the international organization of writers, will bestow its blessing on Prine and his words.  I guess that makes ‘em officially poetry if anything does. 

John Prine just starting out at the 5th Peg Pub in front of a banner that misspelled his name.


Around Chicago the legend of the Maywood Mailman is well known and time honored.  In May 1970 Prine, a skinny guy with a mop of brown hair, was hanging around the 5th Peg Pub a saloon and folk club operated by Ray Tate, the chief instructor at the Old Town School of Folk Music just across the street on Armitage.  Prine was in the audience of a weekly Monday night open mic that featured mostly teachers and students from the school.  Fueled, perhaps, by an extra drink or two, he may have made a disparaging comment about some fledgling songwriter’s effort which supposedly resulted in an “Oh, yeah, I’d like to see you do better,” dare.  Prine borrowed a guitar and took to the stage.  He sang five original songs, every one of which was a masterpiece destined to become a revered classic including Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You into Heaven Any More, Hello in There, Sam Stone, Paradise, and Angel from Montgomery.  The audience sat in stunned silence before bursting into cheers.

Prine kept coming back to the open mic in the weeks that followed and word of mouth spread through the close knit Chicago folk music scene.  The place was jammed week after week.  Tate gave Prine a steady Sunday night slot in July where he was greeted with a backdrop banner that misspelled his last name. No matter.  Soon he was so popular he was given Friday and Saturday slots as well. The small club with virtually no advertising was turning people away at the doors week after week.  It was about that time that I first saw him, the 5th Peg being one of several regular watering holes then on my rounds of dives.

More importantly in November Chicago Sun Times movie critic Roger Ebert caught him there in November and was so awe struck that he rushed back to the paper and pounded out a virtual paean of a column—Prine’s first ink.

He appears on stage with such modesty he almost seems to be backing into the spotlight. He sings rather quietly, and his guitar work is good, but he doesn’t show off. He starts slow. But after a song or two, even the drunks in the room begin to listen to his lyrics. And then he has you… You hear lyrics like these, perfectly fitted to Prine’s quietly confident style and his ghost of a Kentucky accent, and you wonder how anyone could have so much empathy and still be looking forward to his 24th birthday on Saturday.

Best buddies Steve Goodman & Prine at the Earl of Old Town


After that Prine was an official Chicago sensation.  He played to top folk clubs—the Saddle Club on North Avenue, Richard Harding’s second Quiet Knight location on Belmont, The Bulls on Lincoln, and later Somebody Else’s Troubles and Holstein’s further up Lincoln.  But he made the established folk Mecca The Earl of Old Town an unofficial home base and was the center there of a fabulous scene that included his good buddy Steve Goodman, Bonnie Koloc, Jim Post, Fred Holstein, and others.  He also worked with established folk legend Bob Gibson and mandolinist Jethro Burns of Homer Jethro.  When he added electric sets to his repertoire Jethro’s son Johnny Burns traded riffs with him. 

It was at the Earl that Kris Kristofferson, no slouch as a songwriter and lyricist himself, heard Prine and helped him get a dealwith Atlantic Records.  John Prine came out in 1971 and never got above number 154 on the Billboard charts.  But it was a passed-from-hand-to-hand cult hit among folkies and Nashville rebels.  Half the albums must have been sold to other awe struck musicians many of whom covered his songs and clamored to play with him on stage.  Even Bob Dylan himself climbed on the stage of Prine’s first New York City gig to anonymously blow back-up harp.  I was then on the staff of the old Chicago Seed underground newspaper and got to write one of the first reviews of the album, an unapologetic rave. 

Prine hated his first album cover where his label posed him on hay bales.
Prine was born in Maywood, Illinois, a western working class Chicago suburb on October 26, 1946.  His fatherand mother, William Prine and the former Verna Hamm were from Paradise, Kentucky in Muhlenberg County and had joined the migration from Appalachia to the North for industrial jobs in the War years.  His grandfather was a former coal miner and sometimes preacher who also played music professionally including stints with Merle Travis, writer of the coal mining classics Dark as a Dungeon and Sixteen Tons and Ike Everly, father of the Everly Brothers.  Stories about Kentucky and occasional summer trips “home” kept the Appalachian experience alive for the boy.

When his first album came out Prine was upset that the label posed him on bales of hay for the cover in an attempt to win a country music audience.  Prine protested he had never sat on hay in his life.  His people “were miners, to farmers.”  He flatly refused to wear a cowboy hat.

Music always played a part in the family life.  When John was 15 his older brother Dave, a banjo, fiddle, and guitar player, taught him how to play the guitar.  He became inseparable from his instrument and was diddling around with making up songs while still attending Proviso East High School in Maywood.

After graduation Prine went into the Army and was lucky enough to draw posting to Germany rather the Vietnam.  That narrow escape haunted him somewhat and he always felt a kinship with the guys who went to war—many of them classmates and buddies.  He would write about them in Sam Stone and other songs and would always have an anti-war and anti-establishment streak that would carry forward into songs about George W. Bush and his wasteful wars decades later.

Out of the Army Prine returned home, married his sweetheart Ann Carole and settled down with a good jobcarrying the mail in Westchester, another western suburb.  He was scribbling song ideas and noodling on the guitar at night and on weekends.  After seeing Ray Tate interviewed on TV, he showed up at the Old Town School, which he had never previously heard of, and enrolled in classes.  So perhaps the legend of taking the stage on a dare at Tate’s club was a bit apocryphal.  Tate knew what a talent he had and just needed to find him a way to get him in front of an audience.

Prine was more than a little shy and his first public appearance earlier that spring at a Maywood Village festival had not gone well.  The festival was fun, rowdy, and beer soaked.  The audience didn’t care a thing about or know folk music.  They wanted to rock.  Prine felt like a failure in his home town.

With success that shyness faded and Prine became comfortable on stage, especially when he could share it with buddies like Steve Goodman.  He liked the camaraderie of music, the drinking, and the weed.  John and his pals knew how to party. 

Through the 70’s while keeping a base in Chicago, Prine began to tour nationally. Albums followed almost yearly, each with memorable gems.  On Atlantic he put out Diamonds in the Rough, Sweet Revenge, and Common Sense which finally broke into the Top 100 albums of 1975 at #66.  He moved on to Assylum for three more albums but was dropped from the label in 1980 for lack of commercial success.

Prine and Kristofferson in Las Vegas, 2015.


For four years despite continued success as a touring act and the unanimous esteem of the best musicians not only in folk and country music, but in rock and roll as well, Prine could not find a record label.  So in 1984 he started his own—Oh Boy Records.  The master of his own fate, he has now released 15 live, studio, and compilation albums on that label.  Some have cracked various Billboard album catagories—1999’s In Spite of Ourselves hit #21 on the Country Chart; Fair and Square in 2005 and Standard Songs for Average People in 2007 hit #2 and #37 on the Indie list; In Person On Stage in 2010 got to #27 on the Rock Chart and #1 in Folk; an 2011’s Singing Mailman Delivers had wide appeal at #20 Indie, #22 Rock, and #4 Folk.

His most recent album 2018’s Tree of Forgiveness was a master class and by far the biggest hit of his career peeking at #5 Billboard Album chart; #2 on the Country, Indie, and Rock charts; and an easy #1 Folk hit.

Prine with  Poet Laureate Ted Kooser (left) at the Library of Congress.


Prine gathered plenty of accolades and honors in his long career.  He has been cited as a favorite songwriter and/or major influence by Kristofferson, Dylan, Elvis Pressley, Johnny Cash, and Roger Waters of Pink Floyd to name just a few. In 1991 The Missing Years picked up the Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Album. In 2003, Prine got a Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting from Britain’sBBC Radio 2 and that same year was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. He got a second Folk Grammy in 2005 for Fair and Square.  The same year he was also won the Artist of the Year Award at the Americana Music Awards and was invited to be the first songwriter to read and sing at the Library of Congress by Poet Laureate Ted Kooser. 

Despite the plaudits, Prine has faced serious health issues.  In 1998 surgical and radiation treatment for serious squamous cell cancer took a lot of tissue and radiation burns altered his tenor voice leaving it changed and more gravely.  As soon as he was strong enough, however he was back on tour and recording some of the strongest material of his career.  In 2013 just after I last saw him at the star studded Birthday Salute to Earl Pionke—the Earl of Old Town himself that was put together by Marina Jason, Prine was diagnosed with an unrelated early detected lung cancer.  He recovered fully from treatment for that and returned the road like the trouper he is.

Prine now lives primarily in Nashville with his third wife Fiona Whelan and has homes in Galway, Ireland and Gulfport, Florida.  

Prine's most recent studio album The Tree of Forgiveness is the biggest commercial success of his career.


And now for some of those Prine poem/lyrics.

Sam Stone

Original Title:  The Great Society Conflict Veteran’s Blues

Sam Stone came home,
To his wife and family
After serving in the conflict overseas.
And the time that he served,
Had shattered all his nerves,
And left a little shrapnel in his knee.
But the morphine eased the pain,
And the grass grew round his brain,
And gave him all the confidence he lacked,
With a Purple Heart and a monkey on his back.

Chorus:
There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don’t stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.


Sam Stone’s welcome home
Didn’t last too long.
He went to work when he'd spent his last dime
And Sammy took to stealing
When he got that empty feeling
For a hundred dollar habit without overtime.
And the gold rolled through his veins
Like a thousand railroad trains,
And eased his mind in the hours that he chose,
While the kids ran around wearin’ other peoples' clothes...

Repeat Chorus:

Sam Stone was alone
When he popped his last balloon
Climbing walls while sitting in a chair
Well, he played his last request
While the room smelled just like death
With an overdose hovering in the air
But life had lost its fun
And there was nothing to be done
But trade his house that he bought on the G. I. Bill
For a flag draped casket on a local heroes’ hill.

—John Prine

Paradise

When I was a child my family would travel
Down to Western Kentucky where my parents were born
And there's a backwards old town that's often remembered
So many times that my memories are worn.

Chorus:
And daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay
Well, I’m sorry my son, but you're too late in asking
Mister Peabody’s coal train has hauled it away

Well, sometimes we'd travel right down the Green River
To the abandoned old prison down by Airdrie Hill
Where the air smelled like snakes and we’d shoot with our pistols
But empty pop bottles was all we would kill.

Repeat Chorus:

Then the coal company came with the world’s largest shovel
And they tortured the timber and stripped all the land
Well, they dug for their coal till the land was forsaken
Then they wrote it all down as the progress of man.

Repeat Chorus:

When I die let my ashes float down the Green River
Let my soul roll on up to the Rochester dam
I’ll be halfway to Heaven with Paradise waitin’
Just five miles away from wherever I am.

—John Prine

Some Humans Ain’t Human

Some humans ain’t human
Some people ain’t kind
You open up their hearts
And here’s what you'll find
A few frozen pizzas
Some ice cubes with hair
A broken Popsicle
You don’t want to go there

Some humans ain’t human
Though they walk like we do
They live and they breathe
Just to turn the old screw
They screw you when you're sleeping
They try to screw you blind
Some humans ain’t human
Some people ain’t kind

You might go to church
And sit down in a pew
Those humans who ain’t human
Could be sittin’

right next to you

They talk about your family
They talk about your clothes
When they don’t know their own ass
From their own elbows

Jealousy and stupidity
Don’t equal harmony
Jealousy and stupidity
Don’t equal harmony

Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm

Spoken:
Have you ever noticed
When you’re feeling really good
There’s always a pigeon
That’ll come shit on your hood

Or you’re feeling your freedom
And the world’s off your back
Some cowboy from Texas
Starts his own war in Iraq

Some humans ain’t human
Some people ain’t kind
They lie through their teeth
With their head up their behind
You open up their hearts
And here’s what you’ll find
Some humans ain’t human
Some people ain’t kind.

—John Prine

Knockin’ on Your Screen Door

I ain’t got nobody hangin’ ‘round my doorstep
Ain’t got no loose change just a-hangin’ ‘round my jeans
If you see somebody, would you send em’ over my way?
I could use some help here with a can of pork and beans.



I once had a family but they up and left me
With nothing but an 8-track, another side of George Jones
I was in high cotton, just a-bangin’ on my six-string
A-kickin’ at the trash can, walkin’ skin and bone.



Chorus: 



I can see your back porch if I close my eyes now
I can hear the train tracks through the laundry on the line
I’m thinking it’s your business, but you don’t got to answer
I’m knocking on your screen door in the summertime



Everybody’s out there climbin’ on the trees now
Swingin’ in the breeze now, hangin’ on the vine
I’m dreamin’ ‘bout a sailboat, I don't need a fur coat

Underneath the dashboard got some sweet potato wine.



Chorus:



I can see your back porch if I close my eyes now

I can hear the train tracks through the laundry on the line

I’m thinking it’s your business, but you don’t got to answer

I’m knocking on your screen door in the summertime

I’m knocking on your screen door in the summertime.

—John Prine




April Showers—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival 2020

2 April 2020 at 20:15
April Showers sung by Judy Garland. I don’t know how it is in your neck of the woods but here in McHenry County, Illinois we are enjoying a beautiful mild and sunny day.   It will be perfect and moral buildingfor the daily perambulation I am going to take as soon as this is posted.   But we are expecting at least periodic rain pretty much every day for the next week.   All in all a pretty normal early April. April Showers is a popular song with music written by Louis Silvers and lyrics by B. G. (Buddy) De Sylva. First published in 1921, it is one of many popular songs of the era whose lyrics use a Bluebird of happiness as a symbol of cheer.  It was introduced in the 1921 Broadway musical Bombo , and sung by Al Jolson.   It became ...

Jim Harrison—National Poetry Month 2020

2 April 2020 at 11:09
Grizzled is the word that comes to mind for reclusive poet Jim Harrison in his last years. Poet and novelist Jim Harrison was an outlier—semi-reclusive, curmudgeonly, prone to profound melancholy and ecstatic joy in nature.   “Someone has to stay outside,” he told his friend and admirer Dean Kuipers who wrote “by which he meant both outdoors and outside academia. He felt writing programs turned people into copyists.” Harrison was a prolific and versatile writer publishing over three dozen books in several genres including poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and children’s literature. He also wrote screenplays, book reviews, literary criticism, and published essays on food, travel, and sport. He published 24 novellas during his life...

You Gotta Walk That Lonesome Valley—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival

1 April 2020 at 21:22
You Gotta Walk That Lonesome Valley sung by Mississippi John Hurt. . Fear of Death is a matter of fact as we hunker down during the Coronavirus pandemic.   Some gospel hymns like Rev. Thomas A. Dorsey’s Take My Hand, Precious Lord reassure us that we are not ultimately alone and have the prospect of eternal life.   Other songs face the issue far more bluntly like You Gotta Walk That Lonesome Valley. You Gotta Walk That Lonesome Valley is an American traditional gospel folk song, dating back to its first known recordingin 1927 by old-time musician David Miller.   It was sung by other hillbilly and country artists like the Monroe Brothers, the Carter Family, the Statler Brothers, the Carolina Ramblers Stringband, the Dixie Reelers, Wo...

Our National Poetry Month Series for 2020 Kicks off With What the Living Do

1 April 2020 at 12:08

It’s National Poetry Month Again!  If you have been visiting here for a while, you know what that means—it’s our 10th annual round-up of daily doses of verse!  If you are new, here’s the scoop.  Every day all month I will feature poets and their poems.  I aim to be as broad and inclusiveas possible to style, subject, period, gender, race, and neglected voices.  
I don’t want just a parade of the usual dead white men, but a lot of them did write some damn fine poetry, so they have their place here too.  As always, selections follow my own tastes and whims.  Yours may be different.  But I am open toeager for—suggestions, especially for contemporary writers.  I do not subscribe to dozens of little magazines or prowl the internet for poetry posts.  I often only stumble on new and unknown poets and I am sure I miss some great stuff.  Please feel free to turn me on to some—or be bold and submit your own.  
Here is a challenge—Poets, send me your responses to the Coronavirus pandemic be it personal, political, or polemical.  Everybody, send me pieces that catch your eye.  I don’t and can’t promise to use everything. E-mail me at pmurfin@sbcglobal.net .

Marie Howe.

Marie Howe wrote today’s poem in 1989 after the death of her brother of AIDS.  It speaks to us again today in the midst of another plague
Howe was born in 1950 in Rochester, New York. She worked as a newspaper reporter and teacher before receiving her Master of Fine Arts degree from Columbia University in 1983. She has taught at Tufts University, Dartmouth College, and currently at New York Universityand Sarah Lawrence College.  She lives in New York City with her daughter.
She is the author of four volumes of poetry: The Good Thief (Persea Books) in 1988, What the Living Do (W.W. Norton) in 1997, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time (Norton) in 2009, and Magdalene: Poems (Norton), in 2017.  She was also the co-editor of a book of essays, In the Company of My Solitude: American Writing from the AIDS Pandemic(1994). Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic, Poetry, Agni, Ploughshares, Harvard Review, and The Partisan Review, among others.
Her honors include the Lavan Younger Poets Award from the Academy of American Poets in 1988; grantsfrom the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation, the Bunting Institute, and the National Endowment for the Arts;  New York State Poet Laureate from 2012 to 2014; and election as a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets in 2018.
Howe recently noted about poetry and every Day Life:
This might be the most difficult task for us in postmodern life: not to look away from what is actually happening. To put down the iPod and the e-mail and the phone. To look long enough so that we can look through it—like a window.


What the Living Do
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

—Marie Howe


Bridge Over Troubled Water—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival

31 March 2020 at 22:06
Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel.

When it comes to comforting songs Simon & Garfunkel’s  Bridge Over Troubled Water is like snuggling in an easy chair by a fire, wrapped in a soft quilt with an old dog at your feet and a hot toddy in hand.
Paul Simon had been listening to gospel music  especially the Swan Silvertones and their song Mary Don’t You Weep and wanted to include a song on the new studio album that he was working on with Art Garfunkel that reflected the feel of surrender to a loving power if not the style of Black church music.  He was also frankly inspired by the Beatles’ recent song Let it Be.  The melody was simple but soaring and the famous harmony of the two singers was breath taking.
When the duo began work on what would be their fifth and final studio album they were already on divergent paths Garfunkelwanted to explore an acting career and Simon, the composer and lyricist was broadening his musical horizons including a rising interest in world music.  They had been musical partners since high school in Queens, New York and even had a rock and roll hit, Hey School Girl under the name Tom and Jerry.  By 1963 after pursuing solo careers while in college they reunited they became part of the New York folk music scene and signed with Columbia Records. 
Simon & Garfunkel’s debut studioalbum, Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M., was recorded over three sessions in March 1964 and released in October.  It was not an immediate hit but slowly gained a following largely around Simon’s lyrics which were often called poetry.  If Bob Dylan was the Walt Whitman of folk music, Simon more like two poets he later referenced in a song, Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost. 
In 1965 The Sound of Silence was a surprise single hit and led to an album of the same name in 1965 which made Simon & Garfunkel must hear music in college dorm rooms around the country.  They followed up with other hugely successful albums—Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme and Bookends.

Art Garfunkel and Paul Simon cutting a vocal track during the recording of A Bridge Over Troubled Water.

In the studio for the new album their complex recording style was disrupted by Garfunkel’s absences for his part in Catch-22 and things were often tense between the two.  But they were producing a masterpiece.  Simon wanted Bridge Over Troubled Waters to be the lead song on the album but Columbia executives, who usually deferred to their prize act wanted something more up tempo that could be a top-forty single.   Simon won out.
Finally released in 1970 the album Bridge over Troubled Water charted in over 11 countries topping the charts in 10 countries, including the US Billboard 200 and the UK Albums Chart. It was the best-selling album in 1970, 1971 and 1972 and was for a while time the best-selling album of all time.  The album and song won a combined 5 Grammies. Troubled Waters and The Boxer we listed in Rolling Stones’ 500 Greatest Songs of All Time and were listed as 51 in the magazine’s 500 Greatest Albums of Time.  Simon & Garfunkel reaped ever possible accolade and award including induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. 

Paul Simon with fellow Kennedy Center Honorees James Earl Jones, Chita Rivera, James Levine, and Elizabeth Taylor in 2002.
But it was the duo’s swan song.  They parted ways and pursued separate careers.  Their personal relationship became fractured. After more than two decades they reunited for a famous concert in Central Park and periodically since then.  Simon was a recipient of the Kennedy Center Honors in 2002 and continues to release challenging original material.
It A Bridge Over Troubled Water was the perfect song to cap off the turbulent decade of the Vietnam War, street protests, assassinations, and urban rioting, it speaks just as eloquently to us today in the midst of a different crisis.

Of U.U.s, Lent, Sacrifice, and Vintage Murfin Verse

31 March 2020 at 11:17
These days the Unitarian Universalist Association cheerfully provides Lenten worship materials for congregations and for individual spiritual practice.  It was not always so.
It is only 12 days until Easter Sunday so we are well into Lent and I was reminded that there is at least a mild rashof interest in and even observance of the season of personal sacrifice and contemplation of the Holy among my fellow Unitarian Universalists.  It was not always so.
As heirs of the Radical Reformation and step siblings Unitarianism and Universalism as they evolved in the United States instinctively rejectedwhat they regarded as Popish trappings, liturgy, and anything that stood between humans and a direct relationship with God.  While both remained in the 19th Century avowedly Christian in the Protestant  tradition that meant eschewing the priesthood, Episcopal authority, the mass, saints, the liturgical calendar and holy days like Christmas or Ash Wednesday.
Springing from New England Puritanism, the Unitarians often practiced days of fasting, humiliation, and prayer in times of war or distress, they saw no reason for a special 40 day season.  After all, a good Puritan lived his or her entire life in a kind of perpetual Lent.
The Universalists preferred to joyfully celebrate the bottomless mercyof a loving God who sooner or later reconciled all souls to Him. The contemplation of this universal beneficence was enough to encourage mortal men and women to live virtuous lives to show themselves worthy of it.
Over time both traditions evolved under the influences of Transcendentalism, Free Thought, exposure to world religions via the World Parliament of Religions in 1893, and the explosion of Humanism following the First and Second World Wars.  Both tended to become less explicitly or orthodox Christian, although a wide variety of spiritual practice was found in both traditions.
Nothing could be more UU than a mug for coffee hour, often called Unitarian communion. This one expressed the feelings of many Humanists in the late 20th Century.
By the time the two united to become the Unitarian Universalist Association in 1960 a flintysort of agnostic Humanism was the dominant strain among Unitarians and flourished to some degree among Universalists.  The larger and more muscular Unitarians soon dominated the united faith and Humanism overshadowed theism in its various guises for the rest of the century.
Humanists denied any supernatural interventionin human affairs and stressed the need for men and women to take charge of their own salvation in a broken world to create a kind of heaven on earth.  That translated into activism in matters of war and peace, social justice, civil rights, women’s equality, LBGTQ inclusion, and the environment.
But it also meant a bristling hostility to conventional religion among many.  In some congregations a Minister could lose his pulpit for using the “G word,” or citing Biblical scripture.  The old joke was that Unitarians read ahead in their hymnals to make sure that they approved of the lyric.
By the early 21st Century, however there was a growing restiveness in the pews and a yearning for deeper spirituality largely due to rise of the women’s movement within the UUA which led to the adoption of 7th Principle, “respect for the web of existence of which we are a part.”  That gave rise to a kind of pantheism, neo-paganism, Buddhist practice, yoga, and various elements of New Age Spirituality.  Inevitably it also led to a re-examination of Christian tradition and teaching.

Elements of Lenten practice--not just for orthodox Christians any more.
As an aging generation of Humanist ministers retired, they were replaced by graduates of UU Theological Schools and other seminaries who were more receptiveto Christian theology and practice.  Today most UUs still identify mainly as Humanists, but are more tolerant of the theists among them and are more prepared to learn from the wisdom of religions including Christianity.  
Inevitably that has led some to examine traditions like Lent as personal spiritual practices.  Lenten themed prayers or meditations, sermons, and small group discussions are easily found on line.  While Lenten practice is far from widespread, it is no longer an aberration.
About 2002 as those changes were just getting underway, I was moved to write a poem for a service at the old Congregational Unitarian Congregation in Woodstock, Illinois–now the Tree of Life Congregation in McHenry.  It was included in my Skinner House Meditation Manual, We Build Temples in the Heart published two years later.  Since then it has occasionally popped up in services at other congregations.



Despite its length and structure I have often call this my Zen poem.

What Unitarian Universalists Should Give Up for Lent if They Observed It, Which They Don’t, Most of Them.

Pews without padding, Nature Conservancy calendars.
Volvos, polysyllabic verbosity,
herbal tea, austerity,
National Public Radio, unread books in fine bindings,
isms:
    Liberalism, Buddhism. Humanism,
    Marxism, Feminism, Taoism,
    Vegetarianism, Conservationism, Transcendentalism,
    Atheism, Consumerism, Sufism,
    for Christ’s sake, Libertarianism,
Joys and Concerns, pretension,
committee meetings, Habitat t-shirts,
potluck tuna casserole, black-and-white films with subtitles,
petitions, sermons, tofu and brown rice,
drums, theology,
season tickets to anything but baseball,
liturgical dance, poetry readings,
pride:
    Pilgrim pride
    pride of intellect
    pride of lineage
    pride of lions
    the pride that cometh before the fall
bistros, pledge drives,
advanced degrees, spirituality,
coffee hour, sensible shoes,
philosophy, choir rehearsal,
arrogance, animal sacrifice,
gender-neutral hymnals, learned clergy,
natural fibers, string quartets,
whiteness, turquoise jewelry,
recycling, self-congratulation,
acupuncture, bird-watching at dawn,
yoga, Common Cause,
God, doubt,
     egotism, self-denigration,
          yesterday, tomorrow.

—Patrick Murfin

Home, Sweet Home—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival

30 March 2020 at 19:22
Home, Sweet Home sung by Deanna Durbin.

How is home confinement working out for all of you?  Is working from home amid all of the distractions, limited access to everything you need, and tech glitchesdriving you to distraction?  Or is being out of work stressingyou to the max as bills pile up?  Is homeschooling a disaster and the kids in hyper-active overdrive?  Is unlimited time with your spouse, partner, or significant other putting a strain on your relationship?  Or are you isolated alone separated from you love ones?  Have you run out of shows to binge watch and finally reached the bottom of the pile of books to read on your nightstand?  Are hours on social media and watching daily briefings from the Cheeto-in-Charge, your governor, and a parade of doctors turning you into a raving paranoid?  Is that little scratch you are feeling in your throat this morning an omen of doom?
Ok, maybe now is the time to take a deep breath, assume a position of reverential openness, clear the mind, and meditate for a moment on what home really means to you.  Or maybe you just need a musical nudge….

Home, Sweet Home was so popular that this West Virginia savings and loan gave away copies of the sheet music to drum up business in the early 20th Century
 Home, Sweet Home is probably one of America’s oldest popular songs but it started out in 1823 in London as an aria by Composer Sir Henry Bishop with lyrics by American actor and Dramatist John Howard Payne from the opera Clari, or the Maid of Milan.  That opera may be long forgotten but the aria was hugely popular from the beginning.  It got its American premiere at the Winter Tivoli Theatre in Philadelphiaon October 29 of that year and was sung by a Mrs. Williams.
In 1852 Bishop re-arranged the aria into a parlor ballad for piano and voice.  The sheet music sold like hot cakes rivaling the popular success of Stephen Foster ballads—and like those songs was widely piratedby other publishers despite Bishop’s copyright.  Dozens of versions were sold for decades.

Home, Sweet Home samplers hung in many American parlors.
In America the popularity of the song was reinforcedduring the separations of the American Civil War.  It became a camp ballad among troops on both sides while it was being sung longingly by the folks back home.  At one point it was banned in some Union camps because it was thought to encourage desertion. And it never failed to draw tears from concert stage and music hall audiences.
Home, Sweet Home was naturally one of the first songs recorded on Edison cylinders and then on gramophone discs.  Early recordings were made by John Yorke AtLee in 1891, Harry Macdonough in 1902, Richard Jose in 1906, the reigning queen of the opera Alma Gluck in 1912, Alice Nielsen in 1915, and Elsie Baker in 1915.
Often sung in school music classes in the 20th Century and referenced in movies, the song remains familiar to many Americans.  But because of the rampant sentimentality of the lyrics it is seldom performed except as an ironic statement about dysfunctional family life.
But in 1939 Deanna Durbin recorded a hit version on the Decca label and Vera Lynn scored a war-time 1944 hit in Britain.

Deanna Durbin sang Home, Sweet Home in her 1939 film First Love and had hit record of the song the same year.
 Durbin was a teen-age operatic soprano wunderkind when she made her film debut in 1936 in an MGM short with Judy Garland.  The film was sort of a test to help Louis B. Mayer decide which of the girls to keep under contract.  Hollywood legend has it that Durbin was cut loose by mistake.  She was snapped up by struggling Universal Pictures where she soon became their most bankable star. 
She sang Home, Sweet Home in her 1939 fifth feature film, First Love, a modern take on the Cinderella story produced by Joe Pasternakand directed by Henry Koster.  The public loved it.

RAF Bombers Fly into Hell—Someone Had Blundered

30 March 2020 at 08:26
An RAF Halifax unloads its bombs over a German urban target in a saturation raid like that planned for Nuremberg.  Unfortunately the night of the long planned raid the city was mostly shrouded in cloud cover.
Blame the fog of war, command stupidity, bad timing, bad weather, vainglory, stubbornness, or just bad luck.  Every war seems to produce on a large or small scale shake-your-head disasters that seem, in retrospect, that they could, or should have been avoided.  Think the Charge of the Light Brigade, Custer at Little Bighorn, Gallipoli, or just about the whole damned Vietnam War.  
73 years ago, on March 30, 1944 795 Royal Air Force bombers flew into disaster.  95 planes would be lost, more than 11% of those engaged.  Many more would land damaged and riddled with fighter cannon fire and flack.  545 officers and men were killed, more than 150 captured, figures for the wounded unavailable, but high.  The Nuremberg Raid was Bomber command’s greatest loss of aircraftin a single operation and to make matters worse, the intended target suffered relatively light damage.
Other Allied air raids during the war would suffer even higher losses by percentage—the U.S, Army Air Force famous B-24 raid on the oil refineries around Ploiesti, Romania in 1943 resulted in the loss of 53 of a 174 planes.  But it was able to substantially destroy or damage its targets.  It was also, by scale, a much smaller operation than the Nuremberg Raid.
Conversely, later in the war, the industrial mightof the United States was able to station an air armada of thousands of heavy bombersin Britain.  Some days almost all of them were engaged in action and on more than one very bad day, losses exceeded those at Nuremberg, but because of the total number involved, the percentage loss was much smaller.
The Nuremberg Raid was a night raid.  The RAF and United States Army Air Force (USAAF) had very different bombing strategiesthat had caused friction in the Allied high command.  In the end, it was agreed to allow each to wage its own campaign.  The USAAF with its high flying, heavily armed B-17s and B-24s, and their precision Norton bomb sights, elected to conduct a daylight campaign of precision strategic bombing targeting German industry and infrastructureas well military and naval targets.  In addition by 1944 the Americans had fast, long range fighters like the P-51 Mustang that could provide fighter cover deep into enemy territory.
The British with their lighter aircraftpreferred night time saturation bombing.  They targeted cities and towns aiming to smother them with high explosives.  Certainly damage would be done to industry and infrastructure in the process, but it was essentially terror bombing aimed at the civilian population in order to “break the enemy’s will to fight.”  Part of it was to mock Luftwaffe Chief Hermann Göring’s boast that his flyers would prevent “a single bomb” from falling on German soil.  And part of it was outright revenge for the Blitz.  Night bombing also compensatedfor the fact that until bases could be secured in France, the RAF’s Spitfires and Hurricanes did not have enough rangeto provide fighter cover.
By March of 1944 plenty of RAF bombs had fallen on German cities.  Cities like Manheim, Cologne, and above all the capital of Berlin had already been targeted leaving behind large swaths of smoking rubble and huge civilian casualties.

The heart of Nuremberg was quaint and medieval, but the "Spiritual heart of Nazism" was marked for destruction at the highest levels in Britain.
The next target was Nuremberg, a city of about 150,000.  Although it certainly had industrial targets, it was not an important German cogin the German war machine.  But, as the site of Hittler’s famous, highly choreographed pre-war rallies, it was considered the “spiritual heart of Nazism.”  It was to be the last of the big RAF raids on cities before Bomber Command would turn its attention to support of the coming Normandy invasion. 
The raid was carefully planned.  A routewas mapped out that would have the formations cross the European coast over Belgium then wheel and make a direct dashfor Nuremberg.  Some diversionary sorties would be flown in hopes of confusing German defenses, but far fewer than those employed in the earlier raids.  Also the relatively direct routeto the target was a departure from the practice of making several course corrections to confuse the enemy.  It was thought that this itself would be a surprise.
The day before the raid RAF meteorologistsrelying on reports from Mosquito weather planes flying over the continent concluded that there would be cloud cover over the Belgian coast to shield the formations from the bright half-moon and clear skies over the target which would make it easy for pathfinders to mark out the target with incendiaries.  These were ideal conditions.

Versatile little RAF de Havilland Mosquitos, a pesky wood-framed multi-use light bomber, played several roles in the Nuremberg raid including providing weather observations over the Continent, flying decoy missions, and dropping incendiary markers for the main bomber formations. 
But around noon on the 30th new reports from the Mosquitos showed clouds forming over Nuremberg and clearing skies over Belgium.  Deputy Commander Sir Robert Saundby said after the war, “I can say that, in view of the meteorological report and other conditions, everyone, including myself, expected the C-in-C(Commander in Chief) to cancel the raid. We were most surprised when he did not. I thought perhaps there was some top-secret political reason for the raid, something too top-secret for even me to know.”
Air crews were never informed of the changed conditions into which they would fly.
At the appointed hour 572 Lancasters, 214 Halifaxes and 9 Mosquitos took off on the main mission.  Due to the usual mechanical problems and malfunctioning electronics several planes turned back.  About 750 made it to the Belgian coast.
Meanwhile forces of light Mosquitos and a flight of Halifaxes flew diversionary flights that included 49 Halifaxes minelaying in the Heligoland area, 13 Mosquitos to attack night-fighter airfields, 34 Mosquitos on diversions to Aachen, Cologne and Kassel.
The German command was not fooled.  And when the bombers came over the coast not only were they silhouetted against the moonlight, their contrails were clearly visible.  German radio crackled.  Over 200 night-fighters were scrambled on their way to the Ida and Otto beacons which neatly straddled the raiders’ course.  The British were flying directly into a virtual ambush.
The night fighters were among Germany’s best, mostly Me-109s, Me-110s and JU-88s.  Many were armed with new twin 20 mm cannons mounted on either side of the nose at an upward angle and a slight spread. Known as   Schräge Musik (slanting music) these weapons allowed a new tactic.  Fighters attacked from below, never seen or detected by the bombers’s gun crews.  They flew within a few hundred feet and let loose fire that straddled the bomb-laden fuselage and tore into both wings with their heavy loads of fuel.
The first bombers fell shortly after clearing the coast to heavy flack.  That gave way soon enough to the swarms of night fighters tearing into the formations with deadly accuracy and effect.  At least two Luftwaffe pilot personally downed four planes each.  Another destroyed two bombers in less than two minutes.

The wreckage of an RAF bomber and its dead crew after the Nuremberg Raid.
The night fighters continued to bring down the lumbering bombers for the next 45 miles until they finally disappearedinto the clouds that would also obscure the target.  Not only had the attacks somewhat broken the formations, an unexpected cross wind began to blow some off course.  Leading the way the versatile little Mosquitos were the Pathfinders charged with marking the bombing range.  Two got off course marking a mostly rural area near Lauften miles distant.  150 of the bombers followed them, dumping their bombs mostly uselessly in the fields, although three ball bearing plants—a high priority for American strategic bombers—were inadvertently hit and sustained moderate damage, but not enough to put them out of commission.
Even those pathfinders that did find Nuremburg found that smoke from their incendiaries was blowing away from the city.  In additions some pilots mistook the burning wreckage of other bombers as signals.  As a result and under intense ground anti-aircraft fire, many of the bombs fell harmlessly away from city.
German records indicated that Nuremberg suffered “133 killed (75 in city itself), 412 injured; 198 homes destroyed, 3,804 damaged, 11,000 homeless. Fires started: 120 large, 485 medium / small. Industrial damage: railway lines cut, and major damage to three large factories; 96 industrial buildings destroyed or seriously damaged.”  This was hardly insignificant.  But had he raid proceeded as planned, the city would have been virtually leveled.
On the way back the planes continued to be hectored by fighters and targeted by flack.  But the formation was broken up and planes were widely scattered.  Only a handful more were shot down on the long three hour flight home, bucking a heavy headwind almost all of the way.  But several damaged planes crashed along the way.  11 made it all the way back to England only to crash either because of battle damage or because they had run out of fuel.



After all of these years it is still unclear how high the decision to go ahead with the Nuremberg Raid despite drastically altered and adverse weather conditions went.  Bomber Command Chief Air Marshal Sir Arthur "Bomber" Harris told his pilots that the raid was "dear to Churchill's heart." Was 10 Downing Street where the buck stopped?


There was no way around it.  The raid was a disaster, more so because the heavy losses were experienced without the mission being anywhere near satisfactorily completed.
The question remains to this day, why was not the mission scrubbed after the revised weather forecasts came in?  How high above the Deputy Commander could the decision to go ahead have gone?  Bomber Command’s Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris?  Marshal of the Royal Air Force Arthur Tedder, Air Commander-in-Chief, Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces (SHAEF)?  Or perhaps even to Prime Minister Winston Churchill himself?  After all in pre-mission briefings pilots were told that the Nuremberg raid was, “…a target he [Harris] knows is very dear to Churchill’s heart.”

Take My Hand, Precious Lord—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival

29 March 2020 at 20:39
Take My Hand, Precious Lord by the Rev. Thomas A, Dorsey sung by Aretha Franklyn,

Well it’s Sunday again and anecdotal evidence suggests that folks are flocking to on-line services that many houses of worship have improvised.  Many are recording more participation than at regular services.  At the Tree of Life Unitarian Universalist Congregation in McHenry, Illinoiswe had a log-in for today’s service on Zoom that matched the high end of individuals in the pewsmost weeks and that doesn’t take into consideration the several couples and families that shared the feed on their devices at home.  The hunger for community and spiritual support is great indeed.
Which brings us to today’s Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival entry—Take My Hand, Precious Lord by the Rev. Thomas A. Dorsey.

Take My Hand--original art by Lester Kern.
As a mostly humanist U.U. I am skeptical of the theology behind Dorsey’s gospel song.  I am not into anthropomorphic gods benign or otherwise who personally respond to petitionary prayer.  I am more of an unknowable spiritual Greater that reflects a harmony of all existence in the Cosmos kind of guy.  But there is no denying that millions take great comfort in a personal and loving God.  And who am I to gainsay them.
Moreover, when I experience a great and soaring Gospel song, I am on board with any Black Baptist congregation and for those moments reach out my hand with theirs.  I’m all in.

Rev. Thomas A. Dorsey and Mahalia Jackson.
Thomas A. Dorsey was a Georgia born former juke joint bluesman who once had fronted Ma Rainey’s Wild Cats Jazz Band.  In the mid-1920’s he began to record gospel music in addition to blues.  After his wife died in childbirth in1931 he wrote Take My Hand, Precious Lord and decided to devote himself exclusively to gospel.  The next year he became music director of Chicago’s Pilgrim Baptist Church, the city’s oldest and most prestigious Black church and remained in that position for more than 40 years.  He also organized his own gospel quartet,  founded the first black gospel music publishing company, Dorsey House of Music, was a founder and the first President of the National Convention of Gospel Choirs and Choruses.  He regularly appeared on Black radio and mentored dozens of musicians and groups including Albertina Walker, the Caravans, and Little Joey McClork.  But his greatest protégé Mahalia Jackson came out of his Pilgrim Baptist choir.
Dorsey virtually invented modern Black gospel music which combined Christian praise with the rhythms of jazz and the blues and by referring explicitly to the personand his/her relation to faith and God, rather than the individual subsumedinto the group by belief.  He used the call and response forms of blues and like jazz encouraged his soloiststo improvise on the melody.  Femalesoloists like Mahalia Jackson were often the center piece of an animated choir.  He composed over 400 songs, many of them gospel praise including Take My Hand, Precious Lord—Martin Luther King’s favorite—and Peace in the Valley, It’s a Highway to Heaven, and When I’ve Done My Best.
Dorsey died in Chicago in 1993 at age 93.   
Many artists covered Take My Handincluding country and rock and roll artists Red Foley, Jim Reeves, Elvis Presley, and Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Nina Simone, Al Green, and Mavis Staples.  More recently several White contemporary Christian artists have recorded it with somewhat bland results.

One of several original or compellation Aretha Franklyn gospel albums.
When Mahalia Jackson died in 1972 at age 60 Aretha Franklyn sang Take my Hand at her funeral—the YouTube video we are sharing today.  Franklyn may have been known as the Queen of Soul but she grew up singing gospel at the New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit, Michigan, where her father the Rev. C. L. Franklin was minister.  She continued to return to gospel music through her long and storied career.  When she died last year Beyoncé sank it at her funeral.

The Basingstoke Riots of 1881—The Army of the Lord in Battle

29 March 2020 at 09:11
William and Catherine Booth, founders of the Salvation Army.
Most modern Americans have a vague but positive image of the Salvation Army.  Their members, dressed in tidy blue uniforms are spotted annually ringing hand bells by familiar Red Kettles.  Sometimes, in big cities at high profile locations there may even be a small brass ensemble and/or singers.  All the better to lure your coins and bills for a charity that promises to feed and house the hungry and destitute and help treat those who have hit rock bottom due to drinking or drug use.  Perhaps we envision the slightly prissy but sexy Sergeant Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls.
Most of us are unaware that the Salvation Army is not just a charity, but a highly zealous evangelical denomination whose main mission is not comforting the afflicted, but saving their souls by bringing them to Jesus.  The down and outers that they serve quickly learn that there is a price for every donut, dinner, and cot—being a captive audiencefor emotional hell-fire and brimstone sermons and accepting counseling that is as much fervent prayer and the study of religious tracts, as psychological support. 
But so what, many will shrug.  It can’t do much harm and may do some good. 
The Salvation Army dates to mid-19th Century Victorian England where its brand of militarized proselytizingof the wretched urban poor was from the start highly controversial.  The Church of England, Catholics, and more traditional dissenters were rarely united in their opposition to the style and substance of the Army’s brand of Evangelical Christianity.  Brewers, distillers, publicans, and working class drinkers were threatened and enraged by the Salvation Army’s militant teetotalism and demands for the legal prohibition of alcohol sales.
Its roots were in fervent Methodism.  Again modern Americans will be surprised.  Our Methodists are right smack dab in the staid middle of mainstream Protestantism.  But it had originated the emotional Evangelical revival crusades that under powerful preachers like George Whitefield on both sides of the Atlantic in the 18th Century.  In America Whitefield ignited the First Great Awakening.  Methodism directed much of its energy to proselytizing among the poor and working classes.  It gave real hope to folk in want and misery and spread rapidly.  In America it was the largest Protestant denomination by1860 thanks to its saddle bag circuit riding preachers following the frontier as it expanded.  A glimpse at that old time fervor is found in an offhand comment offered by Norman Maclean’s Presbyterian fain the novella and movie A River Runs Through It—“Methodists are just Baptists who can read.”
In Britain, after officially separating from the Church of England, it was soon outpacing more traditional and largely Calvinist dissenting sects.  By the mid-19th Century some of the original excitement was dying down amid general Victorian respectability, and emphasis on saving souls was somewhat replaced by a zeal for social reform embraced by many of its middle class adherents.  And no reform seemed as urgent as temperance—the mother of all reforms.
William Booth was a preacher who kept up the old-school fervor for salvation coupled with a zeal for reform and sacrificial service to the poor.  Born to a comfortable middle class family in Nottingham in 1829, he was forced to leave school and be bound out as a pawnbroker’s apprentice at the age of 13 when his family’s fortune collapsed.  Exposed to people in such crisis that they gave up their most prized possessions, young Booth found solace in the revivals and street meeting sweeping the region.  He converted to Methodism at age 15 and was soon engaged in lay preaching.  Shortly after he teamed with his best friend to conduct their own revival meetings in the area, which lasted until the friend’s death in 1849.  He left Nottingham for London that year where he found work at another pawn shop and resumed lay preaching then began revival preaching in the Kensington District.
In 1851 he joined the splinter Methodist Reform Church and sought to enter the regular ministry.  Preaching at their headquarters Binfield Chapel in Clapham young Booth became engaged to the equally fervent Catherine Mumford.  Booth’s heart was in revival evangelism at which he excelled.  But his church superiors insisted that he serve as a parish minister.  He would have to give short shrift to his congregations to answer frequent calls to speak at various revival meetings.  With the loyal support of Catherine, Booth resigned the ministry and left the denomination after his third parish assignment in 1861 and began a career as an independent revivalist.  Although he continued to preach Methodist doctrine, he now found himself barred from meetings at chapels of his old denomination.
In 1865 Booth was preaching to street crowds outside a notorious pubin London’s deeply impoverished East End.  Missionaries conducting their own tent meeting near-by were impressed and invited them to join them.  The success of his meetings there beginning in July convinced him he had found his real calling.  Soon after he and Catherine opened their Christian Revival Society, later known as the East London Christian Mission.  Two years later they acquired a former Beer Hall and made it the center of a movement.  Known as the People's Mission Hall housed sometimes rowdy all night prayer vigil, provided cheap or free meals, and ministered to other immediate needs of the poorest of the poor, criminals, drunkards, and prostitutes without discrimination.  It was one of almost 500 missions established by well-meaning Christians of all denominations out to save the souls of the wicked poor.  But, it was one of the most successful in part because Booth mixed his gospel with real assistance.
He began to attract disciples who tried to duplicate his work elsewhere.  But it was hard.  Brewers and publicans railed against his temperance marches.  Drinkers and hooligans often stoned him, his marchers, and broke windows in the mission building.  For every step forward there seemed a setback.
In 1878 Booth was dictating a letter to his secretary and used a phrase “The Christian Mission is a Volunteer Army.” His teenage son Bramwell heard it and exclaimed, “I’m not a volunteer, I’m a regular or nothing!” Booth to substitute the words Salvation Army for the Volunteer Army and soon made it the new name of the Christian Mission. 
He also adopted a military form of organization with ranks of officers—ministers, lay workers as NCOs, the rank and file of the saved were soldiers, and the latest but uncommitted converts were captives.  The Corps, as they were called were outfitted in uniform’s mimicking those of the British Army—Men in scarlet tunics and military caps, the women in matching tunics, long blue skirts, large bonnets fastened at one side of the neck by a wide ribbon bow,and sometime a blue cloak with a scarlet lining. 

A typical English Salvation Army brass band of the late 19th Century.
In the Methodist tradition Booth had already employed music—including music hall tunes with new hymn lyrics in the grand Sunday worship he led at large, rented theaters.  Now he added marching bands for his street parades and rallies and had other members carry and play tambourines as they sang enthusiastically.  And the parades, which drew more and more attention, marched behind the Army’s own distinctive banner.
All of this was disconcerting to the religious establishment and to communities being targeted, most of whose residents had little interest in either being saved or being reformed.  Civil authorities were also concerned that a religious army might actually take up arms and become and insurrectionary one.  This was not such a ridiculous worry considering that just such a religious army had once risen up in English history, plunged the country into a prolonged and bloody Civil War, over thrown the monarchy, committed regicide, and then had its leader, Oliver Cromwell, rule as an oppressive dictator.
Despite opposition from all sides, the Salvation Army grew rapidly and was soon dispatching officers—both men and women who served with equal authority—to all corners of the British Isles.  Soon new branches were springing up in America and other countries as well.
To get an idea of the exuberant energy of the Salvation Army, consider the famous verses by American Poet Vachel Lindsey years later in General William Booth Enters Heaven:

[GRAND CHORUS OF ALL INSTRUMENTS.
TAMBOURINES TO THE FOREGROUND]
The hosts were sandalled, and their wings were fire!   
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)   
But their noise played havoc with the angel-choir.   
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)   
O shout Salvation! It was good to see   
Kings and Princes by the Lamb set free.   
The banjos rattled and the tambourines   
Jing-jing-jingled in the hands of Queens.   

[REVERENTLY SUNG. NO INSTRUMENTS]
And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer   
He saw his Master thro’ the flag-filled air.   
Christ came gently with a robe and crown   
For Booth the soldier, while the throng knelt down.   
He saw King Jesus. They were face to face,   
And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place.   
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Which brings us, at long last, to the town of Basingstoke advertized in the headline.  It was once an old and sleepy market town in Hampshire in south central England.  After being connected to London and port communities by railroad in the 1850’s it had become an industrial center and its population swelled with those looking for work in its plantsand mills.  In addition to producing farming machinery, heavy equipment, and textiles, the town was home to several breweries which supplied beer and ale to a wide region.  It also boasted of more than 50 public houses serving a municipal population of only 6,681.  The town had developed a regional reputation for public drunkenness and rowdy behavior.  The respectable people of the town were not amused.
Since the time of Cromwell Basingstoke had been center for Dissenters.  Its professional classes, shopkeepers, and master tradesmen, what might be called the Burger classes were still largely members of Dissenting sects, most particularly the influential London Street Congregational Church.  Most of the members of the town council and other officers were members of that church.  A minority in town were Anglicans, principally members of the old gentry, and those who were loyal to or aspired to reap benefitsfrom Tory governments.  Catholics were scarce and despised.  The majority of the laboring class, many of them relatively recent arrivals, were largely un-churched or susceptible to fits of religious enthusiasm when this or that revival would roll through town.  Allegiances to evangelical dissenting sects like the Methodists waxed and waned. 
The Congregationalists supported a Temperance movement as did other dissenting congregations, local Temperance Societies, and the local newspaper, the Hants and Berks Gazettefounded two years earlier.  But they were getting nowhere in restraining the liquor trade or suppressing public vice.  A good dose of religion was the prescribed medicine, but the Congregationalists certainly did not want to admit even saved grubby workers to their holy precincts.  By 1880 they may have signaled General Booth that they would welcome the Salvation Army in their community and support a vigorous temperance campaign.

British Salvagion Army lasses of the 1880 like intrepid Captain Jordan and her second in command who braved rioters in Basingstoke and were thrown into the river.

At any rate they welcomed the “two feeble women,” a Captain Jordan, a female Lieutenant, and a small number of sergeants and soldiers, including musicians, were dispatched to Basingstoke, arriving in September of 1880.  They immediately announce plans for to “open fire on Sin and Satan.”  Within a week they had begun their street parades which attracted crowds to their meetings. 
Local Brewers and publicans were alarmed at the threat to their livelihood.  They quickly began to support—and stoke with their products—resentment of working class mobs who began to gather to harass the Sallies, as they were called, within weeks of their arrival.  They modeled themselves on the Skeleton Armies that harassed the Salvation Army in London and other major cities.  

The Bassingstoke Massagainians modeled themselves on the Skeleton Army that harassed Salvation Army temperance parades in London.
They took to calling themselves the Massagainians because, as legend would have it an early leaflet call working men to “Mass again” against the teetotalers.  They attempted to disrupt the marches with jeers, their own loud music, plus thrown stones and punches.  Stale beer and froth drenched the singing Salvationists from windows of May’s Brewer. Tensions escalated through December along with split lips, cracked heads, and bloody noses.  Eggs were thrown at the old silk mill in Brook Street and the Gazette office had its windows broken.  The perpetrator of the Gazette attack was publicly awarded a gallon of ale.  Sally members were ambushed and dunked in the canal and Captain Jordan narrowly escaped drowning in the River Loddon.
Winter somewhat reduced confrontations, but things heated up again in March 1881.  On Sunday March 20, 1881 the Sally planned a major march and was attacked by a mob of Massagainians numbering in the hundreds outside of the Mechanics Institute on New Street.  A particularly burly Sally soldier named Charles Elms wrested a Union Jack from the hands of a hooligan then got his arm broken in the struggle to retrieve it.  As word of the melee spread reinforcements arrived on both sides bringing the number of attackers to as many as 1000.  Many “good citizens” of the town, including members of the Congregationalist church rushed to the scene to protect the marcher.  Meanwhile the five member Town Constable force and Mayor W. B. Blatch, a brewer, stood aside and did nothing.
Rioting continued into the afternoon up and down Church Street where a several shop windows were smashed.  The unfortunate Elms, who had returned to the side of his Salvation Army cohorts, had his jaw broken and head cracked.  Another man was badly cut when pushed through the plate-glass window of the Little Dustpan furniture shop.  Still another was trampled.  More minor injuries on both sides were too numerous to count.  The Adams Brothers, proprietors of the Victoria Brewery, were identified as leaders of the Massagainians.
Following the riot General Booth wrote the Home Secretary demanding that his troops and supporters be protected from mob violence. 
Salvation Army leaders defiantly announced another march the following Sunday, March 27.  The Massagainians vowed to stop it.  As both sides prepared a bitterly divided local government struggled with how to respond.  The Council, dominated by the Congregationalists, demanded protection.  The Brewer mayor and Chief Constable maintained that their small force was insufficient to safely guarantee the peace.  The council forced the mayor to mobilize 30-50 Special Constables to be drawn from—virtually drafted—from the ranks of the towns “leading Tradesmen.”  It was a reluctant force at best, many in sympathy with the Massagainians.  Realizing this Council called in 30 County Police from Winchester who were thought to have no conflicting loyalties.  In addition the captain of a troop of Royal Horse Artillery in town was asked to have his men at the ready.  Just how the troops “happened” to be in town is something of a mystery as they were not normally billeted there and would have had no regular duties that would have brought them to the town on Sunday.
On Sunday the Salvation Army march got off under escort of the town and special constables with the County Police in reserve.  They were trailed by a hooting contingent of Massagainians numbering several hundred.  The special constables were notably unhappy and uncomfortable with their duty.  When the morning march concluded safely, about 3/4s of the special constables returned to town hall and announced that they would not continue to protect, “damned hypocrites.”
When the Sally reassembled outside their old mill headquarters for a second afternoon march many of the special constables had joined the Massagainians.  The march set off with the protection of County officers but was stopped by the Mayor who said he was afraid of the more than 3,000 who had gathered at Church and Brook Streets who were led by their own band.  The Army pressed forward anyway reaching as far as May’s Brewery when they saw the Massagainians descending on them.  The attempted to turn around to return to the mill, but the mob marched past them pinning them against the side of the street and preventing them from going forward or back.  Fighting broke out and from the steps of the Town Hall Mayor Blatch officially read the riot act and ordered the Royal Horse Artillery to clear the streets of everyone, Sally and Massagainian alike.
They made short, brutal work of the job, but no one was killed.  The day ended in an essential draw.  But news of the invocation of the Riot act and action by the Army made headlines across the country and resulted in Parliamentary debate and investigation.
That Sunday was the apex of the trouble in Basingstoke, but hardly the end of them. The Home Office put pressure on local the magistrates who issued a proclamation forbidding all processions and open air gatherings in hopes of easing tensions.  Three new magistrates were appointed in June 1881 and against the wishes of the Mayor and one other magistrate, persuaded the rest to allow the Salvation Army parades to resume.  So did minor rioting and street brawls. 
In August the Vicar of the Anglican parish, who would later write an article detailing the history of the conflict which is a source for historians of the event, presented the Magistrates with a petition signed by calling for the Salvation Army processions to be banned for disturbing the peace of the town.  In his history the Vicar decried the violence of opponents, but painted the Sallies as needlessly provocative and exciting excessive passions in its followers—a classic Anglican response to revivalist evangelism in general.
The minister of the Congregational Church countered with a petition signed by 613 calling for the processions to be protected to the fullest extent of the law.  That August Captain Jordon also swore out charges against a group of Massagainian leaders and those who had been identified with specific acts of violence.  On August 30th, 20 people appeared before the magistrates, charged with assault and obstructionas a crowd of Massagainians besiegedthe court, shouting, beating drums, waving rattles. Ten of were sentenced to Winchester jail for 14 days.  
When the men were released they were greeted as martyrs and heroes.  They were fetched from the jail in fine liveried carriages and escorted to Basingstoke by outriders in scarlet coats and a professional band playing Hail the Conquering Heroes.  They were brought to the public Corn Exchange building, rented for the occasion from the town for an elegant banquet amid spectacular decoration.  Brewers donated six barrels of a specially brewed extra strong beer dubbed Massagainian Stingo.

Broken windows on Church Street after the Election Day 1881 riot.
In the sharply divided town the municipal elections held on November 1 were hotly contested with Tories, Anglicans, and Massagainians in an odd coalition backing slates against the Liberals, Congregationalists, and Temperance groups.  The Massagainian slate with the overwhelming support of the town’s working class population carried the day.  An enthusiastic mob celebrated with yet another riot in which the newspaper office, Congregational Parsonage, the Sally’s Silk Mill where a prayer meeting was being held, and Soper’s Castle, the elegant home of a leading Temperance man all suffered smashed windows. 
Incidents continued into 1882, including one in which the Mayor once again Read the Riot Act after a mob tried to break into the Town Hall to rescue a fellow who had been arrested to assaulting a constable and another in which six Salvation Army lasses were thrown into the Town Brook.
But as another spring arrived everyone had grown tired of more than a year and a half of strife.  The brewers, publicans, and their customers realized that the Sally proved no existential threat to their livelihoods and entertainments.  In fact, business was booming.  For their part the Salvation Army, once it established its right and ability to parade unmolested, discretely reduced the number and aggressiveness of its public demonstrations. 
General Booth personally visited the town to claim victory but was not molested.  With donations from all over the country, he saw that a fine new Salvation Army barracks and headquarters was built in town with plenty of room not only for meetings but for soup kitchen like public feeding and dormitory rooms for formerly fallen young women.

The third Salvation Army building in Basingstoke in the 1950's.
Today Basingstoke is mildly embarrassed that riots of 1880-82 are the best known incidents in the town’s long history.  Many of the old industries have closed but the town has been made over to exurban satellite of greater London with much of the town’s historic center razed to make room for modern shopping malls.  The population has swollen to 84,275 including many middle class commuters.  The Salvation Army is still there, now in its third building.  And although there are no longer 90 pubs or local breweries, there are plenty of places to drink and drinkers to fill them.

You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival

28 March 2020 at 20:45
You Ain't Goin' Nowhere by Bob Dylan on The Byrds  Sweetheart of the Rodeo album.

A big tip-‘o-the-hat for today’s Music Festival feature goes to David Troast, a tireless progressive activist here in McHenry County.  A few days ago he struck gold in describing our current condition when he posted The Byrds 1968 recording of You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere.

You Ain't Goin' Nowhere was included on the 1975 album The Basement Tapes five years after it was recorded with The Band.
Bob Dylan wrote the song in 1967 while he was secluded in his Woodstock, New York home and recoveringfrom his near fatal motorcycle accident.  He recorded the song with The Band, then his back-up group at their near-by Big Pink studio.  But it was not commercially released until it was included on Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. IIin 1971 and again asa track on his 1975 album The Basement Tapes.
Meanwhile Dylan sent a demo of the song and others from those sessions to The Byrds who were preparing a new country music sound album to be recorded in Nashville.  The Byrds then consisted of founder, singer, and lead guitarist Jim (formerly Roger) McGuinn, Chris Hillman, and English born country rock pioneer Gram Parsons.  Original member Guy Clark, David Crosby, and drummer Michael Clarkehad all left the group by then.  They had risen to fame as leading folk rock band of the mid-sixties introducing young pop audiences to material by folk and protest song artists like Pete Seeger, and especially Bob Dylan.  They had hits with Mr. Tambourine Man and other Dylan songs.
But now, under the influence of Parsons, The Byrds were exploring country sounds and western swing.  Dylan was also becoming more interested as reflected in his first three post-seclusion albums, John Wesley Harding, Nashville Skyline, and the double-album Self Portrait.
The Byrds laid down You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere in March of 1968 with studio session man Lloyd Green on pedal steel guitar.  It was released as a single on April 2and was the first commercial release of the song three years prior to Dylan.  It was only a modest hit reaching #74 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and #45 on the UK Singles Chart. 
The song became the lead track The Byrds’ Sweetheart of the Rodeo album which is widely considered the first true country rock LP.  It was the least successful of the band’s albums but was warmly received by critics and achieved a cult following.  It was controversial on two fronts.  First, the Nashville country music establishment resented the invasion of long haired hippies so the song got virtually no country radio air time.  Second, rock fans who had embraced The Byrds’ foray in psychedelic music on Eight Miles High thought the band was selling out to red neck yokels.
The Byrds in 1968. McGuinn and Hillman were joined by Hillman's cousin Kevin Kelly on drums and Gram Parsons on guitar and vocals for their Nashville country recording sessions
Parsons, who had largely driven the new sound, had already exited The Byrds over tensions with McGuinn by the time the album was released in August.  He had been with the group less than six months.  McGuinn would slap together various line-ups for touring and recording through 1973 when he officially disbanded the group.  The original band briefly reunited that year.
Despite the travails Sweetheart of the Rodeo may have been my favorite album of 1968, a year in which it had plenty of competition.

French Airman Takes Off from Water, Sets Back Down on It and Survives

28 March 2020 at 10:11
Henri Fabr é on the dock beside his invention. The Wright Brothers may have been first, but for a number of reasons within the first decade of flight the French leapt ahead of the Americans and their chief rival Glenn Curtis in technical innovation and the advancementof aviation.   It was not really so surprising.   In the early decades of the 20th Century French science and engineering led the world in many areas. Perhaps one of the most important advancements in aviation was the development of a floatplane—an aircraft that could take off and land on water.   Everyone knew that such a development was crucial in making air travel practical over long distancesand commercially viable.   Some had tried with disastrous results.   Unt...

May the Circle Be Unbroken—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival

27 March 2020 at 22:54
Can the Circle be Unbroken by the original Carter Family, 1927. Those of us of a certain age recall the popular game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.   The idea was that the busy actorcould be connected to anyone else in Hollywood in less than six steps.   In fact it was shown that he was connected to most contemporary actors by two steps and even those from the dawn of motion pictures by three.   The idea that any two people in the world could be connected in six steps originated with Hungarian playwright Frigyes Karinthy in 1929 and was popularized in 1990 play Six Degrees Separation written by John Guare.  Six degrees of Kevin Bacon. The concept has been generalized to the average social distance in the global population calculable ...

Piles of Dead Women on a New York Street

27 March 2020 at 10:19
Police and bystanders watch helplessly as more victims jump to their deaths to escape the flames of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory on the upper floors of the Asch Building.
It was a sunny but raw day in New York City, a late Saturday afternoon and the streets near Washington Square in the immigrant Greenwich Village neighborhood were teaming with traffic.  Around 4:45, as the many garment industry sweatshops were preparing for their “early” Saturday closing, pedestrians began to notice smoke billowing from the upper floors of the Asch Building, at 29 Washington Place.
Crowds gathered to watch as horse drawn fire engines and ladder trucks pounded to the scene.  Soon witnesses watched in horror as one after another young women leapt from the burning building to sure deathon the pavement below—the Fire Department’s ladders were too short to reach the windows from which they jumped.  It was March 25, 1911.  The top three floors of the building, housing the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory had turned into a roaring inferno.  

The Fire Department responded quickly but did not have ladders tall enough to reach the top three floors which were on fire and fire fighters could not get up stairways choked with the bodies of those trying to escape.  They could only use their most powerful pumpers to spay water from the outside.
About 500 workers were getting ready to leave when the fire started as smoldering in the scrap bin under a cutting table, probably ignited by a carelessly discarded cigarette or cigar.  Before it was over 146 of them, mostly young Italianand Jewish women, would perish.  Many would be piled against locked exit doors to die of asphyxiation. Sixty-two victims leaped to their death on the sidewalk or were killed when the sole fire escape collapsed.  Others jumped down elevator shafts after the elevators, which managed to rescue several, stopped working when the fire’s heat twisted the rails on which they ran.  At least 71 others were reported injured, although many more were probably tended at home, unable to afford medical care.
It was not the first fire in such a factory.  In fact, authorities had reported an epidemicof fires at shirtwaist factories.  This was one, however, was made worse because of overcrowding on the shop floors, failure to clear flammable material—scrap bins had not been emptied in two months—and because  stairways and exits were either blocked by bales of material or padlocked to prevent employee pilferage
The factory occupied the 8, 9, and 10 floors of the building, all beyond the reach of ladders which could only reach a sixth floor at full extension.  There was no alarm system and on the most crowded production floor, the 9th, the first warning was literally when flames erupted.  By that time most office personnel, including the owners and their visiting childrenhad already been able to evacuate from the higher floor to the safety of the roof.
There had, of course, been awful industrial accidentsand fires before.  Mine collapses were common place.  Many were killed in boiler explosions on steamships and riverboats, others died in railroad accidents.  Fires had devastated lint-filled textile plants.  But never had such a calamity played out so publicly on the streets of the nation’s premier city with the press—including photographers—on hand to record the horror.  The fact that most of the victims were young women, girls in their teens mostly, added to the impact.  Grimy men were expected to be expendable, girls were not.

The sewing floor of a typical shirtwaist factory and the young women who worked there.
Lurid headlines and gruesome photos spread across the country.  Both the city and state governments launched investigations, which would lead eventually to the establishment of the nation’s strongest industrial workplace safety and labor laws in New York state.  It spurred the growth of the International Ladies Garment Workers’ Union (ILGWU) and other needle trade unions which made safety a key issue.  Many years later the Federal government added its weight to worker safety with the establishment of the Occupational Health and Safety Administration (OSHA) under the Department of Labor.
Today the labor movement commemorates the anniversary, but the hard fought gains paid for by those dead shop girls, are under attackfrom coast-to-coast.  Whether under the guise of cost cutting, deregulation, or a frank assault on the working class, attempts are ongoing to defund, strip authority from, or abolish altogether OSHA and its state counterparts while blocking in every possible way the rights of workers to defend themselves through unions or by suing for damages in the courts. Under the Trump mal-administration and with Federal Courts increasingly in the hands of right-wing judges that trend has accelerated.


Protests like this large parade featuring a contingent of Jewish women workers from the United Hebrew Trades demanded enactment of  factory safety laws and organized shops into powerful unions.

The old battles have to be refought.  Hopefully it will not take another tragedy of epic proportion to re-prick the public conscience.  
Today the Asch Building, now known as the Brown Building still stands.  It is a designated landmark, as much, we are told, for its architectural significanceas the site of a tragedy.  And in 2012, after years of painstaking research, the last 10 victims of the fire were finally identified. 


What a Wonderful World—Murfin Home Confinement Music Festival

27 March 2020 at 00:18
What a Wonderful Word-- Louis Armstrong with spoken intro. Note —Yesterday’s Music Festival blog entry, The City of New Orleans by Steve Goodman, was removedfrom my Facebook timeline and from several groups were I regularly post because it was suspected spam.   I also got a notice that it had been reported because it had been reported for abusive content.   What the F*ck!   I surmise that it may have been tagged because it was called the Murfin Corona Confinement festival.   So today I am changing the name to Home Confinement festival in hopes that I fly under the radar of the FB AI gestapo.  Need a special lift today?   The YouTube version of What a Wonderful World we are featuring today has an especially apt spoken introducti...

Ida B. Wells—Anti-Lynching Lioness

26 March 2020 at 11:41
Ida B. Wells, undaunted.
The word to describe Ida B. Wells was fierce.  The word more commonly used, formidable, is entirely inadequate for a life of defiance and strugglethat began in slavery during the Civil War and ended just before the New Deal.  Along the way she was the associate or opponent—sometimes both the with the same person—of Fredrick Douglass, Susan B. Anthony, Francis Willard, Jane Adams, Booker T. Washington, W.E.B Dubois, Alice Paul, and Marcus Garvey.  She exposed the lynch mobs running rampant in the Jim Crow South,  helped found the NAACP and half a dozen other important organizations, pioneered the Great Migration from the rural South to Chicago and other Northern industrial cities and demanded equal voting rights forwomen and African-Americans.  When she diedit was as if a visceral force of naturehad suddenly vanished.
Wells was born in slavery as the Civil War was rapidly marching toward the end of servitude on July 16, 1862 on a plantation in Holly Springs, Mississippi.  Her parents were among a sort of slave elite, spared the drudgery of the fields and by in large the lash.  Her father, James Wells, was a master carpenter and her mother, Elizabeth “Lizzie” Warrenton Wells, was a prizedcook.  Both were literate and began to teachtheir daughter as soon as she was big enough to hold a book.
After emancipation, James Wells became a known Race Man, a vocal leaderamong his people and ambitious for himself, his family, and his race.  He managed to attend Shaw University, now Rust College, in Holly Springs for a while.  He was a leading member of the local chapter of the Loyalty League, a kind of Republican Party auxiliary in support of Reconstructionand opposed to the Ku Klux Klan.  He spoke for Republican candidates and his home was a center for political action, but he never himself ran for office.
If the family’s politics were firmly Republican, mother Lizzie made sure that young Ida was brought up in the firm Christian principles of the Baptist faith.
From the beginning she showed a fierce independence and a quick temper at perceived injustices.  Her parents enrolled her at Shaw, but after a few months was expelled for a sharp exchange with the college president.  She was sent to visit her grandmother to cool down while her father tried to mend fences.
Ida’s nurturing and stimulating homewas shattered in 1878 while on that visit.  She got word that her parents and an infant brother were all struck down in a devastating yellow fever epidemic that swept the South.
Orphaned at 16, she resisted efforts to parcel out five other younger siblings to relatives.  She determined to keep the family together.  Ida took a job teaching in segregated schools, working at a distance from home and coming back on weekendsand holidays while her paternal grandmother cared for the children.  From the beginning she was outraged that as a Black teacher, her salarywas $30 a month, less than half the pay whites. 
After a few years to improve her lot, she moved with most of her siblings to Memphis, Tennessee, the bustling economic capitol of the Mississippi Delta, and the home to a large and sophisticated Black community.  By 1883 she was employed by the Shelby County School Districtin nearby Woodstock.  During the summers she studied at Fisk University across the state in Nashvilleand she also frequent visited family in Mississippi.
So Ida was a veteran train rider.  She knew well the conditions of segregation in the cars that had taken quick root after the Supreme Court had struck down the Civil Rights Act of 1875 the previous year.  That act had banned discrimination on public accommodations in interstate commerce—railroads.  
On May 4, 1884 Wells was ordered out of her seat by a conductor to make room for a white passenger.  She refused to be relocated to the smoking parlor and had to be dragged from the train by two or three men.  Almost 50 years before Rosa Parks, Ida would not submit so passively to arrest.

Cartoonist Kate Beaton depicted Ida B. Wells's defining moment on a train in her Hark! A Vagrant.
Back in Memphis she hired a prominent Black attorney to sue the railroad and wrote about her experience and cause in the Black church newspaper The Living Way. Despite her attorney being bribed by the railroad to sabotage her case, Wells won a $500 judgment.  The state Supreme Court later overturned the verdict and ordered her to pay steep court costs.
But the event made her a hero in the Black community and launched her on a secondary career as ajournalist and crusader.  In addition to The Living Way, she was hired to contribute articles to the Evening Star.  She was an outspoken commentator on race issues while continuing to teach.
In 1889 Rev. R. Nightingale of the Beale Street Baptist Church invited Wells to become co-owner and editor of his anti-segregationist newspaper, Free Speech and Headlight.  With the end of Reconstruction and the dawning of the Jim Crow era violence against Blacks to “put them back in their place” was escalating.  Wells made a specialty of documenting outrages.
In March of 1892 the three proprietors of the thriving People’s Grocery Store in Memphis, which was seen as competition and an affront to white businesses, were attacked by a mob and dragged from their store.  A crowd from the community gathered to defend the men and three of the white attackers were shot.  Thomas Moss, Calvin McDowell, and Henry Stewart, all personal friends of Wells, were arrested and jailed.  A mob broke into the jail and murdered the men.
Wells had been out of town at the time of the attack.  But she rushed home and began writing furiously.  Finally, she concluded that if the leading business people in the Black community were not safe from lynching nobody was.  Sadly and reluctantly she advised her readers:
There is, therefore, only one thing left to do; save our money and leave a town which will neither protect our lives and property, nor give us a fair trial in the courts, but takes us out and murders us in cold blood when accused by white persons.
Receiving daily death threats Wells armed herself with a pistol
Three months after her friends were lynched a mob attacked and burned the offices of Free Speech and Headlight.

Well's classic lynching expose made her famous.
She took up the cause of exposing and fighting lynch law with a vengeance and unmatched passion.  Speaking to women’s clubs around the country about her documented research on how widespread it had become, Wells raised enough money to publish a pamphlet,  Southern Horrors: Lynch Laws in All Its Phases. Later she documented the atrocitiesin detail in an even more shocking book, The Red Record, which made her a celebrity. 
Ida also breached the taboo topic ofsex, repudiating the popular myththat many lynching were to protect pure white womanhood from predatory Black males.  She document that most interracial sexual liaisons were not only voluntary, but were initiated by whites, women as well as men.  
Sooner rather than later she had to take her own advice.  In 1893 she relocated to Chicago, the tip of the spear of the Great Migration which would fill northern cities with southern Blacks.  She continued to speak out on lynching and contributed to black newspapers.  
But she did not confine herself to the issue of lynching.  She had been drawn to the city by the World Columbian Exposition.  She was soon collaborating with Fredrick Douglass in urging a black boycott of the Fair in protest to discrimination in hiring construction workers and more skilled workers—Blacks were only hired for the most menial tasks and as waitersand porters.  She contributed to the pamphlet, Reasons Why the Colored American Is Not in the World's Columbian Exposition.  More than 20,000 copies were circulated to fair visitors.
Wells launched an extensive speaking tour which took her to many northern cities and to visits to England to promote her anti-lynching campaign.  She was greeted as a hero in London.  She also met and was impressed by the leading English Suffragettes.  While in town she became embroiled in a bitter public newspaper exchange with another visiting American reformer, Francis Willard of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union who asserted that Blacks were not ready for or deserving of equality until they gave up drinking, which she said was epidemic. Wells, herself a teetotaler, refuted the charges in none too temperate language.
In 1895 Wells married the editor of Chicago’s first major Black newspaper, Chicago Conservator, Ferdinand L. Barnett.  Barnett was also a lawyer and former Assistant States Attorney.  They had met shortly before her departure from Memphis when Barnett served as her pro bono attorney in a libel case.  She became step mother to his two children and the devoted couplehad four more.  She continued her public career but frankly sometimes had difficulty balancing home and other commitments

Mrs. Ida B. Wells-Barnett with her children in 1909.
Well’s interest in women’s issues was almost as strong as her devotion to her race.  She felt the two causes were not only complimentary, but inseparable.  In 1896, Wells founded the National Association of Colored Women, and also founded the National Afro-American Council. She also formed the Women’s Era Club, the first civic organization for Black women which was later renamed for its founder. 
The latter organization brought her into close collaboration with Jane Adamsand they jointly campaigned against the segregation of Chicago Public Schools and on other reforms.  
Her frequent lectures on behalf of universal suffrageattracted the attention and admiration of the aging founder of the movement, Susan B. Anthony.  When Wells had to dial back some of her commitments for a while after the birth of her second child, Anthony publicly lamented the loss.
In 1909 she was one of the prominent leadersto join with W.E.B Dubois, Mary White Ovington and others to found the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP).  However her name was left out of publicityabout the founding and she was one of the few principle founders not to get a prominent office in the new organization.  Dubois claimed that Wells asked not to be listed, and later corrected the founding story.  Few people, least of all Wells herself who was not one to hide her light under a bushel, believed the story.  There was frankly a kind of rivalry between two of the best known and most militant black leaders both of whom had risen to prominence as journalists and muckrakers.  Despite the snub, Wells remained active in the organization and for his part Dubois published her articles in The Crisis.
The always outspoken Wells was not afraid of controversy within the Black community and movement.  She was an early and outspoken criticof Booker T. Washington, the figure often held up by the white establishmentas the modest model of Black leadership for demanding few concessions from whites and advocating self-improvement through education.  
She also drew the wrath of many black leaders by praising Marcus Garvey for his message of economic self-sufficiency for Blacks and was one of the few to publicly defend him when he was accused of mail fraud in a Federal indictment in 1919.  Despite the criticisms, her embrace of Pan-Africanism and particularly the Back to Africa aspects of Garvey’s movement was limited.  She preferred to live and fight in the United States.  And after Garvey flirted with an alliance with the Ku Klux Klan in the early ‘20s so that “each race could flourish,” she could not stomach further association with anyone who could ally with lynchers.

Ida Wells-Barnett did not mellow with age.  She remained opinionated, defiant, and radical.  Black leaders who hoped to curry favor with white politicians and business executive distanced themselves from her.

But positions like these limited her influence among Black leaders who hoped to mollify white suspicions.  It could crop up even in organizations that she founded.   She was once denied a speaking role at a convention of the National Association of Colored Women because delegates feared her radicalismwould result in bad press.
Wells threw her support to Alice Paul’s militant faction of the National American Woman Suffrage Association and with her friend Jane Adams interceded with the conservative national leadership of the organization to approve the giant Women’s Suffrage Parade in Washington , D.C. on the eve of Woodrow Wilson’s inaugural in 1913.  She marched with a contingent of Black women.
By the 1920s Wells was semi-retired from public life, having given up public lectures and most organizational duties.  She could still be counted on to fire off a fiery article or editorial when an issue moved her.  She mostly dedicated herselfto her husband and family and to meticulous research for an autobiographyshe was writing.
Once in a while she responded like an old fire horse to an alarm.  In 1930, disgusted that neither major party had any program to relieve the great distress in the Black community caused by the Great Depression, she ran as an independent for a seat in the Illinois General Assembly.  She was one of the first Black women in the country to run for election at that level.  Of course she lost.
When she died she was still working on her autobiography, Crusade for Justice.  A first edition had been published in 1928, but she was working on a greatly revised and expanded version, backed by meticulous research when she died. As one writer put it “the book ends in the middle of a sentence, in the middle of a word.”
Wells was widely mourned, especially in Chicago

Mid-rise buildings in the Chicago Housing Authority's Ida B. Wells homes shortly after they opened just before World War II.  From a promising beginning they deteriorated into a crime and drug infested ghetto by the turn of the 21st Century and were razed.
She was memorialized most obviously in the massive Ida B. Wells Homes, high rises, mid-rises and row houses built by the WPA in 1939-41 for the Chicago Housing Authority in the Bronzeville neighborhood.  Always intended for Blacks from the slums of the South Side, the Homes deteriorated into a gang violence ridden symbol of urban failure and most buildings were razedin stages between 2002 and 2011.  Most of the residents never knew a thing about the woman the buildings were named for.
Wells’s fame has been surprisingly limited for one so deeply involved in so manysocial issues over such a long and critical time.  She mostly gets a footnote mention in histories for her anti-lynching crusades.  The academic guardians of American history, at least as it is presented to impressionable high school and college students, favor far more moderate voices than that of Ida B. Wells.
Perhaps they are still a little afraid of her after all this time.  Certainly not surprising in a country where a third of the voting age population regards Michelle Obama as a raging radical and America hater.

The City of New Orleans—Murfin Corona Confinement Music Festival

25 March 2020 at 19:31
The City of New Orleans by Steve Goodman.

It’s been only five days since the state-wide Illinois shelter in place order went into effect and a week or so longer since geezers like me were advised to stay the hell at home.  I do get out daily to walk one of the dogs or just perambulate around the neighborhoodfor exercise.  I get some rides in my wife Kathy’s car figuring that is safe.  And I am still doing grocery and pharmacy shopping during Jewel-Osco’s early morning senior hours taking all social distancing precautions.  Even so, the psychology of feeling cooped up makes my mind wander
Steve Goodman in overalls with pal John Prine at the Earl of Old Town, 1972.



There is probably no better train songthan the nostalgic The City of New Orleans.  It was written by the great Steve Goodman in 1970 and he first sang it for Arlo Guthrie at the old Quiet Knight when it was still located on Wells Street in Chicago’s Old Town.  It was an immediate favorite of local audiences during the Great Chicago Folk Scare.  Steve recorded it on his 1971 debut album.  John Denver was the first artist to cover it on his album Aerie but he was not yet an established star.  Shortly after Guthrie put it on his album   Hobo’s Lullaby and the single reached #4 on the BillboardEasy Listening chart and #18 on the Hot 100 chart,  I Arlo’s only top-40 hit and one of only two he would have on the Hot 100.  The song became so identified with Guthrie that most people thought he wrote it.
The City of New Orleans hit the charts a second time in 1984 for Willie Nelson.  It reached #1 on Billboard’s Hot Country Singles and Goodman was posthumously awarded Best Country Song at the 27th Grammy Awards in 1985. 

The City of New Orleans in its blue and orange Illinois Central livery.
The song was inspired by Goodman’s rides on the legendary Illinois Central Rail Road passenger train which ran from Chicago to the Crescent City while traveling with his wife to visit her down state Illinois family.  It struck a chord with anyone who remembers the great passenger trains.
I got first got acquainted with Steve when he was a regular attraction at the Earl of Old Town and occasionally shared a libation with him and Fredand Ed Holstein at Somebody Else’s Troubles on Lincoln Avenue and then at Holstein’s.  We bonded a bit over our mutual love for the then hapless Chicago Cubs.  And it was a great personal joy for me when he came up to the Federal Prison in Sandstone, Minnesota to play a concert for us inmates in 1973 when I was doing my stretch for draft resistance.

Goodman singing Go Cubs Go! at Wrigley Field not long before his death.
But everyone was Steve’s friend.  I don’t think that there was anyone who ever met him who didn’t love him.  And he retained his ebullience, grace, and charm even as he battled the leukemia, the scourge that finally killed him, on September 20, 1984.  That was just  four days before the Cubs clinchedthe National League Eastern title for the first time ever, earning them their first post-season appearance since 1945.  Since the next spring Cubs fans have been singing along with Goodman’s recording of Go Cubs Go! after every home game.

The Good Ol’ Swansea and Mumbles Railway Where World’s First Rail Passengers Rolled

25 March 2020 at 11:26
An early photo of open car horse drawn service on the Swansea and Mumbles Railway.  Probably a vary pleasant hour or so on a lovely spring day, but undoubtedly miserable in Wales's snowy winters.
Over the years this blog has covered many firsts relating to railway history.  That’s because I am fascinated with transportation history in general and rail history in particular.  Maybe it comes from growing up in a railroad town like Cheyenne, Wyoming, playing with electric trains, or listening all of my life to all of those songs about lonesome whistles, getting’ on down the line, and hobos.  But somehow I missed the very first rail passenger service in the world, which was inaugurated way back on March 25, 1807 on the Swansea and Mumbles Railway in Wales.  I know, it sounds like a line made up by J.K. Rowling for some fantastic adventure.
It started out, as most railroads did, as freight service.  Specifically it was charted in 1804 by Parliament as the Committee of the Company of Proprietors of the Oystermouth Railway or Tramroad Company for the purpose of hauling limestone from quarries by the Swansea Canal a little more than 7 miles to a fishing village called Oystermouth, a harbor at the mouth of the River Tawe.  Mumbles was the end station in Oysterouth and the line was thus called the Swansea and Mumbles Railway, or just called the Mumbles Train by the suitably rustic locals.  
Construction on the roadbed and the laying of rude iron-strap rails was completed in 1806.  Freight operations commenced with no dedication or ceremony.  None-the-less it quickly boosted the economy of both of its terminals.  With the addition of a mile-long spur from Blackpill up the Clyne Valley to Ynys Gate it also facilitated the development of coal pits at Blackpill.  Limestone, coal, and other freight was all carried in single open carts and horse drawn over the rugged course.  Speed was not a priority.
There being no road between the termini other than a rude foot path, the Proprietors decided quickly that since the damn railway was just sitting there anyway, they might as well add passenger service. One of the original proprietors, Benjamin French, offered to pay the company the 20£ for the right to haul paying customers for a year.  Suitably uncomfortable open coaches thus began making regular trips on this date in 1807 without need of much further investment.  The Mount at Swansea became the world first railway station.  Actually anyone could do what Mr. French did.  By the arcane terms of the original charter the railroad was just that—the roadbed—and operated like a turnpike or canal.  Anyone could use the rails for a fee or toll as long as they provided their own compatible equipment.  It is unclear who or how many exercised that option. 
Eventually seven stations including the termini were built which became the center of small hamlets and served the narrow valley running through the Welsh hills.
In the 1820’s a turnpike was built parallel to the rail line that so cut into passenger traffic that the only operator of cars at that time, Simon Llewelyn, suspended operations in 1827.

The re-introduction of passenger service in 1866 brought these more comfortable cars.
Over the next couple of decades the roadbed was re-laid and standard gauge flanged rails were used.  George Byng Morris, the son of one of the original proprietors and a local developer of coal pits, took control of the line, made more improvements, and re-introduced horse-drawn passenger service in 1866, when most British rail had already converted to steam.
The first steam service on the line began in 1877 when Henry Hughes’s patent tramway locomotives owned by the Swansea Improvements & Tramways Company began to use part of the line.  But because of the archaic charter and various disputes, the owner of the rail line, then a John Dickinson had to continue to use horse cars for some services.  There was a complicated web of companies owning all or parts of the line over time and/or operating on it.
It wasn’t until 1896 that the last horse car left service.  About that time a new company, the Mumbles Railway & Pier Company extended the line in Oystermouth to a new pier they built in the harbor and established and new terminal station, Mumbles Head.  Trains operated over both lines and occasionally during business disputes passengers were forced to change trains at the old Mumbles station.

A tank steam locomotive drawing double-deck cars arrives in Oystermouth Station in the early 20th Century.
By the turn of the 20th Century the tram engines had gone the way of the horse cars and a motley assemblage of small conventional tank locomotives were in use.  One early experiment with battery powered electric engines had already failed.
In 1904 to celebrate the centennial of the railway charter, the line finally got the ceremonial attention it never got in the beginning.  King Edward VII and Queen Alexandravisited Swansea for the ceremonial cutting of the first sod of the new King’s Dock in July.  They rode in a gutted and re-fitted battery electric car suitably fancied upand drawn by a steam engine.  The line received a second Royal visit in 1920 when King George V officiated at the opening of the new Queen’s Dock.
In 1928 the line was electrified and converted to an overhead wire tram style for the passenger service making it one of the few services in the world to have employed horse drawn, steam, and electric service.  Several double-decker cars built by the Brush Electrical Company of Loughborough, in Leicestershire—the largest ever built for service in Britain were used.  Each could seat 106 passengers and were frequently operated in pairswith a seating capacity of 212 per train. That is a hint of the surprisingly heavy usage of the short run line.
These handsome and striking red double-deck overhead tram cars serviced the line for decades.  This one is approaching the Mumbles Pier in the last days of the line.
Freight service, which diminished with the closing of several coal pit and the short branch lines built to serve them, was handled for a while with gasoline powered engines which proved under-poweredand finally with diesel locomotives.
The railroad got national attention in Britain once again when it celebrated its 150th Anniversary in 1954.  A replica of an early horse drawn passenger coach was constructed and ceremonially run on the line with newsreel and BBC coverage.
But it was almost a swan song.  In 1958 the railroad’sgreatest competitor, The South Wales Transport Company which was the principal operator of bus services in the Swansea area, bought out the two operating companies and the underlying but dormant road bed company.  Since the railroad had never been integrated into the nationalized rail system and still operated under the arcane 1804 charter, the bus company petitioned Parliament for permission to abandon the line.  The Conservative government of Prime Minister Harold McMillan was glad to oblige.
Under the South Wales Transport Act 1959 despite the voracious protests and objection of local residents the Swansea and Mumbles Railway was closed down in two stages.  The last ceremonial run was driven by Frank Duncan, who had worked on the railway since 1907, on January 5, 1960.  Work began immediately to tear down some stations to make way for bus terminals, tear up the track for scrap, and dismantle most of the rolling stock.  
The last intact car sat for years awaiting restoration but deteriorating on a Leeds siding. Seen in 1966, it was destroyed by fire soon after.
What was then the oldest railway in the world with continuous service was no more.
One car was saved for preservation by members of Leeds University in Yorkshire and was stored awaiting work at the Middleton Railway in Lees but it was heavily vandalized and eventually destroyed by fire. The front end of car no. 7 was also saved for preservation at Swansea Museumand was initially restored in the early 1970s by members of the Railway Club of Wales.  It is now on display in the Tram Shed aby the National Waterfront Museum in Swansea’s Maritime Quarter.
But there is dim hope of a restoration of service.  In 2009 the City and County of Swansea began a long process of looking at the feasibilityof tram service for the Swansea bay area again perhaps using the old roadbed.  The Environment, Regeneration and Culture Overview Board created by the Council to conduct the survey is in the process of setting up a private charitable corporation.  But there are many obstacles to overcome before any cars yet run again.

Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay—Murfin Corona Confinement Music Festival

24 March 2020 at 21:23
Sittin' On the Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding.
Note—This is the first song suggested by a reader/listener—Nancy Fred.  You are all invited to make requests.  We are looking for the eclectic, unusual, or forgotten across genres and styles.  Dig into your memories and dust off the moldy oldies!
Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay may be the ultimate chill song.  It was co-written by blues and soul singer Otis Redding and guitarist Steve Cropper of Booker T and the MGs It was recorded by Redding twice in 1967, including once just days before his deathin a plane crash. The song was released on Stax Record’s Volt label in 1968, becoming the first posthumous single to top the charts in the U.S.
Redding was 26 when he recoded the final version of the song at Stax’s Memphis studio and was a rapidly rising star.  Blusier than most Soul singers, he never quite fit it with the Mo Town Sound or highly produced music from Philadelphia and Mussel Shoals.  He got a boost in crossover appeal with hip young White audiences when he headlined at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967 and the film of his electric performance boosted it further.

Ottis Redding was a dynamic live performer.
Redding began scribbling notes for Dock of the Bay while on tour in the months after that show.  Later he collaborated with Cooper while they were staying with their friend, Earl “Speedo” Simms, on a houseboatin Sausalito, California.  Redding was searching for a new sound quite different than his usual hard charging blues.  Stax executives feared that the departure would damage the label’s reputation.  Finally in the studio Coopers also produced the recording sessions with Booker T. and the MGs as the backup band.  The main track was laid down in November of ’67 with additional dubbing in December.
Otis returned to touring with plans to make additional changes to the recording—the sounds of the water in San Francisco Bay and seagulls—later.  On December 10 he was flying into Madison, Wisconsin in a fog when the small twin engine Beechcraft H18 he was in crashed into Lake Monona.  He died with four members of the band Bar Keys, their valet, and the pilot.

The posthumous The Dock of the Bay album matched the wild success of the single peaking at #4 on the Album Charts.  It has never gone out of circulation.
Back in Memphis Cooper dubbed the sounds that Redding wanted.  The single was released on January 8, 1968 less than three weeks after his funeral in his home town of Macon, Georgia.  The song shot to number one on the R&B charts in early 1968 and in March, topped the pop charts for four weeks.  It went on to win two Grammy AwardsBest R&B Song and Best Male R&B Vocal Performance.  The Dock of the Bay was ranked twenty-eighth on Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.  Redding was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1994, and in 1999 he received the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.  The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame included three Redding recordings, Shake, Sittin' On The Dock of the Bay, and Try a Little Tenderness, on its list 500 Songs That Shaped Rock and Roll,

The Cup Cake Downfall of Dr. Koch, the Father of Microbiology

24 March 2020 at 10:50
Dr. Robert Koch at work in his laboratory.


Note—The techniques and methodologies that modern epidemiologists used to identify and study the Coronavirus were developed more than 150 years ago by German physician Dr. Robert Koch.  But the legacy of his fabulous and storied career was endangered by a salacious sex scandal that inspired one a revered early talkie.
On March 24, 1884 Dr. Robert Heinrich Herman Koch, Germany’s most distinguished physician and the Father of Microbiology published a paper sweeping away all of those suppositions about commonbut lethal illnesses and rendering them mere superstitions and as outdated in medicine as bleeding.  Consumption, or as he called it tuberculosis, was caused by a bacterium which he had isolated and named Mycobacterium tuberculosis.
Dr. Koch, of course, could not offer a cure for the dread disease, but by proving that it was a communicable infectious disease he laid the groundwork for effective public health preventative measures and eventually treatment.  Infection rates began to decline in Europe and North America after World War I.  But it wasn’t until the development of the antibiotic streptomycin in 1948 that an effective treatment of the active illness was achieved.  That was followed by other effective antibiotics.

In the 1938 weeper Three Comrades Margaret Sullivan dies beautifully, with self-sacrificing heroism of consumption in a mountain sanitarium leaving behind her grieving husband Robert Taylor, and his surviving World War I comrade Franchot Tone who also worshiped her.  Tragic death by consumption was a frequent theme of novels, plays, and film for generations.
The development of a Tubercular skin test led to the discovery that many more people carry the infection in a latent, but communicable form.  Only 10-15% of those with latent infection get the active disease, generally when the immune system has been weakened by other illness, injury, and infection, or due to chronic malnutrition.  
By the turn of the 21st Century rates of active tuberculosis infections in the advanced industrialized nations had plummeted tonear zero.  Most new reported cases involved immigrants and visitors.  Even high rates of infection in the Third World were coming down, albeit slowly.  Then in 2007 international ratesbegan a sharp increase, particularly in sub-Saharan Africa and much of Asia.   Increases are blamed on the rapid development of anti-biotic resistant strains, tuberculosis as a secondary infection in those with HIV/AIDS, over whelmed and underfunded public health services in desperately poor and often politically unstable countries.  Drug resistance has even caused rates to begin to creep up in Europe and the U.S.
Internationally there were in 2012 8.6 million active chronic caseswere, 8.8 million new cases diagnosed, and 1.20–1.45 million deaths, most of these occurring in developing countries.  Of these about 350 thousand occurred in those also infected with HIV.  That means that tuberculosis today is far more deadly than the widely reported panic infections of recent years.

Deady Tuberculosis bacteria first isolated and identified by Dr, Kosh using the techniques and protocols that he invented and which are still the standard for microbiological research.
But back to Dr. Koch.  His breakthrough discovery, for which he was honored with the Nobel Prize for Medicine in 1905, was the result of years of work in microbiology and the development of his famous Four Postulatesfour conditions, all of which must be met, that prove any disease is directly caused by an identifiable microbe.
Robert Koch was born in Clausthal, Hanover, Germany to a middle class family on December 11, 1843.  A very bright child, he reportedly taught himself to read from his parent’s books and magazines before he entered school in 1848.  At gymnasium—the equivalent of high school but with higher academic standards than in America—he excelled in math and science.  Koch entered the University of Göttingen at age 19 where he studied natural science for two years before switching to medicine.
Even as an undergraduate Koch’s proclivity for research and laboratory work drew notice.  He was asked to assist Jacob Henle, a noted anatomistwho had published a pioneering theory of contagion in 1840, to participate in his research projecton uterine nerve structure.  The next year he was conducting independent research into succinic acid secretionat the Physiological Instituteculminating in his lauded dissertation. Koch graduated medical school in January 1866 with the highest honorsand a bright future ahead of him.
In the summer of 1867 Koch married Emma Adolfine Josephine Fraatz and they had a daughter, Gertrude, the following year.  In 1870 he was called away from his established medical practice and family to serve as a surgeon in the Franco-Prussian War.

Examining a sheep for anthrax.
After the war Koch turned his attention to research in various plagueswhich he was convinced were communicable diseases.  His first breakthrough came with anthrax, the deadly disease that annually did major economic damageby infecting herds of cattle and other domestic ruminants and was transmittable to humans with gruesome and deadly results.   He identified the cause, the bacteria Bacillus anthracis.  He also discovered that spores of the bacteria could remain dormantfor long periods of time and become activated under optimal circumstances.  Koch used microscopy, including dyeing his samples for examination on a slide, and identifying agar as an ideal culture medium in which to grow specimens for examination.  These became the standard techniques for microbiological research to follow.
Even more important was his development of the Four Postulatesbased on his experience with anthrax.  The postulates are:

1)     The organism must always be present, in every case of the disease.
2)     The organism must be isolated from a host containing the disease and grown in a pure culture.
3)     Samples of the organism taken from pure culture must cause the same disease when inoculated into a healthy, susceptible animal in the laboratory.
4)     The organism must be isolated from the inoculated animal and must be identified as the same original organism first isolated from the originally diseased host.
Using more advanced equipment and techniquesthan Koch had available, modern epidemiologists employ these same criteria and methods.


Dr. Robert Koch about the time he gained fame for his breakthrough identification of the anthrax pathogen,

The isolation of Bacillus anthracis was the first time in history that a specific microbe had been identified as the cause of a disease and thus gave strong support to the still controversial germ theory and was a nail in the coffin of outdated ideas like spontaneous generation.
Koch was widely acclaimed for his discovery and it led to his appointment as a professor of medicine and an administrator at Berlin University.
He next turned his attention to a disease that regularly erupted, especially in semi-tropical and tropical regions in devastating epidemics—Cholera.  Koch collected samples and did field research during epidemics in Egypt and India.  He isolated and identified Vibrio cholera.  It turned out that in 1854 Italian anatomist Fillipo Pacinihad isolated the same bug but had not widely published his findings nor definitively identified it as the cause of Cholera.
On the strength of these achievements Koch was recruited as an advisor to the Imperial Department of Health in the newly consolidated German Empire.  It was during this time that he performed his research on tuberculosis and published his result in 1882.  It was the apex of a brilliant career.  Not only would he be awarded the Nobel Prize for this discovery but also the Prussian Order of Merit in 1906.  In 1908 with support of a gift of 500,000 gold marks from American philanthropist Andrew Carnegie the Robert Koch Medal and Award was established to be awarded annually to the scientist who does the most to advance research and discovery in microbiology.  The criteria of the judges is said to be, “What would Robert Koch be working on if he was alive today?”

Dr. Koch created a scandal when he divorced his wife of 25 years to marry his much younger mistress, actress Emma Hedwig Freiberg
In 1893 he ended his 25 year marriageto his wife Emma after becoming involvedwith a beautiful and much younger actress, Emma Hedwig Freiberg who he had been seeing as early as 1889.  Indeed his scandalous involvement with her may have led to a not entirely voluntary retirement from Berlin University in 1890.  Koch married Hedwig after his divorce. 
Had it not been for the scandal Koch might have been as celebrated in America as his contemporary, the Frenchman Louis Pasteur. Certainly their accomplishmentsand advancement of modern medicine were at least comparable.  But the deep Puritanical strain of Americans would never allow that level of adoration for an open and unapologetic adulterer.

In the 1930 film classic The Blue Angel, nightclub singer Lola Lola--Marlena Dietrich--was the cause of the downfall and ruin of a distinguished professor--Emile Jannings--said to be modeled on Dr, Koch.
The story of Dr. Koch and Hedwig is said to have inspired the 1930 German film Der blaue Engelshot simultaneously in an English version, The Blue Ange—and released by Paramount in the U.S.  The movie featured the fall of a distinguished professor played by Emile Jannings when he becomes infatuated by night club singer Marlene Dietrich in the memorable rolethat made her an international star.  The movie was based on Heinrich Mann’s novel Professor Unrat published in 1905 when Koch’s scandal was still in people’s minds.  
Ironically Jannings would go on to portray Koch is a German 1939 bio-pic.  The Nazi-era film was a propaganda piece celebrating the achievements of good Aryan science.
Luckily Koch’s fall was not as completeor lethal as the professor in the book and movie.  He accepted his major awards with Hedwig at his side.  She remained there until he died on May 22, 1910 at the health spa of Baden-Baden of a heart attack at 66 years of age.  He had been in declining healthfor years.


When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob. Bob, Bobbin’ Along—Murfin Corona Confinement Music Festival

23 March 2020 at 13:55
When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along by Al Jolson, 1926

Here in McHenry County in the northwest boonies of the Chicago area it snowed for almost 12 hours yesterday evening and overnight.  Luckily for us, temperatures were just above freezingand the white stuff was self-shoveling on the sidewalks and drive way.  We got over two inches and the snow clings to the tree branches for that Winter wonderland look.  But when I ventured out of the house to retrieve the newspaper, I spotted robins hopping along the walk and into the snow on the grass in search of a morning snack.  Aside from some early scouts and the emergence of a few who overwintered deep in wood thickets,  the birds just arrived in numbers in these parts last week—as always a welcome sign of Spring.  And Spring is both the most hopeful and muscular of seasonreminding us of the indomitable vigor of life itself overcoming any setbacks or obstacles.  Welcome news for all of us these days.
Journeyman tunesmith Harry Woods wrote When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along.
When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along was a 1926 popular song written, by Harry Woods, a journeyman Tin Pan Alley tunesmith who also wrote such standards as Side by Side, When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain, and Try a Little Tenderness.  The song is an infectiously cheerful earworm, little wonder that it became an instant hit.  
Singer Lillian Roth, a very hot number in her day, made the Red, Red Robin her signature song.
It became the signature song for saloon chanteuse and Broadway star Lillian Roth, who performed it often during the height of her musical career from the late 1920s to the late 1930s.   Susan Hayward sang it in the 1955 Roth bio-weeper I’ll Cry Tomorrow.  Two years earlier Doris Day hit the charts with the song.
In ’26 “Whispering” Jack Smith, Cliff Edwards a/k/a Ukulele Ike, Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra, and the now forgotten band the Ipana Troubadours.

Al Jolson sang the song in the 1926 Vitaphone short A Plantation Act.
 But the song is most closely associatedwith the manic superstar Al Jolsonwho had the biggest hit of all that year.  He also sang it in blackface in A Plantation Act, an early Vitaphone sound-on-disc short film released the year before his feature film debut in Warner Bros.’s The Jazz Singer in 1927.  He recorded it again 1947 for Decca Records.   Larry Parks Lip-synced that version in Columbia Pictures’ 1949 bio pick sequel Jolson Sings Again.

The Otis Lift Made Skyscrapers Possible

23 March 2020 at 11:37
The passenger car installed by Elijah Otis on Broadway in 1857 was not as elaborate as this post-Civil War model, but it did the job.
On March 23, 1857 Elijah Graves Otis, a former Yankee itinerant jack of all trades and tinkerer turned entrepreneur installed his first successful commercial passenger elevator in a four story building at 488 Broadwayin New York City.  After that, you should pardon the expression, Otis’s fortunes were on the way up as sales for his invention took off. The lift made large scale multi-story industrial and commercial buildings practical.  In a few more decades it would be critical to the development of the sky scraper.  
Otis’s invention was not so much the lift itself—various kinds had been in limited use for decades, mostly operating like over-sized dumb waiters on a block and tackle hoist.  But these lifts were limited by the weight they could handle and wear and tear on the ropes meant that they often crashed when the cord snapped.  His breakthrough was an effective locking mechanism on a traction lift that prevented the platform or car from falling.  His safety elevator soon made all other lift systems obsolete.
Otis was born on August 3, 1811 in the small town of Halifax, Vermont just over the borderfrom western Massachusetts, even at that late date a fairly rusticalmost frontier community. His father was a farmer but as a boy was drawn to the village blacksmith shop where he was fascinated with tools, making things, and tinkering.  He may have served a kind of informal apprenticeship to the local smith who appreciated the hero worshiping attention.  
Restless and determined to escape the fate of astone field farmer he left home at age 19 determined to find something better.  Thus began his wandering years marked by a series of jobs and business ventures each requiring the mastery of some new set of skills.  
He eventually settled in Troy, New Yorkwhere he worked as a teamster, carefully saved his money, and kept an eye out for opportunities.  He married Susan A. Houghton in 1834 but later the same year contracted a nearly fatal case of pneumonia.  He recovered and the couple had a son, Charles.  By 1838 Otis had saved enough money to buy property on the Green River in the Vermont hills.  He designed and built by his own hands a gristmill on the river.  When that failed to prosper he converted it to a sawmill.  When that didn’t work out, he turned to building wagons, for which he turned out to be highly skilled.  Just as he seemed well established with a prosperous future, Susan died shortly after giving birth to a second son Norbert.
Eight year old Charles was already working alongside his father, but Otis needed a mother for his second son who was still in diapers.  Finding no local prospects, he sold his business and moved to Albany, New York where he found a second wife and a job as a doll maker.  Once again he quickly mastered his new craft but was dissatisfied that in a 12 hour shift he could make only a dozen dolls.  Since he was on piece work he began tinkering with ways to mechanize at least part of the production.  He invented a robot tuner—a lathe that could turn out multiple items following a master pattern.  Although useful in turning out rough parts of doll bodies, both Otis and his employer recognized it was much more valuable for turning spindles used in the production of bedsteads.  From the production of no more than 50 pieces a day on a single lathe, his new processcould make 200.  His delighted boss bought his patent for $500, a respectablesmall fortune.  
Elijah Otis, the classic example of an American tinkerer.
With that cash and his savings Otis boldly opened his own business.  He invented and tried to market a safety brake that could stop trains instantly and an automatic bread baking oven.  Just as the business was beginning to get established the city of Albany diverted the stream he was using to power his mill for its fresh water supply.  He was ruined when he was left with no way to run his machinery.  
Embitteredhe left Albany for good in 1851 and relocated with his family to Bergen City, New Jersey where he worked as a mechanic, then to Yonkers, New York.
He found an ideal opportunity in Yonkers when he was hired to convert a deserted sawmill into a bedstead factory of which he would become the general manager.  But first there was the problem of gutting the multi-story mill including removing its heavy machinery and tons of debris which he decided to move to the top floor which he did not plan to use.  Working with his now teenage sons, he devised his safety elevator because the rope-and-pulley hoisting platforms used for such work often failed dramatically.  The system worked perfectly and Otis was able to get his new factory up and running.
But he considered it little more than tinkering on the fly to solve an immediate problem.  Otis did not immediately bother to patent his invention or pursue marketing it.  But when sales at the bedstead factory began to decline, Otis decided to turn back to that safety elevator design.  In 1853 in partnership with his sons he founded the Union Elevator Works which quickly became the Otis Brothers, Inc.
The dazzling Crystal Palace, home of the Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations in New York City in 1853.
Now all he had to do was convince potential customers to buy his innovation.  It is always hard to sell people what theydon’t think they need.  Otis was frustrated with his initial efforts but in 1853 a grand opportunity presented itself—the Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations, Americas first stab at what became known as a World’s Fair which was held that year in New York City’s Bryant Park in a Crystal Palace inspired by the London structure of the same name built in 1851 for the original Great International Exposition.
The New York exhibition may have been a pale copy of its British inspiration but it dazzled Americans with displays of the latest industrial and technological innovation.  Walt Whitman in his poem The Song of the Exposition enthused:
... a Palace,
Lofter, fairer, ampler than any yet,
Earth’s modern wonder, History’s Seven out stripping,
High rising tier on tier, with glass and iron facades,
Gladdening the sun and sky-enhued in the cheerfulest hues,
Bronze, lilac, robin’s-egg, marine and crimson
Over whose golden roof shall flaunt, beneath thy banner, Freedom.
Newly inaugurated President Franklin Pierce still reeling from the death of his son in a freak railroad accident on the way to Washington to assume office, managed to bestir himself from the alcoholic stupor he kept himself to come up to New York to bless the opening of the Exposition with Presidential dignity in July of 1853.  A then astonishing 1.1 million visitors attended the fair in the 18 months it was open.
With an audience like that and breathless accounts of the exhibits and doings filling newspaper columns across the nation, Otis got in on the action.  He and his sons constructed a working three story high open platform lift in the Crystal Palace.  To inaugurate his exhibit before record breaking crowds, he enlisted the aid of the nation’s leading promoter and entertainment impresarioPhineas T. Barnum himself. 
That's supposed to be P.T. Barnum himself on the upper platform with the sword he just used to cut the rope on Otis's lift platform.
One afternoon at the Fair in 1854 Otis stood on the open platform of his contraption along with several barrels and crates weighing several hundred pounds.  He demonstrated that the platform would lift him and the freight and that it could lower it again.  That in itself did not astonish the audience—they had seen or heard of other lift devices.  But then he brought out Barnum who with much fanfare swung a broadsword severing the hoist rope with the platform still high above the heads of the crowd which gasped in horror.  The platform dropped, but only a few inches—its fall was jarringly but effectively arrested by Otis’s safety break gizmo.  The crowd went wild.  The demonstration was repeated daily—minus Barnum—always with the same satisfying results.
Orders for his commercial lifts began pouring in sales doubled every two years.  But it took three years to persuade a developer to install one for passenger use in a commercial building.  The success of his Broadway instillation in 1857 finally led to that market opening up as well.
Otis continued to tinker on improvements, including a three-way steam valve engine, which could transitionthe elevator between up to down smoothly and stop it rapidly. He wrapped up several other clever improvements in a new 1861 patent, which became the basis for all modern elevators.  Meanwhile the restless inventor returned to his old projects and patented versions of his engineer-controlled railway breaking systemstate of the art until George Westinghouse’s air breaksdecades later and his industrial scale bread baking ovens.  
Then at the age of only 49 and a seemingly limitless future ahead of him, Otis contracted diphtheria and died on April 8, 1861 just as the nation was headed into Civil War.  
His company came into the capable hands of his sons.  Charles, who had tinkered alongside of his father for years, became a respected engineer who continued to develop new patents for the company and supervise sometimes complex installation projects.  Younger son Norbert turned out to be a gifted executive who shrewdly guided the growth of the company.  
Although the turmoil of the Civil War somewhat impeded the growth of the company, it took off in the post-war industrial boom and especially with the explosive growth of cities whose crowded central cores demand taller and taller buildings.  The introduction of steel girder frame construction was the breakthrough that led to true modern skyscrapers.  The Otis Elevator company kept up with innovations that made reaching for the stars possible.
The company also developed the escalator.
The familiar Otis name plate is on the floor door sill of almost every elevator you will step on.
Otis Elevator remained in private hands for many years but is now a division of the conglomerate UTC Climate, Controls & Security.  The Otis brand, however, remains the gold standard in elevator construction, installation, and maintenance.


You’ll Never Walk Alone—Murfin Corona Confinement Music Festival

22 March 2020 at 17:25
You'll Never Walk Alone from Carousel by Renée Fleming.

Note—A couple of days ago I posted Hank Williams classic I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry as a response to the social distancing and isolation many of us are experiencing during the Coronavirus emergency.  Folks seemed to like that so much that yesterday I featured British World War II favorite Vera Lynn singing the romantic separation ballad I’ll Be Seeing You and announced that I would make one of my Murfin Music Festival a regular feature for the foreseeable.  Today I am migrating it to Heretic, Rebel, a Thing to Flout from where it can easily be shared widely.
Since this is Sunday and some of us are really missing our church connection and in need of a dose of spirituality and encouragement here is something inspirational.  But today’s song does not come from any hymnal, it comes from Broadway.

The graduation scene from the original Broadway production of Rodger and Hammerstein's Carousel.
Carousel was the second musical by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II.  It was Ference Molnár’s 1909 play Liliom, transplanting its Budapest setting to the Maine coastline in 1873.  It was an unusual and grim choice in an era when most stage musicals were still revues, frothy romantic comedies, or light operettas.  In the show innocent textile mill girl Julie Jordon meets rough and tumble carousel barker Billy Bigelow at carnival set up for the town’s annual clam bake.  He woos, seduces, and abuses the girl before committing suicide after a botched robbery.  Then in an apparently universalist heaven, he is summoned from his duties as a star polisher by the Starkeeper to return invisibly to earth to save his daughter Louise who is in trouble and considering suicide herself due to the shame of being a bastard and living as a social pariah with her disgrace mother.  In his frustration at being unable to get through to Louise, Billy slaps her.  Unlike the original play in which the daughter is doomed, Carousel ends in a moment of uplifting triumph as Louise marches in for her high school graduation.
In the musical Julie is comforted after Billy’s death by Netti Fowler, Julie’s wise cousinand owner of a small seaside resort who sings You’ll Never Walk Alone.  The song is reprised in the final graduation scene by the whole cast.
In the original production Julie was played by Jan Clayton, later noted as the mom on TV’s Lassie, Billy by macho baritone John Raite, Christine Johnsonas Nettie, and ingénue Bambi Lynn as Louise.  Many performers have taken the stage in numerous Broadway Revivals, London productions, touring companiesand innumerable regional, community, and school theater productions.
The movie poster for the 1956 film adaptation.
The 1956 20th Century Fox film adaptationFeatured Shirley Jones, Gordon MacRea, Claramae Turner, and Susan Luckey in the roles.

Renée Fleming as Nettie comforts Julie in the 2018 Broadway revival of Carousel

Today we are featuring a version of You’ll Never Walk Alone from the 2018 Broadway revival by opera lyric soprano diva Renée Fleming.

Bobbing in Bed—Invention With Murfin Memoir

22 March 2020 at 07:00

Regular readers of this little blog know that we like to highlightthe innovations and inventions that have improved the world and made America great.   Take, for instance, of the late 20th Century, the water bed which was introduced as a class project by design student Charles Prior Hall at San Francisco State University in March of 1968.  At the height of its popularity 19 years later in 1987 nearly one quarter of all mattresses sold in the U.S. were waterbeds.
In the late spring of 1971 I took off on one of the great adventures of my young lifehitch hiking from Chicago to the Bay Area of California.  From there, I was to work my way up the Pacific Coast hopping freight trains on an old fashion soap box speaking tour for the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW).  I was lucky.  I got most of the way to the coast in three long rides.  
I picked up the last one as I was leaving Salt Lake from a young dude in a 1950’s sedan who had spent the winter in a high country cabintending sheep all alone and dropping acid.  He was more than slightly crazed, but he got me across the dreaded salt flats.  Just as we crossed into Nevada he stopped to pick up two more long haired kids who were headed west looking for work in the fruit harvests.  The car broke down outside of Elko, but I got a short lift to a junk yard and took a fan belt off of a junker.  By the time we got to his home town just east of the Bay area, the driver was in full hallucination mode.  The kids took him into his parents’ home and I continued on my way.

The destination is wrong, but the gear was about the same except I wore cowboy boots and jeans on my Western trip.
My next ride from a Middle age guy in a late model Oldsmobile turned out badly.  The guy seemed friendly enough at first and told me that he had hitch hiked as a young man.  Then he started questioning me about my trip.  I told him about my plans for the speaking tour and explained the IWW.  He asked me if I was a demonstrator and I told him that I had been in the streets during the ’68 Democratic Convention in Chicago.  We were on an Interstate overpass in the late afternoon nearing Palo Alto where I was planning to crash with an old friend when the driver suddenly pulled over and told me to “get the fuck out of my car.”  It was a very dangerous spot and told his I was afraid I would be hit by traffic and asked if he could at least take me to the next exit.  He told me “That’s too damn bad.”
The Freeway was so busy, that I was surprised he hadn’t been hit letting me off.  Standing in a strip less than two feet wide while cars zipped by at 70 mph, I stood there with my bedroll and the gasmask bag stuffed with a change of clothes and had to make a quick choice.  I looked over the railing and saw that a busy surface street ran under the overpass.  Some sort of vines covered a steep embankment to the road.  I had to jump for it dropping maybe ten feet and hoping I didn’t break anything tumbling down the rest of the way.  I tossed the bindle and the bag over and followed.  I landed in one piece and slid to the sidewalk by the road—right in front of a local cop.  Naturally, he was curious about why I had just leapt from the freeway.  But despite my scruffy appearance in my beat up old Stetson and jean jacket with Wobbly colors sewed on back, he accepted my story.  He patted me down and checked my bag and bedroll for drugs and weapons.  I had neither except for an old Boy Scout pocket knife, but lots of people carried that kind of thing and it wasn’t considered a real weapon.  He let me off with a warning to be more careful and even gave me vague directions to my friend’s place two or three miles away. 
After my heart stopped pounding, I noticed what a pleasant, warm, and sunny afternoon it was.  I was surprised that the air seemed perfumed.   Bougainvillea and other flowers grew in perfusion in yards along fences.  Evidently spring came earlier and more seriously to California than still frosty Chicago.  I ambled my way through the streets getting lost once or twice.  Finally I found a pay phone and got directions.  Soon I was at the small cottage my friend shared with a male roommatewho was apparently off doing something else.
My friend was, in fact, an old girl friend from Shimer College and the great unrequited love of my life.  I had wasted years mooning over her with suitable romantic angst and in the process missed most of the sexual revolution everyone else seemed to be enjoying.  We will call her Sarah E.  She was a pretty ash blonde, keenly intelligent, with her own streak of restless melancholy.  We were still close, but I was definitely on the best friend desert island like the wisecracking third wheel of a romantic comedy.

A few months after my Western trip at an IWW picnic in Chicago's Oz park.
Sara greeted me warmly, poured a generous glass of wine and fed me a dinner with tofu and veggies, a sure sign I was on the left coast.  After dinner we sat on her porch in the gloaming smoking excellent dope out of a carved stone pipe.  We talked long into the seemingly tropical night recalling old times and catching up with each other’s lives.  I harbored dim hopes that we would fall into each other’s arms and weep over time lost.  We did not.  Instead of leading me to her alluring bed with the Indian print spread, she took me to her roommate’s room.  And that is where for the first time in my life, I beheld a water bed—something I had only heard rumors about and red jokes about in Playboy.  
I bet you never thought we would get back to the blog topic at hand, but here we are.
The bed was little more than a giant flat plastic bag lying on the floor, filled, naturally, with water.  I don’t think it even had a frame.  Several light blankets were thrown on it.  I was advised to use most of them under me.  The heater did not work very well if at all.  The water in the bag was, at best, room temperature.  When I lay down—alas, alone—I could feel the cool through the layers.  The bed never warmed up like I was used to from the heat of my own body.  I was surprised and a little alarmed by the rolling motion of the bed every time I moved.  In point of fact after the tofu, wine, and dope, it made me a little queasy.  But I was exhausted and slept the sleep of the dead waking up refreshed.

Sarah made strong coffee in a French press and made paper thin crepes for breakfast.  She had a day off and the use of her roommate’s VW Bus.  She drove me around the Bay, up the East side giving me a short tour of Oakland and Berkley where I had stops in a couple of days, then over the wide bridge to San Francisco itself.  We cruised the Haight and the Castro district and had dinner in Chinatown before she deposited me at the apartment of Phil Melman, an 80 something Wobbly and former seaman who was my hostfor my Frisco appearance at Golden Gate Park the next day.  There I was given a seaman’s space bunk and it was up at six bells to swab the bare wooden floorsas if they were the decks of a tramp steamer, where the Joe was boiled mud and breakfast a glop of oatmeal.
We will leave the story of the tour for another day and return now, at long last, to the saga of the water bed.
What was notable is that in just three years the water bed had gone from college project to a consumer product that could be found in some homes and that could be the butt of jokes in a men’s magazine.  And bigger things yet were ahead.
Now for a quick look back to the origins of the idea.

Noted Scottish physician Dr. Neil Arnott invented what is likely the first water bed to prevent bed sores in invalids.
The use of some sort of water mattress for therapeutic purposesdates back to the 19th Century and perhaps even earlier.  In 1832 noted Scottish physician Dr. Neil Arnott invented and put into use what he called the Hydrostatic Bed to prevent bedsores in invalids.  It was also later used for burn victims and others for whom pressure from lying on relatively unyielding mattresses produced excruciating pain.  The bed enclosedwhat he called a “bath of water” in a casing of rubberized canvas.  Arnott declined to patent his invention hoping that other physicians would copy and use it.  By the mid-century his bed or similar ones developed by others were in use in the most progressive clinics and hospitals on both side of the Atlantic but were still generally considered novelties.
North and South, an important novel by English authorand social reformer Elizabeth Gaskell in 1855 described a water bed used by an invalid character.  In America, Mark Twain describedand praised their use at an infirmary for invalids in his home town of Elmira, New York in an article for the New York Times in 1871.
While bedridden for an extended time with chronic tuberculosis which he contracted as a young Navy officer, pioneering science fiction writer Robert A. Heinlein designed a water bed to ease his discomfort from bed sores.  While he never constructed it, similar water beds were described in his classics Beyond This Horizon (1942), Double Star(1956), and Stranger in a Strange Land (1961).  Years later in 1980 in his anthology of short stories and non-fiction Expanded Universe, Heinlein described in detail his never-built water bed.

Science Fiction pioneer Robert A. Heinlein invented but did not build a surprisingly modern water bed in the 1930's when he was enduring a long bed rest convalescence 



I designed the waterbed during years as a bed patient in the middle thirties; a pump to control water level, side supports to permit one to float rather than simply lying on a not very soft water filled mattress. Thermostatic control of temperature, safety interfaces to avoid all possibility of electric shock, waterproof box to make a leak no more important than a leaky hot water bottle rather than a domestic disaster, calculation of floor loads (important!), internal rubber mattress and lighting, reading, and eating arrangements—an attempt to design the perfect hospital bed by one who had spent too damn much time in hospital beds. 
In fact, it sounded a lot like the water beds found in stores across the county.
How much, if anything of all this that design student Charles Hall knew is open to conjecture.  Like Dr. Arnott and Heinlein, Hall’s initial design was therapeutic.  He wanted to build a chair for those in chronic pain.  Working with the assistance of fellow students Paul Heckel and Evan Fawkes he first experimented with filling a vinyl bag filled with 300 lbs of cornstarch.  He hoped that the fine powder would provide just enough “give” and softness.  Unfortunately it was uncomfortable. He next turned to gelatin but it had a tendency to decompose even in the sealed bag.  
He abandoned the idea of a chair, and turned to making a bed, which was structurally simpler.  He soon turned to water to fill the bag.  The resulting simple water bed was much like Arnott’s more than a hundred years earlier.  His main innovation was replacing the rubberized canvas with modern, flexible vinyl.  He also discovered in addition to any health benefits and patient comfort, the motion of his beds enhanced sexual calisthenics.  
Hall obtained a patent and founded Innerspace Environments which became a pioneering water bed manufacturer, distributor, and retailer.  He marketed his products as pleasure pits.  Sales took off.  But Hall, like many inventors, never really got rich from his innovation.  His basic original idea—a single chamber bagwith a rudimentary heating system was so simple that it was easy for competitors to make improvements and get their own patents.  Hall spent so much money on fruitless patent infringement law suits that his business was barely profitable.  And many of those innovations, especially multiple sections and baffling to reduce motion, as well as more sophisticated heaters and thermostats, made his simple original model rapidly obsolete.  

How could anyone resist a deal like this?  An ad like this undoubtedly ran in the Chicago Seed.
If Hall did not become rich selling water beds, plenty of others did.  Several regional and national retail chains made the water bed store a ubiquitous urban feature.  Until they became sold with elaborate frames and platforms and later models incorporated padding, water beds were significantly cheaper than brand name box spring and mattress sets.  And they had the caché of hot sex.  They were naturally popular among young people.
But they had their drawbacks—most notably the “domestic disasters” Heinlein tried to avoid.  They could, and did, spring leaks.  I had a friend whose cat tried sharpening her claws on a mattress and flood her apartment and drench the one below.  There were many cases reported of the heavy beds crashing through floors that could not support them.  The beds were also a hassle to drain and move.  Heaters often failed and were expensive to continuously operate
Like all fads interest eventually waned.  Some blamed landlords who increasingly banned them, and insurance companies that either canceled policies of water bed owners or charged exorbitant premiums.  Meanwhile there was a revolution in conventional mattresses including layers of padding, improvement in innerspring coil technology, and especially the introduction of memory foam.  
Today water bed stores have virtually disappeared.  Only about 2% of American mattress sales are water beds and they are made, just as old Dr. Arnott had hoped, mostly for therapeutic purposes.  




The Death of an Indian Princess—Pocahontas—With Murfin Verse

21 March 2020 at 07:00
Pocahontas imagined as a Powhatan "princess" with facial features based on her from life 1616 English portrait.
On March 21, 1617 Rebecca Rolfe, the 22 year old wife of John died, probably of smallpox or pneumonia, in Englandleaving behind an infant son, Thomas.  This incident, while tragic was so commonthat it would hardly be remembered today except for Rebecca’s maiden name—Pocahontas.  

She was born about 1598 in what is now Virginia, the daughter of Wahunsunacah, principal chief of a network of Algonquian speaking tribesand known by the ceremonial title of Powhatan.  Her birth name was Matoaka.  

A Powhatan girl like "Little Wanton"  from a contemporary drawing by a Virginia settler.


Pocahontas, the name by which she was introduced to the English settlers at Jamestown, was said to mean “little wanton.” As a child of about ten, she captured the colonist’s attention by regular visits to them while cavorting naked and apparently unashamed.  
Years later Captain John Smith, the leading soldierof the colony, told a story of how the young Indianprincess” had saved him from being executed by her father.  In embellished accounts she literally threw herself over Smith’s body to prevent his decapitation
Some historians doubt the veracity of the story.  Smith did not report it in his first writings about the colony but only years later in a letter to Queen Anne asking that the girl be received in Court.

John Smith's romantic yarn of being saved by Pocahontas captured the imagination of generations but may never have happened.
But it is undoubtedly true that Smith had a relationship with the girl, and may have made promises of future marriage to either her or her father.  At any event she did bring Smith gifts of provisions which helped the nearly starving colonists survive
Relations between the Powhatan Confederacy and the English deterioratedas more settlers arrived.  In 1609 Smith was injured in a powder explosion and returned to England to recover.  For some reason Pocahontas was told by the colonists that he had died, although her father warned her that it might not be so because “the English lie.”  

Around 1612 she may have married a tribesman, but little is known about that marriage.  At any rate, in 1613 she was living with another tribe, the Patawomeck, trading partners of the Powhatan, near present day Fredericksburg.  She was seen and recognized by visiting Englishmen and kidnapped to be held for ransom in exchange for prisoners held by her father. 

She was kept for over a year, reportedly in “extraordinary courteous usage” as negotiations dragged on.  Powhatan did release prisoners, but refused other demands.  Meanwhile the young woman was being instructed in Christianity and learned to speak fluent English.  She allowed herself to be baptized and took the name Rebecca.  

John Rolfe, a recent widower who had cultivated a new strain of tobacco suitable for wide spread cultivation and export, may have contributed to her conversion.  He certainly wooed her and made it clear that he could not marry a “heathen.”  She met with a large band of Powhatan after an armed conflict with her captors in March 1614 and she told them that she rebuked her father for not valuing her above “old sword pieces, or axes,” and proclaimedthat she would rather live with the English.  

The wedding of John Rolfe and Rebecca, A/K/A Pocahontas.

Rolfe wrote the Governor for permission to marry her, pointing out that he was also saving her soul by bringing her to Christianity.  The couple wed in April and settled on Rolfe’s plantation.  The marriage did produce peace between Powhatan and the English.  It also produced son Thomas in January, 1615 almost exactly nine months after the wedding.  

The following year the family set sail for England in hopes of recruiting more settlers and getting financial backing for the struggling colonies.  Rebecca was valuable as a symbolthat the colonies could both live in peace with the natives and convert them to Christianity.  She was received in Plymouth and latter in Londonwith great interest and won friends with her charm.

When Smith heard she was in the country, he wrote the letter to Queen Anne that first told the story of his rescue.  In 1617 the Rolfes were introduced to King Jameshimself at Whitehall Palace

The same year she met John Smith at a social gathering and had what Smith recordedas an uncomfortable private meetingwith him.  She reminded him of broken promises he had made, shamed himby calling him “father,” and finally forgave him.  

The Rolfe family was on ship board to return to Virginia when Rebecca was taken ill.  She was brought ashoreand died at Gravesend, Kent.  

Her grief stricken husband and son returned to Virginia.  Through Thomas many of the great Tidewater aristocratic families can trace decent from the “Indian princes.”  These include the Randolphs of Virginia, Thomas Jefferson, the ByrdsAdmiral Richard and Senator Robert—and First Ladies Edith Wilson and Nancy Reagan.  

Claiming descent from Pocahontas was a two edged sword.  On one hand it provided a colorful and romantic background and was proof of a lineage tracing back to the revered First Families of Virginia.  On the other hand as racial attitudes and prejudices hardened progressively through the 18th and 19th Centuries acknowledging Pocahontas meant admitting to having tainted blood.  Families and individual vacillated between bragging about the connection and trying to obscure it.
It turns out Pocahontas can still carry a sting by associationDonald Trump has slurred Senator Elizabeth Warren repeatedly as Pocahontas for claiming some Native American blood.  It was an effective sting against one of his most voracious Democratic critics and potential challengers.   Some think that attack so undermined Warren that it contributed to her failure in Democratic Presidential primaries this year. 

Rebecca, Mrs. John Rolfe, in full Court regalia in 1616 painted from life.  She charmed and fascinated a King.
The story of Pocahontas has been told and retold and highly romanticized. That reached its zenith with the 1995 Disney animated film which resurrected a romance that may never have happened and transformed the girl into an ecological guru.
A few years ago I was moved to commit poetry.

Death of a Princess
March 21, 1617

They saw you gambol naked
            in their midst.
Little wanton they called you
            as they lusted in their
            Christian hearts.

They stroked you and cooed soft words.
You had your father bring them presents
            and won for him some iron trinkets
            that made him the richest man
            in the forests.

You may, or may not,
have saved the life
            of a golden hair in shining armor.
He may, or may not,
            have lain with you on the soft leaves
            and, chest heaving, have made
            promises he could not keep.

You were traded away,
            made captive and ransomed.
Abandoned by your people,
            you made the best deal for yourself
            to an earnest widower with a fine farm.

You lost your name, whatever it was.
He took you across the great water.
They gaped at you in wonder
            and swathed you in acres
            of the finest cloth.

What happened to your naked soul
            in that wide, stiff ruff,
            rigid bodice and skirts
            too voluminous  to take a petty
            brook in a joyful leap?

And they wondered what killed you.

—Patrick Murfin


Naval Aviation Took Off With the USS Langley

20 March 2020 at 12:49
The USS Langley (CV-1), the U.S. Navy's first aircraft carrier with her compliment  of  Vought VE-7 Bluebird fighters.  
When the USS Langley (CV-1) was officially commissioned on March 20, 1922, the United States Navy took a semi-timid step into its future.  The Langley was the first American aircraft carrier and the second in the world, after Britain’s primitive HMS Argus in 1918.  But the Navy was already behind the aggressive Japanese who had already finished and would commission in just months the Hōshō, the first ship built from the keel up to launch and retrieve combat aircraft.  
By contrast the Langley, which was built on the hull of a decommissioned collier, was a slow, lumbering tub.  But then it’s eventual compliment of fighter planes—Vought VE-7 Bluebirds—were already obsolete World War I canvas covered biplanes which were not much faster.  Still, its 540 foot long flight deck gave a generation of naval aviators their sea legs including many who would go on to become senior flight officers in World War II.
Her origins were somewhat more humble.  She was built at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard in Vallejo, California as the USS Jupiter, a 19,670 ton collier.  President William Howard Taft was on hand for ceremonies when her keel was laid in 1911.  It was highly unusual for a President to attend such a ceremony for all but the most important capital ships.  Maybe it was just that he was on a rare visit to the West Coast and need some events to round out his schedule and get his picture in the newspapers.  After all, he was up for re-electionthe next year.  But it might also have been an indication of the importance of this new class of ships which would dramatically extend the range and time at sea for America’s aging Great White Fleet during an age of an intense international naval arms race.  The sister ships would follow—USS Cyclops, USS Proteus, and USS Nereus.   Cyclops would be lost without a trace in the North Atlantic during World War I and Nereus would vanish in the same waters in the next war, both presumed to have been sunk by German U-boats.

The Langley was built on the hull of the USS Jupiter, collier which had seen service in World War I.

The Jupiter was launched on August 14, 1912.  Besides a large capacity for coal and modern heavy equipment to transfer the fuel to warships, she was the first Navy electrically propelled ship powered by General Electric Turbo Electric Motors turning twin propellers.  
After completing sea trials and assigned to the Pacific Fleet one of her first missions was not as a collier but as a troop transport.  During the 1914 Vera Cruise Crisis she carried a contingent of Marines to stand-by off shore at Mazatlán, Mexico threatening the country’s West Coast.  After the crisis passed Jupiter became the first Navy ship to transit the Panama Canal west to east as she sailed to join the Atlantic Fleet.
During World War I she supported Navy operations in the Caribbean and North Atlantic.  Also in the build-up of American forces in Europe, she made two runs as a freighter/troop carrier including one that delivered the first American aviators into the war zone—a naval aviation detachment of 7 officers and 122 men to England.  At war’s end she supplied coal to the ships bringing members of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) home through much of 1919.
After a short tour with the Pacific Fleet again, Congress authorized her conversion into an entirely new classification of warship—the aircraft carrier.  Previously naval aircraft had been launched and retrieved from short flight decks built onto cruisers like the USS Birmingham.  While those tests showed that it was practical, the jerry-rigged conversions could not carry enough aircraft to be useful in combat beyond reconnaissance duty.  The Jupiter class colliers were just the right size and had very little superstructure to remove to add a flight deck.
Jupiter sailed once again to through the Panama Canal to report to the Norfolk Navy Yard in Virginia where she was decommissioned and work begun on her conversion.  On April 11, 1920 she was renamed in honor of aviation pioneer Samuel P. Langley.  
Upon being commissioned at Hampton Roads in 1922 Commander Kenneth Whiting, who had advocated the construction of a carrier and had helped oversee its construction, assumed temporary command.  He would later server as the ships Executive Officer and be directly involved in the launch and command of the Navy’s first five carriers.  Often called the Father of the Carrier Whiting had been the young Lieutenant in command of that naval aviation detachment that the Jupiter had delivered.
Whiting recognized that the Langley was more of test laboratory than an effective member of the battle fleet.  She was far too slow to keep up with the fleet.  But he felt sure it would suffice to train pilots, refine the techniques for using the catapult launch and breaking cable tail hook recovery necessary for operations.  In additions crews would learn how to use the elevator to bring up aircraft from the below deck hanger.  All of this was essential to modern aircraft carrier development. The fledgling carrier began to rack up firsts. 

The First tail hook landing on board.

On October 22, 1922 Lt. Virgil C. Griffin became the first pilot to off from the deck in his Vought bi-plane.  Nine days later Lieutenant Commander Godfrey de Courcelles Chevalier made the first landing in an Aeromarine 39B.  Tragically this promising young officer died of injuries sustained in the crash of a Vought on a routine flight from Norfolk to Yorktown.   On November 19 Cmdr. Whiting himself became the first flyer to be launched from the ship’s catapult.
In January 1923 the Langley began regular sea duty in the Caribbean.  She would conduct training off of the East Coast and impress dignitariesin Washington with demonstrations of her capacities.  As expected, the demonstration whetted the appetite for additional ships.  Congress had already authorized the conversion of another collier, although Whiting had begged for new construction capable of operating with the fleet.
Fate stepped in before the second conversion could get underway.  The Washington Naval Treaty of 1922 pledged all of the Great Powers to a level of naval disarmament.  Not only were some in-service capital ships to be scrapped, but projects under construction had to be halted.  For the U.S. that meant stopping work on two fast, modern cruisers—USS Lexington and USS Saratoga both of which had completed, or nearly completed hulls laid down.  But the treaty failed to include aircraft carriers as capital ships.  Congress quickly scrapped plans to convert another collier and ordered that the two ships be converted to carriers.  These new ships were a significant upgradefrom the Langley.  Their pilots and crews were largely trained on the original ship.
From 1927 Langley sailed the waters off of California and Hawaii in training fleet units, experimentation, pilot training, and tactical-fleet problems.  But by 1936 she was clearly obsolete as a carrier.  She put into Mare Island where she was reconfigured as a seaplane tender with the new hull designation AV-13.
She joined the Aircraft Scouting Force of the Pacific Fleet and was on regular sea and patrol duty until the American entry into World War II.  Stationed off of the Philippines when the Japanese attack on those islands began on December 8, 1941, Langley was ordered to sail for the Dutch East Indies and from there was forced to retreat to Darwin, Australia where she joined the make-shift American-British-Dutch-Australian Command (ABDACOM) naval forces.  She first assisted the Australians in anti-submarine patrol.

Seaplane Tender USS Langley under attack off of Java
Then in February she was assigned a critical mission, delivering 32 P-40 fighters belonging to the Far East Air Force’s 13th Pursuit Squadron and their pilots and ground crews to Java.  After departing Melbourne in a strong convoy, the Langley and the Sea Witch split off to make their run to Java.  After rendezvousingwith a two destroyer screen escort on February 27, the two transports came under attack by waves of Japanese Aichi D3A1 Val dive bombers.  In the third attack the Langley was hit 5 times and 16 of her crew were killed.  The ship was soon dead in the water and listing badly.  An order to abandon ship was given and her escort destroyers sunk her with gunfire to prevent her from falling into the hands of the enemy.
The bad luck of the survivors, however, was just beginning.  After being transferred to USS Pecos, many of her crew was lost when Pecos was sunk en route to Australia. Then thirty-one of the thirty three pilots assigned to the 13th Pursuit Squadron were lost with the USS Edsall was sunk on the same day while responding to the distress calls of the Pecos.  The whole operation was a devastating loss.

The new USS Langley (CVL-27) in action near Singapore.
The name USS Langley lived on when light Independence classcarrier of the same name was commissioned in 1943 with the hull designation CVL-27.  The new ship saw action in several Pacific battles.  After the war she was transferred to France where she was re-named the La Fayette.  She was decommissioned and scrapped in 1963.

At St. Joseph’s Table All Who Are Hungry are Guests

19 March 2020 at 10:59
The Feast of St. Joseph, or the Festa Di San Giuseppe in Italy where it is a very big deal, is celebrated in honor of Joseph the Carpenter, husband to Mary and human father of Jesus.
Note:  Much sadder than closing saloons to St. Patrick’s Day puke parties, is the necessary cancelation of St. Joseph’s Day Table feasts, the wonderful tradition of sharing food with all who are hungry.  Perhaps this year those who are young, healthy, and mobile can carry the tradition to the doors of those in need.

This is how many meals from St. Joseph's Table will be shared this year--packaged for home delivery to those isolated by the Coronavirus emergency.  You don't have to be Catholic to share food and bring joy and comfort.

St. Joseph’s Day is celebrated annually on March 19.  Joseph, the husband of Mary—does that make him Jesus’s stepfather?—is the Patron Saint of Poland, of carpenters, workers of all kinds, and of assorted other things.  In many Latincountries it is also the occasion to celebrate fathers.
Joseph is particularly revered in Sicily where he is credited with bringing an end to a drought and famine in the Middle Ages.  Devotion to him spread through southern Italy and was brought to the United Statesby emigrants.  Sicilians, who arrived in New Orleans in the late 19th Century promoted wide spread celebrations in that city.  On the East Coast, particularly in Providence, Rhode Island, there are sometimes major parades featuring the wearing o’ the redSt. Joseph’s color—as more than a subtle tweak of the Irish, who attracted a lot of attention with their little festival two days earlier.  These parades actually were shows ofpolitical clout as the Italians muscled the Irish out of control of city governments.  

A St. Joseph's Day Table laid  out in front of a side alter at a Catholic church.
Politics aside, the main feature of the celebration is St. Joseph’s Table, a feast set out in thanks for the miracle of saving Sicily.  Usually laid out buffet style and decorated with the good Saint’s statue, lily blossoms, and votive candles.  Food includes elaborate meatless offerings—it is Lent after all—including stuffed artichokes, pasta and fish, as well as breads, cookies, pastries, cakes and other delicacies.  Fava beans, the food St. Joseph provided to relieve the famine, are prominentlyfeatured.  

St. Joseph's Day is not just for Italians and Poles.  Here is an ethnic Czeck parade in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
What makes the St. Joseph Table different from other feasts is that it is supposed to belaid out for the poor, homeless, andoppressed.  No one is turned away.  You don’t have to go to mass or even be Catholic.  You can smell like Richard’s Wild Irish Rose and stale piss, be covered in tattoos with nails piercing your face.  Who knows?  You can even be Gay or have had an abortion.  Come. Eat.  Share with us.
What a great holiday! 

Condemned Farmers Galvanized British Labor—Tolpuddle Martyrs

18 March 2020 at 19:50
Farm laborers from Dorset may have met under a tree to swear a secret oath to create a combination to raise wages and protect tenants.

The fate of six farm laborers in Dorset and the huge protest and movement that their brutal transportation to Australia stirred are touchstones to the British labor movement.  The Tolpuddle Martyrs are widely celebrated in England as well as in the former penal colony where they were sent and in far off Canada.  Most Americanshave never heard of them.  We aim to rectify that.
In 1833 George Loveless, a Methodist lay preacher, and a respected leader among the farm laborers around the village of Tolpuddle in southern England, called a few of his matestogether. Legend has it that six of them met under a sycamore tree.  Others say that they squeezed into the tiny hovelof Thomas Standfield.  They had serious business to attend to.
Landlords in the area were putting the arm on their laborers and tenants.  Unlike areas closer to London or the grimy cities of the rapidly industrializing north, farmers in Dorset did not have to keep up wages to compete with the lure of the cities and factory jobs.  In addition modest changes to age old farming practices were reducing the number of laborer needed on the farms and estates.  Conditions were ripe for wage cutting. 
Local wages had been steady at 10 schillings a week—hardly a fortune, but enough to barely fed and cloth a family.  Landowners had already cut that to 7 and had announced a second cut to 6 was imminent.   No reductions in the rentdemanded for their cottages were proposed.
Earlier, in 1830, farm workers had responded to such cuts and the new farm equipment that made them possible with the Swing Rebellion—a Luddite like uprising in which laborers rioted, attacking and burning equipment  like threshing machines and menacing landlords.  Frightened farmers suspended their cuts, or sometimes even gave wage boosts, but waited for authorities to act. 
And act they did.  Militia and Army units swept the county rounding up hundreds of suspects.  At trial several were sentenced to hang, although in the end only a handful were swung in public as an object lesson, the rest were torn from their families and transported to Australia.  Conditions returned to what they were before the protests—or worse.
Loveless and his friends knew that violence and disorganized riot was not the answer.  They had to find new ways of organizing a protest.  They had some reasons for hope.  The Combination Acts, passed in 1799 at the height of panic about the possible spread of revolution from France to the English working and agrarian classes and which had outlawed combinations to obtain better wages and working conditions, had been repealed in 1824 and’25.  A modest trade union movement was developing, not without severe opposition, in among skilled tradesmen in cities and in the mines.
More over the Reform Act, passed earlier in 1832, had finally extended the franchise to some without yet granting universal male suffrage.  It was not enough by half, but the Dorset men felt that it might foretell a more liberal age.
Despite these reasons for optimism, the fate of the Swing Rebellion left them no illusions about the dangers of their undertaking.  So that when they agreed to form the Friendly Society of Agricultural Labourersthey did so swearing an oath of secrecy.
Local landlords began to hear certain rumors.  As planting season neared men were refusing to work for less than the old 10 schillings standard.
One landlord, James Frampton, petitioned to Lord Melbourne, the Whig Home Minister for relief.  It was fast in coming.  On February 24, 1834 Loveless and the other men were arrested as they left their homes.  Their families would not see them for a long time.

                                     Five of the six accused conspirators.
In no time at all they were hauled before an unsympathetic Judge Baron John Williams.  Loveless, Stanfield, James Brine, James Hammett, and James Loveless, George’s brother were charged under an obscure law also dating to the late 18th Century which made the swearing of secret oaths to each other illegal.  On March 18, subsequently celebrated as Tolpuddle Martyrs Day, they were found guilty and sentenced to 7 years transportation to Australia—a sentence few men ever returned from.
Despite rising protests from working people across England, all of the men were quickly bundled off to the ships that carried them away.
From his cell before being shipped out George Loveless had scribbled a noteon a scrap of paper that was soon printed all over England:

God is our guide! from field, from wave,
From plough, from anvil, and from loom;
We come, our country’s rights to save,
And speak a tyrant faction’s doom:
We raise the watch-word liberty;
We will, we will, we will be free!

Tens of thousands rallied on Copenhagen Fields near King's Cross, London organized by the Central Committee of the Metropolitan Trade Unions and marched through London to Kennington Common with a wagon carrying a petition with over 200,000 signatures for the remission of the  Tolpuddle Martyrs's sentences.

Inspired by those words an unprecedented protest arose across the country.  More than 80,000 signed petitions to Lord Melbourne himself in April.  And in London more than 25 thousand assembled for the largest public demonstration of its kind ever held in protest to a government action.  In addition to the labor movement, the reform press took up the protest as did the liberal wing of Melbourne’s own Whig party.
In 1836 by then Prime Minister Melbourne’s new Home Secretary Lord John Russell commuted the sentences of all but Hammett who had a previous minor conviction.  Four of the men arrived back in England at Plymouth.  A plaque next to the Mayflower Steps commemorates their return.
Hammett was released a year later and returned to Tolpuddle, where he lived a long life in poverty and want.  He died in the Dorchester workhouse in 1891.  

                     Tolpuddle Martyrs Monument and cottages in London, Ontario.
The other men realized they could not support their families back home where no landlord would hire them.  They moved together for a time to Essex and then with the help of funds subscribed for their relief, immigrated together to London, Ontario, Canada.  They were greeted in their new home as heroes and are still commemorated there today with a monument and an affordable housing co-op / trade union complex named after them.
Back home the Tolpuddle Martyrs Museum preserves their story and their deep connection to the trade union movement.  A monument was erected to them in 1934 on the centennial of their sentence and a new statue installed before the museum in 2001.
There are also modest monuments in Australia.
The Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival is held annually in Tolpuddle, usually in the third week of July, organized by the National Union of Agricultural Workers (recently amalgamated with the Transport and General Workers Union) and the Trades Union Congress (TUC)featuring a parade of banners from many trade unions, a memorial service, speeches and music. Recent festivals have featured speakers such as Tony Bennand musicians such as Billy Bragg.   
Forgetting for a moment that as a Methodist, Loveless was likely a teetotaler, I propose all good working men and women raise a toast today to the lads from Tolpuddle.

Deep American St. Patrick’s Day Roots and Revels on Lock Down

17 March 2020 at 11:39
Despite the cancelations  of dying  the Chicago River green and  of the St. Patrick's Parade thousands of young revelers hit the bars early Saturday morning for a pub crawl in defiance of orders to limit large gatherings.  It so enraged Governor Pritzker that he order all bars and restaurants closed.
It is going to be a subdued St. Patrick’s Daythis year.  In Chicago, where the celebration is perhaps more intense than any other city, the dying of the River Green and the annual downtown parade last Saturday were cancelled due to the Coronavirus emergency.  So was Sunday’s South Side Irish parade—an affair with a sort of chip on its shoulder since Mayor Richard J. Daley and the Plumbers Union moved to the Loop for politicians to strut their stuff—and the smaller Northwest Side and various suburban parades.
A few thousand young carousers turned out early Saturday morning anyway all decked out in Kelly Green and whooping it up for an annual pub crawl.  Illinois Governor J.B. Pritzker was so outraged by the flaunting of his orders to drastically limit public gatherings that on Sunday he ordered all bars and restaurants to close by 9 pm last night.  He was the first official to take such sweeping action but was quickly followed by Massachusetts, New York City, and other locals.  San Francisco went one better by placing the whole city on indefinite lock-down. 
The hard hit hospitality industry has been forced to lay off thousands of low-paid servers, hosts, bartenders, kitchen personnel, and bus boys leaving these pay-check-to-pay check and tip reliant workers in dire straits.  While pizzerias, fast food joints with easy drive up service, and traditional take-out places like Chinese restaurants will make a killing, many other eateries are scrambling to figure out options for curbside pickup and delivery.  Independent and mom-and-pop are particularly hard hit with food inventories they can’t sell and fixed costs, especially rents.  Many do not have cash on hand to pay outstanding bills, pay April rent, or to re-stock when closure orders are finally lifted.  And they might to be able to immediately pay recalled employees.
 
Tons of corned beef and cabbage fixings could rot unless restaurants can arrange pickup and delivery services.  The dish was unknown in Ireland until American tourists started to demand it.  It originated as New England boiled dinner when the immigrant Irish met the Jews in the slums of 19th Century Boston.
 
Meanwhile places are stuck with literally tons of corned beef and cabbage fixing and many are scrambling to find ways to sell by delivery or pickup today.  The house bound might find extraordinary deals today on the traditional American feast.  Saloons, however, will have no way to get rid of thousands of barrels of green beer that could go stale before it can ever be used.  On the other hand, your old scribe is not exactly weeping over the waste of that abomination.
Even if riotous revelry is not your thing and you would prefer to observe the day with a quiet St. Patrick’s Day mass, Chicago and many other cities have shut down church services for the duration.
Things are much the same in Dublin and the rest of Ireland, as well as in places with concentrations of the Irish diaspora like Britain and Australia.
I will confine my celebration this year to maybe some of that corned beef, a dram or two of Irish whiskey, and listening to some traditional Irish folk music at home.  Come to think of it, since my wife Kathy and I long ago gave up venturing out for amateur night, it may not be all that different.
Meanwhile, here is my traditional St. Patrick’s day post:
Up until the mid '60 St. Patrick's Day remained a religious festival in Ireland and the annual parade in Dublin, seen here in 1905, was mostly a religious procession, often led by the St. John's Total Abstinence and Benefit Society.  Now the parade is an American style extravaganza awash in Kelly Green, dancing leprechauns, shamrocks, and scantily clad girls.  General rowdiness is the rule of the day, largely due to the large annual pilgrimages to the Auld Sod by Irish Americans, now generations removed from the island.  This year Dublin canceled the parade.
Today is the Feast of St. Patrick, originally a low-key religious celebration in the Auld Sod.  In the U.S. it’s St. Patrick’s Day, which is, as they say, a whole other kettle of fish.  For better or worse this quasi-holidayis an Irish American phenomenon.  Let’s trace the metamorphosis from religiosity, to ethnic muscle flexing, to Irish nationalism, to partisan political display, to equal opportunity public drinking festival. 
It all began on March 17, 1762 with the veryfirst St. Patrick’s Day parade anywhere in the world.  Irish soldiers in a British regiment headquartered in New York City marched behind their musicians and drew cheers from the small local Irish minority, both Catholicand Protestant—mostly Protestant in those days.  It became if not an annual event, one which was observed most years.  When the Redcoats left the city at the end of the American Revolution various local Irish mutual aid societies like the Hibernians and the Friendly Sons of St. Patrickheld often competing events which, if they happened to intersect, sometimes devolved into brawls.  
After the United Irishman uprising of 1798 was crushed by the British imposing a harsh repression including the banning of the wearing o’ the Green, a new waveof Irish refugees flooded New York, Boston, and other eastern cities.  They inoculated the annual St. Patrick’s Day observances with a new political significance and wearing green (instead of the traditional Irish colors of blueand gold) became a protest against British rule in the homelandand a call to action to overthrow that rule.  
The Potato Famine unleashed yet another wave of immigration bringing throngs of displaced peasants to the already growing slums of the city. Competing Irish aid societies finally decided to unite behind a single, massive demonstration in New York in 1848.  The theme of independence for Ireland was mixed with an act of aggressive defiance by the now largely Catholic masses against the nativists from Tammany Hall who controlled the city government, the Know Nothings, and street gangs who harassed and bullied them
In 1858 the Fenian Brotherhood was organized in the United States in support the Irish Republican Brotherhood(IRB), a secret oath society agitating for the establishment of a “democratic Irish republic.”  The St. Patrick’s Day parades in New York and other cities became powerful recruiting tools for the Fenians. Social events around the day annually raised thousands of dollars, much of it to support fantastic plots and buy arms.  On more than one occasion Fenian plots to attack Canadabrought the U.S. and Britain perilously close to war, which, of course was the objective.  
By the second half of the 19th Century New York's St. Patrick's Day parades had become elaborate celebrations of Irish nationalism and a display of raw political power in the city.
The failure of the Easter Rebellion in 1916 in which labor leader James Connolly, fresh from several years in America as an IWW organizer, and an Irish-Americanunit of Hibernian Rifles were both involved, led to a fresh round of frenzied support for independence back home.  The campaign of the Irish Republican Army (IRA), which led to the establishment of the Irish Free State in 1922 and the Irish Civil War between the Free State government and republican rebelswere both largely financed by Irish Americans.  Even after the establishment of the Republic in 1937, Irish-Americans continued to fund rebel groups aimed at uniting Ulster to the rest of the island, including support for Sein Fein and the Provisional IRA in their armed struggle through The Troubles.  All of this was reflected in the parades and other celebrations of the day which had become dominated by Rebel songs.
Traditional Irish music and step dancing were nearly eradicated by Britain's policy of cultural genocide but were preserved and nurtured by American clubs and societies like this mid-20th Century step dancing group.  Dancing academies are now staples of St. Patrick's day parades and Knights of Columbus corned beef and cabbage dinners. 

St. Patrick’s Day celebrations also were important displays of Irish culture.  Traditional Irish music and dance was so suppressed at home that both nearly disappeared.  Irish-Americans like Chicago’s Police Chief Francis O’Neill collected and preserved the songs and began schools to teach it and traditional Irish step dancing.  Both were re-introduced into Irish culture as a result of these efforts and put on display in St. Patrick’s Day parades, banquets, and concerts. The Irish also excelled at political organizationin this country.  Unlike other ethnic groups with large concentrations like the Germans, they were able to create viable political organizations with allianceswith other ethnic groups that allowed them to control many city governments for decades.  In Chicago Mayor Richard J. Daley brought the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, previously a South Side neighborhood event, to the heart of the Loop and dyed the Chicago River green every year in a display of political power.  Politiciansof all ethnicities jockeyed to be as close as possible to Hizonor in the front ranks of the parade.  
Hizzonor da Mayor, Richard J. Daley steps off with his blackthorn stick and green fedora at the head of the 1963 Chicago St. Patrick's Day joined by officials of the sponsoring Plumbers union, the Irish Consul General, Cardinal Alber Meyer (second from left} and actor Pat O'Brien to the Mayor's left and a bevy of politicians in the second row jockeying for position.  Then Republican Cook County States Attorney James P. Thompson can be spotted just over Daley's shoulder
By the late 20th Century St. Patrick’s Day had spread well beyond its ethnic roots.  Everyone is Irish on St. Paddy’s Day became a byword pushed by breweries, bars, and distilleries making the day one of the biggest party daysof the year.  Green beer and vomiting teenagers have become new symbolsof the holiday.  
St, Patrick himself--a Romanized Welshman captured and enslaved by Irish pirates who somehow escaped, became a priest, and returned to Christianize the land of his pagan captors.  Was it a noble mission, or perhaps revenge?
And what about St. Patrick?  Well, what about him!

Hawthorne’s Fallen Woman—The First Great American Novel

16 March 2020 at 11:31
The Scarlet Letter by Hugues Merlem 1861. Hester Prynne and daughter Pearl are in the foreground and Arthur Dimmesdale and Roger Chillingworth can be seen dimly in the background at left. 
On March 16, 1850 Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, widely regarded as the first great American novel was issued by Ticknor, Reed & Fields, the publisher of choice for the New England transcendentalist literary elite.  
Nathanial Hathorne was born in 1804 in Salem, Massachusetts, a member of an old family that, much to his chagrin and embracement, included one of the judges of the Salem Witch Trials.  He later added a w to the spelling of the family name in a vain attempt to disguise the connection.
After his sea captain father died when he was two, his family family sent him to be  fosteredwith wealthy local relatives who saw that the boy was educated Bowden College in Maine, which aspired to be the Harvard of the North and which was considerably cheaper than the Harvard of Massachusetts.  Among his classmates were lifelong friends Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Franklin Pierce.  A shy and brooding young man, but strikingly handsome, he wished only to write.  
Despite a receding hair line, Nathaniel Hawthorne was still matinee idol handsome in this 1848 Daguerreotype taken two years before the publication of his masterpiece.
A Democrat in ultra Whig Massachusetts he was able to secure political appointments at the Boston Custom House to support himself as he wrote.  He published an undistinguished first novel anonymously and sold short stories to various literary magazines.   His first collection of short stories Twice-Told Tales drew local interest in Boston.  He began to move in the intellectual orbit of the emerging Transcendentalists.  
Hawthorne courted Elizabeth, the eldest of the brilliant Peabody Sisters, but to everyone’s surprise, especially the heart broken Elizabeth, proposed to her frail sister Sophia, an artist.  The Peabodys were always in a condition of dire genteel poverty.  Hawthorne decided to raise moneyfor his marriage by investing a $1000 and joining the Brook Farm community.  He was put in charge of the manure pile.  It was not a happy experience and he soon departed.  He later satirizedthe community in his Blithedale Romance.  
The lovely but sickly Sophia Peabody married Hawthorne and her health improved. She ended up out living him by seven years.  Her charcoal self-portrait. 
Sofia and Hawthorne married in 1842 anyway and moved to the epicenter of Transcendentalist life, Concord where they lived for three years in The Old Manse, later the home of Longfellow. While there he completed a second story collection Mosses from an Old ManseThe couple were madly in loveand devoted to each other.  
In 1846 with the return to power of the Democrats in Washington, Hawthorne got the lucrative appointment as Inspector of Revenueat the Port of Salem.  The move back to his—and Sophia’s—home town was a mixed blessing.  On one hand his growing family was secure.  On the other hand the dreary duties of the custom house sapped his energy for writing.  But he did have time to explore the legacy of Puritan morality.  When the Whig’s return ousted him from his position, he turned those musings into The Scarlet Letter.  
The shocking tale of the noble but fallen Hester Prynneand the tormented Rev. Dimmsdale, as sexually predatory preacher who was the causeof Hester’s shame, was a literary sensation and one of the first American best sellers.  More than 2,500 copies flew off of bookstore shelves in the first ten days.  
Hawthorne moved his family to a farm house near Lenox in the Berkshire Mountains of western Massachusetts to dedicate himself to writing.  While there he met and became fast friends with Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., the physician, wit, and poet, and Herman Melville, to whom he became a mentor.  During these years he completed The House of the Seven Gables, The Blithedale Romance, and his collection of classic mythology forchildren, The Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys.  
The Wayside, formerly the Concord home of Bronson Alcott and his family including young Louisa May, was twice Hathorne's home.
Summersin the mountains were pleasant but winters brutal and lonely. The family moved once again, this time back to Concord into the old home of Bronson Alcott where Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau were neighbors and close friends. He named the house The Wayside. He also found time to complete a campaign biography for old pal Franklin Pierce.  
When Pierce won the Presidency, Hawthorne was rewarded with appointment as United States Consul in Liverpool.  After his appointment lapsed when the Pierce administration ended, Hawthorne and Sophie made the grand tour of Europebefore returning to Concord and the Wayside.  He completed and published the Marble Faun in 1860 and was working sporadically on several other romances.  
But Hawthorne’s health was failing.  In 1864 Pierce took him back to the Berkshires to restore his health.  Hawthorne died there with his old friend at his bedside at Plymouth, New Hampshire on May 18, 1864.  
At his funeral in Concord Longfellow, Emerson, Alcott, and Holmes were among his pallbearers.  Sophia died in London seven years later.  In 2006 her remains and those of their daughter Una were relocated to the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord and laid next to Hawthorn’s.
The Scarlet Letter became a staple of 20th Century high school English classes, although it has increasingly been protested by fundamentalist parents who think that Hester got just what was coming to her, the little slut, and sometimes banned by timid or rightwing dominated school boards.
Meanwhile being branded by a scarlet letter became a widely used cultural metaphor for public shaming and mob mentality bullying.
Perhaps the most memorable of all of the film versions of Hawthorne's masterpiece was the MGM silent starring the ever-suffering Lillian Gish.  Here she is condemned in a mob scene before a castle-like building unlike anything found in old Salem.
The semi-salacious nature of the plot made it a natural for several stage and film adaptations.  The first movie version was a 1911 one reel film King Baggot, Lucille Young, and William Robert Daly shifted the focus to Baggot, then a major star as the tortured Dimmsdale.  Hester fared better in the third version released in 1926 as a prestige MGM feature with their biggest melodrama star, Lillian Gish.  Colleen Moore, Hardie Albright, and Henry B. Walthall, the star of Birth of a Nation, were featured in the first sound version, a 1934 release shot on location at Salem’s Pioneer Village.  German director Wim Wenders made a European film starring Senta Berger in 1973 which has seldom been shown in the United States.
In 1995 Demi Moore, Gary Oldman, and Robert Duval headlined a star studded cast.  But the film took great liberties with the novel and was roundly mocked—the film review aggregator site Rotten Tomatoes gave the film a 14% approval rating, based on 35 reviews.  It won the Golden Raspberry Award for Worst Remake or Sequel and Moore was nominated for Worst Actress.
There was also a Public Broadcasting System miniseries made by WBGH in Boston in 1979 as an answer to the tony BBC costume/literary dramasthat dominated the public airways.  The production featured Meg Foster, John Heard, and Kevin Conway.
And inevitably there were porn versions and take offs.  Yes, you can see up-close and personal just how Hester earned the A.

Coronavirus Hullabaloo and—What Else?—Poetry

15 March 2020 at 13:02
The Coronaviris a/k/a Covid 19--the runaway favorite for Time magazine's Infection of the Year.
OK.  I guess it’s time to address the elephant in the room—the Coronavirus pandemic.  Everyone else has.  In fact it is dominating the national consciousness unlike anything since the days immediately after the 9/11 terrorist attacks.
I won’t duplicate the common sense precautions and recommendations that flood our TV, newspapers, and social media.  You can get that anywhere.  Nor will I inundate you with a history of the global spread of the disease or mind numbing statisticsand prognostications. Those are grim enough and you are probably seeing infection spread maps in your dreams.  And I am not even going to rail against Trump, his ignorance, vanity, criminally inept management, and attempts to use the crisis as a cover for tax breaks to wealthy cronies, attacks on Social Security and Medicare, and xenophobic exploitation.  Surely he has not only shot himself in the foot but blown holes in the bottom of his sinking boat.  I won’t wring my hands or finger point over panic buying and hoarding.  There will be enough shaming.
From Friday the 13th through today, the Ides of March with all of its connotations of foretold doom, our liveshave been turned upside down.  Much of the country is on lock down.  Social distancing is the euphemism of the day—a sad condition in a country that was already starved for human interaction in the age of being chainedto our smart phones and devices.  Individualsand families are stressed by lost income—so many of us live from paycheck to paycheck—and by having to cope with unexpected home child care.  Even the most loving and well-adjusted of families might find enforced confinement with each other for days or weeks a harrowing experience.
My own life and community have been affected—although I have little to complain aboutcompared to those who have actually been exposedto the virus and/or have fallen ill.  Two major projects that I have been working on for weeks have been suddenly postponed.  Poets in Resistance II had to be scrapped at the last moment when the McHenry County Department of Health declared an emergency and recommended the cancelations of all gatherings of 50 or more.  That program will be difficult to reschedule and we will have to start nearly from scratch lining up poets and making other arrangements.  The Promise and Practice of Our Faith, a special worship service featuring exclusively the voices of Black Unitarian Universalists was pushed back one week from today to March 23 and it will be conducted without the Congregation present, to be shared with Zoom meeting technologies.  
Indeed the Tree of Life UU Congregation in McHenry, Illinois is closing the building to all meetings and gatherings until further notice.  That includes the Social Justice Team meeting scheduled for this coming Wednesday and to long-planned Murfin family gatherings for which we had rented the church.
Meanwhile, because of my age—I turn 71 on St. Patrick’s Day and because I have an irregular heart beat and shortness of breath—my wife Kathy has decided that I should be held in close confinement.  We are in intense and on-going negotiations about when I might be permitted to venture from the house.  So far I may be permitted to walk a block and a half to cast my vote in the Illinois Primary on Tuesday as long as I pick a time of the day when turn-out is expected to be light.  But absolutely no results watching parties or victory celebrations.
Meanwhile, I am busying myself by making plans how our Tree of Life Community can respond to the crisis.  This is a proposal I am making to our Social Justice Team.  It looks like it will get a positive response and others in community are also on board.  We could be up and running in a day or so.
I propose that the Social Justice team work collaboratively with Membership Care, Religious Education, the Board, and office to provide for the support and needs of our congregants and the wider community impacted. What might that mean? Coordinating and providing delivery of food, medicine, and other supplies to elders and others on strict isolation; assistance to families and individuals who have lost income—so many live pay-check to pay check; safe home childcare for those who must work; one-on-one phone contact with the most isolated to combat loneliness and depression; listen to the community for other pressing needs. This would entail significant volunteer time, but at least in the next couple of weeks many of us will have time on our hands. It will also require some financial, commitment. I am asking the Social Justice Team for permission to use our recent $1000 donation from former Congregational Unitarian Church member to fund this. I think this is just the kind of use they would approve of for their gift to Social Justice.

Meanwhile to help feed the spiritual need this week when we will have no service, we have shared to inspiring poems.

The Rev. Lynn Unger.
The Rev. Lynn Ungar lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her wife, teenaged daughter, two dogs and two cats. She serves as the Minister for Lifespan Learning for the Church of the Larger Fellowship, an online Unitarian Universalist congregation.  This poem when almost immediately viral and spread so quickly it was noted in an article in the Chicago Tribune.

Pandemic

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love—a
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

Lynn Ungar

 March 11, 2020

Br. Richard Hendrick

Brother Richard Hendrick is a Capuchin Franciscan priest-friar, living and working in Ireland  He is the Guardian of Ards Friary in Donegal which includes a large residential retreat center, teaches Christian meditation and mindfulness, and works with the Sanctuary Spirituality Centre in inner city Dublin.

Lockdown

Yes there is fear.
Yes there is isolation.
Yes there is panic buying.
Yes there is sickness.
Yes there is even death.
But,
They say that in Wuhan after so many years of noise
You can hear the birds again.
They say that after just a few weeks of quiet
The sky is no longer thick with fumes
But blue and grey and clear.
They say that in the streets of Assisi
People are singing to each other
across the empty squares,
keeping their windows open
so that those who are alone
may hear the sounds of family around them.
They say that a hotel in the West of Ireland
Is offering free meals and delivery to the housebound.
Today a young woman I know
is busy spreading fliers with her number
through the neighbourhood
So that the elders may have someone to call on.
Today Churches, Synagogues, Mosques and Temples
are preparing to welcome
and shelter the homeless, the sick, the weary
All over the world people are slowing down and reflecting
All over the world people are looking at their neighbours in a new way
All over the world people are waking up to a new reality
To how big we really are.
To how little control we really have.
To what really matters.
To Love.
So we pray and we remember that
Yes there is fear.
But there does not have to be hate.
Yes there is isolation.
But there does not have to be loneliness.
Yes there is panic buying.
But there does not have to be meanness.
Yes there is sickness.
But there does not have to be disease of the soul
Yes there is even death.
But there can always be a rebirth of love.
Wake to the choices you make as to how to live now.
Today, breathe.
Listen, behind the factory noises of your panic
The birds are singing again
The sky is clearing,
Spring is coming,
And we are always encompassed by Love.
Open the windows of your soul
And though you may not be able
to touch across the empty square,
Sing.

Richard Hendrick

March 13, 2020

The Rev. Theresa Novak.


 Other poets faced fear.  The Rev. Theresa Novak is a retired Unitarian Universalist minister who lives in San Rafael, Californiawith her wife and partner of 43 years.  She has written poetry since her teen years and blogs at Sermons, Poetry, and Other Musings.


When Fear Comes


When fear comes knocking
I never know
If I should answer
Or hide somewhere inside.
Maybe it won’t know
That I am here.
Maybe it will go away
If I leave it standing
At the door.

But fear is just a
Messenger, a warning.
Not a harbinger
Of what must be.

Listen, Fear,
I hear you.
I’ll be as careful as I can
And I thank you
For your time.
Go away now.
I need courage more
Just now.

Send some over, please.

—Rev. Theresa Novak
March 11, 2020



The Old Man.


Finally, here is a doleful piece by the Old Man.

Love in the Time of a Plague

Have you wondered what it would be like—
            in an Egyptian mud hut when the Angels of Death
            did not passover your door?
            When the calls of bring out your dead
            rang from overburdened carts on London’s muddy lanes?
            When wrapping your children in the Small Pox blankets
            so kindly given to you by the invaders of your country?
            When Yellow Fever seemed to rise in the swamp air
            or Typhoid and Cholera did their mysterious work?
            When  Doughboy camps, refugee havens, and troopships
            brought death dwarfing the gore of the trenches?
            When ordinary summer colds sent children in the thousands
            into iron lungs on crowded wards?
            When the unwanted and despised were reaped by God’s wrath
            and rest stood aside until the innocent were touched?

Now we know, or imagine we do, as Cassandras cry alarm
            and we retreat into isolation.

That fear and isolation may be more lethal than an alien virus
            sapping our lonely souls even if our bodies are spared.

Now comes the time of love in the age of a plague—
            how do we reach out to caress a face we cannot touch?

—Patrick Murfin
March 15, 2020

Making Musical Magic—A Classic Myth, George Bernard Shaw, and Lerner & Loewe

14 March 2020 at 12:17
Poster for the original production of My Fair Lady on Broadway evoked the dead original playwright.

It was called “the perfect musical.”   From that first night on the Broadway stage, March 15, 1956, at the Mark Hellinger Theatre audiences leapt to their feet cheering, critics wore out the Thesaurus in search of superlatives, trophies could not be cast fast enough.  My Fair Lady had to be moved twice to larger theaters and set a record of 2,717 performances in its first production.  The world, it seemed was singing its songs.
But the path to theatrical glorywas long.  Very long.  It began with a lost legend on Cyprus about a Phoenician king named Pumayyaton who the Greeks called Pygmalion.  Centuries later the Roman poet Ovid cast Pygmalion as a sculptor who creates a perfect statue of a woman out of ivory who he named Galatea.  After sacrificing to Aphrodite, Goddess of Beauty on her feast day, he returns home where he kisses the perfect idol he has created only to learn that her lips were sweet and breasts yielding.  The goddess had granted his wish to turn the statue into a woman.
Jean-Leon Gerome's Pygmalion and Galatea painted in 1890 is just one of many popular art renderings of Ovid's version of the myth.
The story of the artist and his art sprung to life resonated, especially during and after the Renaissance was told and re-told many times and was depicted in painting and sculpture.  It was the subject of many poems in Victorian England.  William S. Gilbert’s blank verse Pygmalion and Galatea, an Original Mythological Comedy was produced in London in 1871 and was so popular that it was revived three times in five years and other companies rushed their own versions of the tale to the stage.  A youngIrishman struggling to make his markas a critic took notice.
Forty years later at the height of his powers George Bernard Shaw recast the themes of a woman metamophisized by her creator into one of his didactic lessons on social class.  He also wanted to propound his own pet theory that standardized pronunciation of English could help liberate the poor, who were stigmatized by their crudeaccents.  Written in 1912, in his Pygmalion the creator is Henry Higgins, a tyrannical, misanthropic professor linguistics and phoneticsand the object of transformation is a Cockney flower girl named Eliza Doolittle.  

George Bernard Shaw, the witty and didactic Irish born playwrite and Fabian Socialist about the time of his 1912 triumph, Pygmalion.
Shaw needed another character to who Higgins could expound his theories and to whom Eliza could turn for comfort.  He found the perfect model in Dr. Watson, Sherlock Holmes’s side kick whose main function was to listen to the flights of brilliance of the detective.  In the play the character is transformed into Col. Pickering, like Watson a veteran of the Indian Army.
Pygmalion opened in London in 1914 with the object of Shaw’s unrequited love, Mrs. Patrick Campbell as Eliza.  It was by far the most popular play Shaw had brought to the stage.  But audiences were dissatisfied with the ending in which the now completely emancipated Eliza abandons the professor.  During the run of the play the producers substituted a final scene in which Higgins appears at a window and throws flowers at departing Eliza, hinting that such a gesture would woo her back.  Shaw was furious and added a postscript essay, What Happened Afterwardsto printed editions of the play to explain why that was impossible.  He continued to fight attempts to soften the ending through revivals and other productions of the play.
In 1937 Shaw licensed his plays to Hungarianproducer Gabriel Pascal for the cinema.  He reluctantly agreed to allow Pygmalion be the first film on the condition that he retain full artistic control.  Shaw collaboratedon the screenplay and wrote whole new scenes, including the ballroomscene where Eliza is put to the test of passing as a lady. Knowing Pascal wanted a happier ending Shaw offered to write a new final scene showing Eliza and her callow suitor now husband Freddy Eynsford-Hill tending their flower shop catering to gentlefolk.  Instead, without Shaw’s knowledge, Pascal inserted a short scene following Eliza’s departure in which she returns with her bags and the self-satisfiedHiggins leans back, cocks his hat over his face and demands, “Eliza, where the devil are my slippers?”  Shaw was outraged, but the scene stayed.

Leslie Howard as Professor Henry Higgins and Wendy Hiller as Eliza Doolittle in the 1938 film version of Pygmalion.
The 1938 film starred Leslie Howard and Wendy Hiller.  It was a huge hit on both sides of the Atlantic and even won Shaw an Oscar for his contributions to the screenplay. 
Part of Shaw’s agreement with Pascal was that none of the plays could be made into a musical.  He had earlier been greatly disappointed with The Chocolate Soldier, a Viennese operetta based on Arms and the Man.  Despite numerous pleas over the years, Pascal could not get Shaw to yield.  But when the old man died in 1950 at the age of 94, the producer approached Alan J. Lerner, the lyricist and librettist who had created Brigadoon with Frederick Loewe and Love Life with Kurt Weill.  Lerner worked on the project intermittentlyfor two years before abandoning it.
Other tried their hands at it—Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz and then Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, the reigning kings of American musical comedy.  Rogers told Learner that it was impossiblebecause “it has no sub-plot.”  The other problem was the talky nature of the play and the lack of big scenes for an ensemble.
  
Frederick Loewe (left) and Alan Jay Lerner had to repair a fractured partnership to work on a musical version of Pygmalion with out even knowing if they could secure the rights.
Lerner had become estranged from Lowe, his original partner on the project.  But when he chanced on Pascal’s obituary in the newspapers, he decided to give the project a second chance.  Reuniting with Lowe, Lerner realized that the key to the production was opening it up from the stage play, as Shaw himself had done with the addition of the ballroom scene in the film version.  Lerner added other “action that takes place between the acts of the play” as Shaw had written them, notably the Covent Garden scene after Higgins departs in which Eliza sing Wouldn’t it be Loverly, Alfred P. Doolittle’s  rollicking I’m Getting Married in the Morning number, and the extended Ascot racetrack scene.  In between he preserved most of Shaw’s witty dialog and even the social messages.  He did, however, retain the ending of the film, not Shaw’s beloved declaration of independence.
Learner and Lowe went ahead with their work not knowing if they could get the rights from Pascal’s estate which was being managed with flinty business no-nonsense by Chase Manhattan Bank.  There were other bidders, most notably MGM which tried threats to muscle Learner aside.  He bet that when the time came the fact that he and Lowe had a completed libretto and score would tilt the bank in their direction.  It did and they won the right to mount the musical on the stage.  MGM would later have to spend a ton of money to buy Learner and Lowe’s show from them for the big screen.
After securing the services of one of Broadways most successful directors, Moss Hart, attention turned to casting.  Everyone’s first choice for Higgins was Noel Coward but he turned down the part.  He did suggest that they try Rex Harrison who had starred in otherfilm adaptations of Shaw’s work.  Harrison was a huge star in Brittan once dubbed Sexy Rexy for his appearances as a leading man in the ‘30’s and ‘40’s but he was less well known in the U.S.  Harrison was interested but both he and the creative team were concerned with one little problem.  Harrison could not sing, or rather he had a very narrow vocal range.  After some tinkering by Lowe and handing the most soaring melodies off to other characters, it was agreed that Harrison could sing/speak his numbers.

Julie Andrews, a young British singer/actress was a sensation as Eliza Doolittle in the Broadway Production of My Fair Lady.
Casting Eliza was more difficult.  The part was first offered to Texas-born Mary Martin who wiselyconcluded that she was unsuited to play a Cockney.  Gertrude Lawrence who Learner had envisioned for the role when he first started work on the project in 1950 had inconveniently died in 1952 and was unavailable.  They finally settled on a young English singer/actress, Julie Andrews.  Legend would have it that she was plucked from obscurity for the part, but she already had one Broadway hit under her belt, The Boyfriend.
The cast was rounded out with veteran character actor and music hall performer Stanly Holloway as the philosophic dustman Alfred P Doolittle; Robert Coote as Col. Pickering; John Michael King as Eynsford-Hillwho got to sing On the Street Where You Live, the show’s only love song; and Kathleen Nesbitt as Higgins’s mother.
The title My Fair Lady made oblique reference to the title Shaw used in early drafts of Pygmalion, Fair Eliza, and to the repeated refrain from the nursery rhyme London Bridge is Falling Down.
The show almost did not go on for its firstperformance in out of town tryouts in New Haven, Connecticut.  Hours before the curtain Harrison became frightenedby the pit orchestra that was much larger than anything he had encountered inrehearsals.  Fearing that they would down him out, he told producers that, “that under no circumstances would he go on that night...with those thirty-two interlopers in the pit.”  He then locked himself in his dressing room.  After fruitless pleading, producers decided todismiss the company for the night and make an announcement to the audience that was beginning to assemble.  Less than an hour before curtain time, Harrison got a grip on himself and emerged from the dressing room.  Producers frantically recalled the cast and the show went on.  It ended with a thunderous standing ovation.  Everyone knew that this would be ahit.
Indeed it was.  The original cast album became a perennial hit.  After Edward Mulhare and Sally Anne Howes took over the parts on Broadway, Harrison, Andrews and most of the original cast took the show to London where it debuted at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane in the West End on April 30, 1958.  The show would run for 2,281 performances there.
Since then there have been numerous revivals in both New York and London, each wining slews of awards for its casts just as the original production swept the Tony Awards.  There have been touring companies, productions in almost every language conceivable—an interesting challenge for a play revolving around English pronunciation,—regional, community, college, and high school productions.

Audrey Hepburn with Jeremy Brett as Freddy Eynsford-Hill and Rex Harrison as Proffesor Higgins in the Ascot scene--a dasselingly styalized production number added to the script to open the talky Shaw script up for the film.

In 1964 MGM brought My Fair Lady to the screen as one of the grandest of its musicals.  But not without controversy.  Although Harrison, Holloway, and other members of the Broadway cast were signed, studio big wigs did not think Julie Andrews was a big enough star to carry the expensive film.  They cast Audrey Hepburn as Eliza.  Broadway fans were furious.   Many vowed never to see the film—a threat virtually none of them carried out.   Hepburn’s songs were dubbed by Marni Nixon, the soprano behind many non-signing Hollywood actresses.  
A few years ago the Wouldn’t It be Loverly scene surfaced with Hepburn singing.  She turns out to have had a pleasant, if breathy voice, and acquitted the song quite well.  But convention decreed a traditional stage soprano sing the part.  If the movie could be made today, she would probably be allowed to sing her own songs.
Andrews got her revenge, however, when she was cast the same year in Mary Poppins which became Disney’s biggest grossing live action picture.  She also took home the Academy Award for Best Actress. Hepburn herself was not even nominated despite turning in a charming performance.
Not the My Fair Lady was snubbedat the Oscars.  The film took home the statuettes for Best Picture; Best Director, George Cukor; Best Actor for Harrison; and five other awards.  In addition Learner was nominated for Best Adapted Screen Play, Holloway for Best Supporting Actor, and Gladys Cooper for Best Supporting Actress as Mrs. Higgins.  It remains one of the most beloved films of all time.

Introducing Your Uncle Sam

13 March 2020 at 13:30
By the Civil War, Uncle Sam was already an established national symbol.  But maybe not so national.  He was always a Yankee, as in this depiction of a knock down, drag out battle with his Southern spouse.
On March 13, 1852 the first cartoon featuring a figure identified as Uncle Sam appeared in the New York Lantern, a weekly paper.  But Uncle Sam as a personification of the United States dates back to the War of 1812when a sharp tongued but shrewd Yankee farmer was used to disparageMr. Madison’s War.  This first reached the printed page in the 1816 book The Adventures of Uncle Sam in Search of his Lost Honor by one Fredrick Augustus Fidfaddy, an obvious nom de plume.

Was Troy, New York Army purchasing agent Samuel Wilson really Uncle Sam?  I wouldn't bet on it.

Some trace the nameto a Troy, New York man, Samuel Wilson, known locally as Uncle Sam, who inspected provisions purchased for the Army.  He affixed a stamp with the initials U.S. to the goods.  Although monuments have been erected celebrating Sam Wilson as Uncle Sam, most scholars now scoff at the idea. 
More likely Uncle Sam is simply derived from the initials U.S. on military buttons and branded on Army mules and horses.  

Uncle Sam supplanted and earlier figure, another Yankee named Brother Jonathan who appeared in the humor magazine Puck.  Sam seems to have appropriated Jonathan's wardrobe.
By the time of the Civil War, Uncle Sam had displaced Puckmagazine’s Brother Jonathan—another Yankee—and was rivaling the allegorical female figure of Columbia as a national personification.  Cartoonistsin popular magazines like Harper’s Weekly and Frank Leslie’s Illustrated were showing him complete with white chin whiskers, striped pants, and an old fashion cut-away coat. 

The most famous Uncle Sam of all was created by illustrator James Montgomery Flagg and used on this famous Army recruiting poster which adapted Lord Kitchener's pose in an equally famous World War I British poster.
The most famous version of Uncle Sam is the one created by James Montgomery Flagg in 1916 featuring a grim Uncle Sam pointing directly at the viewer.  The original version was featured on the cover of Leslie’s Weekly with the phrase “What are you doing for Preparedness.”  It was soon made into an Army recruiting poster with the bold words, “I Want You for the U.S. Army.”  The pose and slogan were actually adapted from a hugely popular British recruiting poster featuring the image of Lord Kitchener. The poster was re-issued during World War II and versions of it can still be found in most recruiting stations.  The iconic image has been parodied many times.

Uncle Sam has been appropriated by both political parties and by the Left and the Right, but as a nationalist symbol he has often been adopted by racists, xenophobes, and anti-immigration zealots. 
Sam worked his way into popular culture in many ways.  As accurately portrayed in the classic MGM musical bio Yankee Doodle Dandy, George M. Cohan’s father portrayed Uncle Sam in the Four Cohan’s vaudeville act and George employed him in his patriotic musical extravaganzas.  The Uncle Sam stilt walkers became a staple of circuses and Fourth of July parades.  He has been employed in countless animated cartoons and is regularly exploited in advertising. 
In the 1960’s and’70’s Lar “America First” Daly was a perennial candidate for Mayor of Chicago, Governor of Illinois, and President of the United States always campaigning in an Uncle Sam hat and suit.  Uncle Sam hats were a regular motif at Tea Party events and Republican campaign rallies.  But don’t blame Sam, it’s not his fault.

Poets in Resistance II Postponed Due to Coronavirus

12 March 2020 at 20:39

The Poets in Resistance II program scheduled for Friday night, March 13 at the Tree of Life Unitarian Universalist Congregationin McHenry has been postponed due to a recommendation by the McHenry County Department of Health that all gatherings of 50 persons or more be suspended due to Coronavirus concerns.

“We look forward to rescheduling this event after the health emergency has passed” said Patrick Murfin Tree of Life Social Justice Team Chair and organizer of the program.

Movie Maker With an Eye Patch and Attitude—Director Raoul Walsh

11 March 2020 at 13:15
Raoul Walsh behind the camera as young director.
Raoul Walsh, the director in an eye patch long before John Ford or Nicholas Ray, had a long career in films spanning the pioneering years of D. W. Griffith in the silents to wide screen Technicolor epics of the mid-‘60’s.  He specialized in action pictures—gritty crime dramas, westerns, war movies.  Meaty parts for women—with a few notable exceptions—were rare and his friend Jack Pickford (elder brother of Mary) told him that “Your idea of light comedy is to burn down a whorehouse.”  In the process he made some of the most memorable films in Hollywood historynever to win Oscars.
Walsh was born on March 11, 1887 in New York City to a comfortably middle class lace curtain Irish family with connections to show business.  Young John Barrymore was a childhood friend.  He got a good education in public high schools and at Seton Hall College before dropping out to join his brother George on the stage in 1909.
As second unit director of The Life of General Villa shot on location in Mexico with Pancho Villa and his Army of Northern Mexico, Walsh filmed actual battle scenes.
Darkly handsome, he found work on the stage, but was quickly drawn to the infant motion picture industry.  In 1914 he signed on to be second unit director on The Life of General Villa, shot on location in revolutionary Mexico with Pancho Villa himself in the lead.  The film contained actual battle scenes as well as realistic re-constructions.  On Villa’s orders Walsh was even ordered to film the firing squad executions of prisoners—footage that was edited out of the finished film.  Walsh also got time in front of the camera playing Villa as a young man.  The film was a sensation, but prints have been lost although unedited footage of some of the battle scenes have been preserved.  The entire episode itself inspired a movie in 2003, And Starring Pancho Villa as Himself  with Kyle Chandler playing the young Walsh.
On his return from Mexico Walsh was hired as an assistant to Griffith and quickly put to work on his Birth of a Nation.  Besides behind the camera duties, he appeared in the film as Lincoln assassin John Wilkes Booth.  It would be his last acting job for more than a decade as he developed as a film maker.  Griffith became a mentor, role model, and father figure to Walsh.

Walsh as John Wilkes Booth in The Birth of a Nation.
In addition to his continuing work with Griffith, in 1915 Walsh made 15 films, most of theme one or two real shorts.  But he also made his first feature film as a director and screenwriter.  Regeneration staring Anna Q. Nilsson as a social worker out to reform a young gang leader was shot on location in the Bowery and Hell’s Kitchen featuring a cast made up largely of actual street toughs and prostitutes.  It is famous for its street scenes and is considered by many the first gangster movie.  

Walsh's first wife, actress Miriam Cooper.
In 1916 Walsh married Miriam Cooper, a rising star and one of Griffith’s favorites.  She often gave Walsh advice on his career and sometimes acted as an intermediary with producers.  Their marriage was interrupted while Walsh served as an Army officer in World War I.  When he returned he pressed her to continue her acting career and to work in his films including Evangeline in 1919 despite her desire to retire to family life.  Together they adopted a boy who had been orphaned in the 1917 Halifax dock explosion.   Walsh never showed much interest in the boy or another son adopted later and the marriage was troubled by his philandering, gambling,  and by his bouts of heavy drinking.  The couple quarled, separated, and reunited multiple times before Cooper filed for divorce in 1926 because Walsh had a suspected affair with Ethel Barrymore and a confirmed one with her close friend Lorraine Miller.  In 1928 he married Miller and the stayed together until 1947.  Walsh’s final wife was Mary Simpson with whom he was conducting an affair.  They married immediately following the divorce and she remained his spouse until his death.  All the marriages were tempestuous.
In the post-war years and well into the 1920s Walsh was a busy director making sometimes a dozen films a year.  Many have been lost.  Most were programmers but by the mid ‘20’s he was getting some plum A list assignments notably The Thief of Baghdad with Douglas Fairbanks in 1924 and Sadie Tomkins, a version of  W. Somerset Maugham’s Rain with Gloria Swanson in 1928.  In that film Walsh returned to acting for the first time since Birth of a Nation as the young soldier who falls in love with the prostitute and offers her one last, tantalizing chance at redemption.
Later the same year Fox tagged him to direct In Old Arizona based on a storyby O. Henry in which he was also supposed to play the Cisco Kid.  In one of the strangest accidents in film history, while on location in Arizona a frightened jackrabbit jumped up and smashed through the window of the roadster Walsh was driving.  Glass shards cost him the use of his right eye.  He wore an eye patch ever after and never acted again.  He continued as director of the film with Warner Baxter replacing him in the lead.  Baxter won an Academy Award for his efforts.
It was one of Walsh’s remarkably few brushes with Academy glory despite having been one of 36 founding membersof the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences in 1927.

The Big Trail in 1930 for Fox was an expensive epic that could not recoup its massive costs.  The failure was a set back for director Walsh and his star discovery, a very young ex-USC football player he renamed John Wayne.
In 1930 Fox handed Walsh his biggest assignment yet—an epic western with a literal cast of thousands about an early wagon train on the Oregon Trail.  The Big Trail was shot simultaneously in a new, experimental 70 mm wide screen process and standard 35mm plus versions in French, Spanish, and German with alternative casts.  When Paramount pictures would not release Gary Cooper to play the lead of the young guide, Walsh picked a USC football player named Marion Morrison who he spotted unloading prop trucks on the lot to star.  Fox objected to Morrison’s name and Walsh, who happened to be reading a biography of Revolutionary War hero Mad Anthony Wayne, came up with a new moniker—John Wayne.  Despite stunning action sequences, the movie cost a fortune to make, and could not re-coup its cost in Depression era theaters.  Despite his photogenic good looks, Wayne’s wooden acting didn’t help either.  The careers of both the star and director were set back.  Wayne had to toil for years in cheap poverty row two-reelers before John Ford would make him a real star in 1939’s Stagecoach.
1933’s The Bowery lovingly recreated the title neighborhood in the 1890’s and told the highly fictionalized tale of Steve Brodie, they guy who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge.  The film starred George Raft as Brodie, Wallace Beery, and Fay Wray.
Walsh made a few films at MGM and then was under contract to Paramount.  Both studios misused him on B list pictures including musicals and comedies for which he was manifestly unsuited.  He considered the nadir of his career an assignment to direct Klondike Annie, a late, post Production Code Mae West vehicle.  Mae notoriously was used to essentially directing herself and calling all of the shots on her films.  The two of them clashed on the set and Mae, with studio backing, usually won unless it was a censorship issue.  The film was a flop.
When his Paramount contract expired, Walsh gleefully jumped to Warner Bros.—a studio perfectly tailored to his talents as a film maker.  Beginning in 1939 working consistently with the studio’s three biggest male starsJames Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, and Errol Flynn he made a slew of classic films that would cement his reputation as one of the greatest Hollywood directors of all time. 
His association with Warner started off with a bang, literally, in 1939.  The Roaring Twenties with Cagney and Bogart as a rising bootlegger and his brutal right hand man is on everyone’s short list of essential gangster films.
Walsh was then lent out to Republic for one of their few “A” pictures where he was re-united with John Wayne for Dark Command.  Wayne uncovered the evil plot of school teacher William Cantrell played by Walter Pidgeon to turn Kansas bloody.  Costarring Claire Trevor and a young Roy Rogers, the film was thrilling romp and box office smash.
Back at Warner, Walsh helmed the truck driving melodrama They Drive By Night with Raft and Bogie, in his last film as a supporting player, as two brothers.  Good girl Ann Sheridan and scheming temptress Ida Lupino rounded out the solid cast.
The next year, 1940, Walsh was re-teamed with Bogart and Lupino.  Now Bogart, after making the Maltese Falcon with John Huston, was a name-above the title star.  But in High Sierra he played a tired, aging gangster on the run who met and won the affection of an innocent small town girl.  The taught final thirty minutes of the film as Bogart was trappedand tracked into the title mountains and the distraught Lupino watched in horror as he was brought down, in one of the greatest extended sequences in film.

Walsh listening to a screen writer with Rita Hayworth and Olivia de Havilland on the set of The Strawberry Blonde.

In his next film, he finally put Jack Pickford’s old jibe to rest.  The Strawberry Blonde was a sweet, gentle, nostalgic comedy starring Cagney against type as the naïve cat’s paw of a conniving buddy.  Cagney enjoyed himself immensely, as he did when he was able to convince Warner to let him stray from typecasting, and it showed.  Jack Carter played the pal who was a rival for the neighborhood hottie, Rita Hayworth as the title redhead who used and betrays Cagney.  Olivia de Havilland was the sweet girl who was right for Cagney all along.  Hayworth was at her best, and a refutation of the idea that Walsh could not get great performances out of women.
Next came a string of movies with Warner’s biggest male star, the swashbucklingErrol Flynn usually with de Havilland as his love interest.  Flynn so admired Walsh’s work that he became his virtual personal director in film classics including the fanciful Custer bio-pic They Died With their Boots On; Dangerous Journey, the first of several World War II flicks; Gentleman Jim, a bio-pic of boxer Gentleman Jim Corbett that returned Walsh to one of his favorite periods, the Gay 90’s and was an Irish-American hymn with Ward Bond as John L. Sullivan; and Objective: Burma  the last of five war themed films he made with Flynn.

Pal James Cagney visiting Errol Flynn and Walsh on the set of They Died With Their Boots On.
Flynn and Walsh became fast friends and with mutual friend the aging John Barrymore often caroused late into the night and on all-weekend benders.   Hollywood legend has it that when Barrymore died in 1942 Walsh stolethe corpse from the funeral home and propped it up with a drink in his hand in Flynn’s home.  Already drinking heavily after the wake, Flynn returned home and was horrified and shaken.  Later both retold the story, although some doubt if it actually happened.
The two had a falling out after the last of the war films and Walsh was relegated to a string of undistinguished films, mostly westerns, with second tier casts, but also including an astoundingly awful fantasy comedyThe Horn Blows at Midnight with Jack Benny and even a musical re-makeof The Strawberry Blonde, One Sunday Afternoon, with a lack-luster Dennis Morgan subbing for Cagney.  Pictures like that were evidence that Walsh was being punished.
In 1949 Walsh got the call to do Cagney’s long awaited return to the gangster film as the psychopathic momma’s boy in White Heat.  He showed he had lost nothing.  The movie is a terrifying classic best remembered for the climax on top of a blazing oil refinery.

James Cagney in the terrifying climax of Walsh's White Heat a top a burning oil refinery.
Walsh would finish his years at Warner with two more outstanding films, Captain Horatio Hornblower with Gregory Peck—a film that would open the door to more sea yarns—and a fine, taught western, Along the Great Divide with Kirk Douglas.
After his contract with Warner’s lapsed, Walsh became a free agentand worked at all of the major studios.  And he was in demand.  The early ‘50’s saw him directing more sea yarns—Blackbeard the Pirate with Robert Newton, The World in His Armsagain with Peck, and Sea Devils with Rock Hudson. 
Cagney tapped Walsh for A Lion Is in the Streets from his own production company and distribution by Warner.  Cagney played a scrappy Louisiana peddler who rises in the world as a populist politician in a film loosely based on Huey Long and often compared to Broderick Crawford’s Oscar winning turn In All the King’s Men. Less well remembered than the other film, it stands on its own as a gripping morality playabout a man un-done by his own ambition.

Walsh on the set of A Band of Angels with Yvonne De Carlo and Clark Gable.
Then came a strong trio of films with Clark Gable.  In one of his best westerns, Gable was paired with Robert Ryan for The Tall Men also starring Jane Russell.  The King and Four Queens was a comedy western with Gable juggling the widows of four outlaws and the outlaw queen mother of the dead boys to discover a fortune in hidden gold with Eleanor Parker as the eventual object of Gable’s affection.  But A Band of Angels—a bitter and controversial portrait of a Louisianaslave trader turned plantation owner, the woman passing for white who he loved—Yvonne De Carlo—and Sydney Poitier as the boy orphaned in a slaving raid who Gabled raised as a virtual son and went on to hunt him down as a Union soldier was the masterpiece of the trio.
Sandwiching the Gable films were two movies based on important novelsabout World War II.  1955’s Battle Cry was based on Leon Uris’s novel of young Marines and the women who loved them set against the war in the Pacific.  Starring Aldo Rey, Van Heflin, James Whitmore, Tab Hunter, Anne Francis, Dorothy Malone, Raymond Massey, and Mona Freeman the film had epic sweep and outstanding on location cinematography.  It was also a big hit and one of the most admired films of that year. 

Walsh brought Leon Uris's novel Battle Ground to the big screen with Aldo Rey. Tab Hunter, and James Whitmore was a big hit.  His follow-up, Norman Mailer's The Naked and the Dead was not.
The second film, The Naked and the Dead, based on Norman Mailer’s much darker novel, did not fare so well.  After the box office failure of the quirky Night of the Hunter directed by Charles Lawton and starring Robert Mitcham failing RKO Studios, pulled them from the project.  Mailer personally sought out and recruited Walsh to take over.  In his memoirs Mailer claimed that Walsh was “on his death bed but rallied to make the film.  Not quite, now 70 years old Walsh was frail and not in good health but still an active filmmaker.  The cast included Aldo Rey and Massey from Battle Cry, this time as a crusty, mission driven Sergeant and a vainglorious martinet General respectively.  Cliff Robinson was cast as the idealistic young officer used and abused by both as his men were sacrificed.  Despite high expectations, the film was a failure and marked the beginning of the end of Walsh’s career behind the camera.  
He had to go to England for The Sheriff of Fractured Jaw a comedy Western starring Kenneth Moore and Jayne Mansfield and largely filmed in Spain to find work.  1960’s A Private Affair was a low rent service comedy with then teen heart throbs Sal Mineo and Gary Crosby going through the motions.  The same year he went to Italy and co-directed a minor sand and sandal Biblical epic, Esther and the King with Mario Brava.  Sultry Joan Collins played the Jewish heroine and Richard Egan led with his cleft chin as the King.  In a year of really big epics, it did not make much splash in the US, although it performed well in Europe, which was probably the intended audience anyway.
1961 brought another service comedy, Marines, Let’s Go with then relatively unknowns Tom Tryon and David Hedison in the leads.  This time Walsh also got screenwriting credit.  It sank without leaving a ripple.

Walsh could cut a dapper figure.
It took three years to get behind the cameras for what turned out to be his swan song.  A Distant Trumpet was just the kind of cavalry western that had been Walsh’s forte.  But this time instead of Errol Flynn, the young officer sent on a dangerous mission into Mexico, was Troy Donahue.  Despite trademark action scenes and location cinematography, no film could recover from that.
Walsh hung up his spurs, or at least he director’s megaphone.  He spent his final years in retirement in declining health, but was often visited in his Simi Valley home by old friends from the business who affectionately called him Uncle.  Peter Bogdonovich interviewed him for his book Who Made It: Conversations Withthe great directors of Hollywood’s golden age.  Film of those interviews can be seen in documentary footageshown on Turner Classic Movies (TCM) which frequently showcases many of his films.
When he died on December 31, 1980 at the age of 93 Walsh was remembered for a long and legendary body of work.

Speaking Truth to Power—Voices in Resistance II

10 March 2020 at 12:25

The Social Justice Team of Tree of Life Unitarian Universalist Congregation, 5603 Bull Valley Road in McHenry, presents Poets in Resistance II, a public reading and rally on Friday, March 13 from 7 to 10 pm.
The first Poets in Resistance program was held in March of 2017 and was one of the most successful public events that Tree of Life has hosted.  The program also harkens back to a Poets Against the War reading, part of a global movement of poets, to protest the invasion of Iraq by the Bush administration at the old Congregational Unitarian Church in Woodstock
It has been the historic mission of poets to be the prophets, Cassandras, and voices for the voiceless often in defiance of authority and at great personal risk. Now perilous times, climate disaster, war, oppression, and existential threat to democracy demand that those voices be heard again.
Memes reflect the call of poetry in these times.
And people around the world have been listening and inspired.  A 2019 article in The Guardian noted that “Poetry sales soar as political millennials search for clarity…driven by younger readers, with a hunger for nuanceamid conflict and disaster.”   Although the article was specifically referencing the United Kingdom, the same phenomena can easily be observed in the United States as poetry has burst out of academia and elite literary circles to be reclaimed by the people.  Alternative venues like poetry slams, hip-hop shows, and street rallies and demonstrations and media including web sites, blogs, social media, and simple and inexpensive e-publishing have contributed to the boomlet.  
Here in McHenry County regular events and reading by the Atrocious Poets, at Stage Left in Woodstock, the Hidden Pearl in McHenry, at McHenry County College, and formerly at the Raue Center for Performing Arts in Crystal Lake, have developed both local poets and nurtured an audience for verse that was unimaginablea few years ago.
Poets around the world have been responding to these challenges and have been jailed, beaten, and even assassinated or executed for speaking outin places like Israel and occupied Palestine, China, Russia and other former USSR nations, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, an in parts of Africa and Latin America.  They are the insuppressible voices of refugeeand immigrants, the generations who will inherit climate catastrophe, indigenous women others facing abuse and exploitation.
In America, aside from sometime vicious and threatening on-line bullying, heckling, and occasional stabs at censorship by schools and attempts to coercelibraries by right wing politicians and their minions, poets still enjoy relatively safe and open speech.  But the rise in authoritarianism at the highest level of the Federal Governmentand an emboldened fascist and White nationalist and supremacist movement means this window of free expression might soon be closing.  The best way to combat that threat is by doubling down and amplifying our prophetic voices.
Poets in Resistance II hopes to feature poetic voices of all ages, gender identifications, races, ethnicities, and spiritualties and of poetic styles including poetry slam, hip-hop, performance art, observational, personal reflection, traditional, rhymed, unrhymed, and quirky.

Philip Charles Denofrio, raconteur, sonnet maven and host of poetry nights at the Hidden Pearl in McHenry is one of the featured poets.
Among the poets slated to perform are Tricia Alexander, Jan Bosman, Joe Cavillo, Egan Click

Philip Charles Denofrio, Terry Loncaric, and Sue Rekenthaler.  The program will be hosted by Patrick MurfinAdditional slots are still available and interested poets should contact Murfin at pmurfin@sbcglobal.net or at 815 814-5645.  

Patrick Murfin, author of We Build Temple in the Heart and Tree of Life Social Justice Team Chair will host the evening.

The event will be free and open to the public but those in attendance are urged to “vote” by making voluntary donations of $10 or more to any or four organizations representing grass roots resistanceExtinction Rebellion U.S., the youth-led climate activists inspired by Greta Thunberg; March for Our Lives, the student-led anti-gun violence organization first organized by survivors of the Parkland High School shooting; No More Deaths which provides humanitarian aid to border crossers and whose members and supporters have been prosecuted for their life-saving work; and Black Lives Matter Chicago, an intersectional movement that values Black people and the right to self-determination fighting for justice for families impacted by police violence and other oppression

Extinction Rebellion, the youth-led movement inspired by Gretta Thungburg, is one of four grassroots resistance groups which people can vote to support with suggested donations of $10 or more.
Light refreshments and snackswill be served as well as adult beverages available for the legally mature at no charge or for donation.
For more information visit the Tree of Life web page, the Facebook Event, call the Tree of Life office at 815 322-2464, or email Patrick Murfin at pmurfin@sbcglobal.net.

Land Reform American Style—Screwing the Speculators

9 March 2020 at 11:37
This map shows Land Districts and Offices in charge of selling Western land--a primary income source for the Federal government which helped keep taxes and tariffs low.  Some land agents, however, were corrupt and scandals common.  Individual speculators  and organized stock companies borrowed money to buy vast tracts of land in the hopes of selling at inflated prices to settlers.  But most settlers could not afford the asking prices, the speculators and companies often could not pay their loans.  The result was financial failure and instability on one hand and a huge pent-up demand for cheaper land by.  The Land Act of 1820 was meant to address both problems.
The Land Act of 1820 is a nearly forgotten piece of legislation passed by Congress which opened the Old Northwest Territory and Missouri to an avalanche of new settlement.  It was a byproductof the Missouri Compromise. 
Population growth in the west had been stymied by the almost constant bloody Indian warfare in the region from the end of the Revolution through the War of 1812 and by the high land pricesand large minimum parcels required by the Land Ordinance of 1785. 
When a financial panic swept the nation in 1819 it became impossible for most would-be settlers to borrow the money needed to legally buy the land.  To escape high land prices mostly Scotch-Irish pioneers often pushed out ahead of land surveyors and squatted on land.  When the governmentcaught up with them they argued that their improvementson the land should be subtractedfrom the cost.  They were often displaced and pushed further west.  


A deed to land in Indiana sold to James Benton McMurry in 1831 under the terms of the Land Act of 1820.  Note the document is attested to and initialed by President Andrew Jackson (or by a designee in the Executive Mansion under his authority) which was required by law for all sale of Federal land.  An example of the administrative minutia early Presidents were saddled with.
To make settlement more affordable and thus to reduce squatting, the new act reduced the minimum tract from 160 to 80 acres, a manageable family farm in the generally rich soil of the west. 
Buying land exclusively on credit—as was common among land speculators—was eliminated.  The price was reduced from $1.65 (set in 1804) to $1.25 per acre with a relatively affordable $100 down payment.  The very poorest, who probably could not even afford the necessary tools and equipment necessary to bring the land into production, were eliminated, but the cost was low enough to be manageable by many. 
Although speculators could still form land companies and buy large blocks of tracts, the recurring financial panics over the next few years drove many to bankruptcy while owner-operated farms could endure hard times on a subsistence basis. 

New Salem in Illinois was first settled in 1828 and was typical of the communities that sprang up across the west with liberalized land sale policies.  Even there not everyone could afford land.  Newcomer Abraham Lincoln from Indiana had to hire out as a wood cutter, river boatman, and store clerk .

In the end most of the farm land in the region sold at, or not much above the Federal price.  The success of the policy was astounding.  Illinois, for instance, had a population of about 55,000 in 1820.  Over the next 40 years the population doubled every ten years to almost 900,000 in 1860.  
Land sales were vigorous enough that even at the reduced price enough revenuewas generated to operate the nearly skeletal Federal government. In fact they provided enough income that they were largely responsible for the Federal Debt to be completely paid off and retired—if only briefly—during the administration of Andrew Jackson.
Such a rapid explosion for population also had a dramatic effect on government as new Congressional seats were allotted with every new census giving the west considerable regional clout.  By the eve of the Civil War the states covered by the act were no longer on the frontier.  They were well settled, prosperous, and with the advantages of easy access to marketsvia the great river system and the new railroads, had become the bread basket to the nation.

Queen for the Day—Esther on Purim and International Women’s Day with Murfin Verse

8 March 2020 at 14:14
Queen Esther Revealing Her Identity from a stunning series of contemporary mosaics of the Purim story by Lilian Borca. Way back in 2012 Purim, which wanders all over the late winter/spring Gregorian Calendar because it is fixed to the ancient Hebrew calendar, and International Women’s Day fell smack dab on the same day.   If you have been hanging around this joint for long, you know what that meant—calendar coincidence Murfin verse. Today, eight years later they fall together again.   And as a calendar coincidence bonus it is also the first day of Daylight Savings Time—a trifecta!   I did not, however, try to shoehorn that into a revised poem. Since 2012, I have often recycled the poem in Purim posts.   But now laughing defianc...

Fifty Five Years Ago—Bloody Sunday on an Alabama Bridge

7 March 2020 at 12:32
Alabama State Police beat SNCC march leader John Lewis, on ground center, after charging voting rights marchers trying to cross Edmund Pettus Bridge from Selma on the way to the state capitol in Montgomery in 1965.

March 7, 1965 was Bloody Sunday in Selma, Alabama.  On that day massed Alabama State Police attackedpeaceful demonstrators attempting to cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge on a march from Selma to the state capitalat Montgomery to protest suppression of voting rights.

 Members of the Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) had been conducting voter registration drivesin the area since 1963 and had encounteredescalating violence.  After the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964,efforts stepped up.  On July 6 of that year SNCC leader John Lewisattempted to lead a march on the county court house to register voters.  He and other marchers were beaten and arrested.  A few days later a local judge handed down a sweeping injunction against more than two people assembling to even talk about voter registration.

Two SCLC organizers arrived to join the voter registration effort.  Diane Nash like John Lewis was a veteran of the Nashville public accommodation sit-in campaign of 1960.  Her husband, Rev. James Bevel was also a seasoned non-violent activist.  Together they were two of the best the organization had.


SNCC leaders appealed to the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC).  SCLC leaders including the Rev. James Bevel, who had been conducting his own voter registration projects, and his wife, Diane Nash, a SNCC founder who had cut her teeth in the Nashville youth crusade sit-ins with Lewis, came to Selma to join the effort.  But the national organization, busy with other efforts, had not yet committed

Finally, on January 2 Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. came to Selma bringing with him the national spotlight and officially launcheda new Selma Voting Rights Movement.  Marches on court houses resumed there and in surrounding counties. 

They body of Jimmie Lee Jackson, first martyr of the Selma campaign.  After leading a night march to the Perry County Court House in Marion, Jackson was shot trying to protect his mother and grandfather from a beating by police who charged into a cafe where they had taken refuge.  His death galvanized the campaign locally, but attracted little national press attention.

On February 18 a young man, a Baptist elder who had tried four times to register, Jimmie Lee Johnson was shot trying to defend his mother and grandfather from police clubs after a night march on the Perry County court house in Marion.  When Johnson died of his wounds days later, Bevel called for a protest march on the state capital from Selma on March 7.   

On the day of the march John Lewis, the Rev. Hosea Williams of the SCLC, and local leaders like Amelia Boynton led about 600 marchers.  When they attempted to cross the bridge, they were met bymassed troopers and ordered to disperse.  Lewis attempted to speak to the commanding officer but was shoved to the ground and beaten.  Police charged the crowd with clubs and gas.  Mounted officers attacked from the flanks.  Scenes of horrific violence were captured on film and soon broadcast on television helping to swing public sympathy to the marchers.  

King responded with a call torally in Selma for a second march.  Hundreds from around the country, including many clergy, responded to the call.  Lawyers appealed to Federal Judge Frank Minis Johnson, who was suspected to be sympathetic, to lift the local ban on marches.  The judge took the issue under advisement but issued a temporary restraining order against resuming the march until he could make hisruling.  

With thousands gathered, King felt he had to move but did not want to alienate the judge.  On March 9 he led about 7,000 to the bridge but then knelt in prayerand turned the crowd back, a move that was harshly criticized by SNCC leaders.  


Rev. James Reeb, a young Unitarian Universalist minister was with two other when he was beaten to death by Klansmen in Selma on the eve of a second march.  The death of a white minister did grab attention and President Lyndon Baines Johnson used it to advance the Voting Right Act of 1965.

That evening three Unitarian Universalist ministers, James Reeb, Clark Olsen, and Orloff Miller who had responded to King’s call were attacked and beaten outside a Selma cafe known to be a hangout for Klansmen.  Reeb died of his wounds on March 11 in Birmingham after the Selmahospital refused to treat him.  

On hearing of Reeb’s death the Board of the Unitarian Universalist Association meeting in Boston voted to adjournand re-convene in Selma.  UUA President Dana McLean Greeley and eventually half of the active ministers in the Association headed south.

The death of a white minister galvanized public opinion in a way that Jimmie Johnson’s had not.  A shaken President Lyndon Johnson submitted a Voting Rights Act to Congress on March 15 after failing to get Governor George Wallace to back off from attacks on demonstrators.  

A week after Reeb’s death Judge Johnson finally issued the long-anticipated rulingupholding the First Amendment rightsto assemble and protest.  

John Lewis, Rosa Parks, Ralph Abernathy, Juanita Abernathy, Ralph Bunche, Martin Luther and Coretta Scott King, Frederick Reese and Hosea Williams lead the March through Montgomery to the Capitol.

On March 21 the final and successful marchon Montgomery set off with King, Lewis, Bevel, Williams leading the way with a bevy of national clergy. They were protectedby 2,000 Federal troops and U. S. Marshalls on the four-day march through hostile territory to the capital.  

After a triumphant rally on the capitol steps, Viola Liuzzo, a young Detroit mother and U.U. laywoman was driving a black marcher back to Selma, when she was shot by Ku Klux Klan members.  A federal informant was in the Klansmen’s car.  

Tennessee born Viola Liuzzo, a white U.U. laywoman and mother from Detroit marched from Selma to Montgomery often barefoot as in this photo.  She was murdered driving a Black Marcher back to Selma after the final rally at the State Capital.  She was the third of the Martyrs of Selma who also included Episcopal seminarian Jonathan Myrick Daniels who was shotgunned to death on August 30 after spending a week in jail for a Lowndes County, demonstration, a part of the greater Selma campaign.

The Voting Rights Act passed Congress and was signed into law by the President on August 6.  Within year 7000 new Black voters were enrolled in Selma’s Dallas County.  

In 1966 Sheriff Jim Clark, who was responsiblefor much of the early violence in Selma, lost his bid for re-election.  John Lewis would go on to be elected to Congress.  The Edmund Pettus Bridge is now marked as part of the Selma to Montgomery Voting Rights Trail, a National Historic Trail. 

The 50th Anniversary march included President Barack Obama and his family, Congressman John Lewis and other veterans of the original march and former President George W. Bush and his wife Laura.  Always outspoken, Diane Lewis boycotted the reunion march to protest Bush's inclusion. 

In the 50th Anniversary year of 2015, tens of thousands joined Congressman Lewis and other veterans of the original marches along with President Barack Obama, his family, and former President George W. Bush and his wife Laura in a symbolic and triumphant march across the Bridge.


The same year the film Selma directed by Ana DuVernayand starring David Oyelowo, Carmen Ejogo, Tom Wilkinson, and Oprah Winfrey opened to high praise, great reviews, and a slew of awards and nominations.

Now, five years latter race relations fester in the wake of a resurgence of White nationalism and the Ku Klux Klan and similar hate groups and Republicans in states North and South alike, Congress, and in Donald Trump’s White House and Justice Department launch wave after wave of voter suppression initiatives, the legacy of Selma has never been more meaningful.

Congressman John Lewis, a leader in the Selma voting rights campaign, led a commemorative march at the Edmund Pettus Bridge despite battling stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

This year Congressman Lewis, who is battling pancreatic cancer was joined four Democratic presidential candidates—Senators Elizabeth Warren and Amy Klobuchar, former South Bend Mayor Pete Buttigieg, former New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg. at the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma Sunday.  Earlier members of a Selma congregation turned their backs on Bloomberg as he spoke at the church in protest to his stop and frisk racial profiling policies as Mayor.  Former Vice President Joe Biden who enjoys overwhelming support by Southern Black voters was given a pass for his absence but some thought the no-show by Senator Bernie Sanders was a slap and an indication of his disconnectionwith the Black community despite Sanders’ long history of Civil Rights activism dating back to his days as a member of the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) and arrests in Chicago in the ‘60’s.
In his comments Congressman Lewis said:

Fifty-five years ago, a few of our children attempted to march ... across this bridge. We were beaten, we were tear-gassed. I thought I was going to die on this bridge. But somehow and some way, God almighty helped me here…We must go out and vote like we never, ever voted before…
I’m not going to give up. I’m not going to give in. We’re going to continue to fight. We need your prayers now more than ever before.  We must use the vote as a nonviolent instrument or tool to redeem the soul of America…
To each and every one of you, especially you young people ... go out there, speak up, speak out. Get in the way. Get in good trouble. Necessary trouble, and help redeem the soul of America.

Super Tuesday Hangover—Patrick Punditry

6 March 2020 at 13:51
The caucus and primary results map after Super Tuesday--Biden 10 states, Sanders 6 + split with Buttigieg in Iowa,  Bloomberg U.S, Virgin Island (not shown.  Biden surged ahead in delegate count.

Note—I started this post the morning after Super Tuesday.  It was painful.  And with the subsequent rapid events, I had to scrap, edit, and do-over sections multiple times.  Even as I type this and prepare to post, something else may have made the whole exercise obsolete.  But for what it’s worth, here is my take.
This is not the post I had intended to write.  The plan was to do the Heretic, Rebel, a Thing to Flout endorsements in the March 17 Illinois Primaryin the aftermath of Super Tuesday voting.  But the results Tuesday night, which the TV talking heads kept calling stunning or “couldn’t be foreseen”, upset that apple cart.  The reanimation of Joe Biden’s corpse after a big win in South Carolina and drinking the fresh blood of Pete Buttigieg, Amy Klobuchar, and the long-time-in-the-refrigerator plasma of Beto O’Rourke was a painful gut punch to progressive Democrats especially Elizabeth Warren fans—my personal favorite—and a stake-in-the-heart to Republican re-tread Michael Bloomberg.   
Recapping what you have probably already heard:

All during the primary season Biden tied himself to Barack Obama at every turn.  Obama never officially endorsed him but behind the scenes orchestrated a "stop Sanders" campaign.

·       Biden swept the South by comfortable margins on the strength of the continuing affection for him among African-Americanvoters.  He took Massachusetts despite running behind the combined progressive vote of Sanders and Warren with Maine a near toss-up and scored wins in Minnesota, Oklahoma, and perhaps somewhat surprising in Texas.  He did well among older white voters except for a sliver of unrepentant ‘60’s radicals who turn out to vote in greater percentages than other demographics.  

Americans seemed to love Bernie Sanders programs but many primary voters were swayed by fears that a self-proclaimed democratic socialist could not win in November.

·      Sanders underperformed expectation and nowhere seemed to build on the enthusiastic base of his 2016 run.  He won only his home state of Vermont by a narrower than expected margin plus Colorado and Utah with continuing strong support among younger voters and Latinos in the West.  He is still the heavy favorite in the big prize, California but complete results from that state won’t be reported for days and his margin looks likely to be narrower than expected.  In a mild surprise, he came in second to Biden in Texas where he led in early returns but where voter suppression manipulations of polling place may have skewed the results.  In most states in play, Sanders did not crack 30% of the total vote despite consistent national polling that showed him as easily beatingTrump in November.  And despite a spate of important endorsements by key Black leaders he did not pick up any increased support from Black voters.  Except for Millennials and younger voters, he did not do well among women, many of whom have bitter memories of his 2016 campaign against Hillary Clinton and the Bernie-or-Busters who sat out the election in November.  He continues to be the strong favorite among younger voters, but their turn-out did not quite match 2016.

Voters were turned off by Michael Bloomberg trying to buy the Presidency and rejected him by a humiliating margin.
·     The big loser Tuesday night was Bloomberg.  It was a ray of hope on an otherwise dismal night that despite spending hundreds of millions of his own money and torturingus all with unremitting TV advertising for months, flooding social media with ad buys, aggressive direct mail, and hiring staffers by the carload all he had to show for it was a win in American Samoa.  Americans were flat out not buying what he was selling and resented another Billionaire trying to buy the election and they recognized a Democrat by convenience only as an unwelcome interloper.  He counted on Biden’s collapse to become the savior of panicked anti-Sanders establishment Democrats.  He missed the necessary 15% mark to earn delegates in Texas and will probably do the same in California.  Despite defiant talk early Tuesday, after the results began coming in Bloomberg slunk back to New York to “consider his options.”  Wednesday he announced he was suspending his campaign and endorsing Biden.  He even promised to keep his huge field staff on his payroll until November to work with Biden, which would be a big boost.  In retrospect it may be that Warren’s greatest service was knee capping Bloomberg in his first debate effectively exposing him as the weak candidate he really was.

Warren's greatest contribution in the campaign was the knock out blow she delivered to Bloomberg in the first debate he participated in.  
·   Warren failed to even win her home state of Massachusetts, coming in third there despite her general popularity there as a Senator.  A strong favorite of many women and progressives leery of the second-comingof Sanders because of her well-articulatedand detailed plans on all major issues except perhaps for some voters in Minnesota Warren failed to pick up much support from female drop-outs Kamala Harris and Klobuchar and although she picked up late support from Emily’s List, the feminist super-pac she has not marshalled the support that Clinton commanded last time out.  In Michigan Tuesday night she vowed to stay in it to the Convention in the hopes that she could pick up support in up-coming votes in Mid-West Rust Bucket states and New York.  But she would have to battle Sanders’ appeal to Obama-turned-Trump voters and the mathematics of Biden becoming and “inevitable” choice.  He hopes to survive to become a second or third ballot alternative to beat Biden at the convention rapidly evaporated. There was natural pressure on her to drop out and join with Sanders in a unified progressive front but personal relations between the two former Senate colleagues and progressive allies have become strained to the breaking point.  On Thursday Warren bowed to the inevitable in a gracious and moving statement in Massachusetts.
For every American who desperately wants to see our nation healed and some decency and honor restored to our government, this fight goes on. And sure, the fight may take a new form, but I will be in that fight, and I want you in this fight with me. We will persist… Gender in this race, you know, that is the trap question for every woman. If you say, “Yeah, there was sexism in this race,” everyone says, “Whiner!” And if you say, “No, there was no sexism,” about a bazillion women think, “What planet do you live on?” I promise you this: I’ll have a lot more to say on that subject later on. 
Warren grieved for the little girls who she inspired and would be disapointed.
Warren demurred from making any quick endorsement.  Ultimately, of course, she will.  In the meantime both of the Old White Men will court her and probably offer a Vice Presidential nod.  But Warren, who cares deeply for her avid supporters, will undoubtedly want to see what they think.  Judging from comments I have seen that could break either way.
·   In the end, Biden was the beneficiary of what Chris Mathews used to call “Big Mo”—momentum.  Not only did he gather most of the votes of the late drop-outs, he got the lion’s share of late deciders.  Many of these were Democrats who always said that they would support anyone who could beat Trump even if he/she did not agree with them on all issues.  Even a majority of Democrats who agreed with Sanders and Warren on issues like Medicare for All, the Green New Deal, student loan forgiveness, and income inequality feared that Bernie’s socialist brand would frighten voters away in November.  It might not be fair and you can blame the media or a cabal of party elites but the perception was undeniable.  I have known Sanders and Warren supporter who came to that conclusion in the last days and bit their tongues and voted for Biden.  Ideological purists will complain that this was the worst sort of lesser evilism but I think it was something else—it was a defensive throw-on-brakes-the-runaway-train-before-it-hits-the-washed-out-trestlefor a last shot to beat Trump and avert out-and-out fascism.  At stake are critical Supreme Court appointments and rolling back the most dangerous of Trump’s many executive fiats with the support of a Democratic House majority and maybe even control of the Senate.  Not such an irrational thought even if Biden will not move forward with the most ambitious progressive reforms and programs.
All of that you probably have already heard.  But if the contest has finally been narrowed down to a mano a mano brawl between Biden and Sanders, what is the way forward?  It’s not really over yet.  Sanders has a narrow path to the nomination if he does well in the Rust Belt states, Pacific Northwest, and New Yorkespecially with a boost from Warren and/or her supporters.  He could still arrive at the convention with the most elected delegates or at least close behind Biden.  But there is not much room for him to pick up additional support from the so-called super delegates who are mostly office holders and party regulars.  And there seems no way for him to scoop up more support after a first ballot.
But things could still change before the Convention.
·    Biden can be Biden—commit some gaffe or series of gaffes that make him look either dodderingor like an idiot. 
·       At his age a health crisis is not out of the question.  Nor is, alas, an assassination attempt.
·      The Coronavirus could become pandemic or an unforeseeable national emergency could alter the election environment overnight.
·   Some of the mud slung by the Trump campaign, Rudy Giuliani, or partisan Senate investigations could stick, at least in the public mind. 
·  Chaos stirred up by Russian election meddling could sow greater division among Democrats, possibly even engendering a full scale party split.
·   Worst case scenario—Trump could become emboldened enough to stage a real anti-democratic (note small d) preemptive coup.
In a tight two-person race much will ride on each candidate’s selection of a running mate and the timing of the anointment.  Unveiling one at Convention is an old-fashion non-starter.  Each needs to make a choice that would broaden their base and reach-out to parts of the party where they are weakest.  But both may have trouble overcoming their own predispositions.
Sanders with a clear ideology will want someone committed to his vision.  Elizabeth Warren would fit that bill perhaps picking up support from women but she is unlikely to settle for second place instead of an influential Senate seat unless she feels that Sanders’ age will make him a one term president.    His ticket would get the greatest boost from a strong Black second.  Kamala Harris probably wouldn’t consider it.  Corey Booker or a senior House Democrat might.  His best bet would probably be former Georgia governor candidate and anti-voter repression activist Stacey Abrams who has already announced her willingnessto run for vice-president on any Democratic ticket.  It would be a wise choice for Sanders, but he is still apt to pick a more obscure white guy with solid social democratic credentials.
In his heart of heart Biden has just one dream running mateMichelle Obama which would tie him more strongly than ever to the Obama/Biden team that he made the centerpiece of his early primary campaigns.  Barack Obama did not endorse Biden or any other candidate in the primaries but each of the final four ran spots with the former president singing their praises.  Privately Obama made no secret of his feelings that Sanders must be stopped and he was widely seen as helping orchestrate the quick withdrawals and Biden endorsements by the other proclaimed moderates.  Rumors swirled that despite long denying any political aspirations for herself Michelle could be available as a fire wall to save Biden.  Now that he might not need a firewall, could Michelle consider the second spot?  It would make her an immediate favorite in 2024 if Biden opts for a single term.  The most admired American womanwould certainly be an attractive pick.  But I am dubious about whether she is really up for it.
Absent Michelle, Elizabeth Warren would be a good pick to unify the party, but the same arguments against her acceptance—minus, perhaps, a personal feud—apply as to her availability to Sanders. 
Biden has his Black base loyally sewn up so he doesn’t need any other Black person except Michelle on the ticket.  He could really use a woman.  Klobuchar does not expand his base.  Perhaps he could consider former Missouri Senator Claire McCaskill who is available without leaving a critical Senate seat, or former Planned Parenthood chief Cecile Richards.  I suspect trolls have circulated speculation that he might even tap Hillary Clinton—a move that would signal a direct attempt to drive Berniecrats out of the party.
On the other hand he could pick a much younger running mate to reassure those who worry about his age—Buttigieg and O’Rourke are the most obvious choices but Representative Juan Castro could drain support for Sanders among the Latino voters he has been courting.
All of this, of course, is just hot stove league bull shitting.
For many of us now the wounds of Warren’s shipwreckon the shoals of misogyny are too raw and painful to play the game.   Eventually, as Facebook friend said, “We will be good soldiers and unite behind the nominee [probably Biden] but we need some time to rage and grieve.”

Mike Pence Sings! A Coronavirus Gospel Shout with Murfin Verse

3 March 2020 at 13:28
Trump hands off hot potato to designated patsy Mike Pence.
Except for a bit of hair-on-fire-gotta-stop-Berniecoverage of the Democratic presidential nomination race the international Coronavirus panic has pushed everything else off the 24 hour news cycle.  Vanished in a trice are yesterday’s concerns—impeachment, Russian election meddling, immigration, general assaults on democracy, rising oligarchy, gun violence rampages, and looming environmental catastrophe.
It all seemed to come as a complete surpriseto the Resident, Donald Trump and as usual his response was incoherent, contradictory, and wrapped in his own fragile ego.  His administration had long ago staked its flag on science denial, abiding suspicion of “elite” experts, and a war on its own government.  The Center for Disease Control (CDC) and National Institute of Health (NIH) were systematically being defunded and the entire international infectious disease response team was sacked.
The Cheeto-in-Charge’s first instinct was simple denial coupled with bland assurances that he had everything under control.  Then he acted as if the main threat was economic trotting out not doctors or public health officials, but Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross to make the rounds of Sunday morning talking head fests.  Eventually he settled on a prescription of goading the Federal Reserve to cut interest rates and Congress to cut taxes.  Of course he did.  As the old adage points out “when you only have a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.”
Then he tried to appear to take the health threat seriously and took to TV to solemnly vow to take action.  But no sooner were those words out of his mouth than he was telling a rally of true believers, that the whole crisis was just another example of fake news and idiot son #1 Don Jr.  floated the idea that the whole thing was another example of Democrats trying to take down his Presidency.
And he handed the whole hot potato off to Vice President Mike Pence who has not had much to do lately except stare adoringlyat the President during certain photo ops.   As newly appointed Coronavirus Czar his first action was not any medical response, but an attempt to control the message by requiring that all statements about the crisis from professionals in any agency had to be cleared by his office.  The first victim of the policy was the most respected infectious disease expertin the government, Dr. Anthony Faucithe Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.
Trump’s choice to tap Pence for the job over, say, his completely missing in action Surgeon General Vice Admiral Jerome Adams or any other doctor naturally raises eyebrows.   The Veep’s credentials on health were deeply suspect.  As Governor of Indiana he presided over a deadly surge in HIV connected deaths when he scrapped effective programs like a safe needle exchange in favor of prayer.  It is unclear if his prayers were ineffective or if the deaths meant they were.  As a Congressional candidate he had flatly said that “Time for a quick reality check. Despite the hysteria from the political class and the media, smoking doesn’t kill.”  And of course there is his long war on women’s reproductive rights including demonstrably false claims about fetal developmentand viability.
All of this is a long-winded expositionto a dream vision I had of Mike Pence singing an old gospel standard.  His version of the song is interspersed with some explanatory commentary.



Mike Pence Sings!
Gimmie That Ol’ Time Infection


Chorus
Gimmie that ol’ time infection,
Gimmie that ol’ time infection,
Gimmie that ol’ time infection,
And it’s good enough for me!

It was good for those ol Hebrews,
It was good for those ol Hebrews,
It was good for those ol Hebrews,
And it’s good enough for me!*              
                                
*But rough on Egypt’s sons.

Repeat Chorus

It was good for rising Burgers,
It was good for rising Burgers,
It was good for rising Burgers,
And its’s good enough for me!*

                                                                        *Black Death credited with rise of cities.

Repeat Chorus

It was good for Pioneers,
It was good for Pioneers,
It was good for Pioneers,
And its’s good enough for me!*

                                                                        *Small pox killed k 90% of Native Americans.

Repeat Chorus

It was good in 1919,
It was good in 1919,
It was good in 1919,
And its’s good enough for me!*

*Killed pesky Commies.

Repeat Chorus

It was good in Darkest Africa,
It was good in Darkest Africa,
It was good in Darkest Africa,
And its’s good enough for me!*

                                                                        *Shit hole African population control

Repeat Chorus

It was good for straight White Christians,
It was good for straight White Christians,
It was good for straight White Christians,
And its’s good enough for me!*  


                                                                        *God’s wrath on faggots and dykes.


Final Chorus
Gimmie that ol’ time infection,
Gimmie that ol’ time infection,
Gimmie that ol’ time infection,
And it’s good enough for me!

—Patrick Murfin


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