That Inaugural Poem

I'll admit that during the inauguration yesterday I wasn't overwhelmed by Elizabeth Alexander's poem. Moments of it stuck out, for sure. I kept thinking, though, that I'd have to read it to evaluate it. It wasn't sinking in. It was too hard for the ear.

I was really curious to look it up, though, since my class is in the midst of our poetry unit, and when does poetry have such a stage? They'd all watched the inauguration yesterday. I looked it up, and read "Praise Song for the Day" again.

And it's really good. It's a tremendously concrete poem. She seems to mean it to be. That makes it difficult to read aloud, oddly enough. Abstractions about love and hope without the anything tying them down would have been much easier to hear, much easier to remember. It certainly is a hopeful poem. But it's a hope located in the day-to-day, where it's usually more difficult to find.

As such, it couldn't have been a better companion to Obama's sober speech yesterday.

We discussed the poem today in class, and things went surprisingly well. That line about enacting a "love with no need to pre-empt grievance" especially intrigued the students. That's a good sign. Maybe some change is coming.


Praise Song for the Day - Elizabeth Alexander

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.

I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
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.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

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?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

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.