Iraq and Afghanistan Soldier’s Poetry/Art Slam Session 11

“A Pale Green Mermaid Blog”

  

Good afternoon,

Our selection for this session will be a poem from the US civil war.  By listening to all soldier’s voices whether you agree with them or not – maybe we can create a true understanding of how war effects all who participate in it and demand that our leaders choose war only when there is no other option,

 

O, I’m a Good Old Rebel  

NOTE: In the book Point Lookout Prison Camp for Confederates (page 101), Edwin Beitzell says, “According to Herbert Quick, who printed an account of The Good Old Rebel in Colliers for April 14, 1914, its author was Major James Randolph, a Virginian and a member of General J.E.B. Stuart’s staff. Sung to the tune of Joe Bowers, a favorite of the forty-niners, it traveled beyond the bounds of the Confederacy. Edward VII, the Prince of Wales, heard it at a reception in London and called it ‘that fine American song with the cuss words in it.’”

O, I’m a good old Rebel, Now that’s just what I am, For this “Fair Land of Freedom” I do not care at all; I’m glad I fit against it – I only wish we’d won, And I don’t want no pardon For anything I done. I hates the Constitution, This Great Republic too, I hates the Freedman’s Buro, In uniforms of blue; I hates the nasty eagle, With all his brags and fuss, The lyin’, thievin’ Yankees, I hates ‘em wuss and wuss. I hates the Yankee nation And everything they do, I hates the Declaration Of Independence too; I hates the glorious Union – ‘Tis dripping with our blood – I hates their striped banner, I fit it all I could. I followed old mass’ Robert For four year, near about, Got wounded in three places And starved at Pint Lookout; I cotch the rheumatism A campin’ in the snow, But I killed a chance of Yankees, I’d like to kill some mo’. Three hundred thousand Yankees Is stiff in Southern dust; We got three hundred thousand Before they conquered us; They died of Southern fever And Southern steel and shot, I wish they was three million Instead of what we got. I can’t take up my musket And fight ‘em now no more, But I ain’t going to love ‘em, Now that is sarten sure; And I don’t want no pardon For what I was and am, I won’t be reconstructed And I don’t care a damn.

 Please send any comments feelings or poems elicited by this poem to shivazzzzz@aol.com

 and I can post them for you or send to comment area – thanks.

 See you next week,

 

www.ivaw.org Iraq Veterans Against The War

www.iava.org Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America

www.veteransforpeace.org Veterans for Peace

This Slam will continue until all our soldiers come home from Iraq and Afghanistan.

 

BJ Halliday Crawley     Editor

Note,   Poem from www.civilwarhome.com

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