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Praise Be is a poem that reflects on a visit to Louisiana and witnessing the history and legacy of racism and oppression there. It describes the trees being "locked in a cross-brace / with Whitman's Louisiana live oak" and asks if the speaker witnessed "shotguns at Angola / riding on horseback through the tall sway / of sugarcane." It expresses gratitude to Galway for "going down into our fierce hush / at the crossroads to look fear in the eye" and witnessing the struggles of those with "half / a voice, whose ancestors mastered quicksand / by disappearing."
Praise Be is a poem that reflects on a visit to Louisiana and witnessing the history and legacy of racism and oppression there. It describes the trees being "locked in a cross-brace / with Whitman's Louisiana live oak" and asks if the speaker witnessed "shotguns at Angola / riding on horseback through the tall sway / of sugarcane." It expresses gratitude to Galway for "going down into our fierce hush / at the crossroads to look fear in the eye" and witnessing the struggles of those with "half / a voice, whose ancestors mastered quicksand / by disappearing."
Praise Be is a poem that reflects on a visit to Louisiana and witnessing the history and legacy of racism and oppression there. It describes the trees being "locked in a cross-brace / with Whitman's Louisiana live oak" and asks if the speaker witnessed "shotguns at Angola / riding on horseback through the tall sway / of sugarcane." It expresses gratitude to Galway for "going down into our fierce hush / at the crossroads to look fear in the eye" and witnessing the struggles of those with "half / a voice, whose ancestors mastered quicksand / by disappearing."
to history & locked in a cross-brace with Whitman's Louisiana live oak, you went into that mossy weather. Did you witness the shotguns at Angola riding on horseback through the tall sway of sugarcane, the glint of blue steel in the bloodred strawberry fields? Silence was backed up in the cypress, but you could hear the birds of woe singing praise where the almost brokenthrough sorrow rose from the deep woods & walked out into moonshine as the brave ones. You went among those who had half a voice, whose ancestors mastered quicksand by disappearing. Maybe our paths crossed ghosts hogtied in the wounded night, but it is only now I say this: Galway, thanks for going down into our fierce hush at the crossroads to look fear in the eye.
JOHN MUIR'S CALIFORNIA COLLECTION: My First Summer in the Sierra, Picturesque California, The Mountains of California, The Yosemite & Our National Parks (Illustrated): Adventure Memoirs, Travel Sketches, Nature Writings and Wilderness Essays