Morning News – February 16, 2015
Back from the gym
I sit down to breakfast with the Tampa Tribune
I read
Another Bibical Snowstorm
Jews only safe in Israel, Netanyahu says
Ukraine cease-fire holding
Copenhagen gunman had violent history
IS claims mass beheading of Egyptians Christians
Obamacare’s unbroken skein of shattered promises
This last at first seems another slam at the idea of decent health care for all of us, but then I read on until I get to “Medical care doesn’t have to be a right before a great nation does the right thing the right way.”
Is it any wonder that I feel
Overwhelmed with information
Buried in emotions which threatens to paralyze me
Then I read:
Poet laureate Philip Levine dies at 87
Part of “What Work Is” is quoted.
My trusted friend goggle retrieves what used to take me hours of searching among my disorganized collection of books which I have promised myself to organize far too many times to count.
“What Work Is”
What Work Is
BY PHILIP LEVINE
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work is—if you’re
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you. This is about waiting,
shifting from one foot to another.
Feeling the light rain falling like mist
into your hair, blurring your vision
until you think you see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe ten places.
You rub your glasses with your fingers,
and of course it’s someone else’s brother,
narrower across the shoulders than
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to give in to
rain, to the hours of wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who will say, “No,
we’re not hiring today,” for any
reason he wants. You love your brother,
now suddenly you can hardly stand
the love flooding you for your brother,
who’s not beside you or behind or
ahead because he’s home trying to
sleep off a miserable night shift
at Cadillac so he can get up
before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you hate most,
the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him
you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide and said those words,
and maybe kissed his cheek? You’ve never
done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you’re too young or too dumb,
not because you’re jealous or even mean
or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,
just because you don’t know what work is.
Philip Levine, “What Work Is” from What Work Is. Copyright © 1992 by Philip Levine. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.
Source: What Work Is: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1991)
I am reminded of the luxury of contemplating ideas and massaging my emotions while much of the world stands in line for work; for basic bread; mourns their dead; dodges bullets or the swords which will behead them.
In the tradition of Walt Whitman Mr. Levine pens a reminder which I read on this day we have set aside to honor the presidents of this nation; a reminder to see; a reminder to really see. Thanks.
Back from the gym
I sit down to breakfast with the Tampa Tribune
I read
Another Bibical Snowstorm
Jews only safe in Israel, Netanyahu says
Ukraine cease-fire holding
Copenhagen gunman had violent history
IS claims mass beheading of Egyptians Christians
Obamacare’s unbroken skein of shattered promises
This last at first seems another slam at the idea of decent health care for all of us, but then I read on until I get to “Medical care doesn’t have to be a right before a great nation does the right thing the right way.”
Is it any wonder that I feel
Overwhelmed with information
Buried in emotions which threatens to paralyze me
Then I read:
Poet laureate Philip Levine dies at 87
Part of “What Work Is” is quoted.
My trusted friend goggle retrieves what used to take me hours of searching among my disorganized collection of books which I have promised myself to organize far too many times to count.
“What Work Is”
What Work Is
BY PHILIP LEVINE
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work is—if you’re
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you. This is about waiting,
shifting from one foot to another.
Feeling the light rain falling like mist
into your hair, blurring your vision
until you think you see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe ten places.
You rub your glasses with your fingers,
and of course it’s someone else’s brother,
narrower across the shoulders than
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to give in to
rain, to the hours of wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who will say, “No,
we’re not hiring today,” for any
reason he wants. You love your brother,
now suddenly you can hardly stand
the love flooding you for your brother,
who’s not beside you or behind or
ahead because he’s home trying to
sleep off a miserable night shift
at Cadillac so he can get up
before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you hate most,
the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him
you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide and said those words,
and maybe kissed his cheek? You’ve never
done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you’re too young or too dumb,
not because you’re jealous or even mean
or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,
just because you don’t know what work is.
Philip Levine, “What Work Is” from What Work Is. Copyright © 1992 by Philip Levine. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.
Source: What Work Is: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1991)
I am reminded of the luxury of contemplating ideas and massaging my emotions while much of the world stands in line for work; for basic bread; mourns their dead; dodges bullets or the swords which will behead them.
In the tradition of Walt Whitman Mr. Levine pens a reminder which I read on this day we have set aside to honor the presidents of this nation; a reminder to see; a reminder to really see. Thanks.
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