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Eek, woz there grousing on this list of late, Candice? It was a good day but a bad late night here in Britland, as it was election day too, and a sudden awareness of inability to make a difference came sliding along with the no choice for most party politics. There were, tho' exceptions, for instance a candidate in Kidderminster stood and won as an independent solely on the issue of fighting cuts to the local hospital's service. But the lifts feel like they're out of order, mirrors and all. Best Dave ----- Original Message ----- From: "Candice Ward" <[log in to unmask]> To: <[log in to unmask]> Sent: Friday, June 08, 2001 2:28 AM Subject: Gwendolyn Brooks > 'ere now, 'ere now, 'ere now, wot's all this frangipani grousing? > > Somebody needs to go have a look at himself in the (up)lift(in') mirror & > recall his bon vivant nature! > > In the meantime (yes, isn't it), in honor of the anniversary of Mizz Gwen's > birth today (I can't bring myself to call it her birthday under the > circumstances--it just seems tactless--and there otter be another term for > the birthday of somebody who's dead anyway), have a squidge at Warpland, all > yez out there in Woofland--Candice > > It does give new meaning to "many happy returns, though, I must admit.... > > > ____________ > > > > THE SECOND SERMON ON THE WARPLAND > > > > > > 1. > > This is the urgency: Live! > > and have your blooming in the noise of the whirlwind. > > > > 2. > > Salve salvage in the spin. > > Endorse the splendor splashes; > > stylize the flawed utility; > > prop a malign or failing light-- > > but know the whirlwind is our commonwealth. > > Not the easy man, who rides above them all, > > not the jumbo brigand, > > not the pet bird of poets, that sweetest sonnet, > > shall straddle the whirlwind. > > Nevertheless, live. > > > > 3. > > All about are the cold places, > > all about are the pushmen and jeopardy, theft-- > > all about are the stormers and scramblers, but > > what must our Season be, which starts from Fear? > > Live and go out. > > Define and > > medicate the whirlwind. > > > > 4. > > The time > > cracks into furious flower. Lifts its face > > all unashamed. And sways in wicked grace. > > Whose half-black hands assemble oranges > > is tom-tom hearted > > (goes in bearing oranges and boom). > > And there are bells for orphans-- > > and red and shriek and sheen. > > A garbageman is dignified > > as any diplomat. > > Big Bessie's feet hurt like nobody's business, > > but she stands--bigly--under the unruly scrutiny, stands in the wild weed. > > > > In the wild weed > > she is a citizen, > > and is a moment of highest quality; admirable. > > > > It is lonesome, yes. For we are the last of the loud. > > Nevertheless, live. > > > > Conduct your blooming in the noise and whip of the whirlwind. > > > > --Gwendolyn Brooks, from *In the Mecca*, 1968 >