When Neruda died during the coup, my late father wrote the following:
Neruda
I will not mourn for Neruda, no crooked cross Can foul his dreams with the stench Of graveyard breath, the albatross Will grin on the tyrant's bloody trench But Neruda will still sing
Together with a holy man called Cesar Neruda will sing, and together With crimson fury of a lead guitar hurling rebel rock forever at the vultures head.
And when the raging barrios In California stretch brown arms to join Black one in New York alleys, Santiago's Snarling bullet and rattling coin Will not buy his silence.
In the harvest fields of California, And the coal mines of Appalachia, And the agony of Cambodia On the smoldering streets of Uganda And the river banks of India And with Jose Marti in Cuba And in El Salvador named for the Savior Neruda will still sing.
By the late Shay A. Lipow
============================ Gar W. Lipow 815 Dundee RD NW Olympia, WA 98502 http://www.freetrain.org/