The Poem Written for Joe Biden's Inauguration

This poem was written in the weeks prior to Joe Biden's Inauguaration and performed for America by the author herself in a moving moment of clarity and artistic individuality.  

The final lines and some key passages were finished on the night of January 6, 2021 -- following the attack by MAGA on the US Capitol, led by outgoing President Donald Trump and some of his political advisors.

It's a poem about division, hope, healing and resilience.

The Hill We Climb

By Amanda Gordon

When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry,
a sea we must wade
We've braved the belly of the beast
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace
And the norms and notions
of what just is
Isn’t always just-ice
And yet the dawn is ours
before we knew it
Somehow we do it
Somehow we've weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken
but simply unfinished
We the successors of a country and a time
Where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president
only to find herself reciting for one
And yes we are far from polished
far from pristine
but that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect
We are striving to forge a union with purpose
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and
conditions of man
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us
but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another
We seek harm to none and harmony for all
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew
That even as we hurt, we hoped
That even as we tired, we tried
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious
Not because we will never again know defeat
but because we will never again sow division
Scripture tells us to envision
that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree
And no one shall make them afraid
If we’re to live up to our own time
Then victory won’t lie in the blade
But in all the bridges we’ve made
That is the promised glade
The hill we climb
If only we dare
It's because being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into
and how we repair it
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation
rather than share it
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy
And this effort very nearly succeeded
But while democracy can be periodically delayed
it can never be permanently defeated
In this truth
in this faith we trust
For while we have our eyes on the future
history has its eyes on us
This is the era of just redemption
We feared at its inception
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs
of such a terrifying hour
but within it we found the power
to author a new chapter
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves
So while once we asked,
how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?
Now we assert
How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was
but move to what shall be
A country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free
We will not be turned around
or interrupted by intimidation
because we know our inaction and inertia
will be the inheritance of the next generation
Our blunders become their burdens
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and change our children’s birthright
So let us leave behind a country
better than the one we were left with
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one
We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west,
we will rise from the windswept northeast
where our forefathers first realized revolution
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states,
we will rise from the sunbaked south
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover
and every known nook of our nation and
every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,
battered and beautiful
When day comes we step out of the shade,
aflame and unafraid
The new dawn blooms as we free it
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it
If only we’re brave enough to be it

Thanksgiving 2020 State Poet Laureate Anthology - Poems of Thankfulness - New York Times

A long-standing annual tradition of mine has been to pick up the New York Times on Thanksgiving morning - and enjoy my pre and post dinner with family casually thumbing through the whole paper, page by page.  World news, national news, politics, sports, crime -- page by page, section by section.

2020 has been a year of nightmares and broken dreams...and today's paper is full of articles about the President (of course) - articles about COVID 19 (how 260,000 of my fellow citizens have died so far) - articles about proposed potential vaccines - and tales of tragedy, courage, unemployment, and the economy moving towards depression.

But amazingly I stumbled upon a 2-page spread featuring poems about 2020 by a number of Poets Laureate representing about 20 of our States - and I was overjoyed to read poetry on Thanksgiving.  There were a number of interesting passages, so I thought why not print up an "Anthology of the Anthology" which is my way of looking at 2020 as one very bad memory, which will gradually fade away, slowly even as we all fade away.

Here's the eNOTHING compilation Anthology of the Anthology -- Coping with Thanks for your enjoyment.  Which ones resonate with you?

2020 - Anthology of the Anthology - "Coping with Thanks"

Excerpts From the New York Times National Edition, Thursday November 26, 2020 pp. A16/17 

1.

thankful for the bend

without the break

the branch beneath the weight of the

finch

for the crows

consistent in their caw

as if saying wake

the morning lies in the street 

2.

Near the end of a difficult year,

may we spot the light,

as we breathe in prayer

or supplication: Show me, 

Show me, Show me.

3.

It was the summer we took

   heads, toppled statues of despots

& slaveholders off their gleaming

   plinths; elsewhere tipped them

into the oily depths of rivers.

   It was the summer we gave thanks

for the thousand-thousand bodies

   marching in the hearts of the grieving

4.

we get a heat wave and a second chance

to put things right in the world

We feel so lucky that we smile

our biggest smiles behind our masks,

making our eyes crinkle and shine

like the elusive Northern Lights.

5.

despite my elected representatives'

best

negligence, thankful

for my Hawaiian-print face mask,

for this

red sofa I commute to for work

6.

We pray for each other

In all our heartbreaks.

We give thanks

For hope, 

For family, for dear ones, 

And neighbors

For "I love you"

Written on the red wings of cardinals

7.

Rain turning eye-salt to rivulets, 

rivulets

to rivers wheresoever many weep as

one.

Rain thrust deep in earth, seeking

seeds.

Rain taking its own sweet time.

Earth's thirst for the first rain - 

never to be cursed again.

8.

Time moves,

then moves again and forehead lines

are bar charts, flesh and bone

diagrams of courage.

9.

After Many and Much

have been taken from us

the checkout girl whose eyes smile

above her mask

your ungloved hand in mine.

10.

Grateful for old men, white and Black,

weathered as the sweet potatoes they

hawk from the beds of their pickups at

every other highway exit.

11.

Love's reaching for

each other only to find our scars

relaxed.

Inside these walls, 

we have food, 

resources, 

each other - Love and fear's first 

real test.

CREDITS:

1.    Anis Mojgani - Poet Laureate of Oregon

2.    Karen Craigo - Poet Laureate of Missouri

3.    Luisa A. Igloria - Poet Laureate of Virginia

4.    Joyce Sutphen - Poet Laureate of Minnesota

5.    Matt Mason - State Poet of Nebraska

6.    Angela Jackson - Poet Laureate of Illinois

7.    Kim Stafford - Fmr. Poet Laureate of Oregon

8.    Kari Gunter-Seymour - Poet Laureate of Ohio

9.    Kevin Stein - Fmr. Poet Laureate of Illinois

10.  Beth Ann Fennelly - Poet Laureate of Mississippi

11.  Christine Stewart-Nunez - Poet Laureate of South Dakota 

POEM OF THE DAY -- "63RD CHORUS" (from San Francisco Blues) by Jack Kerouac

63RD CHORUS

This poem by Kerouac is from his book "Book of Blues", which is a posthumous compilation of some of his short form poetry, written in his own "blues format".  Kerouac's blues format poetry is basically an ad-libbing on paper...sort of like verbal or word "riffing" in a way (as a guitar player I get this totally).  In his own words:

"In my system, the form of blues choruses is limited by the small page of the breastpocket notebook in which they are written, like the form of a set number of bars in a jazz blues chorus, and so sometimes the word-meaning can carry from one chorus into another...It's all gotta be non stop ad libbing within each chorus, or the gig is shot."

Love it!

JULIEN LOVE'S JUDGEMENT

By Jack Kerouac

"Seriously boy
This San Francisco
      Blues of yours
Like Shark Fins
      the summer before
And was it Sarie
Sauter Finnegan
   Some gal before --
   It's a farce
   For funny you
                   you know?
I don't think I'll buy it"

  Slit in the ear
   By a bolo knife
  Savannah kid just nodded
  At the beast that
   Hides.

 Secret
 Poetry
 Deceives
Simply

POEM OF THE DAY -- "may i feel said he" by e. e. cummings

This poem just delighted me.  There's a reason why ee cummings poems hold up over time, and why ee cummings image holds up over time.  After all, it is nearly 100 years since he began writing poetry.

EE cummings is accessible today.  What I mean is that he is probably more accessible today than he was in the present tense back in 1932.  He was popular, but WAY ahead of his time, considered eccentric.  But in addition to his wonderful innovative poetry, look at his pictures.  His intellectual good looks, interesting FASHION sense, which would be considered very fashionable even today -- his hair, sideburns, etc. -- quite the intellectual rebel image.

Well, enjoy this poem.  Nearly 100 years old now; it holds up quite well.  And as usual, cummings captures the feel.  He puts you on the bed.

A tribute to love.  A humorous tribute to the human mating ritual.

A window into two loving souls.

may i feel said he

by e e cummings

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

POEM OF THE DAY - "Venus Anadyomene" by Arthur Rimbaud

Arthur Rimbaud is one of the most influential French poets of the 19th century.  His unusual free-verse style of poetry has served as a primary influence to many of the great poets and artistic movements of the 20th century including French Symbolism, Surrealism, Beat counter-culture, and Jim Morrison, Bob Dylan and Patti Smith.

His name is frequently associated with counter-cultural movements and schools of thought; this is because he himself was counter-cultural in his day.  His poetry is inspired and suggestive; his personality was caustic and unstable. Though brilliant, during his life his peers regarded him as unsophisticated, arrogant, and perverted.

We have included several of Rimbaud's poems in the eNothing blog; including "The Drunken Boat" which stands as a "Top 100 of all time" entry.  You can search for them easily.

Enjoy the ulcer.

Venus Anadyomene

by Arthur Rimbaud

As from a green zinc coffin, a woman’s
Head with brown hair heavily pomaded
Emerges slowly and stupidly from an old bathtub,
With bald patches rather badly hidden;

Then the fat gray neck, broad shoulder-blades
Sticking out; a short back which curves in and bulges;
Then the roundness of the buttocks seems to take off;
The fat under the skin appears in slabs:

The spine is a bit red; and the whole thing has a smell
Strangely horrible; you notice especially
Odd details you’d have to see with a magnifying glass…

The buttocks bear two engraved words: CLARA VENUS;
—And that whole body moves and extends its broad rump
Hideously beautiful with an ulcer on the anus.