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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bars and Shadows, by Ralph Chaplin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bars and Shadows
+       The Prison Poems of Ralph Chaplin
+
+Author: Ralph Chaplin
+
+Posting Date: March 23, 2014 [EBook #6136]
+Release Date: July, 2004
+First Posted: November 18, 2002
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARS AND SHADOWS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BARS AND SHADOWS
+
+THE PRISON POEMS OF RALPH CHAPLIN
+
+With an introduction By Scott Nearing
+
+
+1922
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+  INTRODUCTION
+  MOURN NOT THE DEAD
+  TAPS
+  NIGHT IN THE CELL HOUSE
+  PRISON SHADOWS
+  PRISON REVEILLE
+  PRISON NOCTURNE
+  THE WARRIOR WIND
+  TO FREEDOM
+  THE VISION MAKER
+  DISTANCES
+  PHANTOMS
+  SEVEN LITTLE SPARROWS
+  SALAAM!
+  THE WEST IS DEAD
+  UP FROM YOUR KNEES!
+  THE EUNUCH
+  I. W. W. PRISON SONG
+  TO FRANCE
+  VILLANELLE
+  WESLEY EVEREST
+  THE INDUSTRIAL HERETICS
+  BLOOD AND WINE
+  THE RED GUARD
+  THE RED FEAST
+  THE GIRLS WHO SANG FOR US
+  TO EDITH
+  SONG OF SEPARATION
+  TO MY LITTLE SON
+  ESCAPED!
+  RETROSPECT
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+I.
+
+Ralph Chaplin is serving a twenty year sentence in the Federal
+Penitentiary, not as a punishment for any act of violence against
+person or property, but solely for the expression of his opinions.
+
+Chaplin, together with a number of fellow prisoners who were sentenced
+at the same time, was accused of taking part in a conspiracy with
+intent to obstruct the prosecution of the war. To be sure the
+Government did not produce a single witness to show that the war had
+been obstructed by their activities; but it was argued that the
+agitation which they had carried on by means of speeches, articles,
+pamphlets, meetings and organizing campaigns, would quite naturally
+hamper the country in its war work. On the face of their indictments
+these men were accused of interfering with the conduct of the war; in
+reality they were sent to jail because they held and expressed certain
+beliefs.
+
+As a member of the Industrial Workers of the World, Ralph Chaplin did
+his part to make the organization a success.  He wrote songs and
+poems; he made speeches: he edited the official paper, "Solidarity".
+He looked about him; saw poverty, wretchedness and suffering among the
+workers; contrasted it with the luxury of those who owned the land and
+the machinery of production; studied the problem of distribution; and
+decided that it was possible, through the organization of the
+producers, to establish a more scientific, juster, more humane system
+of society. All this he felt, intensely. With him and his
+fellow-workers the task of freeing humanity from economic bondage took
+on the aspect of a faith, a religion. They held their meetings; wrote
+their literature; made their speeches and sang their songs with
+zealous devotion. They had seen a vision; they had heard a call to
+duty; they were giving their lives to a cause--the emancipation of the
+human race.
+
+When the war broke out in Europe, with millions of working-men
+flinging death and misery at one another, men like Chaplin, the world
+over, regarded it as the last straw.  Was it not bad enough that these
+exploited creatures should be used as factory-fodder? Must they be
+cannon-fodder too? Why should they fight to increase the economic
+power of German traders? of British manufacturers? The war was a
+capitalist war between capitalist nations. What interest had the
+workers in these nations? in their winnings or in their losses? So ran
+the argument.
+
+The I. W. W. was not primarily an anti-war organization In theory it
+had abandoned political activity to devote itself exclusively to
+agitation and organization on the field of industry.  Practically its
+funds and its energies were expended upon industrial struggles. Long
+before the war, the I. W. W.  had made itself known and feared for its
+conduct of strikes, its free speech fights, and its ability to put the
+sore spots of American industrial life on the front page of the daily
+press and to keep them there until the people had become aroused to
+the wrongs that were being perpetrated. It was in this domain of
+industry that the I. W. W. was functioning, and it was among the
+business interests that the determination had been reached to rid the
+country of the organization at all costs.
+
+Had the chief offense of the I. W. W. consisted in its expressed
+opposition to the war, it would not have been singled out for attack.
+Many of the peace societies that flourished prior to 1917 were more
+outspoken and more consistent in their opposition to war than were the
+leaders of the I. W. W. None of these societies, however, had acquired
+reputation for championing the cause of industrial under dogs, and for
+demanding a complete change in the form of American economic life.
+Consequently, in the prosecution, in the sentences, in the
+commutations and in the pardons, the anti-war pacifists were treated
+very leniently, while the revolutionary I. W. W. members were singled
+out for the most ferocious legal and extra-legal attack.
+
+Technically, Ralph Chaplin and his comrades had conspired to obstruct
+the war. Actually, they had lined themselves up solidly against the
+present economic order, of which the World War was only one phase.
+This was their real crime.
+
+
+II.
+
+Ralph Chaplin was guilty of the most serious social offense that a man
+can commit. While living in an old and shattered social order, he had
+championed a new order of society and had expounded a new culture.
+Socrates and Jesus, for like offenses, lost their lives. Thousands of
+their followers, guilty of no greater crime than that of denouncing
+vested wrong and expounding new truths, have suffered in the dungeon,
+on the scaffold and at the stake.
+
+Not because he and his fellows conspired to obstruct the war, but
+because they denounced the present order of economic society and
+taught the inauguration of a better one, are they still held in prison
+more than three years after the signing of the armistice; after the
+proclamation of peace and the resumption of trade with all of the
+enemy countries; after the repeal or the lapse of the Espionage Act
+and the other war-time laws under which they were convicted; and after
+German agents and German spies, caught red-handed in their attempts to
+interfere with the prosecution of the war, have won their freedom
+through presidential pardon.
+
+The most dangerous men in the United States, during the years 1917 and
+1918, were not those who were taking pay to do the will of the German
+or the Austrian Governments, but those who were trying to convince the
+American working people that they should throw aside a system of
+economic parasitism and economic exploitation, should take possession
+of the machinery of production and should secure for themselves the
+product of their own toil. In the eyes of the masters of American
+life, such men are still dangerous, and that is the reason that they
+are kept in prison.
+
+
+III.
+
+The culture of any age consists of the feelings, habits, customs,
+activities, thoughts, ambitions and dreams of a people. It is a
+composite picture of their homes, their work, their arts, their
+pleasures and the other channels of their life-expression.
+
+The culture of each age has two aspects. On the one hand there is the
+established or accepted culture of those who dominate and
+control,--the culture of the leisure or ruling class. This culture is
+respected, admired, applauded, and sometimes even worshipped by those
+who benefit from it most directly. Civilization--even life itself
+seems bound up with its continuance. When the advocates of the
+established culture cry "Long live the King!" they are really shouting
+approval of royalty, aristocracy, landlordism, vassalage, exploitation
+and of all the other attributes of divine right. The world as it is
+becomes in their minds, synonymous with the world as it should be. For
+them the old culture is the best culture.
+
+On the other hand there is the new culture, comprising the hopes,
+beliefs, ideas and ideals of those who feel that the present is but a
+transition-stage, leading from the past into the future--a future that
+they see radiant with the best that is in man, developing soundly
+against the bounties that are supplied by the hand of nature. These
+forward looking ones, impatient with the mistakes and injustices of
+to-day, preach wisdom and justice for the morrow. So imperfect does
+the present seem to them, and so obvious are the possibilities of the
+future, that they look forward confidently to the overthrow of the old
+social forms, and the establishment, in their places, of a new
+society, the embryo of which is already germinating within the old
+social shell.
+
+The old culture relies on tradition, custom, and the normal
+conservatism of the masses of mankind, The new culture relies on
+concepts of justice, truth, liberty, love, brotherhood.  Eighteenth
+century, Feudal France was filled with the prophecies of a form of
+society that would supplant Feudalism. Nineteenth century Russia, in
+the grip of a capitalist bureaucracy, proved to be the centre for the
+revolutions of the early twentieth century. The new culture, growing
+at first under the shadow of the old, gradually assumes larger and
+larger proportions until it takes all of the sunlight for itself,
+throwing the old culture into the shadow of oblivion.
+
+Each ruling class knows these facts,--knows that the old must give
+place to the new; knows that the living, ruling culture of to-day will
+be the history of the day after tomorrow, yet because of the vested
+interests which they rely upon for their power, and because they are
+satisfied to have the deluge come after them, they oppose each
+manifestation of the new culture and strain every nerve to make the
+temporary organization of the world permanent. The more vigorously the
+new culture thrives, the more eagerly do the representatives of the
+old order strive to destroy it.
+
+
+IV.
+
+During three eventful centuries, the part of North America that is now
+the United States has witnessed two fierce culture-survival struggles.
+In the first of these struggles--that between the American Indians and
+the whites, the culture of Western Europe supplanted the culture of
+primitive America. In the second struggle--that between the slave
+holders of the South and the rising business interests of the North,
+the slave oligarchy was swept from power, and in its place there was
+established the new financial imperialism that dominates the public
+life of the nation at the present time. Despite the extreme youth of
+the capitalist system in the United States, there are already many
+signs that those who profit by it must be prepared to defend it at no
+distant date. The Russian Revolution of 1917 sounded the loudest note
+of warning, but even before that occurred, the industrial capitalists
+had entered upon a struggle which they believed to be of the greatest
+importance to their future.
+
+During the twenty years that elapsed between the Homestead and Pullman
+strikes and the beginning of the world war, the pages of American
+industrial history are crowded with stories of the labor conflict--on
+an ever vaster and vaster scale, between nationally organized
+employers, using the power of the police, the courts and, where
+necessary, the army; and the nationally organized workers, backed by
+some show of public sentiment, and armed with the strength of numbers.
+Although the bulk of the workers was still unorganized, and although
+those who were organized thought and acted within the lines of their
+crafts, considering themselves as railway trainmen or as carpenters
+first, and as workers afterward, there was not wanting a new
+spirit--sometimes called the spirit of industrial unionism--emphasizing
+labor solidarity and speaking most loudly through the
+propaganda, first of the Socialist Labor Party and later of the
+I. W. W.
+
+The old culture was joining battle with the new. "America is the land
+of opportunity. It was good enough for my father: it is good enough
+for me" was the slogan of the capitalists. "The world for the
+workers," answered the vanguard of the exploited masses.
+
+The advocate of a labor state is as unpopular in a capitalist society
+as the abolitionist was in the Carolinas before the Civil War. He sees
+a vision that the stalwarts of the existing order do not care to see;
+he speaks a language that they cannot comprehend; he represents an
+interest that is as hateful to them as it is alien to their
+privileges.
+
+
+V.
+
+At the outset, while the old order is still relatively strong, and the
+new relatively weak, the spokesmen of the old order can afford to
+ignore the champions of the new. But as the established order grows
+more senile and the new order more vigorous, the defenders of the old
+order, by force or by guile, set themselves to root out the new, even
+though they should be compelled to destroy themselves in the process.
+Then there ensues a savage struggle in which wits are matched against
+wits and force against force. Families are divided; the community is
+split into factions; civil war rages; society is torn to its
+foundations. At times the struggle reaches the military phase, but for
+the most part it instills itself into the lives of the people until it
+becomes an accepted part of the day's work.
+
+Then it is that the real test comes between the old world and the new.
+The old world holds power--economic, social, political. It holds in
+its hands income, respectability and preferment, with which it seeks
+first to buy, and later to destroy all who oppose its will.
+
+Buying is the easiest, the safest, and in the long run the cheapest
+method of gaining the desired end.
+
+Each generation contains some men and women possessed of unusual
+endowments--as organizers and enterprisers, as spokesmen, as singers,
+as seers and prophets.  These gifted ones the old order sets out to
+win--lavishing upon them gratitudes, favors, rewards; filling their
+lives out of the horn of economic and social plenty; teasing their
+vanities and gratifying their ambitions; soothing, cajoling,
+flattering. By these means the rulers succeed in bringing under their
+control the strong thinkers, the capable executives, the sensitive,
+the talented--all in fact who are worth buying, and who can be bought
+for income and for social preferment, even though they may have been
+born into the families of the humblest and most oppressed of the
+workers.
+
+Most men and women go where income promises and social preferment
+beckons. But not all! There are some whose love of justice, truth and
+beauty; whose yearning for betterment and increased social
+opportunity, outweighs the tempting bait of ease and respectability.
+Them the established order smites.
+
+The strength of the old order is measured superficially by the extent
+of its control over the means of common livelihood and by the
+generalness of the satisfaction or discontent with which the masses
+receive its administration. Fundamentally its strength is determined
+by the direction in which its life is tending. The structure of the
+Roman Empire was apparently sound before it buckled and disintegrated.
+The French aristocracy was never surer of itself than in the gala days
+that preceded 1789. The old order may undergo a process of gradual
+transformation. In that case the change is slow, as it was when
+Feudalism gave place to Capitalism in England. Again, the old order
+may be exterminated as it was when Feudalism gave place to Capitalism
+in France. In one case the masters of life loosens the reins of power
+to ease the straining team; in the other case the masters hold the
+reins taut till they are jerked from their hands, as masters and team
+go together over the precipice.
+
+The strength of the new order, at any stage in its development may be
+gauged by the solidarity of its organization, the efficacy of its
+propaganda, and the tone of its art.  These forms of expression are
+necessary to the maintenance of any phase of culture, old or new, and
+by the last of the three, the esthetic expression of the culture, its
+morale may best be judged. It is for this reason that artists,
+musicians, dramatists and poets are so important a part of any order
+of society. They voice its deepest sentiments and express its most
+sacred faiths and longings. When the time arrives that a new social
+order can boast its permanent art and music and literature, it is
+already far advanced on the path that leads to stability and power.
+
+
+VI.
+
+The poems which appear in this volume are a contribution to the
+propaganda and the art of the new culture.  "Above all things," writes
+Chaplin, "I don't want anyone to try to make me out a 'poet'--because
+I'm not. I don't think much of these esthetic creatures who condescend
+to stoop to our level that we may have the blessings of culture. We'll
+manage to make our own--do it in our own way, and stagger through
+somehow. . . . These are tremendous times, and sooner or later someone
+will come along big enough to sound the right note, and it will be a
+rebel note." It is that note which Chaplin has sought to strike, and
+that he has succeeded will be the verdict of anyone who has read over
+the poems.
+
+Chaplin's work speaks for itself. Some of the poems were written in
+Leavenworth Prison and published in the prison paper. Others were
+written during the tedious months of the Chicago trial, when the men
+were kept in the Cook County jail. Chaplin has had ample time to work
+them out.  Christmas, 1921, was the fifth consecutive Christmas that
+he has spent in prison. The poems bear the impress of the bars, but
+they ring with the glad vigor of a free spirit that bars cannot
+contain.
+
+The reader of Chaplin's prison poems unavoidably makes three mental
+comments:
+
+1. When poems so reserved, so vigorous; so penetrating, so melodious,
+so beautiful, come from behind jail bars, it is high time that
+thinking men and women awoke to the fate that awaits bold dreamers and
+singers under the present order in the United States.
+
+2. Men are not silenced when steel doors clang behind them. Free
+spirits are as free behind the bars as they are under the open sky.
+The jail, as a gag, is impotent. While it may master the body, it
+cannot contain the soul.
+
+3. The new order in America is already finding its voice. Although it
+is so young, and so immature, it is speaking with an accent of gifted
+authority.
+
+Chaplin is not a dangerous man--except as his ideas are dangerous to
+the existing order of society. His presence in the penitentiary, under
+a twenty year sentence, indicates how dangerous those ideas are
+considered by the masters of American public life. Rich those masters
+are--fabulously rich; and strong they may be, yet so insecure do they
+feel themselves that they are constrained to hold in prison this
+dreamer and singer of the new social order.
+
+Chaplin, in prison, like Debs in prison, is doing his work.  He is
+resisting the encroachments of those jail demons--hate, bitterness,
+revenge; he is holding his mind on the goal--a newer, better social
+order; he is keeping his vision of nature, of humanity, of
+brotherhood, of courage, of love, of beauty,--clear and bright.
+Chaplin, the man, is in jail; but Chaplin the poet and singer is
+roaming wherever books go; wherever papers are read, and wherever
+comrades repeat verses to one another in the flickering light of the
+evening fire.
+
+SCOTT NEARING.
+
+
+
+
+MOURN NOT THE DEAD
+
+  Mourn not the dead that in the cool earth lie--
+  Dust unto dust--
+  The calm, sweet earth that mothers all who die
+  As all men must;
+
+  Mourn not your captive comrades who must dwell--
+  Too strong to strive--
+  Within each steel-bound coffin of a cell,
+  Buried alive;
+
+  But rather mourn the apathetic throng--
+  The cowed and the meek--
+  Who see the world's great anguish and its wrong
+  And dare not speak!
+
+
+
+TAPS
+
+  The day is ended! Ghostly shadows creep
+  Along each dim-lit wall and corridor.
+  The bugle sounds as from some faery shore
+  Silvered with sadness, somnolent and deep.
+  Darkness and bars . . . God! shall we curse or weep?
+  Somewhere a pipe is tapped upon the floor;
+  A guard slams shut the heavy iron door;
+  The day is ended--go to sleep--to sleep.
+
+  Three times it blows--weird lullaby of doom--
+  And then to dream while fecund Night gives birth
+  To other days like this day that is done. .
+  But Morning . . . does it live beyond the gloom--
+  This deep black pall that hangs above the earth--
+  He fears the dark who dares to doubt the sun!
+
+
+
+NIGHT IN THE CELL HOUSE
+
+  Tier over tier they rise to dizzy height--
+  The cells of men who know the world no more.
+  Silence intense from ceiling to the floor;
+  While through the window gleams a lone blue light
+  Which stabs the dark immensity of night.
+  Felt shod and ghostly like a shade of yore,
+  The guard comes shuffling down the corridor;
+  His key-ring jingles . . . and he glides from sight.
+
+  Oh, to forget the prison and its scars,
+  And face the breeze where ocean meets the land;
+  To watch the foam-crests dance with silver stars,
+  While long green waves come tumbling on the sand . . .
+  My brow is hot against the icy bars;
+  There is the smell of iron on my hand.
+
+
+
+PRISON SHADOWS
+
+  Like grey-winged phantoms out of sullen skies
+  They flood our cells and seem to fashion there
+  I know not what dim landscapes of despair;
+  All day we feel them lurking in our eyes.
+  At night they fall like crosses, sombre-wise,
+  Upon the shameful uniforms we wear,
+  Upon the brow, the face, the hand, the hair;
+  And on each heart their shadow always lies.
+
+  O heart of mine, why throb with futile rage
+  And beat and beat against these hopeless bars?
+  For, though you break in life's last deadly swoon,
+  You cannot pierce beyond this iron cage
+  To see the pulsing splendor of the stars
+  Or feel the blue-green magic of the moon!
+
+
+
+PRISON REVEILLE
+
+  Out through the iron doorway, bolted strong,
+  I see the night guard's shadow on the wall.
+  The bugle sounds its thin, white silver call,
+  Awake! awake! O world-forgotten throng!
+  And then the sudden clanging of the gong,
+  And . . . silence . . . aching silence . . . over all;
+  While through the windows, steel-barred, stern and tall,
+  Pale daylight greets us like a plaintive song.
+
+  Somewhere the dawn breaks laughing o'er the sea
+  To splash with gold the cities' domes and towers,
+  And countless men seek visions wide and free,
+  In that alluring world that is not ours;
+  But no one there could prize as much as we
+  The open road, the smell of grass and flowers.
+
+
+
+PRISON NOCTURNE
+
+  Outside the storm is swishing to and fro;
+    The wet wind hums its colorless refrain;
+  Against the walls and dripping bars, the rain
+  Beats with a rhythm like a song of woe;
+  Dimmed by the lightning's ever-fitful glow
+  The purple arc-lamps blur each streaming pane;
+  The thunder rumbles at the distant plain,
+  The cells are hushed and silent, row on row.
+
+  Fall, fruitful drops, upon the parching earth,
+    Fall, and revive the living sap of spring;
+    Blossom the fields with wonder once again!
+  And, in all hearts, awaken to new birth
+  Those visions and endeavors that will bring
+  A fresh, sweet morning to the world of men!
+
+
+
+THE WARRIOR WIND
+
+  Once more the wind leaps from the sullen land
+    With his old battle-cry.
+    A tree bends darkly where the wall looms high;
+  Its tortured branches, like a grisly hand,
+    Clutch at the sky.
+
+  Grey towers rise from gloom and underneath--
+  Black-barred and strong--
+  The snarling windows guard their ancient wrong;
+  But the mad wind shakes them, hissing through his teeth
+    A battle song.
+
+  O bitter is the challenge that he flings
+  At bars and bolts and keys.
+  Torn with the cries of vanished centuries
+  And curses hurled at long-forgotten kings
+    Beyond dim seas.
+
+  The wind alone, of all the gods of old,
+    Men could not chain.
+    O wild wind, brother to my wrath and pain,
+  Like you, within a restless heart I hold
+    A hurricane.
+
+  The wind has known the dungeons of the past
+    Knows all that are;
+    And in due time will strew their dust afar,
+  And singing, he will shout their doom at last
+  To a laughing star.
+
+  O cleansing warrior wind, stronger than death,
+    Wiser than men may know;
+    O smite these stubborn walls and lay them low,
+  Uproot and rend them with your mighty breath--
+    Blow, wild wind, blow!
+
+
+
+TO FREEDOM
+
+  Out on the "lookout" in the wind and sleet,
+  Out in the woods of fir and spruce and pine,
+  Down in the hot slopes of the dripping mine
+  We dreamed of you and Oh, the dream was sweet!
+  And now you bless the felon food we eat
+  And make each iron cell a sacred shrine;
+  For when your love thrills in the blood like wine,
+  The very stones grow holy to our feet.
+
+  We shall be faithful though we march with Death
+  And singing storm the barricades of Wrong,
+  For life is such a little thing to give.
+  We shall fight on as long as we have breath--
+  Love in our hearts and on our lips a song--
+  Without you it were better not to live!
+
+
+
+THE VISION MAKER
+
+To EUGENE VICTOR DEBS
+
+
+  Christ-like he spoke. While angry cannon roared,
+  His vision tinged the torn and bleeding skies,
+  Men heard in him their own dumb anguished cries,
+  The heavens seemed to open at his word.
+  Give us a victim, shouted Caesar's horde,
+  From his black pyre red warnings shall arise,
+  The vision perishes, the prophet dies. . .
+  His truth is far more deadly than our sword!
+
+  And deadlier his dream--a quenchless flame,
+  For which no dungeon fastness can be built . . .
+  You have but made the convict half divine,
+  Crowned Truth with martyrdom, yourselves with shame;
+  Not he, but you are branded deep with guilt;
+  His cell is holier than your highest shrine.
+
+
+
+DISTANCES
+
+  Above the moist earth, tremulous and bright,
+  The stars creep forth--stars that I cannot see;
+  And to my cell steals, oh, so tenderly
+  The dewy fragrance of a summer night!
+  All wan and wistful, somewhere out of sight,
+  Stalking o'er landscapes wide and dark and free,
+  My friend, the moon, looks everywhere for me,
+  Splashing the paths I loved with silver light.
+
+  Oh loveliness! why do you torture so
+  With such keen beauty till the day appears?
+  Why touch to life things buried long ago,
+  Whose aching cries trouble the heart to tears;
+  Ghostly--like wind tossed sea gulls calling low
+  Out of the poignant vistas of the years?
+
+
+
+PHANTOMS
+
+  Ghost of a mountain
+    And ghost of a moon;
+  Night birds sink droopingly
+    Over the dune
+
+  Clouds drifting hazily
+    Stars blurring through;
+  Darkness come close to me--
+    Darkness and you.
+
+  Mist on the water
+    And mist in the sky;
+  Netted with silver
+    The waves ripple by.
+
+  _Ghost of a solitude_
+    _Lit with dead stars._
+  _You have your memories_
+    _I have my bars!_
+
+
+
+SEVEN LITTLE SPARROWS
+
+  Beyond the deep-cut window
+    The bars are heaped with snow,
+  And seven little sparrows
+    Are sitting in a row.
+
+  Fluffy blur of snowflakes;
+    Dappled haze of light;
+  The narrow prison vista
+    Is all awhirl with white.
+
+  Seven little sparrows
+    Ruffled brown and grey
+  Snuggled close against the bars--
+    And this is Christmas day!
+
+
+
+SALAAM!
+
+  Serene, complacent, satisfied,
+    Content with things that be;
+  The paragon of paltriness
+    Upraised for all to see;
+  With loving pride he cherishes
+    His mediocrity!
+
+  The smirking, ass-like multitudes
+    Cringe down at his command.
+  With wagging ears and blinded eyes
+    They do not understand.
+  With pride they show each shackled wrist
+    And on each brow the brand.
+
+  The young, the old, the great, the small
+    Give homage--all supine.
+  Fond parents bring their children there
+    As to some holy shrine.
+  And every one the Beast transforms
+    From human into swine!
+
+  Well praised are they--rewarded well--
+    Who on their shoulders bore
+  The gilded Thing that all the mob
+    Fawned in the dust before.
+  And each that did obeisance there
+    Was naked like a whore.
+
+  The poet with his teeming song,
+    The wise his deep-delved lore,
+  The maiden with her tender flesh,
+    The strong his sturdy store:
+  Each yielded all he had to give;
+    No harlot could do more.
+
+  Is there not one to share with me
+    The shame and wrath I own?
+  Is there not one to curse that Thing
+    Or pick up stones to stone--
+  To rend and wreck and raze to earth--
+    Or do I stand alone?
+
+  Raise high the swine-like incubus,
+    Obediently bow!
+  Shatter the flame on rebel lips
+    And wreath that brazen brow!
+  So blaze the banners, ring the bells,
+    Apotheosis now!
+
+  My kind but scorn your dull "success"--
+    Your subtle ways to "win,"
+  We eat our hearts in solitude
+    Or sear our souls with "sin";
+  Yet we are better men than you
+    Who fit so smugly in.
+
+  Go! grovel for the shoddy goods
+    And plod and plot and plan,
+  And if you win the paltry prize
+    Go prize it--if you can,
+  But I would hurl it in your face
+    To hold myself a man!
+
+  I will not bow with that mad horde
+    And passively obey.
+  I will not think their sordid thoughts
+    Nor say the things they say,
+  Nor wear their shameful uniforms,
+    Nor branded be as they.
+
+  Nor can they bend me to their will
+    Though black their numbers swell,
+  Nor bribe with hopes of paradise
+    Nor force with fears of hell;
+  Me they may break but never bend,--
+    I live but to rebel!
+
+  I go my way rejoicingly,
+    I, outcast, spurned and low,
+  But undreamed worlds may come to birth
+    From seeds that I may sow.
+  And if there's pain within my heart
+    Those fools shall never know.
+
+  So let me stand back silently,
+    The pageant passes by,
+  And live my life with these new Christs
+    Whom you would crucify,
+  And laugh with mirth to see the mob
+    Do homage to a Lie!
+
+
+
+THE WEST IS DEAD
+
+  What path is left for you to tread
+    When hunger-wolves are slinking near--
+  Do you not know the West is dead?
+
+  The "blanket-stiff" now packs his bed
+    Along the trails of yesteryear--
+  What path is left for you to tread?
+
+  Your fathers, golden sunsets led
+    To virgin prairies wide and clear--
+  Do you not know the West is dead?
+
+  Now dismal cities rise instead
+    And freedom is not there nor here--
+  What path is left for you to tread?
+
+  Your fathers' world, for which they bled,
+    Is fenced and settled far and near--
+  Do you not know the West is dead?
+
+  Your fathers gained a crust of bread,
+    Their bones bleach on the lost frontier;
+  What path is left for you to tread--
+    Do you not know the West is dead?
+
+
+
+UP FROM YOUR KNEES
+
+(Air: "Song of a Thousand Years")
+
+  Up from your knees, ye cringing serf men!
+    What have ye gained by whines and tears?
+  Rise! They can never break our spirits
+    Though they should try a thousand years.
+
+  CHORUS
+
+  A thousand years, then speed the victory!
+    Nothing can stop us nor dismay.
+  After the winter comes the springtime;
+    After the darkness comes the day.
+
+  Break ye your chains, strike off your fetters;
+    Beat them to swords, the Foe appears.
+  Slaves of the world arise and crush him--
+    Crush him or serve a thousand years.
+
+  Join in the fight--the Final Battle,
+    Welcome the fray with ringing cheers.
+  These are the times our fathers dreamed of,
+    Fought to attain a thousand years.
+
+  Be ye prepared, be not unworthy,
+    Greater the task when triumph nears.
+  Master the earth, O men of labor;
+    Long have ye learned--a thousand years.
+
+  Out of the East the sun is rising,
+    Out of the night the day appears;
+  See! at your feet the world is waiting,
+    Bought with your blood a thousand years.
+
+
+
+THE EUNUCH
+
+(To those who fight on the side of the Powers of Darkness)
+
+  Once a Eunuch by the palace
+    In the sunset's fading glow
+    Felt the soft warm breezes blow;
+  Watched the fair girls of the Harem
+    Idly saunter to and fro.
+
+  Saw he beauty young and lavish--
+    Fierce to lure man's every sense--
+    (Grim the Eunuch stood and tense)
+  Laughingly the sparkling fountain
+    Mocked his bleak incompetence.
+
+  Came the Sultan from his hunting
+    Flaming with the zest of life;
+    (Laid aside were spear and knife)
+  Came for wine and song and feasting,
+    Came to seek his fairest wife.
+
+  Opened then the marble portals.
+    Fragrant incense filled the air,
+    (Sandalwood and roses rare)
+  While the girls with red-lipped languor
+    Scattered flowers everywhere.
+
+  Far away the fabled mountains,
+    (Like some paradise of old)
+    Glowed with lavender and gold.
+  Tense the Eunuch stood and silent--
+    Tense and sullen, tense and cold.
+
+  Now a quick impotent fury
+    Lashed him like a bronze-tipped cord.
+    Sprang he at the youthful lord,
+  Sprang again with blade all bloody . . .
+    (Famished lust and dripping sword.)
+
+   *       *        *       *        *
+
+  Night crept on all chill and ghastly,
+    Jackals trotted forth to bark,
+    (Murder shuddered, still and stark . . .)
+  By the palace ceased the fountain
+    And the whole grey world grew dark.
+
+
+
+I. W. W. PRISON SONG
+
+(Tune: "The Red Flag")
+
+
+  The pale and dismal daylight falls
+  Through iron bars on prison walls.
+  In chains we came from far and near,
+  And in dark cells they hold us here.
+
+  CHORUS
+
+  Defiant 'neath the Iron Heel;
+  Their walls of stone and bars of steel!
+  For though all hell at us is hurled,
+  We and our kind shall rule the world!
+
+  At us the blood-hounds are let loose,
+  The lynch-mobs with the knotted noose;
+  In legal sanctioned mask and gown
+  The New Black Hundreds hunt us down.
+
+  To all brave comrades o'er the sea,
+  In chains for human liberty,
+  And all jailed rebels everywhere
+  We say: be bold to do and dare!
+
+  By all the graves of Labor's dead,
+  By Labor's deathless flag of red,
+  We make a solemn vow to you,--
+  We'll keep the faith; we will be true.
+
+  For Freedom laughs at prison bars
+  Her voice re-echoes from the stars;
+  Proclaiming with the tempest's breath
+  A Cause beyond the reach of death!
+
+
+
+TO FRANCE
+
+(May Day, 1919)
+
+  Mother of revolutions, stern and sweet,
+  Thou of the red Commune's heroic days;
+  Unsheathe thy sword, let thy pent lightning blaze
+  Until these new bastiles fall at thy feet.
+  Once more thy sons march down the ancient street
+  Led by pale men from silent Pere la Chaise;
+  Once more La Carmignole--La Marseillaise
+  Blend with the war drum's quick and angry beat.
+
+  Ah, France--our--France--must they again endure
+  The crown of thorns upon the cross of death?
+  Is morning here . . .? Then speak that we may know!
+  The sky seems lighter but we are not sure.
+  Is morning here . . .? The whole world holds its breath
+  To hear the crimson Gallic rooster crow!
+
+
+
+VILLANELLE
+
+(Torquato Tasso from his cell at Ste. Anne, 1548)
+
+  Her beauty haunts me everywhere--
+    A lone lark singing as it flies--
+  Sweet, O sweet beyond compare.
+
+  Amber and gold meet in her hair,
+    Dark pools and starlight in her eyes;
+  Her beauty haunts me everywhere.
+
+  Slim body, petal soft and fair,
+    Cool lips, cool, cool as evening skies--
+  Sweet, O sweet beyond compare.
+
+  Pale fingers delicate and rare,
+    To lull and lure caressing-wise;
+  Her beauty haunts me everywhere.
+
+  Here in my dungeon dim and bare
+    The last frail not of music dies--
+  Sweet, O sweet beyond compare.
+
+  My heart? I steeled it not to care. . . .
+    But God! her love is paradise!
+  Her beauty haunts me everywhere,
+  O sweet, sweet, sweet beyond compare!
+
+
+
+WESLEY EVEREST
+
+(Mutilated and murdered at Centralia, Washington,
+November 11th, 1919, by a mob of "respectable"
+businessmen.)
+
+  Torn and defiant as a wind-lashed reed,
+  Wounded he faced you as he stood at bay;
+  You dared not lynch him in the light of day,
+  But on your dungeon stones you let him bleed;
+  Night came . . . and you black vigilants of Greed . . .
+  Like human wolves, seized hard upon your prey,
+  Tortured and killed . . . and, silent slunk away
+  Without one qualm of horror at the deed.
+
+  Once . . . long ago . . . do you remember how
+  You hailed Him king for soldiers to deride--
+  You placed a scroll above His bleeding brow
+  And spat upon Him, scourged Him, crucified . . .?
+
+  A rebel unto Caesar--then as now
+  Alone, thorn-crowned, a spear wound in his side!
+
+
+
+THE INDUSTRIAL HERETICS
+
+  They say we are revolters--that we stirred
+  The workers of all nations to rebel--
+  And that we would not compromise with Hell,
+  But damned it with our every deed and word.
+  They feared us as we faced them undeterred,
+  And gave us each a coffin of a cell
+  In this steel cave where living corpses dwell--
+  Hate-throttled here that we might not be heard.
+
+  We are those fools too stubborn-willed to bend
+  Our necks to Wrong and parley and discuss.
+  Today we face the awful test of fire--
+  The prison, gallows, cross--but in the end
+  Your sons will call your children after us
+  And name their dogs from men you now admire!
+
+
+
+BLOOD AND WINE
+
+(A certain little renegade of the Revolution chants a
+hymn of praise to his erstwhile enemy.)
+
+  Behold! The helots of the land
+    Are cowed beneath thy iron fist;
+  They are too dumb to understand--
+    Too tame and spineless to resist.
+
+  Victorious one! Against thy gains
+    These chattels cannot, dare not rise;
+  Stifle the thought within their brains
+    And rule . . . with bayonets and lies.
+
+  So may thy sons, with greed uncurbed,
+    Their children's children rule again;
+  Aye, rule with iron, undisturbed,
+    The all-prolific sons of men.
+
+  What matters that ten million died
+    To give thy lust a dwelling place?
+  Does not thy Terror set aside
+    The ancient freedom of the race?
+
+  What matters that the peasant's plow
+    Bites at a soil baptised with red?
+  Are not thy bloody dollars now
+    More myriad than the myriad dead?
+
+  That in charred cities, wan with pain,
+    War-desolated mothers live,
+  While lips of babies tug in vain
+    At breasts that have no milk to give?
+
+  Or that beneath thy battered walls,
+    Cursed with the eloquence of hell,
+  Black Want to red Rebellion calls . . .?
+    Heed not, I tell thee all is well!
+
+  Heed not! Have vine-clad maidens sing
+    And serve thee scented wine and gore;
+  Laugh! Glut thyself to vomiting,
+    And hiccough, screaming still for more.
+
+  What of the Men against the gate,
+    Black-massed and sullen, gaunt and lean . . .
+  Like thee they crave one thing to hate.
+    Be glad . . . and whet thy guillotine!
+
+
+
+THE RED GUARD
+
+  Sons of the dawn! No more shall you enslave
+  Nor lull them with your honied lies to sleep,
+  Nor lead them on like herds of human sheep,
+  To hopeless slaughter for the loot you crave.
+  For now upon you, wave on mighty wave,
+  The iron-stern battalions rise and leap
+  To extirpate your breed and bury deep
+  And sow with salt the unlamented grave!
+
+  Accursed Monster -- nightmare of the years--
+  Pause but a moment ere you pass away!
+  Pause and behold the earth made clean and pure--
+  Our earth, that you have drenched with blood and tears--
+  Then greet the crimson usurer of Day,--
+  The mighty Proletarian Dictature!
+
+
+
+THE RED FEAST
+
+  Go fight, you fools! Tear up the earth with strife
+    And spill each others guts upon the field;
+  Serve unto death the men you served in life
+    So that their wide dominions may not yield.
+
+  Stand by the flag--the lie that still allures;
+    Lay down your lives for land you do not own,
+  And give unto a war that is not yours
+    Your gory tithe of mangled flesh and bone.
+
+  But whether it be yours to fall or kill
+    You must not pause to question why nor where.
+  You see the tiny crosses on that hill?
+    It took all those to make one millionaire.
+
+  It was for him the seas of blood were shed,
+    That fields were razed and cities lit the sky;
+  And now he comes to chortle o'er the dead--
+    The condor Thing for whom the millions die!
+
+  The bugle screams, the cannons cease to roar.
+    "Enough! enough! God give us peace again."
+  The rats, the maggots and the Lords of War
+    Are fat to bursting from their meal of men.
+
+  So stagger back, you stupid dupes who've "won,"
+    Back to your stricken towns to toil anew,
+  For there your dismal tasks are still undone
+    And grim Starvation gropes again for you.
+
+  What matters now your flag, your race, the skill
+    Of scattered legions--what has been the gain?
+  Once more beneath the lash you must distil
+    Your lives to glut a glory wrought of pain.
+
+  In peace they starve you to your loathsome toil,
+    In war they drive you to the teeth of Death;
+  And when your life-blood soaks into their soil
+    They give you lies to choke your dying breath.
+
+  So will they smite your blind eyes till you see,
+    And lash your naked backs until you know
+  That wasted blood can never set you free
+    From fettered thraldom to the Common Foe.
+
+  Then you will find that "nation" is a name
+    And boundaries are things that don't exist;
+  That Labor's bondage, worldwide, is the same,
+    And ONE the enemy it must resist.
+
+Montreal, 1914.
+
+
+
+THE GIRLS WHO SANG FOR US
+
+  What does it mean to us that Spring is here?
+  We asked ourselves within the great grey hall.
+  We shall not feel the magic of her call;
+  This day, like others, will be dull and drear.
+  And then you sang . . . and brought so very near,
+  The fragrant world beyond the prison wall,
+  The tender fields, the trees and grass, and all
+  The hopes and dreams that every man holds dear.
+
+  O, silvery voices, sweet with life and youth
+  Brushing our grey lives with your rainbow wings--
+  Lives that were stern and bitter with old wrong,
+  And cleansing them with beauty and with truth;
+  Reviving memories of vanished springs--
+  Making us whole with miracles of song!
+
+
+
+TO EDITH
+
+  Do you remember how we walked that night
+  In early spring?
+  And how we found a new and sweet delight
+  In everything?
+  Do you remember how the air was filled
+  With mist and moonlight--how our hearts were thrilled--
+  And seemed to sing?
+
+  What if these walls shut out the world for me
+  And heaven too,
+  There still lives fragrant in my memory
+  The thought of you.
+  And out there now with life's high dome above you
+  If you but knew how very much I love you--
+  If you but knew . . . .
+
+
+
+SONG OF SEPARATION
+
+  Two that I love must live alone,
+    Far away.
+  All in the world I can call my own,
+    Only they.
+  Mother and boy in the rocking chair,
+  Thinking of one who cannot be there,
+  Breathing a hope that is half a prayer;
+    Night and day, night and day.
+
+  Here in my cell I must sit alone,
+    Clothed in grey.
+  Bars of iron and walls of stone
+    Bid me stay.
+  What of the world with its pomp and show?
+  Baubles of nothing! This I know:
+  Deep in my heart I miss them so
+    Night and day, night and day.
+
+
+
+TO MY LITTLE SON
+
+  I cannot lose the thought of you
+    It haunts me like a little song,
+  It blends with all I see or do
+    Each day, the whole day long.
+
+  The train, the lights, the engine's throb,
+    And that one stinging memory:
+  Your brave smile broken with a sob,
+    Your face pressed close to me.
+
+  Lips trembling far too much to speak;
+    The arms that would not come undone;
+  The kiss so salty on your cheek;
+    The long, long trip begun.
+
+  I could not miss you more it seemed,
+    But now I don't know what to say.
+  It's harder than I ever dreamed
+    With you so far away.
+
+
+
+ESCAPED!
+
+(The boiler house whistle is blown "wildcat" when
+a prisoner makes a "getaway")
+
+  A man has fled. . . .! We clutch the bars and wait;
+  The corridors are empty, tense and still;
+  A silver mist has dimmed the distant hill;
+  The guards have gathered at the prison gate.
+  Then suddenly the "wildcat" blares its hate
+  Like some mad Moloch screaming for the kill,
+  Shattering the air with terror loud and shrill,
+  The dim, grey walls become articulate.
+
+  Freedom, you say? Behold her altar here!
+  In those far cities men can only find
+  A vaster prison and a redder hell,
+  O'ershadowed by new wings of greater fear.
+  Brave fool, for such a world to leave behind
+  The iron sanctuary of a cell!
+
+
+
+RETROSPECT
+
+  The wall-girt distance undulates with heat;
+  The buildings crouch in terror of the sun;
+  Steel bars and stones, heat-tortured ton on ton,
+  On which the noon's remorseless hammers beat.
+  Alone I trudge the wide red-cobbled street:
+  How long before this evil dream is done . . .?
+  These strange mad stones I know them every one,
+  Worn with the tread of oh, how many feet!
+
+  And yet it seems that I have seen it all
+  Before . . . I know not when . . . but there should be
+  Blunt buildings near a cliff, as I recall;
+  Bare rocks--a burning white--a gnarled dark tree . . .
+  And looming clear above a sentried wall
+  The foam-laced splendor of a warm blue sea . . .
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bars and Shadows, by Ralph Chaplin
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