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Morning Open Thread: How Many Times Do I Have to Say It [1]

['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.']

Date: 2023-09-25

Must I always sing at the gate to hearten the men who fight

For causes changeful as wind and brief as the summer night?



– Margaret Widdemer, from “The Singer at the Gate”

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Welcome to Morning Open Thread, a daily post

with a MOTley crew of hosts who choose the topic

for the day's posting. We support our community,

invite and share ideas, and encourage thoughtful,

respectful dialogue in an open forum. That’s a

feature, not a bug. Other than that, site rulz rule.

So grab your cuppa, and join in.

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13 poets born this week,

from the 1500s to the 1960s –

freedom, choice, loss, a dash of

humor, and the spike of satire

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September 24

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1825 – Francis Ellen Watkins Harper born a free woman in Baltimore, Maryland; African-American abolitionist, suffragist, lecturer, poet, and author. She published her first book of poetry at age 20, and became the first American black woman to publish a short story, “Two Offers,” in the Anglo-African in 1859. She was part of the Underground Railroad in the 1850s, and a public speaker for the American Anti-Slavery Society, giving her first lecture, “The Elevation and Education of Our People” in 1854. She often faced much hostility as a speaker, because of her race and her gender. Watkins Harper was also an advocate for woman suffrage and prohibition. Her novel Iola Leroy, published in 1892, was widely praised. In 1894, she was a co-founder of the National Association of Colored Women, and served as its first vice president. She died of heart failure at age 85 in 1911.

Bury Me in a Free Land

by Francis Ellen Watkins Harper



Make me a grave where'er you will,

In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;

Make it among earth's humblest graves,

But not in a land where men are slaves.



I could not rest if around my grave

I heard the steps of a trembling slave;

His shadow above my silent tomb

Would make it a place of fearful gloom.



I could not rest if I heard the tread

Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,

And the mother's shriek of wild despair

Rise like a curse on the trembling air.



I could not sleep if I saw the lash

Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,

And I saw her babes torn from her breast,

Like trembling doves from their parent nest.



I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay

Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,

And I heard the captive plead in vain

As they bound afresh his galling chain.



If I saw young girls from their mother's arms

Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,

My eye would flash with a mournful flame,

My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.



I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might

Can rob no man of his dearest right;

My rest shall be calm in any grave

Where none can call his brother a slave.



I ask no monument, proud and high,

To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;

All that my yearning spirit craves,

Is bury me not in a land of slaves.



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September 25

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1921 – Cintio Vitire born in Key West, Florida to Cuban parents; Cuban poet, essayist, and novelist. He attended the school started by his father in Matanzas, Cuba until the family moved to Havana when he was 15. Vitier’s first poetry book, Poemas, was published when he was just 17. In 1947, he graduated from the University of Havana with a law degree. He helped start the Cuban poetry magazine Origenes. His poetry collections include Extrañeza de estar (The Wonder of Being), Vísperas (Vespers), Canto llano (Plain Song), and Testimonios, (collected works 1953-1968). While Vitier wrote mainly in Spanish, his José Martí, Cuban Apostle: A Dialogue, was published posthumously in 2013 in English by I.B. Taurus of London. He died at age 88 in 2009.

You Enter That Light

by Cintio Vitire



You enter that light

which binds night and day,

that swirling mist of pain,

fortunate pain, which has no

need to be seen. It shimmers

on the ever-present, ever-

inactual shore.



Simple worker, like those

who build men’s houses—

Breathe life into the whirlwind

where the dead shall find you,

dear friends

absorbed in daylight.



Break into separate hearths

the burning bread of solitude,

leavened with tears and joy

destined for your flesh and blood—

the one who passes, he who wounds you

without knowing, he who cures you

with his indifference: your son.



Want nothing more, close your eyes

in the secret of the dew;

drown your flame-torn heart.

And when you can forget

you once were whole, then embrace

the world in silence.



– translated by Kathleen Weaver

“You Enter That Light” appeared in Image magazine, Issue 65

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1930 – Shel Silverstein born in Chicago, Illinois; American writer, poet, cartoonist, singer-songwriter, children’s author, and playwright. Among his many notable works are: Now Here’s My Plan; The Giving Tree; Uncle Shelby’s Story of Lafcadio: The Lion Who Shot Back; Where the Sidewalk Ends; A Light in the Attic; and his Grammy-winning albums: Boy Named Sue and Other Country Songs and Where the Sidewalk Ends.

Underface

by Shel Silverstein



Underneath my outside face

There’s a face that none can see.

A little less smiley,

A little less sure,

But a whole lot more like me.



“Underface” from Every Thing On It: Poems and Stories by Shel Silverstein, © 2011 by Evil Eye, LLC – HarperCollins

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September 26

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1872 – Max Ehrmann born in Terre Haute, Indiana; American writer, poet, playwright, and attorney; best known for his 1927 prose poem Desiderata (Latin: “things desired”). His parents emigrated to the U.S. from Bavaria in the 1840s. After earning a degree in English at DePauw University, he studied law and philosophy at Harvard. He began practicing law in his hometown in 1898, then was a deputy state's attorney in Vigo County, Indiana, for two years. He later worked in his family’s meatpacking and overalls manufacturing businesses, but left at age 40 to write. He was a contributor to Eugene V. Debs, what his neighbors and others say of Him in 1912 and In Memoriam Elbert and Alice Hubbard in 1915. His poetry collections include Breaking Home Ties; A Virgin’s Dream and other verses by Scarlet Women; and A Prayer and other selections. Though he wrote Desiderata at age 55, but it didn’t become famous until after his death at age 72 in 1945.

Wanderers

by Max Ehrmann



A clear, cool night. I have been reading, but the thoughts of man do

not solace me.

I raised the curtain and looked at the moon, clear and silvery; and I

brushed some of the unrest out of my mind.

I know all the theories of the moon.

There have been times when the symbols of science have robbed me

of some of its mystery and charm.

But no one can explain the moon any more than a grasshopper can

explain me.

In youth, the moon promised too much.

But now I understand better; that was not the moon's fault.

Also the moon and I have this in common:

We both are wanderers across the night.



“Wanderers” from The Poems of Max Ehrmann –Forgotten Books 2018 classic reprint

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1888 – T. S. Eliot born Thomas Stearns Eliot in St. Louis, Missouri to a transplanted Boston Brahmin; American-British poet, essayist, playwright, literary critic, and publisher. He moved to England at age 25 in 1914, and became a British citizen in 1927. Eliot was a central figure in English-language Modernist poetry, and won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1948. He is well-known for his poems The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock; The Waste Land; The Hollow Men; and his collection Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, as well as his plays Murder in the Cathedral and The Cocktail Party. He was honored in 1948 with the Nobel Prize in Literature for his pioneering “contribution to present-day poetry.” He died of emphysema at age 76 in January 1965.

Hysteria

by T. S. Eliot



As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her

laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only

accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in

by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost

finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple

of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands

was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over

the rusty green iron table, saying: 'If the lady and gentleman

wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman

wish to take their tea in the garden ...' I decided that if the

shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments

of the afternoon might be collected, and I

concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

"Hysteria" from Collected Poems: 1909-1962, © 2020 by T. S. Eliot – Faber and Faber, Ltd.

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1942 – Gloria Evangelina Anzaldúa born in the Rio Grande Valley in southern Texas; American scholar of Chicana cultural theory, feminist theory, and queer theory; her book, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza, is loosely based on her life growing up on the Mexican-Texas border. Anzaldúa died from complications related to diabetes at age 61 in May 2004.

To Delia, Who Failed on Principles

by Gloria Evangelina Anzaldúa



Because of four lousy points

Delia, a senior, repeating

A sophomore course

Failed.



Short of hair, cow-eyed, humble-proud

From cooking class brought me cookies

From Oregon, an apple. But I stuck to

My principles.



In arbitrary tests the high score

Of momentarily memorized words and facts

I passed, but you

Didn't graduate.



I stuck to my principles

And for a week couldn't sleep

The following year

I passed all repeaters who tried

On principle.

“To Delia, Who Failed on Principles” from The Gloria Anzaldúa Reader, © 2009 by Gloria Evangelina Anzaldúa – Duke University Press

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September 27

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1861 – Corinne Roosevelt Robinson born, American writer, poet, and public speaker; sister of Theodore and aunt of Eleanor; first woman called on to second a nomination of a Presidential candidate of a major U.S. political party, at the 1920 Republican convention, for Leonard Wood, but he loses the nomination to Warren G. Harding; out of love and admiration for Eleanor, she does not campaign for Hoover in 1932, voting for FDR. Her poetry collections include The Call of Brotherhood; One Woman to Another; Service and Sacrifice; and Out of Nymph. She died of pneumonia at age 71 in February 1933.

Comedy

by Corinne Roosevelt Robinson



I am the Comic Muse,

Soft as the summer rain,

Come the children I bear

Out of the breath of my brain;

Love,—and Laughter that lifts,

Joy with the lilt of a song,

Beauty that's born of praise,

And Faith that has righted wrong.

I am the heart of a child,

I am the trust of a maid,

Spirit and passion of man,

Love that is unbetrayed;

I am the Muse that smiles,

Lo ! and gladness is rife,

Comedy, I am called,

I am the mirror of Life.



“Comedy” from The Poems of Corinne Roosevelt Robinson – Nabu Press, 2010 edition

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September 28

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1938 – Rosario Ferré born in Ponce,Puerto Rico; American writer, poet, essayist, and academic. Her father, Luis A. Ferré, was Governor ofPuerto Rico (1969-1973). When her mother died in 1970, Rosario took over herduties as First Lady until 1972. She started writing articlesfor Puerto Rico's El Nuevo Día newspaperwhen she was 14. She earned a B.A. in English and French from ManhattanvilleCollege in lower Manhattan, and a Masters at the University of Puerto Rico. Sheco-founded the journal Zona de Carga y Descarga, which published new writers, including some of herpoetry and short stories. She wrote primarily in Spanish, but also publishedworks written in English, and made translations between the two languages. Shedied at age 77 in February 2016.

Abandoned House

by Rosario Ferré



The room smelled of dust and spider webs,

but also of something else

I couldn’t put my finger on:

I thought it was the past,

mold and nostalgia

as if the house were reproaching me

for having aged away from it.

But I was wrong.

It’s always hard

to reconcile oneself

to the person one was,

to the one we’ve traveled so far

to leave behind.



“Abandoned House” from LanguageDuel/Duelo de Lenguaje, © 2011 by RosarioFerré – Vintage Español, Bilingual edition

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September 29

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1547 – Miguel de Cervantes born in Alcalá de Henares, northeast of Madrid, Crown of Castile; widely regarded as the greatest writer in the Spanish language, and his most famous work, Don Quixote, is considered the first great modern novel because of its insights into the feelings and motivations of its characters. He also wrote short stories, poetry, plays, and other novels. He was a soldier in the 1571 Battle of Lepanto, and his left hand became unusable when he was wounded multiple times. In 1575, Cervantes was aboard a ship bound for Naples when it was captured by Barbary pirates. He was held prisoner until 1580, when his ransom was finally raised. In 1587, he was appointed as Royal Commissioner of supplies for the Invincible Army, and then became a tax collector in 1592. He was imprisoned more than once, accused of “irregularities.” Cervantes died at age 68 in April 1616, of symptoms that matched diabetes, which untreatable until the 1920s.

War Calls Me (A La Guerra Me Lleva)

by Miguel de Cervantes

War calls me

And I have to go.

If I had money

It wouldn’t be so.



translated by Paul Archer

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September 30

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1927 – W.S. Merwin born in New York City; American poet, prose author, memoirist, and translator. In the 1980s and 1990s, his he became interested in Buddhist philosophy and deep ecology. Residing in a rural part of Maui, Hawaii, he wrote prolifically and was dedicated to the restoration of the island’s rainforests. He won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry twice, in 1971 and 2009, and the National Book Award for Poetry in 2005. He served as U.S. Poet Laureate (2010-2011). Among his more than 50 poetry collections are: The Moon Before Morning; Migration; The Vixen; The River Sound; Unchopping a Tree; and Opening the Hand.

Separation

by W.S. Merwin



Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.



“Separation” from The Second Four Books of Poems © 1993 by W. S. Merwin – Copper Canyon Press

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1944 – Mary Kinzie born in Montgomery, Alabama; American poet, academic, essayist, and critic. After winning Fulbright and Woodrow Wilson fellowships to do graduate work at the Free University of Berlin and Johns Hopkins University, she has been teaching at her alma mater, Northwestern University, since 1975. In 2008, Kinzie won the Folger Shakespeare Library's O. B. Hardison, Jr. Poetry Prize, the only major American prize to recognize a poet for teaching as well as writing. Her poetry collections include The Threshold of the Year; Masked Women; Summers of Vietnam; Autumn Eros; Drift; and California Sorrow.

The Muse of Satire

by Mary Kinzie



They put her together out of this and that.

Skins of tiny pears made up an elbow.

Often kissed, the silky arch of someone

else’s brow. Laid like the narrow glove

rich relatives have fondled, a brown hand

of hair upon the knee, cast forward from

her bowed transparent head. A rumpled breast,

bricks showing through her half-completed navel,

a brace to keep her lavish sex in place

round out the sketch. Temporarily, a working draft

of pain. In time, perfected so she never

walks again, she’ll burn your buildings down.

‘The Muse of Satire” © 1978 by Mary Kinzie – appeared in Poetry Magazine’s April 1978 issue

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1958 – Lucia Perillo born in Manhattan, but grew up Irvington in New York state; American poet, short story writer, and essayist. Her work appeared The New Yorker, The Atlantic, and The Kenyon Review, and she was honored with many awards and fellowships, including the Los Angeles Times Book Award, two Pushcart Prizes, and the 2013 Shelley Memorial Award. She wrote extensively about living with multiple sclerosis, which caused her death at age 58 in October 2015. Her poetry collections include Dangerous Life; The Body Mutinies; Luck is luck; Inseminating the Elephant; and Time will Clean the Carcass Bones. Her book I’ve Heard the Vultures Singing, is a collection of essays on poetry, illness, and nature.

Dangerous Life

by Lucia Perillo



I quit med school when I found out the stiff they gave me

had book 9 of Paradise Lost and the lyrics

to “Louie Louie” tattooed on her thighs.



That morning as the wind was mowing

little ladies on a street below, I touched a Bunsen burner

to the Girl Scout sash whose badges were the measure of my worth:



Careers . . .

Cookery, Seamstress . . .

and Baby Maker. . . all gone up in smoke.



But I kept the merit badge marked Dangerous Life,

for which, if you remember, the girls were taken to the woods

and taught the mechanics of fire,



around which they had us dance with pointed sticks

lashed into crucifixes that we’d wrapped with yarn and wore

on lanyards round our necks, calling them our “Eyes of God.”



Now my mother calls the pay phone outside my walk-up, raving

about what people think of a woman—thirty, unsettled,

living on food stamps, coin-op Laundromats & public clinics.



Some nights I take my lanyards from their shoebox, practice baying

those old camp songs to the moon. And remember how they told us

that a smart girl could find her way out of anywhere, alive.



"Dangerous Life" from Time Will Clean the Carcass Bones, © 2015 by Lucia Perillo – Copper Canyon Press

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1969 – Julianna Baggott born; American novelist, YA author, essayist, and poet, who also publishes under the pen names Bridget Asher and N.E. Bode. She is an associate professor at Florida State University’s College of Motion Picture Arts. She won a 2013 ALA Alex Award for her book Pure, a young adult post-apocalyptic novel. Her four collections of poetry are This country of mothers; Compulsions of silkworms & bees; Lizzie Borden in love: poems in women’s voices; and Instructions, Abject and Fuming.

Q and A: Do you have any tips? Answer #2

by Julianna Baggott



How many times do I have to say it: Listen,

a whine in a bulb,

its hiss of life,

the fragile sister if the mosquito, the electric life of wings.

There is a wheel rut for each of us somewhere.

Look closely at the skein of eggs,

root the mud for a clamped oyster

fallen from a truck. Cover your nose and mouth

with both hands, and there,

in that shallow cup,

feel a buffalo’s breathing steam.

A toppled stone, its face veiled by weeds—

crouch. The blooms become helmets.

Allow for delirium, a thirst. Take in

so much sun that you feel a cold absence,

as if you’ve sipped a hole into the world.



“Q and A: Do you have any tips? Answer #2” from Compulsions of Silk Worms and Bees, © 2007 by Julianna Baggott – Louisiana State University Press

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G’Morning/Afternoon/Evening MOTlies

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