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Since moving to Clifton Springs, New York, I have
participated in the monthly Open Mic Night at
Sulfur
Books. Well, I have participated once I discovered the
events. I usually read one or more of
my own poems. Others tell
stories, read poems written by themselves or others, or play
their guitars and sing. To the best of my knowledge, no one
has done stand-up comedy. Sulfur Books is a small,
independent bookstore, and there is no need for a microphone.
The mic is, I suppose, virtual.
For April’s Open
Mic Night, I had a hard time deciding what I wanted to do. I
planned two presentations and was uncertain as to which one
I should use. I finally chose to read my hymn “Heavens
and Earth, All of Creation” and discuss how it came to
be.
There is often time
left over after all participants have had a chance to do
their thing, and volunteers can present something else. I
was ready with the presentation below.
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I miss the protest songs of the sixties, which held out hope for a better world. I recently became enthralled by Nanci Griffith’s deer-in-the-headlights
performance of Julie Gold’s moving song “From a Distance,” a song that recalls some of that hope. Here are the lyrics:
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From a distance, the world looks blue and green,
And the snow-capped mountains white.
From a distance, the ocean meets the stream,
And the eagle takes to flight.
From a distance, there is harmony,
And it echoes through the land.
It’s the voice of hope.
It’s the voice of peace.
It’s the voice of every man.
From a distance, we all have enough,
And no one is in need,
And there are no guns, no bombs, and no
disease,
No hungry mouths to feed.
From a distance, we are instruments
Marching in a common band,
Playing songs of hope,
Playing songs of peace,
They’re the songs of every man.
God is watching us.
God is watching us.
God is watching us
From a distance.
From a distance, you look like my friend
Even though we are at war.
From a distance, I just cannot comprehend
What all this fighting’s for.
From a distance, there is harmony,
And it echoes through the land.
And it’s the hope of hopes,
It’s the love of loves,
It’s the heart of every man.
It’s the hope of hopes,
It’s the love of loves,
This is the song for every man.
And God is watching us.
God is watching us.
God is watching us
From a distance. |
“From a Distance” got me thinking of other songs I have found inspiring. The first one that came to mind was “Because All Men Are Brothers” by Tom Glazer, set to a tune much employed by J.S. Bach. I first heard this song sung by Peter, Paul & Mary.
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Because all men are brothers wherever men may be,
One union shall unite us, forever proud and free.
No tyrant shall defeat us, no nation strikes us down.
All men who toil shall greet us the whole wide world around.
My brothers are all others, forever hand in hand.
Where chimes the bell of freedom, there is my native land.
My brother’s fears are my fears, yellow, white, or brown.
My brother’s tears are my tears the whole wide world around.
Let every voice be thunder, let every heart beat strong
Until all tyrants perish, our work shall not be done.
Let not our memories fail us, the lost years shall be found.
Let slavery’s chains be broken the whole wide world around.
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Somehow, my thoughts led me to revisit Emma Lazarus’s poem “The New Colossus,” which was written to support the fund-raising campaign for constructing a pedestal for the Statue of Liberty. The sonnet refers to the Colossus of Rhodes, New York harbor, and, of course, Liberty Enlightening the World. You likely know the end of this sonnet, but you may not have heard the beginning. The poem’s message may not be uniformly popular today. It goes like this:
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Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
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— LED,
4/20/2024 |
