the wheel turns again
times past become times future
children cry, hunger
---
hunger and shame mix
babies cry and beg for home...
can't go home again
-
gramma's memories sharp
backstep begging men given
corn pone, pot liquor
-
oh mama
santa brought me an orange
what a wonderful christmas
---
From Nashville to Butte,
dust clouds erased the sun,
buried us in dark
-
Hoover sent soldiers
to burn our shantytowns down
and leave us homeless
---
cruel paradox:
we flee from dust to plenty
to suffer again
no one knows us here
there is nowhere else to go
what would mother do?
---
Mother, deep in thought.
Deeply furrowed brows, pursed lips.
What will come of us?
15 comments:
For those who don't know, this is Dorothea Lange's Migrant Mother, 1936. It might just be the single greatest photograph of the Depression (the last one, not the recent one).
hunger and shame mix
babies cry and beg for home...
can't go home again
gramma's memories sharp
backstep begging men given
corn pone, pot liquor
oh mama
santa brought me an orange
what a wonderful christmas
Excellent. I thought you might groove on this one.
Just looking at your middle piece there matey, it feels roundabout to me. I want to put the corn pone first and Gramma at the end. But that's just me, feel free to think nothing of it, ha ha.
thanks..this pic is wrenching on so many levels.
well, i was tryin to establish.. that the story was told me by gramma..
men begged at the back steps for work, or food. too proud or too ashamed to beg at the front door.... in '36 she of been 43.
they were some of the lucky ones.. they had a home.
Beyond wishing,
beyond tears or emotion.
A wide horizon.
I wonder Kikz, if we'll see less people like your grandmother this time round? The media has been on an 'anti-humaneness' (or perhaps 'anti-compassion') trip for so long now that perhaps we're different. Mind you there's no point arguing about it. We can just sit back and see what happens.
From Nashville to Butte,
dust clouds erased the sun,
buried us in dark
schutte
Hoover sent soldiers
to burn our shantytowns down
and leave us homeless
schutte
cruel paradox:
we flee from dust to plenty
to suffer again
no one knows us here
there is nowhere else to go
what would mother do?
Thanks folks, I'm grooving on these ones. Very good.
whoops
the wheel turns again
times past become times future
children cry, hunger
Hey John, nice to have a new face pop in. And with such an excellent haiku. That heartbeat pause before 'hunger' was just marvellous. And I like your blog too. Do pop in again.
re whoops
thats me fessing up
so as not to be so coy
cheers everyone
sorry for the confusion
Such disappointment.
How will we ever bear it?
New John is Old John.
Hee Hee. (smiley winky thing!)
Mother, deep in thought.
Deeply furrowed brows, pursed lips.
What will come of us?
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