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There Was a Young Man Named Obama
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The president-elect's new poet-elect is the right woman for the job.
This is excellent good news that there will be an inaugural poem on January 20. The peaceful handing over of power every four (or eight) years is a miracle that really ought to be celebrated in verse. The trick, of course, is getting verse that rises to the occasion.
The poet of the moment will be Elizabeth Alexander of Yale (Boola, boola! Sorry, couldn’t resist). She is an appealing, unaffected and altogether becoming lady of 46, a professor, mother of two, an intimate friend of the P.E. (president-elect) and F.L.E (first lady-elect), and a one-woman Who’s Who of the African-American establishment. Her father was an advisor to Lyndon Johnson and secretary of the Army during Carter’s administration. Her mother teaches African-American history at George Washington University. Her brother was a senior advisor to the Obama campaign and serves on the transition. Zero degrees of separation there.
I’ve written speeches for politicians, but I cannot imagine the pressure of having to come up with poetry to be read aloud in front of everyone on the planet.
My hat is off to Professor Alexander. I’ve written speeches for politicians, but I cannot imagine the pressure of having to come up with deathless staves of poetry to be read aloud in front of more or less everyone on the planet. In the (extremely) unlikely event I should ever be called upon to poetize in such formal circumstances, you will find me curled up under my bed in the fetal position, surrounded by crumpled scraps of paper scrawled with There was a young man named Obama… Or, more likely, down at The White Horse Tavern trying to finish myself off à la Dylan Thomas, whose last recorded words, upon knocking back his 17th straight whisky were, “I believe that’s a record.”
Ms. Alexander is carrying this heavy mantle as if it were made of sheerest pashmina. She told Dwight Garner of the New York Times that she is “not overly nervous…. ‘By the time you are reading the poem, the real work has been done. If I ever get nervous before getting up to read, I look at the poem and say, “You’re done. All I have to do is let you out”.’”
That’s a lovely image. Michelangelo, who carved his poetry in marble, said that his sculptures were already there inside the stone—he merely set them free.
For inspiration, Alexander told another reporter for the Times that she has been thinking, amongst other sources of inspiration, of W.H. Auden’s “Musée Des Beaux Arts.” It’s one of Auden’s greatest poems, in which the speaker stands in front of Breughel’s painting, “Icarus.”
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there must always be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood….
The record of poems read out at presidential inaugurations is a mixed one. As the Times reminded us, at JFK’s inaugural, the 88-year-old Robert Frost was blinded by sun and benumbed by cold, and thus couldn’t read the poem he had specially prepared, and valiantly dipped into memory, reciting his (actually superior) “The Gift Outright.” The best, perhaps, that could be said of Maya Angelou’s “On The Pulse of Morning,” given at Clinton’s first inaugural, was that it was a masterpiece of politically correct inclusivity, managing to flatter every ethnic and special interest group in the American quilt, with the possible exception of Kyrgyzstan-Americans.
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Christopher Buckley's books include Supreme Courtship, The White House Mess, Thank You for Smoking, Little Green Men, and Florence of Arabia. He was chief speechwriter for Vice President George H.W. Bush, and is editor-at-large of ForbesLife magazine. His new book is Losing Mum and Pup, a memoir. Buckley's Daily Beast column is the winner of an Online Journalism Award in the category of Online Commentary.
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Christopher Buckley's books include Supreme Courtship, The White House Mess, Thank You for Smoking, Little Green Men, and Florence of Arabia. He was chief speechwriter for Vice President George H.W. Bush, and is editor-at-large of ForbesLife magazine. His new book is Losing Mum and Pup, a memoir. Buckley's Daily Beast column is the winner of an Online Journalism Award in the category of Online Commentary.
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Christopher Buckley's books include Supreme Courtship, The White House Mess, Thank You for Smoking, Little Green Men, and Florence of Arabia. He was chief speechwriter for Vice President George H.W. Bush, and is editor-at-large of ForbesLife magazine. His new book is Losing Mum and Pup, a memoir. Buckley's Daily Beast column is the winner of an Online Journalism Award in the category of Online Commentary.
No offense to the woman, but Maya Angelou's "poem" at the first Clinton inaugural was absolutely horrible; I was embarrassed on her behalf. It was cringe inducing.
Oh, Christopher! you are SUCH a card!
It's not fair, Mr. Buckley. You're going to force me to buy one of your books. Or more. Great writing.
I was curious, and went back to read Maya Angelou's poem. I found it moving, earthy, inclusive, and very much in her voice. I can remember watching her read it for the first time.
There are all kinds of poets, and all kinds of poems. That's the beauty of the form. I hear in Angelou's "On the Pulse of Morning," classic African-American forms of oration as well as echoes of her personal background on the urban streets.
It's no surprise that her work sounds different than that of the standard white European male examples we studied in school.
We all own poetry.
Sorry, Patrice. Nice PC try. But "On the Pulse of the Morning" isn't classic anything. It's just bad. It is no coincidence that Maya Angelou had a line of Hallmark greeting cards. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was good. And that's it.
Hey, I read this whole blog and never found the rest of the Obama limerick promised in the title.
Awesome writing. Poetry being like the Indus, commerce and flow, source of abundance, even for mighty foes; who move northward having, being stung by the wasp, left the hive and spun in retailiation. So close. A little shoe chucking does a man good every now and then. Set sights higher, reload and fire. He is there, the evidence of it is all around you.
Er, ah, hey, when they gonna' wake up and let you back into the fold at NR. I was the one who wrote to them and told them what a horrid mistake they were making (I was also the guy who wrote the glowing review of Supreme Courtship on the B & N Website). As for the poem, Humpty Dumpty will do just fine. Seriously, this web site is fine and all but I still turn to the last page first when the NR arrives and, well, gee wiz, it just ain't the same. Some of us miss you a lot.
C. Nelson, Jr.
The Old Buddin House
c/o General Devilery
Sardinia, SC
(Occupied CSA)
If Rick Warren or any of his followers reads Elizabeth Alexander's poem "Venus Hottentot" before the inauguration and figures out what it means, and we do not then see some sort of ghastly Philistine uprising to prevent culture, that, possibly, will be change I can believe in.
Is it time we had a formal, defined position of White House Sycophant? A modern Pindar to celebrate our President with
extravagant odes?
The difficulty has always been to find the White House non-sycophant.
Mr. Buckley, well done, again.
And you've sent me scurrying--maybe more of a shuffle these days--back to reread some more Auden, always one of my favorites.
I read you; I read Lewis Lapham. That keeps me balanced and literate.
It's real sad to hear the news that Bill Galvin is closing Saint Maggies. More than any other indicator, this one proves that our problems are greater than simply a mere recession. I did think to avoid all of this, but I do have to tell you that looking at all of this now is a very surreal experience; not unlike screaming for years at your kid not to walk on the railroad tracks, only to hear one day that he finally got mowed down by a train. The diamond district in New Delhi is no better off. Dominoes are still falling...even in oceans far away.
And yet no one understands that contrary to 'outcome' is very different than 'contrary to purpose'. That's not very grown up. I do see your point. The idea of Conservatism is that things should 'work'. Failing that, a Reform Gear must be initiated. There is no other Gear. I wonder if you will hear past 'ego' this time. I'm not optimistic, so surprise me here and do something 'right'. The Hurricane of our destruction has now arrived, being completely of our own making. If you cannot see that, it can only be because your 'ego' did the thinking for you, instead of your mind.
Alas, the poor Sisters of Saint Margaret's Benign, prove worthy when wincing, rulers not far behind, for the price that they pay in forming 'intrinsic good'. A scorn before others, a PC delight, as Hurricanes come crashing sending everyone in fright.
Why not high art form of poetry, the limerick? It's in the classical tradition of Red Foxx.
At no charge, I provide the starting lines for two stanzas --
Stanza 1: There once was a man named Obama ...
Stanza 2: Obama has a fan named Biden ...
You don't learn this kind of poetry at Yale, but it's useful nonetheless.
I was ten on the day of President Kennedy's inauguaration. As I watched on the black and white TV screen, the new president, seeing poet Robert Frost struggling against the winter sun's glare, rushed to the podium to shade the manuscript with his top hat--the only use that topper had that day. JFK preferred to be hatless.
Christopher Buckley, I want to thank you for making me laugh. I am a lifelong studier of words poetic and I appreciate your writing as much as I do the musings of my heroes, Byron, Shelley and Keats. Keep on writing and never take this stuff too seriously. In the words of the immortal Bard "You rock Dude.". Wait a minute, That wasn't Shakespeare. Maybe Spinal Tap?
You almost manage to wax melancholy at the end there. Hooray for you for expanding your range!
There is a young man named Obama
Who, in the midst of it all, remains calmer
Than all those around
Whose frenzies abound
He's serene a la the Dalai Lama
Great article over at CNN today by Jeffrey Miron, Economics Lecturer at Harvard University, where he lays out the incentive plan that won't break the Bank. Obama needs to read this article. Locally, we have a Hydo-Electric Dam that has been closed by the local Utility company in an effort to reduce electricity production. Fully restored and ready to go, it has been shut down for reasons that benefit only the Electric Company. This is the kind of logjam in the economy that needs to be removed, providing at the same time a substantial economic benefit to local consumers, the excess electricity produced being a benefit to society at large. Open the closed Hydo-Electric Sites mothballed by Electric Producers who are 'strangling' trickle down theory for their sole benefit. It isn't so much trickle down that works, but bubble up. This would be one example of how to resurrect a failed economy by increasing the productive capacity of assets mothballed for purely selfish ends. The production of Hydroelectricity is an example of Public Spending Projects that instantly return an economic benefit through the production of low cost, clean, electric. Building out the electric infrastructure, increasing the total amount of killowatts produced, will then set the stage for growth in electricity demand, including electric cars, computers and electrical devices in the home, as well as lower Electric Heat costs, especially in the Northeast. This will work and in some cases can be put to work with the simple stroke of a pen. By providing the Financing to buyout the Dam from the Local Utility and merging it with already existing local electric utilities, efficiencies can be gained instantly both in the amount and cost of electricity. Any stimulus package should first identify quick swaps and reorgs that will produce the fastest economic benefit to the Nation.
http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/12/29/miron.stimulus/index.html
I could picture reading "There once was a young man named Obama" in front of the masses on inauguration day, noting frantically I had forgotten to wear pants, then suddenly waking in a cold sweat whilst still in bed.
After much deep thought (as much as I am capable), I want to nominate Mohammad Ali as poet laureate for the Obama inauguration. I think it was either Wm. F. Buckley or George Plimpton who asked Ali to provide a poem with the response --
"Me, Whee." With a name like Obama to work with, I'm sure that Ali could be similarly brief and elegant.
There is a young man named Obama
Who's governed by Reason, not Drama
To Republican Neos
who rule via Theos
the rest of us shout out--"Yo' Mamma!"
With the exception of Mr Buckley's own line, none of the other proposed limericks here scan properly: da Da da da Da da da DAH....
If I could write poems like Chris
I'd hope to say something like this:
Inaugural drama
In front of Obama
Will no doubt produce words amiss.
This deal with Blago has just walked off the end of the plank. He was told NOT to appoint someone to the US Senate and he did it anyway. I remember remarking earlier that our need for Reform would be directly proportional to the length of time it would take to remove this rascal. This act make things even worse, in my estimation. I have no idea what Government officials are thinking, on either side of the aisle, when they act 'contrary to purpose'. Obama has handled this perfectly, as Buckley has chided the ilk as being 'not grown up'. Both are right, but what does that mean for the daily function of Government if this is happening in Statehouses across the country. The Reform Issue is real, this case being the example of it. You've got to praise Obama for picking up the Reform Standard, dropped in the election by Republicans. It was offered to either side equally.
I love Brueghel's "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus" at the Musee des Beaux-Arts in Brussels. It's hilarious! See if you can find Icarus:
http://vargasblog.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/bruegelicarus2.jpg
Hint: check the lower right corner.
When satirists fall in love, they wander apparently, onto terra incognita. Tears. We'll miss him.
R.I.P.
Thank you.
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