…let freedom ring…

Writing is an art form that I seek to preserve. Even in the midst of day-to-day challenges, victories and defeats, I will preserve and defend the writer’s life. Now this writer must come to grips with the pull of renown and recognition, and succumb to the undertoe of craft and excellence. I am a good writer. I shall capture the snap photos of life that happen in each millisecond of our existence. I want my poems to be pixels of a larger picture.

I am working on a piece I will refer to as “pixellated”. I like the sound of that word–pixellated.

Today was Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday celebration. As I listened to the “I Have A Dream” speech and the “I’ve Been To the Promised Land” speech given during the last hours of his life for the sanitation workers strike in Memphis, Tennessee, I shed tears. I don’t know for certain why I am crying, but for the first time, I recognize Dr. King as a spoken word artist–a poet. I’m listening to his cadence, “I have a dream…”, I have a dream…”, I have a dream…”.

“Let freedom ring…”, let freedom ring…”, let freedom ring…”

And so it is for this reason, because of the poet who sought no recognition as a poet, but rather as a servant, that i write…as a servant, rather than as a poet.  I am humbled by the power and courage of Dr. King’s words.

Click on this link for the “I Have A Dream” speech of 1963:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbUtL_0vAJk or http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEMXaTktUfA

I was four years old and my father had just passed away.


One Response to “…let freedom ring…”

  1. Wow, Diane, this entry jumps out at me. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned to call my “subconscious editor” and “set scenes,” and this entry screams to me as a message from YOUR subconscious editor, a set scene in your life. What do those mean? Well, as soon as I get around to setting up my own blog, I’ll tell you! I’m hoping to do that within a week, inspired by you.

    The point, though, is this — have you attempted to write a poem about this? A poem that vividly takes us to listening to that speech in 1963 (because what an incredible opening line “I was four years old and my father had just passed away” is!) and also at some point flashes forward to you listening to the speech again as an adult, as an adult spoken word poet thinking about King’s craft, maybe. What a beautiful concept: your poems as pixels in a larger picture. What more can you do with these rich gems, beyond putting them here on your blog to inspire me? This, my friend, is a poem waiting to be written, is it not?

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