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“God damn America,” the preacher spoke, But, as it happened, Jerry Wright was woke: Upon the world mere anarchy is loosed, With yankee chickens coming home to roost. “Unless America repent, God damn,” The preacher said; but blithely Uncle Sam He shrugged his shoulders, twitched his titties, and Proceeded nonchalant upon the sand. They ripped the children from their parents And called them criminals and errants Who only came beseeching help— A cage for each forsaken whelp, Or holding pen, to pass the time, And whose was it, the awesome crime? My country, oh, my country, oh, America, what you forgo In treating the poor helpless so. Asylum seekers, so they came, Pursuing safety—theirs no shame— But, labeled as an “infestation” The shame belongs to this sad nation Forsaking high ideals sublime To stumble into ruthless crime. My country, oh, my country, oh, America, the land I know But love with loathing even so. They said it was the name of Christ Did sanction, and, as hypnotized Repeated it an empty mantra, While to Christ’s teachings acting contra, And to the least, sweet little lambs Sentenced to where God gives no damns. America, my country, oh, For they were weak and poor, although No tender mercy did you show. The Court, alas, when it decides Is valueless while Gorsuch rides— Nor flowers long-standing precedent Where ethics turned to excrement: He took the stolen goods on offer When of theft he should have been scoffer, So who respects a judge so benched Whom rank hypocrisy has drenched? No, Justice fled to heaven when Gorsuch was placed by his henchmen. With Gorsuch on the Court, alas, All credibility must pass— It was forecast, and so it has. How to restore the reputation To justice tarnished, on vacation Or in abeyance, in this nation? A Court that by deceit is packed Is not so easily attacked, But struts and plays a minstrel act. Adieu, farewell, sweet Jurisprudence, All trust was sundered with impudence, And fraud a game for Homo Ludens.  This is the first book I did at Lulu. Actually it was written in 2002. I’m not recommending it to you because, being the first, I got the formatting wrong, and the pages appear a little shabby. It’s like a companion piece to my Against Holy War (in which I argued for a peaceful response to 9/11), and I wrote a third book employing the same stanza which is filed away somewhere because it felt like an embarrassment.
America’s descent into fascism was well augured, though not much spoken about in 2002. Now, the reality is upon us, and it cannot be said which way the country will turn. A heavy mass favors it, but they were always with us. For me, as I wrote before, these are no times for an artist. Presently, instead of on personal affairs, our thoughts and attentions must be devoted to the public crisis, as Adam Kirsch early on predicted. The duration of this moment may outlast my remaining life. With climate catastrophe thrown into the mix, the destruction may be permanent, and irrevocable. If, in this case, fortune favors the meek, and a period of relative abatement comes, I will again devote myself to the proddings of the muse (all other factors being favorable), when I can. But now is not the time. after borderline concentration camps for children I will not celebrate the Fourth. Today the day is little worth. I take the knee with those who kneel. Old Glory (which we call the flag) Becomes a soiled and tattered rag, An emblem of designs unreal. America is little worth Which had such a propitious birth (Except for slaves and native sons), So jettison the Fourth herewith That does not serve to prop a myth, Replace it with Juneteenth at once. Pirates of Penzance played last night in Evanston. Music Theater Works (formerly Light Opera Works) is probably about the only company in Chicagoland that you could expect to do Gilbert and Sullivan well, and they did. The show was two acts of one hour each, with an intermission, and it gave me more sheer delight than anything I can remember seeing in a long time. Not the whole piece, and it dragged, but in parts, the first act being the stronger, with the Pirate King song followed by the Major General’s song. There were no supra titles, sadly, because it was hard to distinguish the words often; but with that song, thorough familiarity rendered the words perfectly intelligible, and the delivery (on the part of all the cast) was entirely spot on. To see “General Stanley” (a surname presumably inspired by the famous Americanized Welshman) strutting about, even if not up to the standard of every YouTube rendition, was pleasurable in context even more than as a detached excerpt. But so with G&S, at their best. The humor derives (beyond Gilbert’s delicious sense of human irony) in part from the idea of the Englishman (though the famous “He is an Englishman” is a song from Pinafore, it might easily have been inserted into Pirates), which it simultaneously mocks and upholds. We no longer view the ideal of “faithfulness to duty” in the same way, nor is it possible to do so, so, although the wit derived from that paradox, time has rendered some of that wit just a little tiresome. To be sure, Pirates of Penzance represents the best of popular entertainment of the day. If it is affected by the change in time to the world's conception of the Englishman as a type, and and the idea of “duty” addressed as something sacred, you wonder how so much of American popular culture will fare, given that so much of it seems purposively designed to bolster a certain ideal (which accounts for its worldwide appeal) of being an American. With political events in the USA, that illusion is rapidly losing currency. The best of Gilbert and Sullivan survives because, despite being a product of its time, it is also constructed with genius (a double genius I might say) which allows it, if never entirely, to transcend the limitations of its time. There are no ifs in Sarah's world, No ifs or ands or maybes, The Law to Moses was unfurled And called for catching babies. The immigration officers Took babies from their mothers, To following orders not averse Regardless of their druthers. A tiny tot was rudely snatched, Tears fell, and sobs were heard, But clear of conscience Sarah watched, Compassion was not stirred. "We'll catch them with our traps and nets, Which, proving insufficient, We'll requisition bayonets, For catching babes efficient." So Sarah spoke, and ever pledged Allegience to her god, An orange Moses privileged, And never spared the rod. I remember a brief excerpt in Time Magazine after this event occurred and it felt like a big controversy of the day. By accident I came across this Fresh Air radio broadcast which played excerpts; not, alas, the event in full which I would have rathered.
Since being labeled a spammer over two weeks ago (the flagged comment was restored to legitimacy after I contacted the site), I’ve been relatively prolific in my Disqus comment’ry. If you’d like to see what I’ve been posting, my activity is available here. The majority of commentary and discussion now takes place on social media sites. I opened a Twitter account to that end, but have fallen away from it after the initial rush of enthusiasm, and of course I’m on Facebook, but it seems too easy to get drawn into vituperative exchanges there; so for now Disqus suffices, at least at such sites as utilize that format, which my three favored theatrical sites (American Theatre, Howlround and The Clyde Fitch Report) do. |
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October 2018
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