Resistance moon: the secret of life in your pants

In honor of the centenary of America’s entry into World War I, let’s have a poem about America, and that war; and about the kind of patriotic posturing and jingoism we’re seeing around us, from the top down.

And who better than to serve that up on a hard and harshly-lit platter than e.e. cummings? In 1917 Cummings enlisted in the Ambulance Corps, with John Dos Passos. The two enjoyed the company of French soldiers over American ambulance drivers, and their letters home expressed anti-war sentiments, including lack of hatred for Germans. He and another friend were arrested in September, on suspicion of espionage and “undesirable” activities. Cummings’ father appealed to President Wilson, who intervened; he was freed in December and returned to the US at the beginning of 1818.

(Cummings was drafted later in 1918 and served stateside until the war ended in November.)

Perhaps his most famous anti-war poem is “plato told”. It skewers those who will not heed the warnings of Greek philosophers, Jewish teachers or American generals that war is not anything to be sought. (It also nails the businessman who’s perfectly happy to profit by trading with the enemy, especially since neither he nor his sons will be headed in harm’s way.)

“next to of course god america” goes more directly after those who preach the gospel of glory; the ones who give the fieriest speeches in hoarse voices, urging someone else’s sons to go to war. The ones who—for one reason or another (could be draft deferments for bone spurs, or “critical” business interests)—never actually have to carry a carbine at the front. Looking at how cummings jams all the clichés of bloviating politicians together, you can just see the red-faced, over-fed politician standing at a podium, sweating copious amounts into his wrinkled suit as he makes his tired case.

The only thing missing is the chants of the audience.

“next to of course god america”

next to of course god america i

love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh

say can you see by the dawn's early my

country 'tis of centuries come and go

and are no more what of it we should worry

in every language even deafanddumb

thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry

by jingo by gee by gosh by gum

why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-

iful than these heroic happy dead

who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter

they did not stop to think they died instead

then shall the voice of liberty be mute?

He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water

*    *    *    *

The second poem for today isn’t related to the war, but it certainly speaks to the kind of disbelief experienced the majority of Americans in the past few months as we watched other Americans show up to political rallies waving swastikas and Confederate flags, screaming threats of violence to any who expressed anything less than complete agreement, and who in effect decided that a few racist, xenophobic and misogynistic slogans outweighed not only an actual political platform, but also basic human decency.

If you don’t see how last November’s election was blacking the boots of success without asking whose souls hang from its watch-chain, or pawning intelligence to buy a drink, I cannot help you.

(Look at how he’s structured the first two lines of each iteration of “humanity”, carefully changing the emphasis by where he places the words at the end of the first line.)

“Humanity i love you”

Humanity i love you

because you would rather black the boots of

success than enquire whose soul dangles from his

watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you

unflinchingly applaud all

songs containing the words country home and

mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because

when you’re hard up you pawn your

intelligence to buy a drink and when

you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and

because you are continually committing

nuisances but more

especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you

are perpetually putting the secret of

life in your pants and forgetting

it’s there and sitting down

on it

and because you are

forever making poems in the lap

of death Humanity

i hate you