The Revolution Will Not Be Televised -- Gil Scott-Heron

Guest poem submitted by Paramjit Oberoi:

(Poem #1527) The Revolution Will Not Be Televised You will not be able to stay home, brother. You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out. You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip, Skip out for beer during commercials, Because the revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox In 4 parts without commercial interruptions. The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia. The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal. The revolution will not get rid of the nubs. The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother. There will be no pictures of you and Willie May pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run, or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance. NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32 or report from 29 districts. The revolution will not be televised. There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process. There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving For just the proper occasion. Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and women will not care if Dick finally gets down with Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day. The revolution will not be televised. There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock news and no pictures of hairy armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose. The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be right back after a message About a white tornado, white lightning, or white people. You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl. The revolution will not go better with Coke. The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath. The revolution WILL put you in the driver's seat. The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised, will not be televised, will not be televised. The revolution will be no re-run brothers; The revolution will be live. -- Gil Scott-Heron

These are the lyrics to Gil Scott-Heron's electrifying song, "The Revolution
Will Not be Televised" from his 1970 album "Small Talk at 125th and Lenox".
I love the contrast between the irrelevance of television, and the raw power
of *real* significant events.  Reading the poem makes you feel you're in the
middle of a revolution, and almost makes you want to get "out there" and
start shouting...  Though very powerful when read, you really have to listen
to the song to get the full effect of this piece.

Paramjit.

[biographical information from allmusic.com]

One of the most important progenitors of rap music, Gil Scott-Heron's
aggressive, no-nonsense street poetry inspired a legion of intelligent
rappers while his engaging songwriting skills placed him square in the R&B
charts later in his career.  Born in Chicago but transplanted to Tennessee
for his early years, Scott-Heron spent most of his high-school years in the
Bronx, where he learned firsthand many of the experiences which later made
up his songwriting material. He had begun writing before reaching his
teenage years, however, and completed his first volume of poetry at the age
of 13.   Though he attended college in Pennsylvania, he dropped out after
one year to concentrate on his writing career and earned plaudits for his
novel, The Vulture.

Encouraged at the end of the '60s to begin recording, Scott-Heron released
his 1970 debut, Small Talk at 125th and Lenox, inspired by a volume of
poetry of the same name, and soon found success on the R&B charts.  Silent
for almost a decade after the release of his 1984 single "Re-Ron," the
proto-rapper returned to recording in the mid-'90s with a message for the
gangsta rappers who had come in his wake; Scott-Heron's 1994 album Spirits
began with "Message to the Messengers," pointed squarely at the rappers
whose influence -- positive or negative -- meant much to the children of the
1990s.

Afton Water -- Robert Burns

Guest poem submitted by Matthew Brooks:

(Poem #1526) Afton Water Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes! Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise! My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow; There oft, as mild Ev'ning sweeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides, How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. -- Robert Burns

        (1759-1796)

Here is a poem for The Wondering Minstrels. It's in the "summer" theme.
Afton Water is one of my favorite poems, mostly because of the sense of deep
peace and tranquillity that comes over me when I read it. There is something
about the pace and rhythm of this poem... I think it is the combination of
alliteration ("Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow") and the
gentleness of the nature imagery that works. And it is also purely,
unabashedly romantic. The facts about Robert Burns are chronicled elsewhere.
Another great aspect of this poem is that it has lent itself to song, having
been set to music by several diverse singers and groups, all of which
preserve the spirit of the work... it is one of those poems that really
deserves to be read aloud.

Matt

Thief -- Robert Graves

Guest poem submitted by Ian Shields :

(Poem #1525) Thief To the galleys, thief, and sweat your soul out With strong tugging under the curled whips, That there your thievishness may find full play. Whereas, before, you stole rings, flowers and watches, Oaths, jests and proverbs, Yet paid for bed and board like an honest man, This shall be entire thiefdom: you shall steal Sleep from chain-galling, diet from sour crusts, Comradeship from the damned, the ten-year-chained- And, more than this, the excuse for life itself From a craft steered toward battles not your own. -- Robert Graves

        From 'Collected Poems', 1959.

This well fits the "poet cranky" theme. Graves, like Patrick O'Kelly (see
Poem #266) appears to have been the victim of a thief, dipped his pen in
venom, and engaged in a cathartically poetic exercise. It has been said, "a
conservative is a liberal who has been mugged". I am a clinical psychologist
who deals exclusively with juvenile delinquents (mostly car thieves and
burglars) in a clinic for the morally challenged (i.e., the county jail). As
such, I cannot indulge myself in angry outbursts against the outrages of my
clients; it wouldn't promote good therapeutic rapport. An occasional rant
like Graves', however, is good for the psyche and soul.

Dr. Ian Shields
Ottawa-Carleton Detention Centre

Sensation -- Arthur Rimbaud

Guest poem submitted by Aditi Balasubramaniam:

(Poem #1524) Sensation Through blue summer nights I will pass along paths, Pricked by wheat, trampling short grass: Dreaming, I will feel coolness underfoot, Will let breezes bathe my bare head. Not a word, not a thought: Boundless love will surge through my soul, And I will wander far away, a vagabond In Nature - as happily as with a woman. -- Arthur Rimbaud

        March 1870
        trans. Wyatt Mason

The poetry of Arthur Rimbaud seems to be conspicuous by its absence in your
anthology. I am submitting 'Sensation' in the original language [see below -
ed.], along with my favourite translation by Wyatt Mason. I love the
simplicity of the poem and its unusual but wonderfully effective adjectives.

More of his poetry can be found at www.mag4.net/poetry/Rimbaud.html and more
on Rimbaud can be found at :
http://www.newyorker.com/critics/books/?031117crbo_books

Aditi.

[original poem in French]

 Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai dans les sentiers,
 Picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue,
 Rêveur, j'en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds.
 Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.

 Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien :
 Mais l'amour infini me montera dans l'âme,
 Et j'irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,
 Par la nature, heureux comme avec une femme.

        -- Arthur Rimbaud

An Ethical Grook -- Piet Hein

Guest poem submitted by Benjamin Paul Withy :

(Poem #1523) An Ethical Grook I see and I hear and I speak no evil; I carry no malice within my breast; yet quite without wishing a man to the Devil one may be permitted to hope for the best. -- Piet Hein

This only sort of fits "the poet cranky" theme.  While I'm sure this was
written in jest, as so many of Hein's poems are, I feel it is a lovely turn
of phrase which most people can appreciate the sentiment behind.  I think
I've already exceeded the length of the poem with my comment so I'll stop
here.