Bread and Roses, Then and Now
So here’s a song:
As we go marching, marching, in the beauty of the day
a million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill-lofts grey
are blessed with all the radiance that the sudden sun discloses
for the people hear us singing, bread and roses, bread and roses.
As we go marching, marching, we battle too for men
for they are women’s children, and together we can win
Our lives will not be sweated from birth until life closes:
hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses.
As we go marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
go crying through our singing their endless fight for bread
Small art and love and beauty their drudging lives they knew
Yes, it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too.
As we go marching, marching, we bring the brighter day
for the rising of the women means the rising of the race
No more this drudge-and-idler, ten that toil while one reposes
A sharing of life’s glories: bread and roses, bread and roses.
As we go marching, marching, we drag our mothers’ fears,
the tortures they have all endured still ringing in our ears
This fight is far from over, as the tortured still must know
If we want our bread and roses, there’s a long way left to go.
There’s silence in the Congo; there’s stonings in Iran;
in America a woman’s worth three-quarters of a man
I refuse to teach my daughter how she looks is who she is
You can keep your bread and roses, Mom, I’m taking some of his.
It’s a marching-anthem of the old suffragette movement - you know, the ones who were vilified in the media, arrested and tortured attempting to secure women in this country the right to vote…just a hundred years ago.
Actually, I wrote the last two verses above, on top of the four originals. I feel weird about modifying something of historical value (though it’s not like I did the original any harm), but in this case I think it was important. That movement - the basic right to be a full citizen, to be treated better than a convicted criminal or undocumented immigrant - is a century old. That’s both a long time - long enough to forget the fire and the worst atrocities of the before-movement days, the things that gave us reasons and strength in the beginning - and a short time, because three generations is hardly long enough to undo a culture of slavery that’s existed for uncounted centuries.
One of these days I’ll get a recording of my singing this, because I kind of love how I’ve figured out to weave the last couple verses in; but the important thing is there it is, and I hope it serves as a good reminder, if nothing else than of a beautiful piece of still-relevant musical history.
Originally published at *Transcendental *Logic. You can comment here or there.