Anarchy Is Recommended For Society Health
Khatia Shiuka
The Last Walt, by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Lawrence Ferlinghetti reading from his book Poetry as Insurgent Art, City Lights Books, 2007.
"The American Dream."
(I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television)
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
Have you killed for your man today?
In these hands, the cities; in my weather, the armies
Of better things than die
To the scaly music of war.
The different men, who are dead,
Had cunning; they sought green lives
In a world blacker than your world;
But you have nourished the taste of sickness
Until all other tastes are dull in your mouths;
It is only we who stand outside the steaming tents
Of hypocrisy & murder
Who are "sick"
This is the health you want.
Yours is the health of the pig which roots up
The vines that would give him food;
Ours is the sickness of the deer which is shot
Because it is the activity of hunters to shoot him.
In your hands, the cities, in my world, the marching
Of nobler feet than walk down a road
Deep with the corpses of every sane & beautiful thing.
ANARCHY
(by Germany's Poet-Anarchist John Henry Mackay)
Ever reviled, accursed, ne'er understood,
Thou art the grisly terror of our age.
"Wreck of all order," cry the multitude,
"Art thou, & war & murder's endless rage."
0, let them cry. To them that ne'er have striven
The 'truth that lies behind a word to find,
To them the word's right meaning was not given.
They shall continue blind among the blind.
But thou, O word, so clear, so strong, so true,
Thou sayest all which I for goal have taken.
I give thee to the future! Thine secure
When each at least unto himself shall waken.
Comes it in sunshine? In the tempest's thrill?
I cannot tell - but it the earth shall see!
I am an Anarchist! Wherefore I will
Not rule, & also ruled I will not be!
Thou Shalt Not Kill
By Kenneth Rexroth
They are murdering all the young men.
For half a century now, every day,
They have hunted them down and killed them.
They are killing them now.
At this minute, all over the world,
The are killing the young men.
They know ten thousand ways to kill them.
Every year they invent new ones.
In the jungles of Africa,
In the marshes of Asia,
In the deserts of Asia,
In the slave pens of Siberia,
In the slums of Europe,
In the nightclubs of America,
The murderers are at work.
They are stoning Stephen,
They are casting him forth from every city in the world.
Under the Welcome sign,
Under the Rotary emblem,
On the highway in the suburbs,
His body lies under the hurling stones.
He was full of faith and power.
He did great wonders among the people.
They could not stand against his wisdom.
They could not bear that spirit with which he spoke.
He cried out in the name
Of the tabernacle of witness in the wilderness.
They were cut to the heart.
They gnashed against him with their teeth.
They cried out with a loud voice.
They stopped their ears.
They ran on him with one accord.
They cast him out of the city and stoned him,
The witnesses laid down their clothes
At the feet of the man whose name was your name-
You.
You are the murderer.
You are killing the young men.
You are broiling Lawrence on his gridiron.
When you demand he divulge
The hidden treasures of the spirit,
He showed you the poor.
You set your heart against him.
You seized him and bound him with rage.
You roasted him on a slow fire.
His fat dripped and spurted in the flame.
The smell was sweet to your nose.
He cried out,
"I am cooked on this side,
turn me over and eat,
You
Eat of my flesh."
You are murdering the young men.
You are shooting Sebastian with arrows.
He kept the faithful steadfast under persecution.
First you shot him with arrows.
Then you beat him with rods.
Then you threw him in a sewer.
You fear nothing more then courage.
You who turn away your eyes
At the bravery of the young men.
You,
The hyena with polished face and bow tie,
In the office of a billion dollar
Corporation devoted to service;
The vulture dripping with carrion,
Carefully and carelessly robed in imported tweeds,
Lecturing on the Age of Abundance;
The jackal in double-breasted gabardine,
Barking by remote control,
In the United Nations;
The vampire bat seated at the couch head,
Notebook in hand, toying with his decerebrator;
The autonomous, ambulatory cancer,
The superego in a thousand uniforms;
You, the finger man of behemoth,
The murderer of the young men.
Freedom
By Kahlil Gibran
And an orator said speak to us of freedom,
And he answered at the city gate and by your fireside,
I have seen you prostrate yourself and warship your own freedom,
Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant, and praise him though he slays them.
Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel,
I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff.
And my heart bled within me;
For you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you,
And when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfilment.
You shall be free indeed,
When your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want, and a grief,
But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.
And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains,
Which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour?
In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains,
Though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle your eyes.
And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free?
If it is an unjust law you would abolish,
That law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead.
You cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the foreheads of your judges,
Though you pour the sea upon them.
And if it is a despot you would dethrone,
See first that his throne erected within you is destroyed.
For how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their own pride?
And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you.
And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.
Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded,
The repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape.
These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling.
And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light.
IT'S BETTER! ;d http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZrYGxDJ8s0
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