No rack can torture me,
My soul’s at liberty
Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one
You cannot prick with saw,
Nor rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind one, and one will flee.
The eagle of his nest
No easier divest
And gain the sky,
Than mayest thou,
Except thyself may be
Thine enemy;
Captivity is consciousness,
So’s liberty.
bY
Emily Dickinson
Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face — dark as the night —
Yet shining like the sun with love’s true light.
I am the dark girl who crossed the red sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave —
Children sold away from me, I’m husband sold, too.
No safety , no love, no respect was I due.
Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth .
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I’m reaching the goal.
Now, through my children, young and free,
I realized the blessing deed to me.
I couldn’t read then. I couldn’t write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with the sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me —
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast — the Negro mother.
I had only hope then , but now through you,
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow —
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my pass a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver’s track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life —
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs —
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the Negro Mother.Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face — dark as the night —
Yet shining like the sun with love’s true light.
I am the dark girl who crossed the red sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave —
Children sold away from me, I’m husband sold, too.
No safety , no love, no respect was I due.
Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth .
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I’m reaching the goal.
Now, through my children, young and free,
I realized the blessing deed to me.
I couldn’t read then. I couldn’t write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with the sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me —
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast — the Negro mother.
I had only hope then , but now through you,
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow —
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my pass a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver’s track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life —
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs —
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the Negro Mother.
bY
Langston Hughes
When a man starts out with nothing,
When a man starts out with his hands
Empty, but clean,
When a man starts to build a world,
He starts first with himself
And the faith that is in his heart-
The strength there,
The will there to build.First in the heart is the dream-
Then the mind starts seeking a way.
His eyes look out on the world,
On the great wooded world,
On the rich soil of the world,
On the rivers of the world.The eyes see there materials for building,
See the difficulties, too, and the obstacles.
The mind seeks a way to overcome these obstacles.
The hand seeks tools to cut the wood,
To till the soil, and harness the power of the waters.
Then the hand seeks other hands to help,
A community of hands to help-
Thus the dream becomes not one man’s dream alone,
But a community dream.
Not my dream alone, but our dream.
Not my world alone,
But your world and my world,
Belonging to all the hands who build.A long time ago, but not too long ago,
Ships came from across the sea
Bringing the Pilgrims and prayer-makers,
Adventurers and booty seekers,
Free men and indentured servants,
Slave men and slave masters, all new-
To a new world, America!With billowing sails the galleons came
Bringing men and dreams, women and dreams.
In little bands together,
Heart reaching out to heart,
Hand reaching out to hand,
They began to build our land.
Some were free hands
Seeking a greater freedom,
Some were indentured hands
Hoping to find their freedom,
Some were slave hands
Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,
But the word was there always:
Freedom.Down into the earth went the plow
In the free hands and the slave hands,
In indentured hands and adventurous hands,
Turning the rich soil went the plow in many hands
That planted and harvested the food that fed
And the cotton that clothed America.
Clang against the trees went the ax into many hands
That hewed and shaped the rooftops of America.
Splash into the rivers and the seas went the boat-hulls
That moved and transported America.
Crack went the whips that drove the horses
Across the plains of America.
Free hands and slave hands,
Indentured hands, adventurous hands,
White hands and black hands
Held the plow handles,
Ax handles, hammer handles,
Launched the boats and whipped the horses
That fed and housed and moved America.
Thus together through labor,
All these hands made America.Labor! Out of labor came villages
And the towns that grew cities.
Labor! Out of labor came the rowboats
And the sailboats and the steamboats,
Came the wagons, and the coaches,
Covered wagons, stage coaches,
Out of labor came the factories,
Came the foundries, came the railroads.
Came the marts and markets, shops and stores,
Came the mighty products moulded, manufactured,
Sold in shops, piled in warehouses,
Shipped the wide world over:
Out of labor-white hands and black hands-
Came the dream, the strength, the will,
And the way to build America.
Now it is Me here, and You there.
Now it’s Manhattan, Chicago,
Seattle, New Orleans,
Boston and El Paso-
Now it’s the U.S.A.A long time ago, but not too long ago, a man said:
ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL–
ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR
WITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS–
AMONG THESE LIFE, LIBERTY
AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.
His name was Jefferson. There were slaves then,
But in their hearts the slaves believed him, too,
And silently too for granted
That what he said was also meant for them.
It was a long time ago,
But not so long ago at that, Lincoln said:
NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH
TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT THAT OTHER’S CONSENT.
There were slaves then, too,
But in their hearts the slaves knew
What he said must be meant for every human being-
Else it had no meaning for anyone.
Then a man said:
BETTER TO DIE FREE
THAN TO LIVE SLAVES
He was a colored man who had been a slave
But had run away to freedom.
And the slaves knew
What Frederick Douglass said was true.With John Brown at Harper’s Ferry, Negroes died.
John Brown was hung.
Before the Civil War, days were dark,
And nobody knew for sure
When freedom would triumph
“Or if it would,” thought some.
But others new it had to triumph.
In those dark days of slavery,
Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,
The slaves made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
That song meant just what it said: Hold On!
Freedom will come!
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
Out of war it came, bloody and terrible!
But it came!
Some there were, as always,
Who doubted that the war would end right,
That the slaves would be free,
Or that the union would stand,
But now we know how it all came out.
Out of the darkest days for people and a nation,
We know now how it came out.
There was light when the battle clouds rolled away.
There was a great wooded land,
And men united as a nation.America is a dream.
The poet says it was promises.
The people say it is promises-that will come true.
The people do not always say things out loud,
Nor write them down on paper.
The people often hold
Great thoughts in their deepest hearts
And sometimes only blunderingly express them,
Haltingly and stumblingly say them,
And faultily put them into practice.
The people do not always understand each other.
But there is, somewhere there,
Always the trying to understand,
And the trying to say,
“You are a man. Together we are building our land.”America!
Land created in common,
Dream nourished in common,
Keep your hand on the plow! Hold on!
If the house is not yet finished,
Don’t be discouraged, builder!
If the fight is not yet won,
Don’t be weary, soldier!
The plan and the pattern is here,
Woven from the beginning
Into the warp and woof of America:
ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL.
NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH
TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT HIS CONSENT.
BETTER DIE FREE,
THAN TO LIVE SLAVES.
Who said those things? Americans!
Who owns those words? America!
Who is America? You, me!
We are America!
To the enemy who would conquer us from without,
We say, NO!
To the enemy who would divide
And conquer us from within,
We say, NO!
FREEDOM!
BROTHERHOOD!
DEMOCRACY!
To all the enemies of these great words:
We say, NO!A long time ago,
An enslaved people heading toward freedom
Made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
The plow plowed a new furrow
Across the field of history.
Into that furrow the freedom seed was dropped.
From that seed a tree grew, is growing, will ever grow.
That tree is for everybody,
For all America, for all the world.
May its branches spread and shelter grow
Until all races and all peoples know its shade.
KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE PLOW! HOLD ON!
When things go wrong, As they sometimes will
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, But you have to sigh
When care is pressing you down a bit
Rest if you must, But Don’t You Quit
For life is queer with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a fellow has turned about
When he might have won had he stuck it out
So don’t give up through the pace seems slow
You just might succeed with another blow
The goal is often nearer than
It may seem to a faint and faltering man
Don’t be the struggler who has given up
When you might have captured that victor’s cup
And learn too late, when night comes down
How close you were to the golden crown
Success is failure turned inside out
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt
You can never tell how close you are
It may be near when it seems afar
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seem the worst
That You Mustn’t Quit!
by
Ben Lief
I chop the greens,
choi sum.
I bought from the
Japanese woman
at the farmer’s market,
and the green onions and asparagus,
5 curving stalks.
Into the pot with the ginger
the old Chinese man
put on his scale, the small piece
he added last, to make the
weight come out even.
I throw in some leftover meat
and huli huli sauce that Jeremy loves,
and I stir–
all ready for the brown rice,
I set to cook an hour ago.I eat right from the
stir fry pot,
each bite, delicious, the
only sound, pleasure.So this is what it is to
eat alone?
Cook for myself,
remembering where each part
of my stir fry comes from?
Stirring them together
into a new dish,
eating it all
scraping leftovers into the sink
cleaning up.
Dancing.
Victor was a little baby,
Into this world he came;
His father took him on his knee and said:
‘Don’t dishonour the family name.’
Victor looked up at his father
Looked up with big round eyes:
His father said; ‘Victor, my only son,
Don’t you ever ever tell lies.’
Victor and his father went riding
Out in a little dog-cart;
His father took a Bible from his pocket and read;
‘Blessed are the pure in heart.’
It was a frosty December
Victor was only eighteen,
But his figures were neat and his margins were straight
And his cuffs were always clean.
He took a room at the Peveril,
A respectable boarding-house;
And Time watched Victor day after day
As a cat will watch a mouse.
The clerks slapped Victor on the shoulder;
‘Have you ever had woman?’ they said,
‘Come down town with us on Saturday night.’
Victor smiled and shook his head.
The manager sat in his office,
Smoked a Corona cigar:
Said; ‘Victor’s a decent fellow but
He’s too mousy to go far.’
Victor went up the his bedroom,
Set the alarum bell;
Climbed into bed, took his Bible and read
Of what happened to Jezebel.
It was the First of April,
Anna to the Peveril came;
Her eyes, her lips, her breasts, her hips
And her smile set men aflame,
She looked as pure as a schoolgirl
On her First Communion day,
But her kisses were like the best champagne
When she gave herself away.
It was the Second of April.
She was wearing a coat of fur;
Victor met her upon the stair
And he fell in love with her.
The first time he made his proposal,
She laughed, said; ‘I’ll never wed;
The second time there was a pause;
Then she smiled and shook her head.
Anna looked into her mirror,
Pouted and gave a frown:
Said ‘Victor’s as dull as a wet afternoon
But I’ve got to settle down.’
The third time he made his proposal,
As they walked by the Reservoir:
She gave him a kiss like a blow on the head,
Said; ‘You are my heart’s desire.’
They were married early in August,
She said; ‘Kiss me, you funny boy’;
Victor took her in his arms and said;
‘O my Helen of Troy.’
It was the middle of September,
Victor came to the office one day;
He was wearing a flower in his buttonhole,
He was late but he was gay.
The clerks were talking of Anna,
The door was just ajar:
One said, ‘Poor old Victor, but where ignorance
Is bliss, et cetera.’
Victor stood still as a statue,
The door was just ajar:
One said, ‘God, what fun I had with her
In that Baby Austin car.’
Victor walked out into the High Street,
He walked to the edge of town:
He came to the allotments and the rubbish heap
And his tears came tumbling down.
Victor looked up at the sunset
As he stood there all alone;
Cried; ‘Are you in Heaven, Father?’
But the sky said ‘Address not known’.
Victor looked at the mountains,
The mountains all covered in snow
Cried; ‘Are you pleased with me, Father?’
And the answer came back, No.
Victor came to the forest,
Cried: ‘Father, will she ever be true?’
And the oaks and the beeches shook their heads
And they answered: ‘Not to you.’
Victor came to the meadow
Where the wind went sweeping by:
Cried; ‘O Father, I love her so’,
But the wind said, ‘She must die’.
Victor came to the river
Running so deep and so still:
Crying; ‘O Father, what shall I do?’
And the river answered, ‘Kill’.
Anna was sitting at table,
Drawing cards from a pack;
Anna was sitting at table
Waiting for her husband to come back.
It wasn’t the Jack of Diamonds
Nor the Joker she drew first;
It wasn’t the King or the Queen of Hearts
But the Ace of Spades reversed.
Victor stood in the doorway,
He didn’t utter a word:
She said; ‘What’s the matter, darling?’
He behaved as if he hadn’t heard.
There was a voice in his left ear,
There was a voice in his right,
There was a voice at the base of his skull
Saying, ‘She must die tonight.’
Victor picked up a carving-knife,
His features were set and drawn,
Said; ‘Anna it would have been better for you
If you had not been born.’
Anna jumped up from the table,
Anna started to scream,
But Victor came slowly after her
Like a horror in a dream.
She dodged behind the sofa,
She tore down a curtain rod,
But Victor came slowly after her:
Said; ‘Prepare to meet thy God.’
She managed to wrench the door open,
She ran and she didn’t stop.
But Victor followed her up the stairs
And he caught her at the top.
He stood there above the body,
He stood there holding the knife;
And the blood ran down the stairs and sang,
‘I’m the Resurrection and the Life’.
They tapped Victor on the shoulder,
They took him away in a van;
He sat as quiet as a lump of moss
Saying, ‘I am the Son of Man’.
Victor sat in a corner
Making a woman of clay:
Saying; ‘I am Alpha and Omega, I shall come
To judge the earth some day.’
by
W.H. Auden.
I cannot pledge allegiance
To a government of men
I cannot silence my conscience
I cannot forsake my beliefs
In the name of public opinion
To be judged by the masses
Approved by the courts
Sanctioned by the politicians
The snakes of statism
Stealing from the rich
Giving to the poor
Stealing from the poor
Giving to the rich
In the name of public good
They do evil
In the name of truth
They tell lies
In the name of peace
They make war
In the name of love
They spread hate
I will not pledge allegiance
To your flag
I will not bow down
To your god
I will not tolerate
Your intolerance
I will not be
The slave to society
A pawn in your politics
To be bartared like chattal
Used as cannon fodder
Managed as your resource
If you want justice
If you want progress
If you want peace
Give man his freedom
by
Ty Pollak.
Can you imagine the impossible?
Or do you look between your fingers
At the horizon?
The unthinkable can free you,
break the bars
of old thoughts,
shatter habit,
open space for new thinking.
Even if it is truly outrageous,
the impossible can still, perhaps,
scatter a seed,
so a new plant can
possibly
grow.
But don’t confuse the impossible
with the merely implausible,
for there’s a
difference-
The implausible fits.
The impossible has to come from outside
to shake freedom
loose.
I had a dream the other night, I didn’t understand.
A figure walking through the mist, with flintlock in his hand.
His clothes were torn and dirty, as he stood there by the bed,
He took off his three-cornered hat, and speaking low, he said:
“We fought a revolution, to secure our liberty.
We wrote the Constitution, as a shield from tyranny,
For future generations, this legacy we gave,
In this, the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
“The freedom we secured for you, we hoped you’d always keep.
But tyrants labored endlessly, while your parents were asleep.
Your freedom gone, your courage lost, you’re no more
than a slave,
In this, the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
“You buy permits to travel, and permits to own a gun,
Permits to start a business, or to build a place for one.
On land that you believe you own, you pay a yearly rent,
Although you have no voice in choosing how the money’s spent.”
“Your children must attend a school that doesn’t educate.
Your Christian values can’t be taught, according to the state.
You read about the current news, in a regulated press.
You pay a tax you do not owe, to please the I.R.S.”
“Your money is no longer made of silver or of gold.
You trade your wealth for paper, so your life can be controlled.
You pay for crimes that make our nation turn from God in shame,
You’ve taken Satan’s number, as you’ve traded in your name.”
“You’ve given government control to those who do you harm,
So they can padlock churches, and steal the family farm,
And keep the country deep in debt, put men of God in jail,
Harass your fellow countrymen, while corrupted courts prevail.”
“Your public servants don’t uphold the solemn oath they’ve sworn.
Your daughters visit doctors so their children won’t be born.
Your leaders ship artillery and guns to foreign shores,
And send your sons to slaughter, fighting other people’s wars.”
“Can you regain freedom for which we fought and died?
Or don’t you have the courage or the faith to stand with pride?
Are there no more values for which you’ll fight to save?
Or do you wish your children to live in fear and be a slave?”
“Sons of the Republic, arise and take a stand!
Defend the Constitution, the Supreme Law of the Land!
Preserve our great republic and each God-given right,
And pray to God to keep the torch of freedom burning bright!”
As I awoke he vanished, in the mist from which he came.
His words were true, we are not free. We have ourselves to blame.
For even now as tyrants trample each God-given right,
We only watch and tremble, too afraid to stand and fight.
If he stood by your bedside, in a dream while you’re asleep,
And wondered what remains of our rights he fought to keep,
What would be your answer, if he called out from the grave?
Is this still the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave?
sad indeed,
there are other freedoms
still
freedom from having no ideas, from this dryness,
freedom from having you
as a poet on forced wit and half-cooked cleverness
freedom from a reader
who has nothing to offer
except his own loneliness
his having nothing to do
freedom from beng bored
to death
freedom from having nothing
to say and comment
freedom from this feeling of emptiness
this bigotry
this indigestion of dumb thoughts
freedom
from impertinence, immateriality, irrelevance,
freedom from thinking about freedom
freedom from freedom itself
there are more
freedom from pain
is useless now
that you are dead.
by
MUKAKO MUKAMO