Most Active Stories
- Cousin, 19, Charged With Murder Of 5-Year-Old After Kidnapping Hoax
- County Execs Propose Partial Funding Plan For The New NY Bridge
- Part Five Of Student Loan Series Focuses On Young Farmers
- Officials Inaugurate High Speed Rail Line In Western Mass.
- Part Two Of Student Loan Series Looks At Adult Learners
Commentary & Opinion
Tue August 14, 2012
Paul Elisha: Reading History
Now that the mercurial, changeling some-time adherent of Latter Day Saints belief and an unabashed aspirant to the U.S. Presidency, George Mitt Romney, Jr., has finally picked a running mate for his monetarily manipulated campaign, the rest of America: pols, pundits and public can begin the impossible task of trying to make simple sense of the ‘Gordian Knot,’ that couuld well deliver fiscal fascist domination into the tight fisted control of the Romney-Ryan entente.
The most mind-boggling difficulty, even for intelligent Americans to make sense of the welter of double-talk in which this monetary mish-mash comes wrapped, is its lack of truth-tinged ordinary language. That’s mostly because our automated, ad-drenched culture is all but devoid of unvarnished actuality. The real question we need answered, to begin with, is: how many of us would recognize the “real truth,” in plain language, if we heard it?
Here’s a test, that may contain a helpful answer: a simple sonnet composed nearly a century ago, by one of this commentator’s favorite poets, Edna St. Vincent Millay. Not just reading it but getting the honesty in its incredible message, can go a long way toward helping to unmask the Romney/Ryan reactionaries for the falsifiers they are. Here are fourteen magical lines that could save a Presidency and our once workable democracy. Hear them and see what you think.
‘Read History’ Edna St. Vincent Millay
Read history: so learn your place in Time;
And go to sleep: all this was done before;
We do it better, fouling every shore;
We disinfect, we do not probe the crime.
Our engines plunge into the seas, they climb
Above our atmosphere: we grow not more
Profound as we approach the ocean’s floor;
Our light is lofty, it is not sublime.
Yet long ago this Earth by struggling men
Was scuffed, was scraped by mouths that bubbled mud;
And will do so again, and yet again;
Until we trace our poison to its bud
And root, and there uproot it: until then,
Earth will be warmed each winter by man’s blood.
The views expressed by commentators are solely those of the authors, and do not necessarily reflect the views of this station or its management.