I do not really blame those poets who could not restrain themselves from telegraphing their intention to turn Laura Bush's poetry symposium at the White House into a rally against war in Iraq. Many poets equate restraint to anthrax.
Still, I wish they had played it cool. Bush canceled or, more accurately, censored the event, which would have been held Wednesday, when she learned that hundreds of poets were writing antiwar pieces for an open letter to be given to her at her event.
Bush's press secretary said, "While Mrs. Bush respects and believes in the right of all Americans to express their opinions, she, too, has opinions and believes that it would be inappropriate to turn what is intended to be a literary event into a political forum."
The end result is that poets will be reading their angry words either before the proverbial choir in cozy coffee shops or in the cold, railing outside the locked walls of power. The funny thing is — although this is impossible for many poets to consider — this was one of those situations where the poets should have taken the attitude, "Be careful of what you ask for; you just might hear it."
The symposium was supposed to celebrate the works of Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman and Langston Hughes. Nearly a year ago the first lady held an event to salute the writers of the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and '30s, which included Hughes. Bush even quoted Hughes' poem, "Freedom," which said, in part, "Some folks think by burning churches, they burn Freedom. . . . But Freedom stands up and laughs in their faces and says, 'No, not so! No!' "
Had the poets been thinking a little more subversively, they could have burned the figurative roof off the White House with more Hughes. One work of Hughes that the first lady surely is not reading at bedtime to her husband during the buildup in Iraq is "Message to the President."
Probably written during World War II, Hughes wrote: "In your fireside chats on the radio/ I hear you telling the world/ What you want them to know/ And your speeches in general/ Sound mighty fine,/ But there's one thing, Mr. President,/ That worries my mind./ I hear you talking about freedom/ For the Finn,/ the Jew,/ And the Czechoslovak —/ But you never seem to mention/ Us folks who're black! . . ./ That's why as citizens, Mr. President,/ We have a right to demand/ The next time you make a speech,/ Take an all-out stand . . ./ No more segregation in the USA./ And when you mention the Finns,/ And the Jew,/ And the Czechoslovak,/ Don't forget the 14 million/ Here who're black."
Hughes wrote deftly about the peril of propaganda in "Mother in Wartime." That poem said: "As if it were some noble thing,/ She spoke of sons at war/ As if freedom's cause/ Were pled anew at some heroic bar,/ As if the weapons used today/ Killed with great elan,/ As if Technicolor banners flew/ To honor modern man —/ Believing everything she read/ In the daily news,/ (no in-between to choose)/ She thought that only/ One side won,/ Not that both/ Might lose."
He also asked Americans to always question their sense of righteousness about war in "War." "Death is the broom/ I take in my hands/ To sweep the world/ Clean./ I sweep and I sweep/ Then mop and I mop./ I dip my broom in blood,/ My mop in blood —/ And blame you for this,/ Because you are there,/ Enemy./ It's hard to blame me,/ Because I am here —/ So I kill you./ And you kill me./ My name,/ Like your name,/ Is war."
Whoever the poets would have chosen to finish their presentation to the first lady could have ended with "What I Think." In that, Hughes wrote, "The guys who own/ The biggest guns/ Are the lucky ones/ These days./ being hip/ To your marksmanship/ Is what pays./ On the other hand/ There's some demand/ For a world plan./ Some folks wish/ The human race might/ Try to do right —/Instead of just fight./ But others still feel/ That any old heel/ Has a right/ To laissez faire/ Anywhere,/ And that's Empire's right./As for me,/ I can't agree,/ To my nose, colonies stink./ People ought to be FREE/ And have liberty —/ That's what I think."
See how much fun — and political — it might have been, even on the first lady's terms?