Mime Funny Valentine

There’s a poem I want to find. If I knew where it was, I could hurl a few boxes of old papers off the balcony and never worry about what I was losing. It’s not the greatest poem ever written by far, but it’s given me pleasure over the years. I believe the last time I had a lock on its position was when I was living in New York. In one of many moves, it found its way into a box somewhere. When I find time one day, I’ll sift through boxes and find it, and then I can get rid of some other things I’m ready to quit dragging around.

Who knows what other great treasures are in these cartons stuffed with old memories? Every piece of it was something I once hesitated to throw away; maybe I’ll stay my hand again if I see it anew. But this poem is the one thing my mind keeps going back to.

I have searched for it again and again on the Internet, using all kinds of arcane screens to unearth even someone who might have a recollection of it, or who might have a printed copy. Such is the staying power of a fragment of language.

If I could find it, I might just toss some of these boxes of old effects without having to sift through them. So far, no luck.

It is in that spirit that I offer this little piece. Let’s just say I noticed it the other night. It’s a minor rethinking of Thoreau (“What are you doing in jail, Harry?” “What are you doing out of jail, Ralph?”), but it doesn’t pretend to be any great shakes. I’m not claiming it’s outstanding.

Still, I bet someone out there will go hunting for it one of these days. If it were famous or great, it would already be on the Web in a half-dozen places. It’s just obscure enough for someone to be able to remember it and not find it.

And so I’ll post it here, and with the power of Google, it will magically become accessible to all the connected peoples of the Interverse.

Until, that is, the paradigm changes again, and it and all these other posts become technologically obsolete. They’ll go unvisited, like dusty stations on an abandoned railroad.

I’m giving it about five months.

Anyhow, I won’t go into the story of the song or any of the other remarks one might make. I’m just here to post the lyrics, not to comment or promote or detract. (I will note that the guy who wrote it apparently did spend time in prison for refusing to cooperate with the draft—it’s not a purely academic piece of rhetoric. But I don’t really know much about it beyond that.)

Anthem
by W.S. “Sonny” Tongue
performed by the Hello People

They say I was born in the land of the free
But the home of the briefcase is all I can see
With fine houses and highways we cover the land
But freedom’s a fable if the conscience is banned

So I’m going to prison
For what I believe
I’m going to prison
So I can be free
I’ve got something I’ll die for
What else can they do?
I’ve got something to live for
What about you?

From official sources directives have come:
Send out the marshals, round up everyone
Who’s worshiping God instead of the state
Who’s teaching that love is better than hate

So I’m going to prison
For what I believe
I’m going to prison
So I can be free
I’ve got something I’ll die for
What else can they do?
I’ve got something to live for
What about you?


As broadcast on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, February 14, 1969

For more on the Hello People, see http://www.thecoolgroove.com/hello.html