Brack: Haley should make time for inaugural poem

NOTE: Our sister publication, Statehouse Report, on Friday broke a story, picked up throughout the state, of how Gov. Nikki Haley’s inaugural ceremony on Wednesday “doesn’t have time” for a special poem crafted by our friend Marjory Wentworth, the state’s poet laureate. As Charleston Currents‘ readers know, she also picks our Palmetto Poem every month. Below, you’ll find the poem, a commentary and an interview with Wentworth.

JAN. 12, 2015 — There’s at least one thing that will be different about Wednesday’s inauguration of Gov. Nikki Haley — the state’s poet laureate won’t be reading a special inspirational poem. Why? There’s just not enough time, even though inaugurations, like baseball games, have no fixed time limitations.

Haley’s office told S.C. Poet Laureate Marjory Wentworth on Dec. 31 that it doesn’t have time during the Wednesday ceremony for the poem that she spent much of December composing.

For the record, it only takes 140 seconds to read the poem aloud. While it won’t be part of the ceremony, you can read it exclusively here:

During her first term, Haley tried more than once to zero out funding for the arts and cut important cultural programming, such as SCETV. Wentworth no longer has a whopping $1,500 annual stipend to pay for travel expenses to fulfill her honorary duties as poet laureate.

Art enriches the lives of our citizens. It uplifts, chastises, suggests new things and delivers fresh truths. Arts funding for books, paintings, plays and other performances is a pittance in South Carolina. It should be increased, not fall prey to partisan politics.

It’s a crying shame that Haley and her administration couldn’t spare 140 seconds to hear the solid, passionate ring of Marjory Wentworth’s poem. Yes, we are at war with ourselves. And we need to do better.

One River, One Boat
By Marjory Wentworth

I know there’s something better down the road.
– Elizabeth Alexander

Because our history is a knot
we try to unravel, while others
try to tighten it, we tire easily
and fray the cords that bind us.

The cord is a slow moving river,
spiraling across the land
in a succession of S’s,
splintering near the sea.

Picture us all, crowded onto a boat
at the last bend in the river:
watch children stepping off the school bus,
parents late for work, grandparents

fishing for favorite memories,
teachers tapping their desks
with red pens, firemen suiting up
to save us, nurses making rounds,

baristas grinding coffee beans,
dockworkers unloading apartment size
containers of computers and toys
from factories across the sea.

Every morning a different veteran
stands at the base of the bridge
holding a cardboard sign
with misspelled words and an empty cup.

In fields at daybreak, rows of migrant
farm workers standing on ladders, break open
iced peach blossoms; their breath rising
and resting above the frozen fields like clouds.

A jonboat drifts down the river.
Inside, a small boy lies on his back;
hand laced behind his head, he watches
stars fade from the sky and dreams.

Consider the prophet John, calling us
from the edge of the wilderness to name
the harm that has been done, to make it
plain, and enter the river and rise.

It is not about asking for forgiveness.
It is not about bowing our heads in shame;
because it all begins and ends here:
while workers unearth trenches

at Gadsden’s Wharf, where 100,000
Africans were imprisoned within brick walls
awaiting auction, death, or worse.
Where the dead were thrown into the water,

and the river clogged with corpses
has kept centuries of silence.
It is time to gather at the water’s edge,
and toss wreaths into this watery grave.

And it is time to praise the judge
who cleared George Stinney’s name,
seventy years after the fact,
we honor him; we pray.

Here, where the Confederate flag still flies
beside the Statehouse, haunted by our past,
conflicted about the future; at the heart
of it, we are at war with ourselves

huddled together on this boat
handed down to us – stuck
at the last bend of a wide river
splintering near the sea.