From The Nation: The People’s Library of Occupy Wall Street Lives On

People’s Librarian William Scott has an essay in The Nation on the raid and his experiences working in the library.

Bill writes, “For the past six weeks I have been living and working as a librarian in the People’s Library, camping out on the ground next to it. I’m an English professor at the University of Pittsburgh, and I’ve chosen to spend my sabbatical at Occupy Wall Street to participate in the movement and to build and maintain the collection of books at the People’s Library. I love books—reading them, writing in them, arranging them, holding them, even smelling them. I also love having access to books for free. I love libraries and everything they represent. To see an entire collection of donated books, including many titles I would have liked to read, thoughtlessly ransacked and destroyed by the forces of law and order was one of the most disturbing experiences of my life.”

Head on over to The Nation for the full essay.

 

Week 7 of the OWS Poetry Anthology Added… Finally!

THE POETRY MARATHON CONTINUES:

The OWS Poetry Anthology has again been updated… It’s massive! It’s a marathon of poetry! 100 pages added!

THE WORLD HAS A POETIC SPIRIT! IT’S BEING RADICALLY UNLEASHED! THERE IS A COMMUNITY OF THE SPIRIT! AND IT WANTS YOU TO JOIN IT! AND FEEL THE DELIGHT OF WALKING IN THE NOISY STREET! AND BEING THE NOISE! DRINK ALL YOUR PASSION AND BE A DISGRACE! FOR THE WORLD HAS A POETIC SPIRIT! NOW JOIN IT!

THIS WEEK’S WRITING PROMPT: Watch OWS video’s on youtube that show police brutality. Spend a half hour in silent reflection. As you reflect, calmly send radiant energy to people the world over that have been victims of police brutality. Then write a poem to a police officer! Dedicate poems to Robert Hass or anyone you know that has been a victim of police brutality.

BERKELEY: Tension mount at Occupy Berkeley UC encampment.

Here is a poem in this spirit from WEEK 7:

when you beat me
By, Richard Vargas
11/18/11

does your arm tire
as you swing your
baton into the thud
of my flesh and bone
and you hear me
scream out in pain
when you crack
my ribs and jab
my soft belly
do you feel like a
job well done when
you pin me on the
ground and harness
my wrists like a
rodeo cowboy
hogties cattle

no matter that
we are both looked
down upon by those
on their balconies
of glass and steel
who laugh and joke
as they spread caviar
on fancy crackers
that will never pass
our lips

while you choke me
knock me down
look at how they
raise their flutes
of exquisite champagne
sparkling in the sun

blinding you with
their cold brilliance
and empty nods
of approval