The weight of inherited sorrow

Tuesday, of this quiet(ish) week.  The campus sleeps, or large swaths of it do.  An in the Gershwin tune (paraphrased), "Summer time, and the parking is easy..." parking lots during this pre-spring-quarter break are mostly empty.  By this time next week we'll be back in full swing, though parking is never an issue for those of us silly enough to get here at 6:30 AM.

Yesterday was dearth of lyric poetry in the music my iPod selected, today was different. Most notably, the playlist finished up with the Bruce Cockburn tune The Rose Above The Sky, recorded on his 1980 album, Humans. This is lyric as poetry, or (more likely) poetry as lyric:

Something jeweled slips away
Round the next bend with a splash
Laughing at the hands I hold out
Only air within their grasp
All you can do is praise the razor
For the fineness of the slash

    'Til the Rose above the sky
    Opens
    And the light behind the sun
    Takes all

Gutless arrogance and rage
Burn apart the best of tries
You carry the weight of inherited sorrow
From your first day till you die
Toward that hilltop where the road
Forever becomes one with the sky

    'Til the Rose above the sky
    Opens
    And the light behind the sun
    Takes all

Ozone on the midnight wind
Got me thinking of the sea
And the mercies of the currents that brought
Me to you and you to me
And in the silence at the heart of things
Where all true meetings come to be

    'Til the Rose above the sky
    Opens
    And the light behind the sun
    Takes all

There are several phrases in this lyric that I particularly like, but the two that particularly resonate with me are, "all you can do is praise the razor for the fineness of the slash" and the stanza:

Gutless arrogance and rage
Burn apart the best of tries
You carry the weight of inherited sorrow
From your first day till you die
Toward that hilltop where the road
Forever becomes one with the sky

If ever a section of lyric could be used for race relations or conversations about institutionalized oppression, diversity, and cultural competency, this one applies.  It reminds me of another Cockburn song, Broken Wheel, from the 1981 album, Inner City Front in which he sings:

Way out on the rim of the galaxy
The gifts of the Lord lie torn
Into whose charge the gifts were given
Have made it a curse for so many to be born
This is my trouble --
These were my fathers
So how am I supposed to feel?
Way out on the rim of the broken wheel

Water of life is going to flow again
Changed from the blood of heroes and knaves
The word mercy's going to have a new meaning
When we are judged by the children of our slaves
No adult of sound mind
Can be an innocent bystander
Trial comes before truth's revealed
Out here on the rim of the broken wheel

You and me -- we are the break in the broken wheel
Bleeding wound that will not heal

We do carry the weight of inherited sorrow and the forefathers'-torn gifts of the Lord, and our historical (and contemporary) oppressions of others are certainly in that legacy, whether we want it or not.  Like the current generation that will have to face the wasted planet we are leaving behind, facing the consequences of the decisions of previous generations is not something we have the luxury of denying.  We can ignore it, but it doesn't go away.  There are no innocent bystanders, I can't be color blind, poverty blind, gender blind, or any other form of monkey-paws-over-eyes blind. "Into whose charge the gifts were given, have made it a curse for so many to be born, this is my trouble -- these were my fathers, so how am I supposed to feel?"  This makes as good an opening question for much-needed dialog as anything else I have heard.

And this, in my opinion, is the realized potential of good poetry and strongly-poetic song lyrics, that they hold up an introspective mirror and cause us to truly think.  Thinking is the thing the status quo fears most.  Fear of the power of critical thinking is one reason we continue to underfund education in a country where the vast majority of power and resources are enjoyed by a relative few. The process is institutional.  As in the Matrix, once you see it, you can't ever go back to pretending it's not there.

Today's full playlist:

 - Dusty Springfield: I Only Want to Be With You
 - Amy MacDonald: L.A.
 - Pixies:  Monkey Gone To Heaven
 - Patrick Cassidy: Naoise son of Uisnech
 - Bruce Cockburn: The Rose Above The Sky