UI volunteer finds unknown Carl Sandburg poem- 'Revolver' takes aim at guns, violence (post more!)

[farminator3000]

A Revolver

Here is a revolver.

It has an amazing language all its own.

It delivers unmistakable ultimatums.

It is the last word.

A simple, little human forefinger can tell a terrible story with it.

Hunger, fear, revenge, robbery hide behind it.

It is the claw of the jungle made quick and powerful.

It is the club of the savage turned to magnificent precision.

It is more rapid than any judge or court of law.

It is less subtle and treacherous than any one lawyer or ten.

When it has spoken, the case can not be appealed to the supreme court, nor any mandamus nor any injunction nor any stay of execution in and interfere with the original purpose.

And nothing in human philosophy persists more strangely than the old belief that God is always on the side of those who have the most revolvers.

...

end poem.

love the 'claw of the jungle' line.

http://news.illinois.edu/news/13/0118unpublished_gun_poem_CarlSandburg.html

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2013-01-21/news/ct-met-sandburg-poem-found-20130121_1_poem-carl-sandburg-debate-over-gun-control

http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/01/23/carl_sandburg_a_revolver_newly_discovered_poem_about_guns_feels_surprisingly.html

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2013-02-01/features/ct-prj-0203-literary-saloon-20130201_1_poem-printers-row-silent-haunches

also, some timely west coast 80s hardcore-

(DON'T FORGET THE GOLDEN RULE!)

(Impatient) Youth- Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition

(I) Y version:
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
God is on our side
Battling over the book, slaughtering over the psalms
Onward Christian soldier with your sword and cross
Putting the fear of god into heathen flesh
The blood easily washed off of the Christian hand
Cleansed in the river of lies promise of salvation
From the mouth of madmen’s interpretations
Don’t forget the golden rule
The man with the gold is making the rules
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
God is on our side

The war song:
Down went the gunner, a bullet was his fate
Down went the gunner, then the gunners mate
Up jumped the sky pilot, gave the boys a look
And manned the gun himself as he laid aside The Book, shouting
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition and we'll all stay free!
Praise the Lord and swing into position!
Can't afford to sit around and wishin'
Praise the Lord we're all between perdition
and the deep blue sea!
Yes the sky pilot said it
You've got to give him credit
for a son - of - gun - of - a - gunner was he,
Shouting;
Praise the Lord we're on a mighty mission!
All aboard, we're not a - goin' fishin;
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition and we'll all stay free!

[farminator3000]

1. here's an absolutely stunning one by Emily Dickinson. damn, is that good.

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –
In Corners – till a Day
The Owner passed – identified –
And carried Me away –

And now We roam in Sovereign Woods –
And now We hunt the Doe –
And every time I speak for Him –
The Mountains straight reply –

And do I smile, such cordial light
Upon the Valley glow –
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let its pleasure through –

And when at Night – Our good Day done –
I guard My Master's Head –
'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's
Deep Pillow – to have shared –

To foe of His – I'm deadly foe –
None stir the second time –
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye –
Or an emphatic Thumb –

Though I than He – may longer live
He longer must – than I –
For I have but the power to kill,
Without – the power to die –

by Emily Dickinson

[farminator3000]

2. I Explain A Few Things by Pablo Neruda - he sure does...love the metres/litres part

One one of the most famous poets of all time, Pablo Neruda was born Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto, but adopted legally in 1946 his pen name of Pablo Neruda.

From the 1940s on, his works reflected the political struggle of the left and the socio-historical developments in South America. He is also very famous for his love poems. Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair (1924) have sold over a million copies since it first appeared.
http://allpoetry.com/poem/8496987-I_Explain_A_Few_Things-by-Pablo_Neruda


I Explain A Few Things by Pablo Neruda

You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.

I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.

From there you could look out
over Castille's dry face:
a leather ocean.
My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
Brother, my brother!
Everything
loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,
pile-ups of palpitating bread,
the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue
like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:
oil flowed into spoons,
a deep baying
of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
metres, litres, the sharp
measure of life,
stacked-up fish,
the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
the weather vane falters,
the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,
wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.

And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings —
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to kill children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.

Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!

Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!

Treacherous
generals:
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull's eye of your hearts.

And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!