For years, I sought to walk a godly pace, Not sensing all things rushing into God. But now I run, I run as in a race.
There was a stream, but one I could not trace While I was wading dust as thick as blood And shouting that I walked a godly pace.
There was a sun, but one I did not face, Nor see the hills pursue it in a crowd. I did not hear it panting in its race.
But everyone who turns to seek His grace Becomes a restless horse the faint breeze prods And instigates beyond a godly pace.
I could not be left lonely by the chase Toward Him. The ground was moving in a flood, And all things sang and hurtled in the race.
And through that storm I saw how wide a space I had to cross. I heard each slow step's thud. For years, I sought to walk a godly pace, But now I run, I run as in a race.
When does one see I am you and you are me We live together intrinsically spiritually realistically
And yet we continue to separate, abominate, hate and Hate.
Why
I need to believe
To hope
To reach for faith
That we as humans can create the space
Where change can be embraced.
Love is the lesson
But how do we teach when shot in the dark
Scared with guns drawn
How do we teach when one has never felt love as a spark
Violence on violence has never made change
Only headlines to read and families that grieve
Violence on violence makes us fall to our knees
Question our faith
Shake our heads in disbelief
But believe it now for this anger is real
We know cause we see it rise
Like oxygen to fire it ignites a raging burning storm
Angry until sadness appears
Angry until we fall into tears
we can't hold this weight for too long
It infects our souls and then fear wins the debate.
We can't let that win
It destroys and discriminates
We can't let fear rule
For then we are too responsible for a world too cruel
Fear is who takes a shot in the dark
And we must stop sitting back and watching this silver drop
The punctuation is hers, not mine. There are only three periods - at the ends of lines 12, 18 and 34.
Why?
I have no idea. But I'm sure she'd place well in a Black Lives Matter sponsored poetry slam. Speaking of which, here is her explanation for the context:
These last few months have brought so much sadness. From Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, Orlando shooting, Dallas, to terrorist attacks of late Bangladesh, Istanbul, Baghdad, Somalia. Everyday there is violence like this reported and not reported. It becomes overwhelming that there could be such hatred and senseless killing. When I can’t make sense of things I just start to write. I don’t usually share my writing but I felt a desire to put this out there. Peace.
Personally, I'd like a moratorium on the use of "senseless" as in "senseless killing" or "senseless violence." On the strict meaning of the term, every example mentioned had sense behind it. In the case of Philando Castille, a policeman shot a robbery suspect who he thought was reaching for his gun. In Dallas, a black supremacist wanted to kill as many non-blacks policeman as possible for revenge or to ignite a race war, etc. In Bangladesh, Muslim terrorists wanted to murder non-Muslims in a quasi-public way so as to advance the cause of a world caliphate. Of course the moral value system underlying the sense in each case is different, which is why lumping them all together as "senseless" or indeed, lumping them together at all is not helpful.
And not to further nitpick, but violence on violence has often made change. Or more to the point, violence has often made change. For better and for worse.
Was Kate Hudson drawing a moral equivalence between the black supremacist who shot those five cops and . . . those five cops? Well, she did say violence on violence, didn't she? If so, that's senseless. "I am you and you are me" Are we are all in this together? I'm crying.
Yes, that Allen Ginsberg. He was a flawed human being, like the rest of us. But I won't be speaking of his flaws here. One day, he defended another human being. I don't think he was a great poet, but he also wasn't a hack. Parts of Howl are brilliant, whatever you may think of the message. In 1971 Ginsberg wrote a poem called September on Jessore Road, which had a fair amount of impact in drawing attention to the state-sponsored genocide of Bengalis--Hindus, Muslims and others--by the Pakistan army and allied Islamist militias in Bangladesh. Estimates of those killed vary widely but a million or more deaths is reasonable. It is one of the largest recorded massacres of innocents by Muslim soldiers, militia and terrorist groups in history, and it was a liberal cause celebre for a few years. But it is now almost forgotten. Ginsberg was a leftist. But though he often equated the "violence" of both communism and capitalism, he wasn't afraid to denounce the policies of communist states. And this got him into a bit of trouble. Wikipedia has a neat summary:
Ginsberg travelled to several communist countries to promote free speech. He claimed that communist countries, such as China, welcomed him because they thought he was an enemy of capitalism, but often turned against him when they saw him as a trouble maker. For example, in 1965 Ginsberg was deported from Cuba for publicly protesting at the persecution of homosexuals and referring to Che Guevara as "cute". The Cubans sent him to Czechoslovakia, where one week after being named the Král majálesu ("King of May" – a students' festivity, celebrating spring and student life), Ginsberg was labelled an "immoral menace" by the Czechoslovak government because of his free expression of radical ideas, and was then deported on May 7, 1965 by order of the state security agency. Václav Havel points to Ginsberg as an important inspiration in striving for freedom.
Deported from Cuba for calling Che Guevara "cute". I love it.
Cuba, by the way, would soon begin deporting homosexuals to concentration camps (following the Catholics), while most of the Western left still salivated over the revolution.
By all accounts, Ginsberg was friendly and charitable in his personal relations. As far as I can tell, most people that met him liked him and that included his cultural or political "opponents".
Here's a nifty clip from Firing Line where Ginsberg surprises William F. Buckley with a poem (that he proudly confesses was composed on LSD). Buckley blurts out "I kind of like that," and both men seem to be richly enjoying themselves.
The anecdote of the title comes from a 2010 piece in Reason Magazine by Mark Goldblatt. Read the whole article if you can, but here's the most relevant excerpt. I in turn was alerted to it by Kathy Shaidle:
I got to know the poet Allen Ginsberg towards the end of his life. Not very well, just a nodding acquaintance, but after he died I attended a memorial in his honor at the City University Graduate School. At that service, his personal assistant related a story about Ginsberg’s reaction to the death sentence pronounced on the novelist Salman Rushdie by Ayatollah Khomeini in 1989. Rushdie’s “crime,” you’ll recall, was writing a provocative, perhaps even blasphemous novel inspired by the life of Muhammad called The Satanic Verses.
Though I might be screwing up a few details, the gist of the story was as follows: Soon after news of the fatwa broke, Ginsberg and his assistant climbed into the back seat of a taxi in Manhattan. After a glance at the cab driver’s name, Ginsberg politely inquired if he was a Muslim. When the cabbie replied that he was, Ginsberg asked him what he thought about the death sentence on Rushdie. The cabbie answered that he thought that Rushdie’s book was disrespectful of Islam, and that the Ayatollah had every right to do what he had done. At this point, according to his assistant, Ginsberg, one of the gentlest men ever to walk the planet, flew into a rage, screaming at the cabbie as he continued to drive, “Then I shit on your religion! Do you hear me? I shit on Islam! I shit on Muhammad! Do you hear? I shit on Muhammad!” Ginsberg demanded that the cabbie pull over. The cabbie complied, and, without paying the fare, Ginsberg and his assistant climbed out. He was still screaming at the cabbie as the car drove off.
My own interpretation is that Ginsberg knew or cared little about Islam per se. But he knew what had happened to Rushdie (whether they were personally acquainted, I have no idea), and was sticking up for a comrade. How could anyone do this? How could any religion do this? How could anyone not aggressively oppose it?
The secret of my success over the 400 metres is that I run the first 200 metres as hard as I can. Then, for the second 200 metres, with God’s help, I run harder.
This is a partial repost from Good Friday, 2015, in honor of those running the Chicago Marathon tomorrow and for all others who run a spiritual race with and for God. The picture and quotation is from the martyred Christian Olympian Eric Liddell.
For years, I sought to walk a godly pace, Not sensing all things rushing into God. But now I run, I run as in a race.
There was a stream, but one I could not trace While I was wading dust as thick as blood And shouting that I walked a godly pace.
There was a sun, but one I did not face, Nor see the hills pursue it in a crowd. I did not hear it panting in its race.
But everyone who turns to seek His grace Becomes a restless horse the faint breeze prods And instigates beyond a godly pace.
I could not be left lonely by the chase Toward Him. The ground was moving in a flood, And all things sang and hurtled in the race.
And through that storm I saw how wide a space I had to cross. I heard each slow step's thud. For years, I sought to walk a godly pace, But now I run, I run as in a race.
For years, I sought to walk a godly pace, Not sensing all things rushing into God. But now I run, I run as in a race.
There was a stream, but one I could not trace While I was wading dust as thick as blood And shouting that I walked a godly pace.
There was a sun, but one I did not face, Nor see the hills pursue it in a crowd. I did not hear it panting in its race.
But everyone who turns to seek His grace Becomes a restless horse the faint breeze prods And instigates beyond a godly pace.
I could not be left lonely by the chase Toward Him. The ground was moving in a flood, And all things sang and hurtled in the race.
And through that storm I saw how wide a space I had to cross. I heard each slow step's thud. For years, I sought to walk a godly pace, But now I run, I run as in a race.
