I was very impressed by the poem “Praise Song for the Day” that was written and read by Elizabeth Alexander at the Inauguration, though I was surprised that the current Poet Laureate Kay Ryan did not perform this job.
The poem was straight forward and profound at the same time, something that is often difficult to achieve in poetry, and I looked all day for the text of this beautifully simple poem. I liked how it described the every day and especially the stanza which reads, “We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.” That is what I do with this blog – meet you with my words, sometimes taken from others, sometimes written by myself. We lurch along this life, moving from one moment to the next, never realizing except in extreme circumstances what is routine and what is exceptional.
Thanks to the Grey Lady and CQ transcriptions, below is a transcript of the inaugural poem. If you missed it the first time or couldn’t wait to read it again, enjoy.
“Praise Song for the Day”
Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light.