by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator
Woody Guthrie was clearly one of the premier songwriters and balladeers of the twentieth century. He created much of the soundtrack to the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl era, painting pictures of those times more detailed and poignant that any artist could have accomplished with oils and a canvas. Guthrie's
Oklahoma Hills went on to become the official state folk song of Oklahoma, and his
Roll on Columbia achieved the same honor in the state of Washington.
In 1940, before the United States had entered the Second World War, Woody Guthrie became tired of hearing
God Bless America on the radio, a tune that he considered "complacent," - or maybe he was just tired of hearing the way Kate Smith belted it out! He was inspired to come up with his own musical ode to America, and the result,
This Land is Your Land, became his most famous creation - if you don't count Arlo!
And although
This Land is Your Land is not today's poetry centerpiece, I wanted to include it anyway - because this is my blog and I can!
This Land is Your Land
by Woody Guthrie
This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.
As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.
I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?
Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
And yes, it is more visual and more stirring than
God Bless America, and much easier to whistle! But
This Land is not Pa Rock's poem de jour. That honor falls to Woody Guthrie's
The Blinding of Isaac Woodard, a gem that I came across in a collection of World War II poetry. I will provide no other introduction to this piece, because the poem tells its own story too well for me to offer any extraneous remarks that would serve only to muck it up.
The Blinding of Isaac Woodard
by Woody Guthrie
My name is Isaac Woodard, my tale I'll tell you;
I'm sure it'll sound so terrible you might not think it true;
I joined up with the Army, they sent me overseas;
Through the battles of New Guinea and in the Philippines.
On the 13th day of February of 1946
They sent me to Atlanta and I got my discharge pin;
I caught the bus for Winsboro, going to meet my wife,
Then we were coming to New York City to visit my parents both.
About an hour out of Atlanta, the sun was going down,
We stopped the bus at a drugstore in a little country town;
I walked up to the driver and I looked him in the eye,
"I'd like to go to the washroom, if you think we've got time."
The driver started cursing and then he hollered, "No!"
So, then I cussed right back at him, and really got him told.
He said, "If you will hurry, I guess I'll take the time!"
It was in a few short minutes we was rolling down the line.
We rolled for thirty minutes, I watched the shacks and trees,
I thought of my wife in Winsboro waiting there for me.
In Aiken, South Carolina, the driver he jumped out;
He came back with a policeman to take me off the bus.
"Listen, Mr. Policeman," I started to explain,
"I did not cause no trouble, and I did not raise no cain."
He hit me with his billy, he cursed me up and down,
"Shut up, you black bastard;" and he walked me down in town.
As we walked along the sidewalk, my right arm he did twist;
I knew he wanted me to fight back, but I never did resist;
"Have you your Army discharge?" I told him, yes, I had;
He pasted me with his loaded stick down across my head.
I grabbed his stick and we had a little run, and had a little wrastle;
When another cop run up with a gun and jumped into the battle;
"If you don't drop that sap, black boy, it's me that's dropping you."
So I figured to drop the loaded sap was the best thing I could do.
They beat me about the head and face and left a bloody trail
All down along the sidewalk to the iron door of the jail;
He knocked me down upon the ground and he poked me in the eyes;
When I woke up the next morning I found my eyes were blind.
They drug me to the courtroom, and I could not see the judge;
He fined me fifty dollars for raising all the fuss;
The doctor finally got there but it took him two whole days;
He handed me some drops and salve and told me to treat myself.
It's now you've heard my story, there's one thing I can't see,
How could you treat a human like they have treated me;
I thought I fought on the islands to get rid of their kind;
But I can see the fight lots plainer now that I am blind.
Woody Guthrie wrote
The Blinding of Isaac Woodard on August 16, 1946 - two decades before America finally got serious about civil rights, yet after so many young black Americans fought and died to preserve our country's freedom. He summed up the injustice and the awful irony of blacks fighting for freedom that their country was unwilling to share - in just forty-four lines. That is the power of good poetry!
