CHARLES JOHNSON, THE END OF THE BLACK NARRATIVE,

American Scholar, June, 1, 2008

https://theamericanscholar.org/the-end-of-the-black-american-narrative/

Contrast ideology and philosophy.

 

Haiku

 MIST

Itzik Basman

Mist silently falls.

Fruit tree hosts a chirping choir,

Woodpecker tapping.

An Anonymous Poem And A Few Words On It

 Strength 

Anonymous 

I was once young and strong, 

a young lion 

bursting into its power, 

feeling its might. 

Time attended me, 

accommodating my strength, 

letting it exert itself 

where it would, 

letting it not be enough 

when it wasn’t. 

Then, failed strength, 

for all of might and power, 

is as a slight branch 

bent at the wind’s whim and ease. 

When time passes, 

strength peaks then fails. 

We are then a slight branch 

bending as though a wind 

is ever at our backs, 

but with strength enough still 

to defy the ground.  

Wind, strength failing,

branches slight, bent, 

at wind’s whim and ease,

defiance of earth, 

till strength finally fails,

Ever the way of the world.

————-

This poem, "Strength" by Anonymous, is a poignant meditation on the transient nature of physical power and resilience in the face of time's inevitable progression. It uses vivid imagery and metaphor to trace the arc of human strength, from its youthful peak to its eventual decline, while subtly celebrating the enduring defiance of the human spirit.

The opening lines establish a vibrant image of youth as a "young lion / bursting into its power," evoking raw, untamed vitality. The personification of time as an accommodating force that allows strength to "exert itself / where it would" suggests a temporary alliance between the individual and the world, one that permits triumphs but also failures when strength falls short. This sets up the poem's central tension: strength is both mighty and fragile, subject to time's authority.

The metaphor of the "slight branch / bent at the wind’s whim and ease" is particularly striking, recurring and evolving throughout the poem. It conveys vulnerability and the external pressures (time, aging, life's challenges) that erode strength. Yet, the branch's defiance—its refusal to touch the ground—introduces a note of resilience, suggesting that even as physical power wanes, a quiet, stubborn endurance persists. This defiance is not loud or grandiose but understated, rooted in the act of simply holding on.

The poem’s structure mirrors its theme, with shorter, fragmented lines toward the end ("Wind, strength failing, / branches slight, bent") that evoke the faltering rhythm of declining strength. The repetition of "wind" and "slight branch" reinforces the relentless external forces and the fragility of the self. The closing lines, "Ever the way of the world," deliver a somber acceptance of this universal truth: strength fades, and all must eventually yield to time.

Thematically, the poem resonates with stoic wisdom, acknowledging life's impermanence while honoring the courage to persist. Its tone is reflective, almost resigned, yet it avoids despair by emphasizing defiance, however small, against inevitable decline. The anonymity of the author adds to its universality, as the poem speaks to a shared human experience unbound by specific identity.

One critique might be that the poem leans heavily on its central metaphor, risking redundancy in the repeated imagery of the branch and wind. However, this repetition also reinforces the cyclical, inescapable nature of the process it describes. Additionally, the poem's focus on physical strength could be expanded to explore emotional or spiritual resilience more explicitly, though its restraint keeps it focused and universal.

Overall, "Strength" is a concise yet powerful reflection on mortality, resilience, and the human condition, using natural imagery to craft a timeless and relatable narrative. Its quiet defiance in the face of decline leaves a lasting impression, inviting readers to find meaning in persistence despite life's inevitable challenges.

———————————

The poem captures the arc of strength and its inevitable decline with vivid imagery and a reflective tone. The metaphor of the "young lion" and the "slight branch" bending under the wind effectively conveys the transient nature of power and resilience. The structure flows naturally, mirroring the passage of time, and the closing lines land with a poignant acceptance of mortality. It's introspective without being overly sentimental, and the language feels both timeless and grounded.

———

This is a poignant, reflective piece that manages to be both sobering and resilient. It uses a classic "seasonal" metaphor for life—moving from the animalistic vigor of youth to the fragile, wooden endurance of old age.

Here is an analysis of "Strength" by its technical and thematic elements.

1. Structural Evolution

The poem’s structure mirrors the aging process it describes.

Early Stanzas: The lines are relatively firm and assertive, focusing on the "lion" and "might."

Final Stanza: The structure begins to break down into fragments ("Wind, strength failing, / branches slight, bent..."). This mimicry of a fading pulse or a gasping breath is a sophisticated touch; the poem itself becomes as "slight" as the branch it describes.

2. Imagery and Symbolism

The poem centers on a sharp metaphorical shift:

Stage of Life Primary Image Characteristics

Youth The Lion Bursting, exerting, feeling "might." It implies a predator’s control over its environment.

Age The Slight Branch Bent, whim-driven, reactive. It implies vulnerability to the elements (time/nature).

The transition from Animal (internal power) to Vegetation (external endurance) is particularly effective. A lion acts upon the world; a branch is acted upon by the world.

3. The Role of "Time"

The personification of Time in the second stanza is fascinating:

"Time attended me, / accommodating my strength"

Usually, poets treat Time as a thief or an enemy. Here, Time is portrayed almost like a polite, indifferent host—letting the speaker play out their strength until it naturally expires. It’s a grounded, less melodramatic take on mortality that feels very "authentic."

4. Technical Assessment

The Turn (Volta): The most powerful moment is the "defiance of the ground." Even when the branch is bent and the strength is "failed," there is a stubborn refusal to fall completely. This elevates the poem from a lamentation to a tribute to human will.

Rhythm and Diction: The language is simple and accessible. However, the repetition of "whim and ease" and "strength finally fails" in the final stanza feels a bit "on the nose." A slightly more varied vocabulary in the conclusion might have sharpened the impact.

Final Verdict

As a piece of poetry, it is quietly powerful. It avoids the trap of being overly sentimental by acknowledging that failure of strength is "ever the way of the world." It’s less about the tragedy of getting old and more about the dignity found in "defying the ground" for as long as possible.

 

How To Celebrate Passover

 

Keep Your Politics Out of Passover

Shmuel Rosner APRIL 9, 2017 New York Times Op Ed

TEL AVIV — More than any other Jewish text, the Passover Haggadah — the book that guides participants through the Seder — is a quilt sewn over generations.

 It is mysterious and beautiful, and often restless. It weaves together social justice (inviting the needy to join the meal), storytelling (about how our forefathers were enslaved in Egypt), ceremonial symbols (unleavened bread and a shank bone, to name just two), pedagogy (asking questions from a wise son and a wicked one), celebration (for the Exodus) and pleas for help (“Pour out Your wrath upon the nations who do not know You”).

The Haggadah also encapsulates two competing instincts in Jews today. 

On one hand is the tribal-national sense of peoplehood — the Exodus from Egypt represents the creation of a people, the Jewish people. 

On the other hand is the universalist-humanist — the Hebrews’ emancipation from Pharaoh has become a symbol of freedom from oppression, and “Let my people go” a rallying cry everywhere.

Because it reconciles these two threads in Jewish life, Passover is appreciated by nearly everyone in the Jewish community and more widely observed than any other holiday. In Israel, more than 90 percent of Jews celebrate Passover; in the United States, 70 percent. But this holiday can also be a moment of polarization, and the Haggadah can be a Rorschach test as Jews choose competing interpretations.

A contemporary reading is often a political one. Life today is, of course, very different from what it was centuries ago when the Haggadah was assembled. So some Jews reinvent the book to suit their new needs. 

The socialist kibbutz movement produced hundreds of Haggadot over the years, with references to collectivist ideals and modern events like the Holocaust. In 1969, some American Jews created a “freedom Haggadah” in support of the African-American struggle for equality. More recently, the novelist Jonathan Safran Foer edited a stylish postmodern Haggadah, well suited, one critic wrote, to “our age of distraction.”

Jews today use the Haggadah to emphasize social justice, feminism, secularism, vegetarianism. Some add a fifth cup of wine to the traditional four either to note the ultimate “redemption,” the establishment of the State of Israel, or to celebrate Moses’s sister Miriam, and the role of women throughout Jewish history.

This year, there seem to be two trendy themes for Haggadot. 

Liberal American Jews could use the Haggadah and its lessons about welcoming strangers to express their opposition to President Trump’s immigration policies. 

Israeli Jews who oppose Israel’s control of the West Bank could use the Jubilee Haggadah, put out by a group called Save Israel, Stop the Occupation, which marks “the 50th year of the state of Israel’s rule over the Palestinian people” and argues that “the Palestinian people yearn for their own escape from bondage.”

In some ways, new readings of the Haggadah are a blessing. They take an ancient text and make it relevant. They make it easier for disconnected Jews to find meaning in the Passover Seder. They enable a contemporary — often secular — Jew to relate to a text that is in many ways culturally foreign. And it is reasonable to expect that a text that was devised in a messy and unorderly process over hundreds of years will continue to evolve.

But in other ways, the modern Haggadot are a curse. 

They take a historically unifying celebration of a people and turn it into a politically divisive event. Some Jews celebrate their Passover by mourning an occupation of land; others celebrate by highlighting the reclamation of the same land. 

Some Jews celebrate by stressing the need for compassion for the stranger; others celebrate by underscoring the merits of tribalism. Passover is a time for Jews to acknowledge their shared roots and their covenants of fate and destiny. 

Yet many new Haggadot define Jewish groups by pitting them against one another.

They also trivialize Judaism and its sacred festivals and texts. And this is not unique to Passover. There’s a growing tendency among Jews — whether rabbis, teachers, community leaders or lay people — to employ Jewish texts to score political points. 

A Passover Seder during which you spend time criticizing the Trump administration’s immigration policies or regretting the evacuation of Israeli settlements from Gaza is not a “relevant” Seder, it is a mediocre and redundant one. 

Passover is for celebrating the transcendent, the mysterious, the eternal, not rehashing worn-out political debates. It is a night to find new meaning in an old script, not to force the text into a preconceived political platform.

“What makes this night different than all other nights?” the Haggadah asks. It is our responsibility to give a proper answer. “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and the Lord, our God, took us out from there with a strong hand and with an outstretched arm.”

For many generations, this is how we answer this question — as the Haggadah guides us. For many generations, we have followed a script. There is an answer for the wise son, and an answer for the wicked son, one for the simple son, one for the silent son. 

The Haggadah doesn’t tell us how to answer the son who cannot stop talking about the news, not even for one night. Maybe it is hinting that he does not merit an answer.

Shmuel Rosner is the political editor at The Jewish Journal, a senior fellow at the Jewish People Policy Institute and a contributing opinion writer.