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Newsgroups: bit.listserv.politics
Date:         Tue, 26 Jan 1993 21:20:44 PST
From:         Jonathan Fisher <jfisher@NETXWEST.COM>
Subject:      Re: I'm Ba-aaaack...
Comments: To: POLITICS@ucf1vm.cc.ucf.edu

> Good Morrow, All:
>
> After something of an absence, I have returned to the list.  (Go on,
> you knew I would.)
> [I deleted some of Kerry's preview...]

>   Now that we have all agreed (all 40% of
>      "us") to become one with the rock, the tree, the river,
>      and other minority groups, it's nice to know that there are
>      still a few folks out there it's all right to hate (and,
>      of course, Christians are at the top of the list this time
>      around).  BTW, does anyone know the name of Maya Angelou's
>      poem?  "Homage to the Great god Bill" seems just too obvious.
Is this a request for a transcript?  Great, cause here it is!

----- Begin Included Message -----

              Maya Angelou's Inaugural Poem

   A Rock, A River, A Tree
   Hosts to species long since departed,
   Marked the mastodon.

   The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
   Of their sojourn here
   On our planet floor,
   Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
   Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

   But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
   Come, you may stand upon my
   Back and face your distant destiny,
   But seek no haven in my shadow.

   I will give you no more hiding place down here.

   You, created only a little lower than
   The angels, have crouched too long in
   The bruising darkness,
   Have lain too long
   Face down in ignorance.

   Your mouths spilling words
   Armed for slaughter.

   The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
   But do not hide your face.

   Across the wall of the world,
   A River sings a beautiful song,
   Come rest here by my side.

   Each of you a bordered country,
   Delicate and strangely made proud,
   Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

   Your armed struggles for profit
   Have left collars of waste upon
   My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

   Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
   If you will study war no more. Come,

   Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
   The Creator gave to me when I and the
   Tree and the stone were one.

   Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
   Brow and when you yet knew you still
   Knew nothing.

   The River sings and sings on.

   There is a true yearning to respond to
   The singing River and the wise Rock.

   So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
   The African and Native American, the Sioux,
   The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
   The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
   The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
   The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
   They hear. They all hear
   The speaking of the Tree.

   Today, the first and last of every Tree
   Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

   Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

   Each of you, descendant of some passed
   On traveller, has been paid for.

   You, who gave me my first name, you
   Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
   Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
   Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
   Other seekers--desperate for gain,
   Starving for gold.

   You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot ...
   You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
   Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
   Praying for a dream.

   Here, root yourselves beside me.

   I am the Tree planted by the River,
   Which will not be moved.

   I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
   I am yours--your Passages have been paid.

   Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
   For this bright morning dawning for you.

   History, despite its wrenching pain,
   Cannot be unlived, and if faced
   With courage, need not be lived again.

   Lift up your eyes upon
   The day breaking for you.

   Give birth again
   To the dream.

   Women, children, men,
   Take it into the palms of your hands.

   Mold it into the shape of your most
   Private need. Sculpt it into
   The image of your most public self.
   Lift up your hearts
   Each new hour holds new chances
   For new beginnings.

   Do not be wedded forever
   To fear, yoked eternally
   To brutishness.

   The horizon leans forward,
   Offering you space to place new steps of change.
   Here, on the pulse of this fine day
   You may have the courage
   To look up and out upon me, the
   Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

   No less to Midas than the mendicant.

   No less to you now than the mastodon then.

   Here on the pulse of this new day
   You may have the grace to look up and out
   And into your sister's eyes, into
   Your brother's face, your country
   And say simply
   Very simply
   With hope
   Good morning.



----- End Included Message -----
I guess that it's called "Maya Angelou's Inaugural Poem".
> [ other statements deleted...]
> See ya,
>
>  --Kerry (no, not *that* Kerry).
>
Jnoathan
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