I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
I, too, am America.
—Langston Hughes
From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes.
I feel quite audacious, to answer one of America's greatest poets with a poem of my own. But for words to become poetry, they must be audacious. I'm sure others have answered, but I must answer too.
Dear Langston
Dear Langston,
Please, please come,
come sit at the table.
We see, now, how beautiful,
how beautiful you are,
how wretched are we.
We are ashamed.
You are, you are our very own.
Please, come sit.
Without you we cannot sing,
we cannot be
America.
Ancient dreams
awake in the longing
of the night.
Who am I
when I close
my eyes?
I am the
revered body,
the sanctified
form.
I am the
aspiration
of tribes.
I am pride
overflowing
into bright days
of abundance.
I am the
awakening of
ancient dreams.
--Mary Ray Worley,
August 1, 2012
The photo is of the an ancient statue called the Dreamer of Malta, from around 3000 b.c.e.
“We know that our patchwork heritage is a strength." —Barack Obama, January 20, 2009
Wrap me in that patchwork. Let me smell its many aromas And drink in its delicious warmth. Delight my eye in its glorious kaleidoscope.
We used to be three-piece suits, Aprons and housecoats, robes and pajamas and ball gowns, business professional and casual Friday, play clothes and power suits. We used to clothe the homeless, the elite and the erudite, the cynic and the optimist.
We have been cherished and spat on, Loved and nurtured and shunned, Hung out to dry and rained on. But here we are, all sewn together, Stronger and more stunning than ever we were, Ready to wrap the cold, cold world In our new warmth.
I have never watched an inauguration with the eagerness or rapt attention I felt today, so comparisons are difficult to make, but I rejoice at the inclusion of such moving and powerful music and poetry during the ceremony. I am delighted with Elizabeth Alexander's delicious poem "Praise Song for the Day."
Jay Parini wrote last week in the Guardian, "The choice of Alexander to read is brilliant. She represents black American culture, but she says to the audience: 'We're here, and we're very smart and well-educated, fully aware of western European culture in all its complexity; yet we retain an allegiance to our own past, our roots, our needs, our vision.'"
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. . . .
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? . . .
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.
We are indeed walking forward in that light, hopeful, nervous, cautious, and jubilant. I have never in my life seen us so overjoyed or so united. If we can hold fast this new sense of ourselves and our potential, then maybe we really can remake America while reclaiming the best heritage of the founders.
Alexander's poem perfectly catches the juxtaposition of everydayness and history, of the ordinary and extraordinary, commonality and diversity—all that has gone into the making of this amazing day.
The beauty and diversity of our extraordinary national moment was further enhanced by the performance of "Air and Simple Gifts," arranged for the inauguration by John Williams and performed by Itzhak Perlman on the violin, Anthony McGill on the clarinet, Yo-Yo Ma on the cello, and Gabriela Montero on the piano. The diversity of the musicians represented here is so amazing all by itself, and the music was extraordinarily beautiful, exquisite in form and execution and resonating perfectly with the tone of the day. As I listened, I imagined music teachers all across the country rejoicing in their hearts.
(Aretha Franklin's extraordinary performance of "America" was so thrilling that I have to post about it separately.)
And finally, one of the many lines that gave me goosebumps during President Obama's speech was this one: "We will restore science to its rightful place." Wow. Knock me over with a feather. Science is back in vogue. Now I'm imagining science teachers across the country breathing a great collective sigh of relief.
I expect many of us were breathing various individual and collective sighs of relief throughout the day all over the country, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one crying, bawling, sniffling. This is a day we will long remember, a precious, joyous day. May all that we actually accomplish in the next four years bear out the hope burning in our hearts. May there be a new flourishing of poetry, music, and science that points back to this day, this day in which we walk "forward in that light."
