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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
Gerard Van der Leun
Lay down these words
Before your mind like rocks.
placed solid, by hands
In choice of place, set
Before the body of the mind
in space and time:
Solidity of bark, leaf, or wall
riprap of things:
Cobble of milky way.
straying planets,
These poems, people,
lost ponies with
Dragging saddles –
and rocky sure-foot trails.
The worlds like an endless
four-dimensional
Game of Go.
ants and pebbles
In the thin loam, each rock a word
a creek-washed stone
Granite: ingrained
with torment of fire and weight
Crystal and sediment linked hot
all change, in thoughts,
As well as things.
Gary Snyder
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
— BY THEODORE ROETHKE
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
Comments on this entry are closed.
Some will find it incredible, but when you watch an old John Ford movie, he makes a point to raise the flag in a lot of his films.
It’s a flag that my immigrant grandparents earned the right to revere through sacrifice, and one that my father fought under in Europe.
I find it incredible that some idiot in a football uniform feels he can use it as a prop for his grievances. What he wants is to make me angry; instead he pushes his cause further away and essentially belittles himself and his organization.
Bravo, Casey, and thank you, Gerard.
After poverty, polio, homelessness, and an endless list of discoveries and disappointments, after art and beauty and pain and fifty years of “feminism,” I’m still coming. All I have left of the father I never met is a few photographs and the 48-star flag that graced his grave in France.
God Bless America.
Thank you Rob for the inspirational paragraph.
God Bless America
Happy 243rd Birthday, U.S. Army. And Happy 72nd Birthday, Mr. President.
And may God continue to bless America.
Yes, what PA CAT said above. The video brought a tear to this old Marine’s eyes.
My favorite rendition of my favorite song:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ETrr-XHBjE
My second favorite:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8C7i9kdEf8
From Marc Leepson’s splendid book “Flag: An American Biography.”
The American flag proved to be an unequivocally positive symbol during the Vietnam War to the men held as prisoners of war in Hanoi. The U.S. Navy pilot Michael Christian, who was shot down in North Vietnam and taken prisoner on April 24, 1967, was perhaps the most devoted to the flag. When he was held in the infamous Hanoi Hilton prison camp, Christian fashioned an American flag out a few ragged bits of red and white cloth that he sewed into the inside of his prison-issue blue pajamas with a bamboo needle.
“Every afternoon we would hang Mike’s shirt on the wall of our cell and say the Pledge of Allegiance,” said U.S. Sen. John McCain, a former navy pilot who was held with Christian. “For those men in that stark prison cell, it was indeed the most important and meaningful event of our day.” When the prison guards discovered the flag in 1971, they beat Christian mercilessly, battering his face and breaking his ribs. While recovering from his wounds, Christian secretly made a replacement flag.
A few days after the beating, “Mike approached me, He said ‘Major, they got the flag, but they didn’t get the needle I made it with. If you agree, I’m making another flag,’ ” said Air Force colonel George “Bud” Day, a Medal of Honor recipient held at the Hanoi Hilton from 1967 to 1973. “My answer was, ‘Do it.’ ”
It took Christian “several weeks” to make that second flag, Day said. After he finished it, “there was never a day from that day forward that the Stars and Stripes did not fly in my room, with forty American pilots proudly saluting.”
Al Kroboth, a U.S. Marine Corps A-6 navigator, was shot down July 7, 1972, over South Vietnam. Severely wounded, he was forced to march to the Hanoi Hilton where he was held until March 27, 1973, when the North Vietnamese released him and the other American POWs. When he saw the U.S. Air Force transport plane land in Hanoi to pick up the POWs that day, Kroboth said, he did not feel emotional until he noticed the large American flag painted on the airplane’s tail.
“That flag,” he told the novelist Pat Conroy, a college classmate. “It had the biggest American flag on it I ever saw. To this day, I cry when I think of it. Seeing that flag, I started crying. I couldn’t see the plane; I just saw the flag. All the guys started cheering. But that flag … that flag.”
Oh, that Old Glory made with Stars and Bars and Field of Blue, yes, with blood and tears and fears and with Courage too.
Long may you wave gracing the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, and may we be worthy of You.
The music:
Fanfare for the Common Man by Aaron Copland
Played by the “The Presidents Own®” U.S. Marine Band®
https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=32&v=0KxMc_tyQBo
I traded a Marine for a very large American flag some years ago. 9×17. Used to fly on a Navy ship. Wonder if the HOA will let me put up a flag pole large enough to fly it.
1950 my father placed a 12×12 American flag on the wall in front of my crib.
1968 I took that flag to Vietnam as a machine gun team member with the 2nd bn. 9th marine regiment.
June 1969 my unit secured and held a small hill located near the Ho-chi Minh trail rt. 922.
The flag was tied to a broken tree over my teams fighting hole with some com wire. We had a visit by the division commander and his Sgt major with the usual flunky reporters and they took pictures of the piled up bloting NVA dead and got in our way as we policed the battle field.
The Sgt major told us to take down the flag because we didn’t have a South Vietnamese flag to fly along side old glory. We did as we were told being the good snuffies trained to not ask why. Along with the entourage there was a full bird ARVN you readers connect the dots.
09/11/01 I again placed the same flag on my office door resting in a plastic sleeve. I was asked to take it down by a liberal physician who ran the clinic I worked at.
I look at the fading color of this old flag I see blood stains spattered on its stripes. From Sgt Gonzalez’s bleeding all over me and Floyd Fuller as we placed him on a medivac.
I want this flag folded correctly placed inside my suit coat over my heart when they intern me at the national cemetery in Arizona.
FINALLY there will be no voices to say take that flag down.