Neither Cuba nor Vietnam sealed JFK’s fate,
but it was his love of language, how poetry
feeds the soul, that made the soul-starved among us
resort to the gun, tool of the dumb, feeder of tombs.
A vain lust for blood and power pins us down
on the feckless material plane, where we remain deaf,
dumb, and blind to what poets like Frost
forever declaim from the spiritual plane.
The feckless always do what’s easy, not what’s ideal.
The easy way out of the New Frontier was the same
way naked power draws near every new frontier:
conspiratorial, armed to the teeth, and riddled by fear.
Dave Read
Following is the poem Robert Frost composed for JFK’s inauguration, but was unable to read in the bright sunlight. It was meant to be read as prologue to The Gift Outright, written decades earlier, which candidate Kennedy had asked him to recite after declining his request to compose a poem for the occasion.
Then, on the day before, Frost did what had been asked of him, and composed this poem, which adds considerably to the earlier one. The separation into blocks of lines is mine; I think it makes it more likely to be read all the way through, whereas a block of 110+ lines appears dis-inviting.
For John F. Kennedy’s Inauguration
Gift outright of “The Gift Outright”
(With some preliminary history in rhyme)
by Robert Frost
Summoning artists to participate
In the august occasions of the state
Seems something artists ought to celebrate.
Today is for my cause a day of days.
And his be poetry’s old-fashioned praise
Who was the first to think of such a thing.
This verse that in acknowledgment I bring
Goes back to the beginning of the end
Of what had been for centuries the trend;
A turning point in modern history.
Colonial had been the thing to be
As long as the great issue was to see
What country’d be the one to dominate
By character, by tongue, by native trait,
The new world Christopher Columbus found.
The French, the Spanish, and the Dutch were downed
And counted out. Heroic deeds were done.
Elizabeth the First and England won.
Now came on a new order of the ages
That in the Latin of our founding sages
(Is it not written on the dollar bill
We carry in our purse and pocket still?)
God nodded His approval of as good.
So much those heroes knew and understood–
I mean the great four, Washington,
John Adams, Jefferson, and Madison–
So much they knew as consecrated seers
They must have seen ahead what now appears
They would bring empires down about our ears
And by the example of our Declaration
Make everybody want to be a nation.
And this is no aristocratic joke
At the expense of negligible folk.
We see how seriously the races swarm
In their attempts at sovereignty and form.
They are our wards we think to some extent
For the time being and with their consent,
To teach them how Democracy is meant.
“New order of the ages” did we say?
If it looks none too orderly today,
‘Tis a confusion it was ours to start
So in it have to take courageous part.
No one of honest feeling would approve
A ruler who pretended not to love
A turbulence he had the better of.
Everyone knows the glory of the twain
Who gave America the aeroplane
To ride the whirlwind and the hurricane.
Some poor fool has been saying in his heart
Glory is out of date in life and art.
Our venture in revolution and outlawry
Has justified itself in freedom’s story
Right down to now in glory upon glory.
Come fresh from an election like the last,
The greatest vote a people ever cast,
So close yet sure to be abided by,
It is no miracle our mood is high.
Courage is in the air in bracing whiffs
Better than all the stalemate an’s and ifs.
There was the book of profile tales declaring
For the emboldened politicians daring
To break with followers when in the wrong,
A healthy independence of the throng,
A democratic form of right divine
To rule first answerable to high design.
There is a call to life a little sterner,
And braver for the earner, learner, yearner.
Less criticism of the field and court
And more preoccupation with the sport.
It makes the prophet in us all presage
The glory of a next Augustan age
Of a power leading from its strength and pride,
Of young ambition eager to be tried,
Firm in our free beliefs without dismay,
In any game the nations want to play.
A golden age of poetry and power
Of which this noonday’s the beginning hour.