For the last few months I have been studying state legislatures. So far, I have met with legislators and former legislators from six states. I have four states to go. I have asked them about the decision-making climate in their states. I have asked them how it’s going. In general, the answer is not good. While there are some incredible bright spots and some shining stars, the overall sentiment is pretty bleak. They talk about partisanship and high-stakes brinksmanship. They talk about the corrosive effects of money in politics and the institutional memory lost to term limits. They fret over the future of the institution.
And here’s the thing. These are good people. Dedicated people. They went into public service to make their state—and their country—a better place. They went into public service to do their part. They are looking out for their constituents. If that’s true then—if we are electing good-hearted Americans, and they have our best interests in mind—what is going on? Why does everyone—regardless of party—think that legislatures and Congress (Oy! Don’t get them started on Congress!) are worse off than they were a generation ago?
Right now, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. But the other day, one of the former legislators asked the question that has hung in rooms across this country—Are we just on the downslope of the empire? Is America in decline? He said it out loud, asked it of colleagues affiliated with his party and the other one. A knowing smile crossed almost every face, then they changed the subject. Earl Shorris, beloved public intellectual and essayist, in his last piece for Harpers, whispered:
“I have wished for many years to be a physician to my beloved country. The means to care for it is clear. I was revived by love and ethics. And I am not unique: no man, no woman is a metaphor; that is the place of gods. I do not know who will take America in their arms to revive her.
No nation is forever.”
Is that right? Are we just done? Has this grand experiment run its course? Ok, enough. I need a pick-me-up and a new way to look at things. So . . .I’m going to have to self-sooth with my drug of choice. Yes, poetry. I need to try to explain America to myself. Because pretty soon here, I’m going to have to try to explain it to some other people.
So, I’ve decided to take on the Oxford Book of American Poetry. Predictably, it’s a staple in our house. We use it when we’re trying to find something. I dip in and out for old favorites and inspiration. But now, I need it to do some real work. I know it’s flawed and Euro-centric. And mostly—but not entirely—male. My Cherokee ancestors probably would have a thing or two to say to me about looking to the likes of James Merrill and Ezra Pound for guidance. But nothing’s perfect, and I need a quick fix.
So, I’m going read this sucker from start to finish and see what I can find there. Now and then, I’ll report back on what’s going on. Will any of you join me? Will you read it with me and tell me what you find in Emerson and Stickney and H.D.?
Come on. It’ll take the edge off. Let’s hang on to poems as if our lives depend on it. Let’s cross our fingers. Let’s hope we are just in a dip in the road and not on the downhill slope.
*From Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”:
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same
