Yes, there’s still vitriol a-plenty going around post-election day. America is in some ways a deeply divided country.
In other ways, it isn’t. We once again had a more or less orderly change of power, although the change wasn’t much. But it could have been. A few votes this way or that, and we’d be beginning a hand over of power that still is the greatest in the world. (If you’d like to repeat that with a Stephen Colbert-like enthusiasm, feel free: “… the GREATEST IN THE WORLD! YEAH! GO AMERICA!!)
Back to the vitriol. Or, rather, away from it. Here’s a poem by Walt Whitman that’s at least a bit more together and united, although I might note that everyone he hears singing is, I’d guess, part of the “47%.”
So maybe we’re no worse or better off than we were 150 years ago.
I Hear America Singing.
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deck-
hand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing
as he stands,
The woodcutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morn-
ing, or at 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 him or 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.
And with that we are done with politics for a little while. (But we probably aren’t done with the Jois Encinitas story. Sorry.)
Posted by Steve