Tuesday, January 20, 2009

The following is a transcript of the inaugural poem, “Praise Song for the Day,” written and recited by Elizabeth Alexander, as provided by Graywolf Press.

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.
~Elizabeth Alexander
inauguration photography
by permission of the artist
madalina diaconu

Saturday, January 17, 2009

do justly now...

Sometimes I sit in front of a blank page and am overcome by so much that I would say and all the words I have are not enough to touch what I feel. Sometimes in these times I put away the page and walk away.

Sometimes I see the grief of the world around me, and I am overcome by so much that I would like to do, but all that I can do feels far too little to have any effect.

In the past three weeks I have learned of two friends who lost their homes and two more friends who face this experience now. As I held the hand of one to comfort and strengthen her, I wept to feel so great sorrow that poured from her. I wanted to be able to do more. Feeling unable to do enough, though, is no reason to do nothing at all.

I find words from the Talmud give us direction during these times...

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.
~ The Talmud

photography by permission
cindy lee jones