Split This Rock mourns the loss of Pete Seeger, folk singer, organizer, voice for all of us in the struggle for justice. We celebrate his extraordinary life and courage.
Below, we are proud to republish a poem in Pete's honor by 2012 featured poet Kathy Engel. Please feel free to pass it on.
A radio documentary of Pete's life is here.
From an interview on Democracy Now! -
AMY GOODMAN: And for someone who isn’t so hopeful, who is listening to this right now, trying to find their way, what would you say?
PETE SEEGER: Realize that little things lead to bigger things. That’s what Seeds is all about. And this wonderful parable in the New Testament: the sower scatters seeds. Some seeds fall in the pathway and get stamped on, and they don’t grow. Some fall on the rocks, and they don’t grow. But some seeds fall on fallow ground, and they grow and multiply a thousand fold. Who knows where some good little thing that you’ve done may bring results years later that you never dreamed of?
— Interview, Democracy Now, May 4, 2009
Dad, Pete and Obama
When Pete sang at the Lincoln
Memorial I called to ash.
I had played Pete as your last
breath slipped out,
the rest of you already gone.
Pete ushered
you; your hero sang for the man
whose name you spoke the week you
died:
Obama, you said, sipping water,
I believe something is happening, don’t you?
Pete with his grandson who lived
in Nicaragua ,
the country we loved in its
burning birth, Pete
who wouldn’t testify, Pete Civil
Rights, Pete Peace,
Pete 1199, Pete this land, our
land—
Pete Clearwater, Pete and Toshi,
Pete and
Brother Kirkpatrick, Pete and June
reading poems
at the UN Rally circa 1983, Pete
the unwavering
for all who were taken, all who
picketed and as Pete said
for the young people who taught us not to be afraid
those Montgomery sit-in days, Pete in his power,
in the place of
power, suspenders and banjo, train
chug of workers
belting out a new old gusty day, ghosts
of resistance
swaying past the monument, feeding
the hungry crowd,
this day when Pete sang
at the Lincoln
Memorial I called to you
who took a bus alone to D.C. at 80
to protest:
I called to your ash, Dad, who
took me there first.
Kathy Engel 2009
Originally published in Adanna. Used by permission.
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