A POEM FOR AMERICA IN THIS GREAT BLAZING MOMENT

Let America be America Again
by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed–
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek–
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean–
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today–O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home–
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay–
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again–
The land that never has been yet–
And yet must be–the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine–the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME–
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose–
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath–
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain–
All, all the stretch of these great green states–
And make America again!

Via 3quarksdaily.

CAROLYN CHUTE: "Your community is your survival."

thechutes.jpg

The New York Times – November 4, 2008

A Writer in a Living Novel
By CHARLES McGRATH

PARSONSFIELD, Me. — The novelist Carolyn Chute doesn’t have a working phone, a fax or a computer. She writes on a washtub-size electric typewriter that was probably state of the art in the ’70s. Ms. Chute (pronounced CHOOT) and her husband, Michael, live in a small compound at the end of an unpaved road in this rural Maine village near the New Hampshire border. There are stacks of old tires in the yard, a rusted bedstead, a pen full of Scottish terriers and an assortment of well-used vehicles. A bumper sticker on Mr. Chute’s pickup reads, “School Takes 13 Years Because That’s How Long It Takes to Break a Child’s Spirit.”

Mr. Chute, who looks like a 19th-century hunting guide, spends most of his time drawing and making sculptures in an unfinished, uninsulated building he calls the security office. He has a beard of ZZ Top proportions, wears checked shirts and round felt hats, and in Down East fashion frequently uses “wicked” as an adverb.

Ms. Chute, 61, a wry, direct and earthy woman who favors bandannas, peasant skirts and stout hiking boots, works in their home, which is guarded by a sign that reads: “Woa. Visitors Turn Back.” Neither building is heated, except by wood stove, or has hot water. The compound’s sole toilet is a tin-roofed outhouse.

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WHAT TO DO IF YOU SEE REPUBLICANS STEALING THE ELECTION TODAY

We get emails:

Dear Arthur gang,

The NYTimes says some black folks are worried they won’t be able to vote, or their votes won’t be counted.

Meanwhile, Drudge is saying there’s been TV reports of an uptick for gun purchases in Florida in recent days.

What should I do if I see Republicans stealing the election for McCain on Tuesday?

Ronald B. Quirkenstaff
Jacksonville, Florida

Arthur Magazine’s Washington, DC bureau chief Chris Grier replies:

Ron,

Document everything with photos. If they object, inform them in no uncertain terms that the law allows you to photograph anyone doing anything in public without their consent. And if they try to seize yr camera/phone/device, let them know they’ll be arrested for felony theft. Having been a journalist, part of that time in Florida, I can tell you that’s the law. Take a deep breath, sack up, and stand yr ground.

(That also includes law-enforcement, no matter what they tell you. You may photograph them in public, at will. And if they try to seize yr camera? Tell them you’ll swear out an affidavit charging them with malfeasance. And then hit the phonebook for an attorney for a civil suit.)

Then SMS or upload the photos to yr email account, and get in touch with federal prosecutors immediately. For Jacksonville, that’s Thomas Kirwin’s office. You can get an Asst. U.S. Attorney in his office by calling the main office, (850)942-8430 in Tallahassee, or (352)378-0996 in Gainesville, which is closer to you.

(No matter where you live in the U.S., you can find the neaest federal prosecutor’s office here: http://www.usdoj.gov/usao/offices/index.html)

Maybe get a $9 pack of T-shirt-iron-on paper at the office-supplies store and print yrself a T-shirt that says “STEALING THE ELECTION? I’M WATCHING YOU.”

All of Florida’s voting machines use a new optical-scan system. That means no more “hanging chads,” which is good, but there is enormous potential for hacking. Florida uses four different machines. One of them is the Premier Election Solutions Accuvote, which notoriously dropped 16,000 votes for Gore in yr state’s own Volusia County. Premier Election Solutions is merely what Diebold’s voting-machine division rebranded itself last year. And Diebold’s chief exec, lest we forget, was a top fund-raiser for George W. Bush.

Avi Rubin, a Johns Hopkins University computer science professor and technical director of the Information Security Institute, says the source code used in the Diebold “is far below even the most minimal security standards applicable in other contexts.”

So yes, you have reason to worry. If these machines are in use in yr county, you won’t see evil henchmen scurrying to the Dumpster to dump paper ballots in the trash. If anything goes down, it likely happened already: Some scum-nerd rewrote the source code to dump Democrats’ votes into the big nada. Look for evidence of evil hijinx after the fact — like big discrepancies between exit polling data and reported countywide vote tallies. And then make sure somebody is filing suit, quickly, to seize the machines and pick apart the guts.

Of course, there are other, cruder, possibilities. If gun-wielding Bitters are roaming around keeping longhairs and people of color away from the polls, it’s going to be a horrible shit-show and we’re all gonna hear about it. In that case, google all of Dave Reeves’ tips for heading for the hills/getting the hell out of Dodge until it blows over.

Hang tough, stay safe,
cg

LYNDA BARRY: "From 'loner' to 'glitter-covered ham' in less than an hour."

The Olympian – November 03, 2008

Author Lynda Barry sets visions free
by Molly Gilmore

Cartoonist and writer Lynda Barry, an alumna of The Evergreen State College, will return to Olympia on Wednesday to promote a new book.

Barry, who now lives on a dairy farm near Footeville, Wis., is on tour for “What It Is.” She’s best-known for “Ernie Pook’s Comeek,” which was first published in the Cooper Point Journal in Olympia.

Who was responsible for that? “Simpsons” creator Matt Groening, then editor of the Cooper Point Journal.

In advance of her appearance at Evergreen, Barry agreed to an interview via e-mail. (She refuses to use the phone “unless absolutely necessary.”) She talked about her book, her comics, her days at Evergreen – and her new passion, fighting wind turbines.

Question: Why do you avoid the phone?

Answer: I’ve always gotten a sick feeling when the phone rang, ever since I was a kid. Some of my earliest memories are of being right there when especially horrible news came via the telephone. It’s the first time I remember seeing my parents crying really hard and looking out of control and that scared me pretty badly. So the phone has always seemed like a possible monster to me.

But I loved trying to win radio dial-in contests for tickets to concerts or movies. I won our Thanksgiving turkey five years in a row from the radio station. They’d play a turkey gobble right in the middle of a song, and when you heard it you had to be the fifth caller. Actually, a turkey gobble going off in the middle of a pop song is a good idea any time of year.

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GRANT MORRISON: "Let’s have some ‘fuck you’ positivity!"

From a new interview with Arthur No. 12 cover star GRANT MORRISON, over at Newsarama:

“In today’s world, in today’s media climate designed to foster the fear our leaders like us to feel because it makes us easier to push around… In a world where limp, wimpy men are forced to talk tough and act ‘badass’ even though we all know they’re shitting it inside… In a world where the measure of our moral strength has come to lie in the extremity of the images we’re able to look at and stomach… In a world, I’m reliably told, that’s going to the dogs, the real mischief, the real punk rock rebellion, is a snarling, ‘fuck you’ positivity and optimism. Violent optimism in the face of all evidence to the contrary is the Alpha form of outrage these days. It really freaks people out.
Continue reading →

Nathaniel Mayer RIP

From Sunday, November 2, 2008 Detroit News

Nathaniel Mayer’s tenor voice added spark to blues
by Susan Whitall / Detroit News Music Writer

Detroit music suffered another loss Saturday with the death of Nathaniel Mayer, one of the liveliest singers to come out of the city’s legendary rhythm and blues scene of the ’50s and ’60s.

In his 64 years, Mayer suffered more dramatic ups and downs than most. He was just 18 when he and the Fabulous Twilights scored a Top 40 national hit, “Village of Love,” on Fortune Records, a Detroit label.

Drop the needle and Mayer’s voice erupts in a tenor howl, “Why don’t you come, come to the village of love…” Three minutes of raw excitement, the record is a party immortalized in vinyl and can still be heard on XM Satellite Radio’s ’50s and ’60s channels.

But after “Leave Me Alone” and other follow-up records weren’t as successful, Mayer disappeared into Detroit’s gritty east side and a life of obscure hardship for decades. It didn’t help that Fortune Records’ catalog was never officially released on CD; only bootleg CDs recorded from old records were available.

During his years off the grid, the Detroit Cobras recorded a cover version of “Village of Love” (in the mid-’90’s), but Mayer was unaware of how much he was remembered or admired.

Fans like Detroit music historian S.R. Boland hadn’t forgotten him. Boland, who sometimes sang backup for Mayer, was instrumental in getting the singer to make a comeback, performing at a “Legends” show at the Millennium Theatre in Southfield in 2000.

Immaculate in white tails, thin as a whippet, Mayer gave an explosive performance. His voice was raspier but still a potent, tenor shriek, and the 60-year-old danced like James Brown in his prime, as if his life depended on it. In a way, it did.

In 2004, the national blues record company Fat Possum, which specializes in reviving the careers of blues and R&B greats, released an album, “I Just Want to be Held,” by Mayer.

He also made several acclaimed appearances at the Ponderosa Stomp roots music festival in New Orleans.

It seemed as if finally, Nathaniel Mayer’s story would have a happy ending.

But on April 13, he suffered a series of strokes, forcing the cancellation of his annual appearance at the Ponderosa Stomp.

“Every day is a miracle,” his daughter Bonnie Thompson told The Detroit News in April. “He’s more alert now, and he’s trying to speak, giving people eye contact. He can talk a little bit, but you have to get up real close. He’s trying.”

But after battling complications for months in a Detroit nursing home, his frantic energy stilled, Mayer finally succumbed Saturday.

Several weeks ago, a group of musicians led by his friend and sometime bandmate Jeff Meier announced a fundraiser Nov. 30 for their friend “Nay-dog” at the Northern Lights Lounge on Baltimore in Detroit’s New Center.

The original intent was to get Mayer better rehabilitation care, but the fundraiser will still go on as a tribute, to offset funeral expenses, with Black Merda, Gino Washington, Kenny Martin, Cody Black and others performing.

Mayer was a student at Detroit’s Eastern High School when he first walked into Fortune Records in Detroit.

Fortune was located in a tiny, ramshackle building on Third, but nonetheless had produced a string of hit records by a roster of hillbilly and R&B artists. Most notable were Nolan Strong and the Diablos (“The Wind” and the later “Mind Over Matter”) and Andre Williams (“Bacon Fat” and “Jail Bait.”)

As funky and obscure as Fortune was, its artists were revered; Motown’s Berry Gordy Jr. tried repeatedly to hire Strong away from the Browns, and he did manage to get Williams on his payroll to produce, and groom Motown acts for live performance.

Anyone could come in to Fortune Records and pay Jack and Devora Brown to wax a record, and that’s what Mayer had in mind, until Devora heard his frantic tenor delivery and decided he had hit record potential.

“Village of Love” was successful in part because the Browns licensed it to United Artists, which had national distribution, but when Mayer followed up his hit with “Leave Me Alone” the Browns tried to handle the record on their own, and his career faltered.

Disappointed, Mayer departed Fortune.

Mayer’s other recent recordings include “I Don’t Want No Bald-Headed Woman (Telling Me What to Do),” a single produced by his friend Gino Washington and finally released by Norton Records, and the 2007 album “Why Don’t You Give it to Me,” on Alive [which was enthusiastically reviewed by Julian Cope in Arthur No. 30].

This year the Spanish record company Munster released some of his older recordings as well.

“I think he did feel vindicated,” said Meier, who started out as a fan and ended up in Mayer’s band.

“He enjoyed the last few years of renewed success. Sitting in Detroit without access to a computer for years, it blew his mind to find out there was so much love out there for him.”

Mayer was preceded in death by his mother, father and a sister. He is survived by three sisters, two brothers and many children and grandchildren.

Funeral arrangements are pending.

Nathaniel Mayer Feb. 10, 1944 — Nov. 1, 2008