Rapper Eminem (pronounced M&M) recorded ten years ago sophormoric rap lyrics (not released) which stated Black Women are after your money. So don't date them. In the subsequent decade the sun has risen and set, America has invaded Iraq, and Paris Hilton has finally made a name for herself. Somehow America has survived the Candyman's huge transgression.
To his credit Melts in Your Mouth achnowledges his mistake and has apologized. He did so even after a well-known media critic suggested he not utter a word until Al Sharpton issued an emphatic Mea Culpa for his Tawana Brawley circumlocutions.
Sharpton's silence, notwithstanding, a leading rap magazine--rhymes with Horse--plans to out the Candyman for his racial insensitivity. In its righteous quest the Horse will offer the Sweet Man's insensitive lyrics on a CD bundled with a future issue of the magazine. The Shetland is doing this, not because of a vendetta against a white rapper who has made it big, but because the magazine wants to expose the Man's insensitivity to Black Women.
This is good, noble, and righteous. But it's just a start. Since rap music has built a billion dollar business slamming Black Women, glorifying drug use, and celebrating thuggery, the Stable should out itself, putting all it's own trangressions on a very big Christmas CD.
As part of its Mea Culpa the Horse should invite suburban white kids--a large percentage of the readership, to visit the South Bronx, East New York, and Washington Heights to get a first-hand look at rap dress, music, and mores they emulate.
Furthermore, all rappers of every shade should take a page out of Puff Daddy's book and run the next New York Marathon. If the Puffman can raise a million bucks, his fellow rappers should be able to generate at least a billion.
And all this will go into programs for Black Women and children.
You can bet the Candyman will be at the starting line.
Can we hope to see a horse of a different color?
Rapper Eminem (pronounced M&M) recorded ten years ago sophormoric rap lyrics (not released) which stated Black Women are after your money. So don't date them. In the subsequent decade the sun has risen and set, America has invaded Iraq, and Paris Hilton has finally made a name for herself. Somehow America has survived the Candyman's huge transgression.
To his credit Melts in Your Mouth achnowledges his mistake and has apologized. He did so even after a well-known media critic suggested he not utter a word until Al Sharpton issued an emphatic Mea Culpa for his Tawana Brawley circumlocutions.
Sharpton's silence, notwithstanding, a leading rap magazine--rhymes with Horse--plans to out the Candyman for his racial insensitivity. In its righteous quest the Horse will offer the Sweet Man's insensitive lyrics on a CD bundled with a future issue of the magazine. The Shetland is doing this, not because of a vendetta against a white rapper who has made it big, but because the magazine wants to expose the Man's insensitivity to Black Women.
This is good, noble, and righteous. But it's just a start. Since rap music has built a billion dollar business slamming Black Women, glorifying drug use, and celebrating thuggery, the Stable should out itself, putting all it's own trangressions on a very big Christmas CD.
As part of its Mea Culpa the Horse should invite suburban white kids--a large percentage of the readership, to visit the South Bronx, East New York, and Washington Heights to get a first-hand look at rap dress, music, and mores they emulate.
Furthermore, all rappers of every shade should take a page out of Puff Daddy's book and run the next New York Marathon. If the Puffman can raise a million bucks, his fellow rappers should be able to generate at least a billion.
And all this will go into programs for Black Women and children.
You can bet the Candyman will be at the starting line.
Can we hope to see a horse of a different color?
I return to jaundiced
art, to Ground Zero
where people
in plain view
jump from buildings
bits of us
everywhere, under
foot, in our dust
coated lungs
that no amount of
pulmonary Zen
will expel
a necessary tasting
of bitter, a vital
concoction we
consume daily
as we do the blood
shed nightly
in East New York
Flatbush, the South Bronx
more pavement stains
jiggered chalk talk
circumscribed death
within the horror
precinct recited
like an old tide
by the tabloids
fettered by a Jansenist
urge as sure
as that late
afternoon beer
synapses on hold
DNA boiling
tribes separated
again as after
Eden, rumbling
underground, buildings
shaking, subways
scattering Abraham's
seed everywhere
testing Whitman's gaze
from the Fulton Ferry
landing with his
Body Electric
Giant New World
Ego that imagines
a democratic list
of carpenter, sailor
and nation builder
making proud music
along the majestic
loops of the Brooklyn
Bridge linking commerce
and soul
in steep metaphor
passion over logos
the word incarnated
American histrionics
the boast of newness
singing of self
the radical I
inverting grammar
style and usage
Covering mountain
and plain
with untapped
readily mined
Anglo subjectivity
and Whitman elegance
dreaming vistas
out from himself
pioneers tattoed
on the American
psyche, still there
on the landing
tempting all of us
who look west
through a hole
in the sky
that pulls us back
and down
to the immigrant
run, border crossing
like Hermes
eschewing the vertical
working the margins
cooking images
in alchemical gas
slow like sulfur
on base metal
taking in salt
the wild sea
bloody fraternity
burying the dead
in archetypal tombs
finding endless skin
the anima within
sons and daughter safe
outside the circle
spleen, fantasies
intact, simmering
in what we hide
loving Whitman bombast
preserved inside
our regimented hearts
we share in peril
and delight
getting paternity right.
Dr. Jeremiah Peele, immunologist, psychologist, neurologist, and man-about-town at the University of Kent in Cantebury, England, recently gave a speech on the ramifications of mad cow disease to the remaining, elderly members of the Bath Chapter of the "Calamnity Janes," representing women who lost their husbands during the trench warfare of World War I. The five women in attendance gave Dr. Peele a full-throated "hip, hip, hooray" (followed by "he's a jolly good fellow) for his bold and insightful paper: "Bones to Pick: Why Can't the French and British Just Get Along." (This paper will be published in the Journal of Anglo-French Cultural Crosscurrents in May 2005 under the name: "Frogs and Limies: Why Two Great Nations Swallow Their Young.).
Peele's paper grew out of research he conducted during the early 1990's on the ravages of mad cow disease which has killed dozens of people in the UK. He was part of the team that discovered the feeding of slaughterhouse cow scraps, especially spinal cords, to other cows, could infect a herd and be transferred to humans. This brain wasting disease has been well-documented. Though pleased with the progress British scientists have made, Peele became interested in the psychological and cultural implications of mad cow disease. He wondered, could mad cow be responsible for the uneasy alliance between the French and English dating back to Agincourt?
His research took him to the Center for Bone History and Research at the University of Leeds. Among other thing the Bone Center traces the cross-border shipments of human and animal bones from medieval time to the present. He thought Shakespeare's famous line--"This green and pleasant land bought with the bone rich French dead"--held a clue. Peele wondered: did the British really use the French as fertilizer or was the Bard taking poetic license?
At the Bone Center Peele discovered that as early as the 11th century--after the Norman invasion--native Britons living around Hythe, Kent near the English Channel recorded in church logs that the lands adjacent to Norman French graveyards were more lush and green than the rest of the English countryside. A local priest gave a sermon in 1304 that suggested "this upward flowering of French rot proved that death is the natural state for the invader."
This "graveyard greening" phenomenon entered the British imagination and local lore suggested the French were so well-fed that even the worms couldn't keep up with their rotting bodies. Dr. Peele discovered in 15th century documents results of alchemical experiments that tried to use soil from the French graveyards as the elixir for turning base metals into gold. The alchemists only managed to stink up the place, probably because they were using still decaying human remains. A senior alchemist wrote, "This foul odor is worse than a bucket of long-dead frogs." Thus the origin of the name lower class British and soccer louts use to describe the French.
Peele thought this cultural anthropology was interesting but not instructive. He then went to Newcastle that was the port of call for many French vessels during the Middle Ages and Elizabethan periods. There he found Bills of Laden that recorded a very brisk French bone trade starting soon after the Battle of Agincourt and lasting well into the 18th century. After a year of detective work he discovered a seaman from Hythe and its lush French graveyards started bringing French bones back as souvenirs. Legend has it than anywhere these bones were planted, crop yield would be doubled.
When this news got out, the British sent raiding parties to French graveyards, selling their bone loot throughout Britain. Soon wars would be fought to provide the bones for future crops. The British raided other countries--Ireland, present-day Denmark, and Germany--but the bones did nothing for the potato crops. Peele found that James Ernest, an early 17th century British scientist, discovered that French bones were rich in ingredients that were beneficial to British soil (he was close to discovering calcium). Thus the bone raids became an instrument of British policy. Shakespeare mentions this in in his Henry cycle, Part V: "Tis patriotic gore we feed the mob but the throne knows French bones far more than blood make the British giddy."
Peele did not think this suggested cannibalism, as there is no evidence of the British devouring the French after victory (or vice-versa). Dr. Peele thinks Shakespeare is referring both to the myth and the national policy. Wars were not fought for glory but for French bones.
The researcher couldn't be certain but he estimates that hundreds of thousands of kilograms of French bones were taken from France, either legally or illegally, and sprinkled as powder on all arable areas of Britain. In short, "This green and plesant land" was a gift from the French. In a way Britain has France in its soil and soul.
Dr. Peele admits that what follows is speculation based on historical research. No cultural historian has ever fully explained why the French and English are always at odds. Certainly the two countries have had a long history wars, but so has most of Europe. Why, for example, is Germany closer to France today than Britain, even after the horrors of the two world wars?
"We have to look elsewhere for answers. It is fact that French remains became the backbone of English agriculture, so to speak. One can argue that there was some kind of genetic exchange and what the British actually consumed, became their shadow side. In other words, you are what you eat and you often hate what you are and hate what you eat.
"It's a reach, of course, but I speculate the British dislike the French because they dislike something in themselves. Let's face it; the British have never been known as a race of lovers. They remain cold out of spite toward the French.
"By the way, the French are hardly immune. They likewise see parts of themselves in their British cousins. Unconsciously they project this sophisticated French ideal--galant, worldly, and wise--and discover in the daylight a chip-munching Brit washing down his pub food with liters of beer. This would be enough to send any soul into therapy. Please note that, as tensions between the two countries increase, so do the suicide rates. This is natural. As part of a person dies, he wants to kill the other part."
Dr. Peele suggests that the French and British acknowledge this history and lineage. "Obviously the French are in the British psyche. Just as surely, the British are in the French psyche and not just during the soccer season. I need to do more research, but I think the British, who have left many in France, have made a lasting contribution to French Champagne and the best Bordeauxs. The British might not like wine but they have unwittingly contributed to the lands that make France famous."
Dr. Peele's suggestion--that in light of their history, the two countries merge, has not been well-received on either side of the Channel. The "Daily Mirror, a British tabloid, wrote that "We knew there was a reason we didn't eat frog legs. All along we thought it was the smell. We are happy to learn it is our Shadow Side, which also smells."
No word yet from Le Monde.
"Oh Canada" is no longer an anthem that prompts Vancouver Canucks hockey
fans to click their heels, hoist their Molsens and wonder whether Winston
Churchill was right in thinking Canada should have remained part of the
British Empire. The refrain is also a lament increasingly heard in
Washington DC about Canada's inability and perhaps refusal to join fully
with its large neighbor to the south in combating terrorism, restricting
illegal immigration, and assuming the fair share of the military
responsibility to protect the vast--and increasingly vulnerable--frozen
north.
For most of its recent history, Canada was simply "there" for its cousins
to the south, a place where people talk little funny and put up with the
renegade province of Quebec that wants to be part of France and insists
that every high-paying American tourist learn the rudiments of French to be
served without waiter bile in a Four-Star restaurant Fewer people know
where Vancouver is than Iraq. As David Letterman quipped, "the only way
people will take notice of Canada if America were to invade it." This is no
longer a joke in some US government circles, particularly those who see the
vast frozen tundra as a giant oil well.
Canada got considerable bad press for allegedly permitting 9/11 terrorists
into the US. While there is little truth in this allegation, the charge has
somehow stuck and Canada has been fighting a defensive battle ever since.
There is considerably more truth in the allegation that Canada is an easy
mark for illegal immigrants. For the last twenty years Canada has moved
money from its defense budget and created a large "Immigrant Services"
Department that has more civil servants that the country has men and women
in its standing army. The objective is quite simple: Canada is fast losing
its young population to the US and must stabilize and increase its
population through immigration--even illegal immigration. Outside of France
no country in the world is as easy to enter on the ground of religious,
personal, or political persecution. A simple claim of "fearing for one's
life or an economic downturn" is sufficient to become a temporary resident
which almost always becomes permanent status unless an individual is
convicted of multiple felonies. So Canada has a vital and vested interest
in looking the other way regarding the background and status of its
immigrants.
If Canada would admit immigrants and keep them under scrutiny, the US might
be satisfied. The allegation--not easy to prove--is that Canada lets anyone
in the country and lets them slip over the border into the states for
terrorist activities. What is not subject to argument is that Canada's
armed forces have been seriously depleted. The "peace dividend" has gone
almost exclusively into regenerating the population through immigration.
Indeed, the heralded Canadian Mounted Police, the traditional first line of
defense, is so deep in debt that the officers get their uniforms from the
Salvation Army. The force's horses have been generously donated by
Budweiser which is trying to expand market share in Canada (the horses,
however, with little experience other than making holiday beer commercials,
do not easily adjust to the high-mileage days required by the Mounted
Police). More to the point, few young men are interested anymore in
joining the Mounted Police, electing to join the US Marines where equipment
is available and reliable.
Concerned as it is about the one hundred or so, ill-equipped Mounted Police
who must patrol a formidable 3,000 mile border with the US--without dogs--,
the US government is more concerned about the state of Canada's armed
forces. Internal Pentagon documents puts Canada's ability to defend itself
on par with Monaco, except the latter has more firepower due to the
thousands of casino guards. Canada has three frigates obtained in a reverse
lend-lease agreement with Britain. It has half-a-dozen Vietnam era
helicopters and no fighter jets. Civilian airliners in Canada have the
youngest pilots of any fleet because the men and women were mustered out of
the air force because there were no planes to fly. The standing army,
numbering only a few thousand, is large enough to put out a medium-size
forest fire. When their are no forest fires the army spends its times
making ice sculptures and igloos for tourists.
Canada's official position is that its security is consistent with the
external threat. The US, however, is increasingly dissatisfied with this
response. Unofficially, Pentagon sources claims that Canada "has gone soft
like many of European countries. Because of its population needs the
country is letting anyone in, including a fair number of people from Muslim
countries who are on our watch list. It is shocking to us how many people
have immigrated from Yemen, Syria, and Pakistan since 9/11, almost with
impunity."
The Pentagon fears a terrorist staging ground to the north where such
activities would largely go unnoticed due to Canada's vastness and its
minimal policing. For these reasons the Pentagon is secretly planning for
"terrorist interdictions" in Canada, with or without permission of the
Canadian government. These reports, immediately denied by the Pentagon, has
caused an uproar in Canada, Britain, France, and elsewhere (Mexico has been
quiet because, insiders say, the government would welcome less US attention
to its southern border). Canada has issued a statement that "an US
interdiction would be against international law and current treaties. We
urge the US to categorically deny this intent and request the United
Nations take up this issue immediately. Until this matter is resolved we
must restrict visitors from the US."
Canada's tourism industry immediately denounced the government's position,
arguing that "American dollars are the lifeblood of our industry. We urge
the government to avoid grandstanding and resolve this issue
diplomatically."
Privately, the Pentagon is standing firm, stating that "we have the right
to attack terrorist bases if they threaten us. We want the world to know
that we can conduct full-scale wars in Iraq, Korea, and the Taiwan
Straights. We can continue our peace-keeping in Afghanistan, subdue tribal
war-lords in Yemen, make forays into Pakistan, and seize Saudi oil wells if
necessary. In this context we could take out Canadian terrorists in a
weekend with the National Guard."
Furious with Washington bombast Canada has requested assistance from the
French Foreign Legion to help thwart ony cross-borders excursions by
Americans. France has offered Canada a mutual-agression treaty: any attack
on Canada would be an attack on France and thereby engage the full force of
NATO. Senegal and Cameroon have offered miltary assistance to France. Iraq
and Iran, long allied to France, have also offered assistance.
To reduce international tensions and growing anti-Americanism, the Bush
Administration has offered "full use of American airlift capabilities to
bring men and equipment to Canada. If Canada goes to war, we don't want to
it be a long, drawn-out affair."
We are caught in the grammar of war
The subject -predicate curse
Invites stasis
The tomb is neither open nor closed
Just an offending mouth where stands
Fire-breathing Ezekiel drawing
A line in the sand
For all our primitive tribes
And Hector is the crowd-pleaser
Piling high bombast on the cold slab
Cutting the hemispheres in two
Sailing with Ptolemy to the bitter end
Into the cartographer's dead zone
Where imaginary islands
Occupy the inner eye
And god rules
Over this blessed darkness
Along the rhumb line
Of Cartesian thought
Until this very day
When women are stoned
To death in Nigeria
For being raped,
Sex is wrapped
In burlap sacks
Buddha is blown into
A blissful kingdom come
Cavemen ride the technical
Wave into New York's staggering hubris,
All stirring that ancient grammar
Written thick again in the sand
Bringing god out of the tomb
And into the West
Half-shackled by grief and rage
Simmering at ground zero
Resurrected almost daily
In the rainbow fears that wrap the nation
Like burning flesh
At the feet of the faithful
Who must be reborn
In more rigid form
More certain of words and symbols
Worshippers of the old Latin grammar,
The noun shorn of all pretense
The verb ripe for action
A straightforward projection of power
No modifiers
No delays
Just an uneasy ransom
Of the subtle brain
The narrowing of circuits
The defeat of Chomsky
Generative helix
Where civilization is possible,
The only way out of claustrophobia
Our righteous suburban cul-de-sac
We occupy liked uneasy homesteaders
Bringing into our heads
The daily martial thump of words
That box the compass
Divide a rich geography
Into this and that
Us and them
Who are the guilty Other
The infidels of our wretched fantasy
Like Iraq that most of us
Cannot find on the map
Nor the Fertile Crescent that
Smolders underneath
Still holding some of our DNA
But we see a market
For hamburgers and Coke
For our fabled can do,
Will do, must do
Exploration itch
That overlays Persia
Like a black cloud
Heavier now and more ominous
For great good and righteousness
Are in display in the abstract
Words that Hemingway
Warned against, the language
Too far from the heart
Like the honor Falstaff said
Died on Wednesday
Without ribbons and parade
That are singed by an innocence,
We have yet to know
Because we have moved
Too far, too fast
Up the abstraction ladder
Forgetting that we have also
Bathed in the Rio de Merde
And can't so easily wash
The stench of shit
>From our clothes
Stained by all the excursions we have taken
Confident freedom in hand
Gun-running underneath
Clouded by virtues
That were more certain after 9/11
Exported in our legitimate rage
Like a sure-minded declaration
A simple sentence
About all those not with us
Promising a simple fate
Mirrored in the cavemen of Bora Bora,
Two gods astride a chasm
Our just war theory
Tied at the hip
To our dark-skinned Islamic brothers
Who we project
Feeding their anger
And our purpose
To cut off this medieval appendage
Stuck in the Dark Ages
Where we must go
Shedding what we have gained
On the bloody beaches of Normandy
Taking on thinner skins and
A reed voice burdened by grief
Begging for justice
Demanding final blood from
A country divided, truncated,
Watched by the world
But leaving no footprints
At ground zero, no anthrax in New York
Yet the drum roar continues
The official grammar
Not reaching our synapses
Not generating possibilities
Nor allowing that deep
Subjunctive moment of reflection
For once we cross the Tigris
We have entered history
And will be burdened
By another, more complex grammar
Desperate to speak
In the tones that will survive
Within the oasis of our rage
After the bombs have been dropped
The smoke cleared
And the past seeps into view.