News and Current Events
(11/4/2011 2:06:00 AM)
'Occupy Wall Street and the Poetry of Now-Time: The reason the protests in Zuccotti Park are so powerful is that they are more about love than anger'
on New York Observer
Share your thoughts about the movement.
(10/15/2011 3:08:00 AM)
If you’re a writer, and you support the Occupy Movement give your sign.
And also you can find the list of writers who support the Occupy Wall Street and Occupy Movement around the world.
(10/13/2011 7:30:00 AM)
Occupy Wall Street
Occupy Wall Street is an ongoing series of demonstrations in New York City based in Zuccotti Park, formerly 'Liberty Plaza Park'. The protest was originally called for by the Canadian activist group Adbusters; some compare the activity to the Arab Spring movement (particularly the Tahrir Square protests in Cairo, which initiated the 2011 Egyptian revolution) and the Spanish Indignants.
The participants of the event are mainly protesting against social and economic inequality, corporate greed, and the influence of corporate money and lobbyists on government, among other concerns. By October 9, similar demonstrations had been held or were ongoing in over 70 cities.
official site of the movement: http: //occupywallst.org/
Poet of the Midwest, industrial America and labor, Carl Sandburg's (1878-1967) poem 'I Am The People, The Mob' grounds the meaning of the latter term in the historical and material conditions of working people, suggesting that without the labor, the intellects, the bodies of workers, the corporations persons would have been and would be nothing. Here is Sandburg's poem:
I Am The People, The Mob
I Am the people-the mob-the crowd-the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is
done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the
world's food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons
come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And
then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.
I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand
for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me.
I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted.
I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and
makes me work and give up what I have. And I
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red
drops for history to remember. Then-I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the
People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer
forget who robbed me last year, who played me for
a fool-then there will be no speaker in all the world
say the name: 'The People, ' with any fleck of a
sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.
The mob-the crowd-the mass-will arrive then.
Comment of the Day
- I hate that plum professor
he aint got no juice left
in him, he is known locally
as pip squeak, his poems
are prunes, his wife ...