The Sow

I love this poem very much. And, lately, I've been thinking of it because it seems to me that America is quite a bit like the sow in Kinnell's poem. She needs to be reminded that she can "flower, from within, of self-blessing." She needs a St. Francis,or maybe a whole bunch of St. Francises, to remind her what it is about her that's beautiful. I know America has always been far from perfect. That's true, as far as I can tell, for every society on Earth. But there was much in America's "bud" that was lovely: the idea of the rule of law, the notion of self-governance, the fearlessness of her people as they faced the trip across the oceans, or the trip across the prairie, or the depression, or Hitler, or the need to change ideas about race. America's generosity to the rest of the world has, for a long time, been part of her loveliness. America's willingness to accept all immigrants and to become stronger because of diversity rather than weaker has always been a part of her loveliness.

But the Bush administration has made America forget her "long perfect loveliness." Now, we're given to believe that we're a nation terrified of a few terrorists, although the rest of the world manages to live with the threat of terrorism all the time. In fact, America lived with terrorism for 200 years, from the attacks on Native Americans, to the KKK, to Timothy McVeigh, and no one ever suggested we give up our rights, let Big Brother spy on us, allow the government to seize people and throw them in secret jails without charges or access to lawyers. I don't believe it.

We need a St. Francis, or maybe a St. Frances, to remind America "from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of
the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking
and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow."

Galway Kinnell - St. Francis And The Sow

The bud
stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as St. Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow
began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of
the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking
and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.