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Across These LawnsFor My Beloved St. Clair ShoresBy M.L. Liebler, First Poet Laureate of St. Clair Shores
As a gentle breeze waifs through a summer’s afternoon And across the green fields of Couchez Farm down towards The water, we remember our city asleep by the Lake of St. Clair.
Once a lonely Township of Erin on the water— Later, a village and later still a city In the backyard of Detroit.
My city eases itself along a shoreline dotted With baseball field vacant lots, lakefront parks, King Trees in bloom and full of freedom
Where we fished the broken ice of Spring That flowed down wind from Memorial Park As a parade of life to Eagle Pointe’s shore and up
Past Blossom Heath and into the marinas of my youth. I remember the fading ghosts of Jefferson Beach Staggering through the fire in my childhood
Dreams—Sacred playground of the world’s Largest Roller Coaster, corn dogs, Cotton candy and holy big band sounds
That enveloped twilight dancers in the breeze From small gales that whipped the lake Into tiny white caps that hung like clouds
Above the cooling waters at Nine Mile Road. Ah— the beautiful aromas and sights of those Long years—where wind and waves danced together
Over deep county ditches and smooth frog ponds. Over ruts along side old 12 Mile Road & Greater Mack, and down the quiet streets of Engleside-Grossdale Park
My neighborhood of fish fly mornings, Where we washed our sleep away With the garden hoses of memory.
This is where we were born, and our Parents the same. Now our children Live here in this easy blend of nature and city
On these lakeside streets filled With hope—setting sail forward Into this new century of life.
December 18, 2006
The following
pieces written by M. L. Liebler are Abandon Automobile Detroit City Poetry 2001, Wayne State University, edited by Melba Joyce Boyd & M. L. Liebler (ISBN 0-8143-2810-5)
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Save the Frescoes That Are Us for Edith Parker-Kerouac
These murals would have existed here, in Detroit, even if Diego had never painted Them. The sweat and labor of this city, Along with the sacrificed blood Of its workers, would have stained These walls. No matter what.
This town, beautiful, lonely child Broken by too much post-industrial Hard luck, is always, once again, Resurrected with deep convictions. Our longevity cuts deeper than forever; It’s far longer than Rivera’s Lenin-headed Mural-Rock Center-Manhattan, torn Down by those city slicker liberals in NYC Beachhead of American culture and civilization.
Not here ! The politics of Detroit Go beyond arguing fresco vs. classic, Or any something vs. anything. Here we deal In a culture of collective energies, Beating union heart. Here, it’s always Work—Not talk. We know that Talk is cheap, but work is Forever. We know That building is more Essential to our survival than politics Is to our reality.
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Mass Production
When we look closely inside The tunnel of the American Factory, we see gears turning In disorienting prophecy, it is not Salvation that first catches our eye.
Diego Rivera said "Industry is Our Salvation!" What he dreamed Was a much different nightmare Of wires and gears and smoke- Stack lightening than the burning sleep Deep within the cavernous factories Of our broken hearts where we are left hollow, And alone on a cold highway Of separation and pressing discrimination.
The American spirit has long been Strangled at some untraceable point Between the ideal and the real. Now, We are hungry and we are waiting For our justice to pass through This system of mass production. The wheels Grind slowly in a world of industrial darkness Where the murderous dollar suffocates Our hope with progress, and where Our dreams twist in fitful sleep.
Our futures lie stricken in Inanimate blankness as we wait And wait, like our ancestors did, for a change that surely moves As slow as blood through the thick Grease heart of oil fed machines.
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Straw Boss Dream
Hidden within the center Of the industrial crush Of oil, metal bearing shavings— The American Dream. Drowned, breathless, stomped Into hopelessness, strangled anger The boiling pot of liberty blackened By the greedy heart of elitism And power. From a straw boss Dream, we work to escape The factory nightmares of lonesomeness. Workers’ souls are cathedrals For harboring bruised labor, broken Hearts and endless malaise. Alone Our fear is work Not "fear itself." Democracies Are open market prisons Where we all sell ourselves Out to those who would Otherwise rob us blind.
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The following items are excerpts from "Rattle" issue #9 |
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Essay M.L. Liebler |
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| THE BREAD OF LIFE:
There are many of us who believe that poetry is more important to our lives and our community's survival than most people think. I have often pondered the question of importance in this particular art form that is so often placed at the lowest rung of the arts' ladder. I am continually asked, by students, interviewers, co-workers, and even poets of our community, "Why is poetry so important in the late 20th century?" And, "Why has poetry become so popular in Metro Detroit and throughout the country, especially with children and teens?" I'm not sure I know all the answers to these oft asked questions, but I have some ideas to share: Poetry is the one art form that many of us seem to count on to see us through the troubles, struggles and desperate moments of our lives. It is a process that involves a basic set of tools: paper, pencil and emotions. Poetry is what we do when someone close to us dies, makes us angry, sad, or happy. It is what people do when they're lonely, down and out, left all alone in the big dark minus sign of the world or fighting the good fight. It's as simple and as difficult as that. For many people in Detroit, the reality of struggle for hope, prosperity and longevity have long helped to define us, sustain us and shape us through the hopeless days of layoffs, plant closings, outsourcing, and union busting in Post-Industrial America. I do not believe that this struggle is limited to Detroit or even the Midwest. This struggle rages full on in many American communities from Los Angeles to New York City. However, and through it all, it is poetry that puts us in touch with ourselves when everyone (friends, family, politicians, corporations and government) has abandoned us. Urban decay, racism and high unemployment have long burdened Metro Detroit and urban residents everywhere, yet through it all, Americans continue to fight, and get up again. Over the past ten years, poetry seems to have played a major role in re-building the American spirit, strengthening our character and providing us with the truth and vision for a new future. This phenomenon can be seen in the many area bars, cafes and coffeehouses that feature literary events, but more importantly the poetry renaissance is occurring in schools, and after school care programs at YMCAs across North America and everywhere where children live and/or spend much of their time: domestic abuse shelters, youth facilities, homeless shelters, runaway shelters, etc. In Detroit we have a world famous in-progress art project where children from throughout the city are encouraged to participate in creating and adding to the project. This in-progress piece, known as The Heidelberg Project, takes up more than one city block of abandoned houses and empty lots. It has been transformed into an ongoing art exhibit built from the materials of everyday life with liberal splashes of poetry from community children. We in Detroit see The Heidelburg Project as a contemporary living monument to poetry, art, culture, humanity and diversity. The world famous Diego Rivera's Murals in the Detroit Institute of Arts still stand as an artistic witness and historical statement of both Detroit's and America's early 20th century struggles between class and industry. If the words of famous American working class poet and activist Muriel Rukeyser are true that "The fear of poetry is an indication that we are cut off from our own reality," then by America's highly visible and accessible literary arts scene, many people, young and old, are showing no fear of our reality: past, present or future. I first came face to face with my "fear of poetry" several years ago while visiting Chicago to do a series of poetry readings. A close friend of mine invited me to go with him to an afternoon poetry reading in The Loop. This was not an unusual offer since much of my life has been about poetry, but I didn't realize the true lesson of the word I was about to encounter. I'll never forget that spring day at Chicago's Harold Washington Cultural Center where my life and view of poetry were to be forever changed. The program was a group reading by several orphaned children who lived in a Northside orphanage and who had recently participated in a creative writing program sponsored by Poets & Writers, Inc. Each child came to the microphone to present his or her poem or song. Towards the end of the program, a child of about nine quietly and carefully walked to the microphone and read a poem that he had entitled "For My Mother." The poem poetically described how much he still deeply cared for his mother even though she had abandoned him, later to end up doing time at Cook County Jail on drug possession charges. The boy ended his poem by tearfully reciting these lines, "My mother /My mother / My mother / I'll love you / Forever." I was taken aback. Even though I had been around poetry ever since I was 7 or 8 years of age, I thought to myself in the lonely darkness of that recital hall that I really didn't know anything. Here was an orphaned child who had latched onto the art of poetry to save his life. I heard his words and I witnessed real poetry in motion for the first time. I thought to myself that if I had been an orphaned child, I might have been too caught up in the sadness, desperation, and hurt to be thinking about writing any poetry or dealing with art. But that wasn't the case for these kids. At that very moment, I then flashed back to something I had heard the great poet and novelist Alice Walker recite from one of her poems: "Poetry saved my life!" It suddenly all made sense to me. I came back to Detroit ready to take some kind of role in helping to make poetry accessible to the community. I realized that poetry was not an exclusive art form only for academics and college students. It occurred to me that the future of poetry was not in the hallowed halls of academia at all, but rather in homes, the after-school care programs, the community centers, the public libraries, the churches, the union halls and, in some cases, the streets of our nation. This is the case already with The Writer's Voice in Detroit and Writers Corp USA in Washington, D.C. I believe it will be the children and adults of our working class (urban and rural) communities who will fill the writing workshops, the local poetry readings, the museums and the art classes at YMCAs and community centers. All the intellectual people in the world couldn't put the world back together again, but poetry, art and the working class majority seem to realize that poetry offers us a clearer sense of truth and community. These days I spend much of my time as the Director of the Arts & Humanities for the Metropolitan Detroit YMCA and The YMCA's Writer's Voice, raising funds and planning ways to start more creative writing workshops for children and adults in many non-traditional venues across the Metro Detroit area. I am blessed to have the help and support of Donald and Hilda Vest (owners and publishers of the nationally acclaimed African American Broadside Press-founded in the early 1960's by the great Dudley Randall). Together, we have developed two significant community based programs that have had a major impact on many children and adults across the Metropolitan Detroit area, and, as of the summer of 1997, we expanded the program throughout the state of Michigan. The two major programs are, The Detroit Public Library's Poet-in-Residence Summer Library Program, and The Vision of Words Non-Traditional Venues Writing Workshop Program. These two programs have become widely attended literary workshop programs for both children and adults at every City of Detroit Library, several suburban and out of state libraries, as well as literary programs at many area domestic abuse shelters, youth homes, mental health facilities, retirement homes, union halls, and at various health facilities for the terminally ill. This year The YMCA of Metropolitan Detroit will offer a new Arts & Humanities Program entitled The Crossing Borders Arts Program that will bring all of the arts (writing, painting, dance, music, photography and more) to all of the 16 Detroit area YMCAs and selected community centers. It is amazing to think that all of this arts' programming came through the poetry renaissance that started in America in 1987. The literary arts throughout the Detroit area and the entire country continue to grow and blossom in many positive ways and in many different directions. Maybe the answer to those oft asked questions can best be responded by contemplatively observing and actively participating in the many nationally available literary arts activities and programs. From the nightly open mike poetry readings at area coffeehouses and bars, to the monthly Poetry Slam in rural and urban areas across the USA, to the many different weekly poetry radio and cable television programs, poetry is reaching more people of all ages than ever before in our national history of the arts. Working class people, and children in particular, seem to profoundly understand that art is one way to discover the truth that is needed to enrich our daily lives. Poetry lives in Detroit and everywhere for the same reason that people have refused to roll over and die in Post-Industrial America. Poetry lives because it is one of the tools we now use to teach our children in their search for the truth, for justice, and for a better understanding of the realities of the every day struggle to live honest lives in progressive communities. We've learned in Detroit that more is accomplished when we work together (in the true union spirit), than when we separate ourselves from each other. Poetry, and all art, brings us closer together in a community spirit to discover who we really are. In more ways than we'll ever know, poetry is, indeed, the bread of life. Just ask the children and adults in our many city and suburban arts programs, or just ask those children of that Northside Chicago orphanage. Poetry is important because we are important, and our struggle is depicted in the language of our art. For more information on the various art programs that are offered throughout the Detroit community call The Writer's Voice at The YMCA of Metropolitan Detroit at (313)267-5300 Extension 338 (anytime) or e-mail its director at MLLiebler@aol.com. You can also check The Writer's Voice Home Page on the Internet at http://www.ymca-artsdetroit.org. M.L. Liebler has a web site at http://www.mlliebler.com.
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| M.L. Liebler ALLEN GINSBERG'S DEAD
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