I didn’t watch the inauguration or the so called coronation of BHO, so I didn’t hear this poem; again I didn’t miss anything.

..a couple of kool-aid drinking Obama lovers who will think that poem is genius.

tsar: I didn’t watch the inauguration either. Couldn’t stomach it.

It really does make me giggle…

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…is also known as prose. Aside from that, when you pare down stuff you should, ideally, use your words and images very efficiently. Otherwise you’re reducing the substance instead of increasing its concentration and power. And, even if you want to pretend you meant to do such a thing, you still have to answer why you would mean to.

“repairing the things in need of repair”
“catching each other’s / eyes or not”
“A woman and her son wait for the bus. / A farmer considers the changing sky. / A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.”

All of these either add no information (reparing the things in need to repair? doing something or not?) or are so bland in their attempt to be universal that no one can identify with them. I could easily have written the “vignettes” of people. Here: “A baker watching his daily bread rise. / A bridge builder spanning the span / A child rushing for his favorite schoolbus seat.” Oh, wait, I did it better, I think.

And, besides that, there’s an disjointed attempt at sketching out day-to-day life, then an attempt to link that to ancestors, then a listing of vague activies of the poor (hemming a uniform and patching a tire instead of getting a new one that are neither aesthetically pleasing nor particularly detailed.

Even potentially interesting lines like, “Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,” just die on the vine.

Then all of a sudden, we’re on the “the brink, the brim, the cusp.” The cusp of what, exactly? More banal days filled with doing or not doing the things that are done (or not?). Oh dear.

Also, it’s a total watered down ripoff of Whitman’s, I Hear America Singing. Even if intentionally an “homage,” it’s still a little too similar and a little too non-updated for modern concerns to represent anything other than a “pale fire” to Whitman’s. To wit:

I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing—Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day—At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

Which I’m also not such a fan of, but at least it was original. Pale fire snatched by an arrant thief.

I hated this poem from the moment I heard it. No iconic images, no direction, no cohesion, no connection with its subject; totally botched. Sorry Ms. Alexander.

I wonder if I coded this right? Or if it will post twice like my last two comments?

Montel Williams starts hawking it.

Pure and unadulterated. A high school student should be embarrassed to have produced such utter drivel.

It fails on every level, including as an “homage to Whitman.” I’m not a huge Whitman fan (who over 25 is?), but at least his free verse demonstrated some writing skills.

The publishing business is as stressed as any right now. I certainly hope whatever moron ordered a first printing of 100,000 got the pink slip.

For another of her fabulous poems, check out http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16672

where we’re going to, not knowing where we’ve been…
the tire is in the repair store being sewn a new tread…
the climax was a let down…
the forgiven is the forgotten…
there is a garbage man finding his treasure…
a horse is as hoarse as can be…

black to not get in the back…
brown can stick around…
yellow to be mellow…
red man can get ahead man…
white to embrace whats right…

Oh my bad, I forgot there were two poems that were craptastic at the inaugural

And how much is the National Endowment for the Arts going to grant this woman out of the Congressional Relief Action Program? Fitting that they’re both C.R.A.P.