"For the Sake of Old Times"

From Stories at 1504, here is one from Birmingham, Alabama:

Should 2020 be forgotten?

As always, the first moments of the upcoming new year will be spent singing “Auld Lang Syne,” which opens by asking how one should respond to memories of the past: to remember or erase?

Folks will soon gather to celebrate, many in surgical masks, eager to leave this year behind with a song whose melody is known more than its meaning. But then what? Where does the collective trauma of 2020 go, despite the optimism that better days are magically ahead?

It’s in this historic moment of reckoning with the past that we measure the weight of our journey together. And in Birmingham, Alabama, a place that dismantled its Confederate monument this summer, a group of Black community singers reimagine “Auld Lang Syne.” The traditional Scottish poem, usually associated with booze and beads, is paired with archival imagery from the year and recorded in a church that refused to seat any Black visitors during the city’s Civil Rights Movement.

Now, in a strange New Year’s season of quiet refrain, the song honors a time of progress and struggle that deserves to not be forgotten any time soon.

To preserve these memories with a cup of kindness.

 

Featured on NPR: “You Might Be Ready To Forget 2020. This Film Reminds You Why You Shouldn't”

For more information, go to https://1504.co/for-the-sake-of-old-times

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Remembering Our History at Standing Rock

This post is a re-posting of a poem I wrote back in 2017, distressed over the building of the Dakota Pipeline over the protests of the Lakota, one whose land the pipeline was traversing. Yesterday was the anniversary of the massacre at Wounded Knee in 1890. I share this post again with the hope that we can do better but knowing the sorrow that genocidal practices are part of our nation's heritage.

The Dakota Access Pipeline continues to be an unresolved conflict that the tribes are battling in court.

"Army Approves Completion of Dakota Access Pipeline Near Standing Rock"

(Photo by Robyn Beck/AFP/Getty Image)

Bury My Heart

“Bury my heart at Wounded Knee*.”

Bury our soul at Standing Rock.

Bury our children in the rubble of corporate greed.

In times past,

Those in power 

Sought to remove the indigenous people

By removing their primary natural resource.

Thus began a campaign of slaughter

That nearly drove the American bison to extinction.

It was the logical extension

Of violent disregard

And relentless acts of genocide

Exacted over 200 years of “New World” settlement.

A reprieve was granted.

The bison was ultimately spared

On small parcels of land.

The people were also spared extinction

To live on small parcels of land

Where their children would be robbed of their heritage,

Their elders would be ridiculed,

And their warriors would be doomed

To a life of alcohol and despair.

For 100 years thereafter,

The bison ran

And gained in number.

The people slowly shook off

The manacles of cultural oppression.

Today they make one more stand

At Standing Rock.

They stand as a witness

Against our penchant for destroying natural resources.

They stand as a witness

For human dignity.

They stand as a voice 
In support of the good earth.

While they stand,

They rally a nation.

Yet the well-oiled wheels of an industry

That cannot see its own end

Move to crush the resistance

           to exhaust our resources,

           to pollute the land

           to disregard the humanity it claims to serve.

One more stand

May lead to more burials,

Yet the good earth will remain

Long after our bodies lie in the rubble

Of our own recklessness.

The good earth will flower

After we are gone.

Nature will endure

With or without humanity.

Our song may give hope to the world

Yet the world may one day have to spin

Without our song.

Bury my heart.

Bury my soul.

Bury my children.

                                                ~ CK

                

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* “Bury my heart at Wounded Knee” is a line from the poem, “American Names,” by Stephen Vincent Benet. It is also the title of a book by Dee Brown, subtitled “An Indian History of the American West.” Wounded Knee was the site of the last conflict between the U.S. Army and Native Americans. On December 29, 1890, the Wounded Knee Massacre at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation (Lakota) in South Dakota was the culmination of the Ghost Dance Movement and ended the Indian Wars. 300 Native Americans died that day. Wounded Knee is also the site where the parents of Crazy Horse buried his heart in 1877.

American bison (photo by Skeeze courtesy of Pixabay)

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Monday Music: May It Be (By Enya, from The Lord of the Rings)

May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh, how far you are from home

Mornië utúlië
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië
A promise lives within you now

May it be the shadow's call
Will fly away
May it be your journey on
To light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun

Mornië utúlië
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië
A promise lives within you now

A promise lives within you now

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Saturday Haiku: Shoreline

as morning fog clears
a boat rests upon the shore
the journey awaits

_______________________

Photo by Hank Henley

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I Saw Three Ships (The Chieftains)

 

 

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Nativity Carol (John Rutter)

My introduction to John Rutter was in the recording, The Holly and the Ivy: Carols from Clare College. I love Christmas music and this album became a favorite and made me pay attention to the work of John Rutter who is one of the most notable composers and choral directors living today. Rutter has certainly made his mark in sacred choral music.  “Nativity Carol” is one of Rutter’s compositions and appears on The John Rutter Christmas Album.  It is performed here by the King’s College Choir, Cambridge

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Monday Music: Christmas Time is Here (A Charlie Brown Christmas)

It was a delight in my childhood. Not only did A Charlie Brown Christmas tell an endearing Christmas story while presenting the Christmas story, but it was also probably my first introduction to jazz with the musical score written by Vince Guaraldi. 

 

 

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Saturday Haiku: Morning Mist

 

light on dark waters
as the morning sun breaks through
the cool forest mist

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Photo by Hank Henley

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White Christmas

(From Growing Up Under Southern Apartheid)

White Christmas

In east-central Alabama, we typically don’t get a white Christmas, at least not like the one Bing Crosby sang about. When I was a kid, I looked at many a picture book with snow-laden Christmas scenes and saw Christmas cards come in through the mail that featured snow-covered villages. In the South, we could wish for snow, but we were more likely to get rain. Snow might come later (if only for a day) but never as early as Christmas.

As children, even without the snow we began to feel the anticipation of the holiday as the time drew near. Adults would start it. They’d say, “What’s Santy Claus gonna bring ya?” or “Have you been a good little boy this year? Well mind your Mama ‘cause Santa’s comin’.”

Sights and Sounds of Christmas

One of the things that really set the stage for the holiday was putting up the Christmas tree. In rural Alabama back in the 1950s, most folks cut their own trees. Cedars grew wild in the pastures and farmland in the area. I remember going with Dad one year to look for a tree. We went to a farm owned by an older man who let us walk through the pasture to find the one we wanted. I remember Dad stopping back by the old man’s house to pay him, but the farmer just waved him off and wouldn’t hear of it. It was probably because my Dad was the preacher in town. In those days, churches paid their preachers a meager salary but people tried to make up for it in other ways. Someone might have a good day fishing on the river with too many fish to clean, and he’d take the preacher enough to feed his family. Someone else would have some corn or beans coming in and would take a mess of vegetables to the preacher’s house. Many merchants in town offered discounts for clergy.

At our house, by the time the Christmas tree went up, we had Christmas records playing. We had a little record player that played 45 and 78 RPMs and we’d delight in hearing “Up on the Housetop,” “Jingle Bells,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and the like. Of course, in Sunday School we would sing “Silent Night,” “Away in a Manger,” and “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” 

And then there were the Christmas stories.  Dad would thrill us in reading Clement Moore's poem, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Mom would read Why the Chimes Rang, by Raymond MacDonald Alden to set a solemn yet magical tone for the holiday. Our excitement could hardly be tamped down because the next morning would be filled with drifts of wadded wrapping paper, stockings filled with candy, and the unmistakable Christmas aroma of new plastic from all of the toys gathered under the tree.

 Santa Comes to Town

We lived in Wedowee, Alabama from 1955 to 1960, so that makes it easy for me to place a relative time period on my early childhood memories since I was only a year old when we first arrived. I suppose in those days every community had its own way of marking the beginning of the Christmas season.  In Dadeville, Alabama, where I began the sixth grade, the local Girl Scouts sang carols on the courthouse steps on a Saturday afternoon as the town turned on the Christmas lights for the first time on Main Street.

In the small town of Wedowee, the county seat of Randolph County, the Christmas season was heralded by Santa riding into town on the back of a red fire engine. Children would gather at the town square in glad anticipation. Sure, New York City had the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with Santa and his sleigh as the grand finale, but we ushered jolly old St. Nicholas into town in grand style!

1955 GMC Pumper 

I remember when Dad took my brother and me to join the crowd of kids waiting to see Santa come to town. At the appointed time, we heard the siren wailing in the distance. Soon the fire truck appeared, driving through the town, Santa standing on the back and waving to the crowd. When the fire truck stopped, Santa began handing out bags of candy to all the eager children.

Christmas in the South was as segregated as all the other community activities, but there must have been some allowances in Wedowee for Santa’s visit. That day when we went to see Santa ride into town, it was an event for all children, both Black and white. It made such an impression upon me as a child that one particular image stands out in my memory to this day.  As I made my way up to see Santa who was handing out the candy to all the children, I saw a little Black girl walk up to get some candy. She was younger than I – I would have been around five, so she must have been around three years old. She had on a blue dress and pink bows tied up in her hair. The little girl walked slowly up to Santa at her mother’s encouragement, and what did Santa do?  He bent down and picked her up in his arms!  He then walked around, continuing to wave at the kids, carrying the little girl in his arms.


Of course, we knew this was not the real Santa. It was clear that he was a man in a costume. I have no idea who Santa was that day, but I never forgot the way that he carried the little Black girl in his arms. I was not accustomed to seeing Black children because Black people and white people lived separate lives and the children went to separate schools. While the little Black girl did not fit into all of the Christmas images and songs that I had in my head at that young age, that day a new image of Christmas was added to my memory. Throughout my childhood, though we never had snow, all of my Christmases were white, except for that one day.

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Photo credit:

• Vintage 1950s Christmas card was found on Pinterest
• "Unmanaged eastern red cedars" photo from Wildlife, a publication of The Samuel Roberts Noble Foundation.
• The record player and fire truck images were both found on Pinterest with no credit attributed.

For an index to other essays in Growing Up Under Southern Apartheid, go here.

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Monday Music: Carol of the Field Mice (from The Wind in the Willows)

"Joy Shall Be Yours in the Morning"

Kenneth Grahame's beloved children's book, The Wind in the Willows, contained a Yuletide carol in one of the stories. In 1997, composer Brian Holmes wrote the musical score to accompany the carol that Grahame had written in his 1918 work. The song has been sung by choirs and was featured in one of the British television episodes of The Wind in the Willows in the 1980s. One can view that episode here.    

 

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When We Were All Together

 

  

When We Were All Together

 

“The best of times.”

The very phrase invokes

a mixture of joy and loss

upon recalling the past.

 

When we feasted in bounty

we could not think of empty shelves.

Why spoil a present joy

with fear for the future?

 

Days of laughter –

always welcomed as a tonic

for our troubles

When we were all together.

 

What the years have scattered

leaves us with a timely scrapbook of the heart.

In our separation

we see the measure of our days

with a clarity not known

When we were all together.

 

                                ~ Charles Kinnaird

 

 

 

This poem is one I wrote earlier in the year when we were learning to manage during the initial COVID-19 lockdown. For other poems from a variety of poets, please consider The Social Distance: Poetry in Response to COVID-19, available on Amazon.

The Social Distance: Poetry in Response to COVID-19

An Anthology by the Highland Avenue Eaters of Words

Poetry and photographs in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, sheltering in place, and related trials. The poets, who include doctors, lawyers, journalists, and other professionals open themselves up in non-sentimental, beautiful, and often painful verse that seeks to capture these odd and often difficult times. This book is for those who want to keep a reminder of what "social distancing" was like and to experience how others dealt with isolation and fear. Although engaged in other vocations, the contributing poets include experienced writers who are the winners of local and national contests. Several of the poets have written other books of poetry, essays, and fiction as well as numerous articles and contributions to professional publications.

Available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Social-Distance-Poetry-Response-COVID-19/dp/1098317092

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Saturday Haiku: Quiet

 

 

finding quiet time
where sunlight and shadows fall
enlarges the soul

_____________________

Photo by Charles Kinnaird

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Turning Under

Here is the poem I referred to yesterday which was first posted in August of this year:

Turning Under (the Summer of 2020)

On the near edge of summer

things are dying.

The plague has been like a

great harvester

mowing and sifting humanity’s

stalks and branches

leaving sorrow, memory, and

accommodation

strewn about

for the combine to gather

as dry statistics.

Some deaths come

When people can’t breathe.

There comes a time of burning

to level those suffocating structures.

Things die in summer,

even when death goes unnoticed

amid the flourishing of green.

An age-old song

rises from the rubble

when there is hope for the lowly

to be lifted up

as the mighty are brought down.

A song sung by the women who

witness the end

and see the beginning.

A song of Hannah,

a song of Mary,

and a song

of Billie Holiday

because all celebration

is born of sorrow.

With promise laid waste

and cities in disarray

we quietly paint the streets

with words of hope.

                      ~ Charles Kinnaird

New York City chose a stretch of Fifth Avenue in front of Trump Tower as the location for a Black Lives Matter mural.
 (Mark Lennihan/AP Photo)

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The Social Distance: Poetry in Response to COVID-19

An Anthology by the Highland Avenue Eaters of Words

Poetry and photographs in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, sheltering in place and related trials. The poets, who include doctors, lawyers, journalists, and other professionals open themselves up in non-sentimental, beautiful, and often painful verse that seeks to capture these odd and often difficult times. This book is for those who want to keep a reminder of what "social distancing" was like and to experience how others dealt with isolation and fear. Although engaged in other vocations, the contributing poets include experienced writers who are the winners of local and national contests. Several of the poets have written other books of poetry, essays, and fiction as well as numerous articles and contributions to professional publications.

Available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Social-Distance-Poetry-Response-COVID-19/dp/1098317092

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Poetry During the Pandemic

What a year this has been! But I don't have to tell you that, do I? Back in August, I shared a poem, "Turning Under" which spoke of some of the harrowing days we have been experiencing, including the COVID-19 pandemic. 

I would like to take a moment to remind you that I  have some other poems included in a new anthology, The Social Distance: Poetry in Response to COVID-19. The book has received many compliments from readers and is available on Amazon.  The poets featured are from different walks of life and their words offer a meaningful examination of how we make our way through these unusual times.

At $9.95, this handsome volume makes a fine gift for any thoughtful reader or poetry enthusiast. You can order a paperback copy from Amazon here. 

I was pleased that Alabama's poet laureate, Jennifer Horne, read one of my poems from the book for her Midweek Poetry Break. You can enjoy that reading here. 

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The Social Distance: Poetry in Response to COVID-19

An Anthology by the Highland Avenue Eaters of Words

Poetry and photographs in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, sheltering in place and related trials. The poets, who include doctors, lawyers, journalists, and other professionals open themselves up in non-sentimental, beautiful, and often painful verse that seeks to capture these odd and often difficult times. This book is for those who want to keep a reminder of what "social distancing" was like and to experience how others dealt with isolation and fear. Although engaged in other vocations, the contributing poets include experienced writers who are the winners of local and national contests. Several of the poets have written other books of poetry, essays, and fiction as well as numerous articles and contributions to professional publications.

Available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Social-Distance-Poetry-Response-COVID-19/dp/1098317092

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Monday Music: Proof (Paul Simon)

Paul Simon says over on Twitter: "We are continuing the celebrations for the 30th anniversary of 'The Rhythm of the Saints' this year with the music video for 'Proof' starring Chevy Chase and Steve Martin."

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Saturday Haiku: Sleet

 

winter winds blowing
sleet gathers in the woodland
the nuthatch still sings

________________________________

Image: Euasian nuthatch in sleet
(Shutterstock photo)

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Peace Advocate Colman McCarthy

Here is a fascinating segment from CBS Sunday Morning. A refreshing and remarkable example for those of us who hold to the ideal of peace and non-violence. 

Colman McCarthy is a true original: A golfer, former monk, Washington Post columnist, and now a teacher of peace, who has forged his own path spreading the philosophy of non-violence. Correspondent Mo Rocca sat down with McCarthy for an unforgettable conversation with an unforgettable man. 

 

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Monday Music: Pencil Thin Mustache (Jimmy Buffet)

 

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Saturday Haiku: Wild Geese

wild geese from the north

     who ride the wind and weather

glide the lake with grace

________________

Photos: Canada geese relaxing at Aldridge Gardens in Hoover, Alabama
Credit: Charles Kinnaird  


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Thankful

 The Lincoln Project reminds us of the many things we can be thankful for this year.

 

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Monday Music: Rhiannon Giddens Talks about Southern Music

Rhiannon Giddens talks to David Holt about how Southern music came about from a convergence of music from the British Isles and Africa to make its distinctive mark on American music.

 

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Murder Most Foul (Dylan)

For those of us who remember where we were on November 22, 1963, this song by Bob Dylan is equivalent to Walt Whitman's elegy to Abraham Lincoln, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d."

A review in Tikkun Magazine gives a detailed perspective of the 17-minute song proferring that "In counting down ten consecutive POTUS from JFK to Trump, Bob Dylan sets to music the devolution of the American Dream from light to darkness, mirroring the ten characters in the Passover rhyme Chad Gadya."

The Guardian ran an article by Alex Petridis which speculates the role of art and music in a time of apocalyptic dread. 

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Saturday Haiku: Gravestones

 and the Joker stands
with the gravestones in autumn –
it's your wakeup call

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Friday Funnies: Feed the Cat

 

Psalm 23 (Bobby McFerrin)

Today's post is a repeat of one of my most popular posts since I began blogging -- over two-and-a-half thousand views.  You will see below how I first came to hear this remarkable piece and the effect that it had (and continues to have) on me. -- CK

Bobby McFerrin does something remarkable with Psalm 23. The music is lovely, but the most significant thing he does here is to use the feminine pronoun in reference to God. It is amazing what this shift does for the effect of the psalm. The first time my wife and I heard it was on a PBS telecast several years ago – I think it was with the Boston Pops concert series. We were both moved to tears as we listened. The song also appears on McFerrin's CD, Medicine Music. Here's a YouTube version, scroll down to read the lyrics. 

The 23^rd Psalm

By Bobby McFerrin

The Lord is my Shepard, I have all I need,
She makes me lie down in green meadows,
Beside the still waters, She will lead.

She restores my soul, She rights my wrongs,
She leads me in a path of good things,
And fills my heart with songs.

Even though I walk, through a dark & dreary land,
There is nothing that can shake me,
She has said She won't forsake me,
I'm in her hand.

She sets a table before me, in the presence of my foes,
She anoints my head with oil,
And my cup overflows.

Surely, surely goodness & kindness will follow me,
All the days of my life,
And I will live in her house,
Forever, forever & ever.

Glory be to our Mother, & Daughter,
And to the Holy of Holies,
As it was in the beginning, is now & ever shall be,
World, without end. Amen.



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You might be interested in:

A Jungian Appreciation of Mary


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Monday Music: I Can See Clearly Now

We lost the great Johnny Nash last month. He left us on October 6th at the age of 80. In November of 1972 his signature classic (written by Johnny himself) "I Can See Clearly Now" became a #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.
Nash was introduced to Bob Marley and The Wailers in Jamaica. Marley introduced Nash to reggae, and subsequently Nash introduced reggae and Bob Marley to the American music scene. We all benefitted from that creative encounter.  

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Saturday Haiku: November Mist

 

the November mist

dampening the countryside 

as hearts turn inward

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Photo: "Ely Cathedral on a misty November morning"

             by Sarah MacDonald, Director of Ely Cathedral Girls' Choir

Source: Ely Cathedral Facebook site

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Friday Funnies: Duck Season

 

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I believe in honoring our veterans who have put their lives on the line to serve a greater cause. I also believe that war is not an appropriate answer to our global conflicts and I often grieve over political leaders' cavalier use of our military troops. I found the following blog post by Mennonite pastor Joanna Harader to be a helpful way to frame the honoring of our military veterans. ~ CK

A Pacifist’s Dilemma on Veterans’ Day

Spacious Faith

I wrote this post in 2010, and it seemed appropriate to re-post this weekend.

* * *

I hate war. But I do not hate soldiers.

I believe engaging in armed combat goes against the teachings of Jesus. But I respect the fact that war veterans have made incredible sacrifices for causes they believed to be noble.

I am generally in favor of cutting military spending. But I think we should increase spending on medical and psychological care for veterans. The high rates of mental illness, divorce, and suicide among military veterans causes me deep sorrow.

My first-grader came home from school earlier this week with a little newspaper that featured an Iraq war veteran who had lost his leg. She told me he was a hero because he killed the bad guys. “How do you know,” I asked, “who the bad guys are? Remember what Jesus said.”

"Love your enemies?”

Is there a way, on this day, for me to honor the spirit of sacrifice but not the acts of destruction; to give thanks for the selfless nature of our veterans without condoning the violence they committed; to advocate for better treatment of soldiers without supporting the work of the military-industrial complex?

I believe the best way to honor all veterans is to make sure there are as few new veterans as possible.

(View original post here)

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