Lexidiem: Word of the Day

What am I thankful for?

I can't possibly answer that here, but I'll try...

My country:

My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right. 
~ US Senator Carl Schurz (1829–1906)

And on November 7th, we Americans followed that advice.

Today's women: Not that I always agree with their way of thinking, but they're a big improvement over the women of our parents' day.

Kids: A son who gets straight-A grades for two years running, then stumbles, getting a single D in Social Studies on his most recent report card (amongst the As and plusses), baffling his teacher in the process. A son who has the cojones to realize his mistake, and to have corrected his course on his own, with a grade of 96 on his first test of the second quarter.

Buzznet People: A very incomplete list, and not in any particular order, but here goes...

• auntieabby, for her insightful and witty comments
• sockmonkey, for making us wonder... and think
• digitalburning, for unparalleled creativity plus humor
• artsysf, for the color red as we've never seen it before
• dawnanthony, for her irreverent ways of seeing everything
• aya110, for her quiet sense of photographic wittiness
• catiag, for her historical insight, music, wisdom, and more
• yoko, for just being Yoko, truly one of a kind
• heartsapocolypse, for her inspirational words... fly, butterfly
• deliderata, for gratitude, hope, love... so much more
• bad321, for double entendres and irreverent looniness
• funksteena, for her extraordinary photography and more
• dragondude, for being the best kid I could ever ask for 
• shapeshifter, for her social consciousness
• denaliluna, for sharing so much of herself, in so many ways
• sstrokerj, for showing us America in a whole new light
• tessy, for dreams of Bellagio, Lake Como and beyond 
• zuuka, for dreams of Brazil, and for making me smile
• for all of you here, for more than I can list 
  and I apologize for not individually naming all of you

I have a lot to be thankful for...

Happy Thanksgiving, to each and every one of you!

Do you remember the late actor Richard Harris? You might remember him as Albus Dumbledore in the first two Harry Potter movies. If you're older, you might also remember him as the Englishman in A Man Called Horse., or for his role in the Broadway production of the musical Camelot. There was a time, however, that he was known as much as a singer as he was for his acting roles, and he made the Billboard Singles Charts on six occasions, starting with "MacArthur Park" in 1968. 

One of the other times was in 1972, when he released "There Are Too Many Saviors on My Cross", more of a narrative poem set to music than anything. It was found on his LP entitled His Greatest Performances. It came from a poem of the same name published in the only poetry book Harris ever wrote, I, In The Membership of My Days, which was also published in 1972. The various place names, the "Orange" and the "Green," and the fact that Harris was Irish, make it obvious his specific subject was the bitter conflict between Protestant (orange) and Catholic (green) in Northern Ireland. He spoke out quite frequently on his frustrations with that conflict, which had spawned so much hatred and taken so many lives, and mostly in the apparent name of religious differences.

Like all great poetry though, it rings true in a much broader context.

There Are Too Many Saviors on My Cross
Written & Performed by Richard Harris.

There are too many saviors on my cross,
lending their blood
to flood out my ballot box
with needs of their own.
Who put you there?
Who
told you that was your place?

You carry me secretly naked in your heart,
and clothe me publicly in armor,
crying God is on our side.
Yet
I openly cry
who is on mine?
Who?
You who bury your sons and cripple your fathers,
whilst you bury my Father in crippling his son.

The antiquated Saxon sword,
rusty in its scabbard of time now rises.
You gave it cause in my name
bringing shame to the thorned head
that once bled for your salvation.

I hear your daily cries
in the far-off byways in your mouth
pointing
north and south,
and my cavalry looms again,
desperate
in rebirth.
Your earth is partitioned,
but in contrition
it is the partition in your hearts
that you must abolish.

You
nightly watchers of Gethsemane,
who sat through my nightly trial,
delivering me from evil,
now deserted.
I watch you share your silver,
your purse rich in hate,
bleeds my veins of love,
shattering my bone
in the dust of the Bogside and the Shankhill Road.

There is no issue stronger
than the tissue of love,
no need
as holy
as the palm outstretched
in the run of generosity;
no monstrosity greater
than the acre you inflict

Who gave you the right to increase your fold, 
and
decrease the pastors of my flock?
Who gave you the right?
Who gave it to you?
Who?
And in whose name do you fight?

I am not in heaven,
I am here,
hear me.
I am in you,
feel me.
I am of you,
be me.
I am with you,
see me.
I am for you,
need me.
I am all mankind;
only through kindness,
will you reach me.

What masked
and bannered men
can rock the ark
and navigate a course
to their anointed kingdom come?
Who sailed their captain
to waters
that they troubled in my font,
sinking in the ignorant seas of prejudice.

There is no virgin willing
to conceive in the heat
of any bloody Sunday.
You crippled children,
lying in cries
on Derry's streets,
pushing your innocence
to the full flush face
of Christian guns
(battling the blame on each other).
Do not grow tongues
in your dying dumb wounds speaking my name;
I am not your prize.
In your death,
you have exorcised me in your game of politics.

Go home to your knees,
and worship me in any cloth,
as I was never tailor-made.
Who told you I was?
Who gave you the right to think it?
Take your beads
in your crippled hands;
can you count my decades?
Take my love in your crippled hearts;
can you count the loss?

I am not Orange,
I am not Green;
I am a half-ripe fruit
needing both colors
to grow into ripeness.
Shame on you to have withered my orchard.
I
in my poverty
alone
without trust
cry
shame on you!
Shame on you again and again,
for
converting me into a bullet,
and shooting me into men's hearts.

The ageless legend of my trial grows old
in the youth of your pulse,
staggering shamelessly from barricade to grave,
filing in the book of history.
My needless death one April 
let me,
in my betrayal,
lie low in my grave,
and you in your bitterness
lie low in yours,
for our measurements grow strangely dissimilar.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
sullied be thy name!

By Richard Harris, from I, In The Membership of My Days, Random House, New York, 1972

An updated version, including album & CD info, can be found here on JargonTalk.

Technorati tags: Richard Harris, Lexidlem, Jargontalk

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