{"id":6131,"date":"2017-09-10T11:17:07","date_gmt":"2017-09-10T18:17:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/occupysf.net\/?p=6131"},"modified":"2017-09-11T11:50:27","modified_gmt":"2017-09-11T18:50:27","slug":"hymn-new-poem-sherman-alexie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/2017\/09\/10\/hymn-new-poem-sherman-alexie\/","title":{"rendered":"Hymn: A New Poem by Sherman Alexie"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Why do we measure people’s capacity
\nTo love by how well they love their progeny?<\/p>\n

That kind of love is easy. Encoded.
\nAny lion can be devoted<\/p>\n

To its cubs. Any insect, be it prey
\nOr predator, worships its own DNA.<\/p>\n

Like the wolf, elephant, bear, and bees,
\nWe humans are programmed to love what we conceive.<\/p>\n

That’s why it’s so shocking when a neighbor
\nDrives his car into a pond and slaughter\u2013<\/p>\n

Drowns his children. And that’s why we curse
\nThe mother who leaves her kids\u2014her hearth\u2014<\/p>\n

And never returns. That kind of betrayal
\nRattles our souls. That shit is biblical.<\/p>\n

So, yes, we should grieve an ocean
\nWhen we encounter a caretaker so broken.<\/p>\n

But I’m not going to send you a card
\nFor being a decent parent. It ain’t that hard<\/p>\n

To love somebody who resembles you.
\nIf you want an ode then join the endless queue<\/p>\n

Of people who are good to their next of kin\u2014
\nWho somehow love people with the same chin<\/p>\n

And skin and religion and accent and eyes.
\nSo you love your sibling? Big fucking surprise.<\/p>\n

But how much do you love the strange and stranger?
\nHey, Caveman, do you see only danger<\/p>\n

When you peer into the night? Are you afraid
\nOf the country that exists outside of your cave?<\/p>\n

Hey, Caveman, when are you going to evolve?
\nAre you still baffled by the way the earth revolves<\/p>\n

Around the sun and not the other way around?
\nAre you terrified by the ever-shifting ground?<\/p>\n

Hey, Trump, I know you weren’t loved enough
\nBy your sandpaper father, who roughed and roughed<\/p>\n

And roughed the world. I have some empathy
\nFor the boy you were. But, damn, your incivility,<\/p>\n

Your volcanic hostility, your lists
\nOf enemies, your moral apocalypse\u2014<\/p>\n

All of it makes you dumb and dangerous.
\nYou are the Antichrist we need to antitrust.<\/p>\n

Or maybe you’re only a minor league
\nDictator\u2014temporary, small, and weak.<\/p>\n

You’ve wounded our country. It might heal.
\nAnd yet, I think of what you’ve revealed<\/p>\n

About the millions and millions of people
\nWho worship beneath your tarnished steeple.<\/p>\n

Those folks admire your lack of compassion.
\nThey think it’s honest and wonderfully old-fashioned.<\/p>\n

They call you traditional and Christian.
\nLOL! You’ve given them permission<\/p>\n

To be callous. They have been rewarded
\nFor being heavily armed and heavily guarded.<\/p>\n

You’ve convinced them that their deadly sins
\n(Envy, wrath, greed) have transformed into wins.<\/p>\n

Of course, I’m also fragile and finite and flawed.
\nI have yet to fully atone for the pain I’ve caused.<\/p>\n

I’m an atheist who believes in grace if not in God.
\nI’m a humanist who thinks that we\u2019re all not<\/p>\n

Humane enough. I think of someone who loves me\u2014
\nA friend I love back\u2014and how he didn’t believe<\/p>\n

How much I grieved the death of Prince and his paisley.
\nMy friend doubted that anyone could grieve so deeply<\/p>\n

The death of any stranger, especially a star.
\n“It doesn’t feel real,” he said. If I could play guitar<\/p>\n

And sing, I would have turned purple and roared
\nOne hundred Prince songs\u2014every lick and chord\u2014<\/p>\n

But I think my friend would have still doubted me.
\nAnd now, in the context of this poem, I can see<\/p>\n

That my friend\u2019s love was the kind that only burns
\nIn expectation of a fire in return.<\/p>\n

He\u2019s no longer my friend. I mourn that loss.
\nBut, in the Trump aftermath, I’ve measured the costs<\/p>\n

And benefits of loving those who don’t love
\nStrangers. After all, I’m often the odd one\u2014<\/p>\n

The strangest stranger\u2014in any field or room.
\n“He was weird” will be carved into my tomb.<\/p>\n

But it\u2019s wrong to measure my family and friends
\nBy where their love for me begins or ends.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s too easy to keep a domestic score.
\nThis world demands more love than that. More.<\/p>\n

So let me ask demanding questions: Will you be
\nEyes for the blind? Will you become the feet<\/p>\n

For the wounded? Will you protect the poor?
\nWill you welcome the lost to your shore?<\/p>\n

Will you battle the blood-thieves
\nAnd rescue the powerless from their teeth?<\/p>\n

Who will you be? Who will I become
\nAs we gather in this terrible kingdom?<\/p>\n

My friends, I’m not quite sure what I should do.
\nI’m as angry and afraid and disillusioned as you.<\/p>\n

But I do know this: I will resist hate. I will resist.
\nI will stand and sing my love. I will use my fist<\/p>\n

To drum and drum my love. I will write and read poems
\nThat offer the warmth and shelter of any good home.<\/p>\n

I will sing for people who might not sing for me.
\nI will sing for people who are not my family.<\/p>\n

I will sing honor songs for the unfamilar and new.
\nI will visit a different church and pray in a different pew.<\/p>\n

I will silently sit and carefully listen to new stories
\nAbout other people\u2019s tragedies and glories.<\/p>\n

I will not assume my pain and joy are better.
\nI will not claim my people invented gravity or weather.<\/p>\n

And, oh, I know I will still feel my rage and rage and rage
\nBut I won\u2019t act like I\u2019m the only person onstage.<\/p>\n

I am one more citizen marching against hatred.<\/strong>
\n Alone, we are defenseless. Collected, we are sacred.<\/strong><\/p>\n

We will march by the millions. We will tremble and grieve.
\nWe will praise and weep and laugh. We will believe.<\/p>\n

We will be courageous with our love. We will risk danger
\nAs we sing and sing and sing to welcome strangers.<\/p>\n

\u00a92017, Sherman Alexie<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Why do we measure people’s capacity To love by how well they love their progeny? That kind of love is easy. Encoded. Any lion can be devoted To its cubs. Any insect, be it prey Or predator, worships its own DNA. Like the wolf, elephant, bear, and bees, We humans… Continue reading → <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6131"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6131"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6131\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6142,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6131\/revisions\/6142"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6131"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6131"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occupysf.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6131"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}