How should I not be glad to contemplate the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window and a high tide reflected on the ceiling? There will be dying, there will be dying, but there is no need to go into that. The poems flow from the hand unbidden and the hidden source is the watchful heart. The sun rises in spite of everything and the far cities are beautiful and bright. I lie here in a riot of sunlight watching the day break and the clouds flying. Everything is going to be all right.
In truth we never wholly translate These thoughts we have into words which are Stones weighted down and sinking into a pond Horizons, thoughts and words need to be boundless and Sing our intentions to the Universe
The Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff is the home of Welsh National Opera and stages many musicals and bands (in more normal times that is). It has two huge inscriptions across the front of the building, one in Welsh. The English words are In These Stones Horizons Sing , but the Welsh words say something different – Creating Truth Like Glass From Inspiration’s Furnace.
From the Indians who welcomed the pilgrims And to the buffalo who once ruled the plains Like the vultures circling beneath the dark clouds Looking for the rain Looking for the rain
Just like the cities staggered on the coastline Living in a nation that just can’t stand much more Like the forest buried beneath the highway Never had a chance to grow Never had a chance to grow
And now it’s winter Winter in America Yes and all of the healers have been killed Or sent away, yeah But the people know, the people know It’s winter Winter in America And ain’t nobody fighting ‘Cause nobody knows what to say Save your soul, Lord knows From Winter in America
The Constitution A noble piece of paper With free society Struggled but it died in vain And now Democracy is ragtime on the corner Hoping for some rain Looks like it’s hoping Hoping for some rain
And I see the robins Perched in barren treetops Watching last-ditch racists marching across the floor But just like the peace sign that vanished in our dreams Never had a chance to grow Never had a chance to grow
And now it’s winter It’s winter in America And all of the healers have been killed Or been betrayed Yeah, but the people know, people know It’s winter, Lord knows It’s winter in America And ain’t nobody fighting Cause nobody knows what to save Save your souls From Winter in America
And now it’s winter Winter in America And all of the healers done been killed or sent away Yeah, and the people know, people know It’s winter Winter in America And ain’t nobody fighting Cause nobody knows what to save And ain’t nobody fighting Cause nobody knows, nobody knows And ain’t nobody fighting Cause nobody knows what to save
Written by Gil Scott-Heron (1949–2011)
An old poem that is now very timely. A lot of this poem also now applies to Britain too, sadly.