[Congressional Record Volume 161, Number 7 (Wednesday, January 14, 2015)]
[House]
[Pages H397-H398]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                          ONE RIVER, ONE BOAT

  The SPEAKER pro tempore. Under the Speaker's announced policy of 
January 6, 2015, the gentleman from South Carolina (Mr. Clyburn) is 
recognized for the remainder of the hour as the designee of the 
minority leader.
  Mr. CLYBURN. Mr. Speaker, I want to thank my friend, Mr. Smith, for 
allowing me to share this time with him.
  Mr. Speaker, in keeping with the tradition of the First Amendment--a 
law deeply ingrained in the core of American values--I would like to 
put into the Congressional Record the poem ``One River, One Boat.''
  This poem was written by South Carolina's poet laureate, Marjory 
Wentworth, in anticipation of reading it at today's gubernatorial 
inauguration. It illustrates the history of my home State and ponders a 
look at the path the State seems to be embarking upon going forward.
  Ms. Wentworth has recited a poem at the last three gubernatorial 
inaugurations, but she will not be reciting a poem at today's. She was 
told that her participation would make the program too lengthy.
  Now, Mr. Speaker, I have attended several inaugurations of South 
Carolina's Governors. Some were shorter than others. None were allotted 
a specific amount of time. South Carolinians are proud of their poet 
laureates, but all have not always agreed

[[Page H398]]

with the import of their writings. I believe it is wrong to not include 
this prolific, artistic expression in this year's ceremony.
  Recently, individuals across the globe are living in fear of 
censorship when free speech and expression should be a fundamental 
right. We have even seen cowardly individuals use their own beliefs to 
badger, batter, and even murder those whose views and expressions they 
have found discomforting.
  We have seen many instances of arbitrary actions against the 
powerless by the powerful when words and actions threaten their comfort 
levels. Such actions should not be.
  I applaud Ms. Wentworth for her touching words, and I am reading her 
poem today in hopes that the people of South Carolina, across the 
country, and peoples around the world are as touched by her words as I 
have been.

                          One River, One Boat

        (By Marjory Wentworth, poet laureate of South Carolina)

     Because our history is a knot
     we try to unravel, while others
     try to tighten it, we tire easily
     and fray the cords that bind us.

     The cord is a slow moving river,
     spiraling across the land
     in a succession of S's,
     splintering near the sea.

     Picture us all, crowded onto a boat
     at the last bend in the river:
     watch children stepping off the school bus,
     parents late for work, grandparents

     fishing for favorite memories,
     teachers tapping their desks
     with red pens, firemen suiting up
     to save us, nurses making rounds,

     baristas grinding coffee beans,
     dockworkers unloading apartment size
     containers of computers and toys
     from factories across the sea.

     Every morning a different veteran
     stands at the base of the bridge
     holding a cardboard sign
     with misspelled words and an empty cup.

     In fields at daybreak, rows of migrant
     farm workers standing on ladders, break open
     iced peach blossoms; their breath rising
     and resting above the frozen fields like clouds.

     A jonboat drifts down the river.
     Inside, a small boy lies on his back;
     hand laced behind his head, he watches
     stars fade from the sky and dreams.

     Consider the prophet John, calling us
     from the edge of the wilderness to name
     the harm that has been done, to make it
     plain, and enter the river and rise.

     It is not about asking for forgiveness.
     It is not about bowing our heads in shame;
     because it all begins and ends here:
     while workers unearth trenches

     at Gadsden's Wharf, where 100,000
     Africans were imprisoned within brick walls
     awaiting auction, death, or worse.
     Where the dead were thrown into the water,

     and the river clogged with corpses
     has kept centuries of silence.
     It is time to gather at the water's edge,
     and toss wreaths into this watery grave.

     And it is time to praise the judge
     who cleared George Stinney's name,
     seventy years after the fact,
     we honor him; we pray.

     Here, where the Confederate flag still flies
     beside the Statehouse, haunted by our past,
     conflicted about the future; at the heart
     of it, we are at war with ourselves

     huddled together on this boat
     handed down to us--stuck
     at the last bend of a wide river
     splintering near the sea.

       
  Mr. CLYBURN. Mr. Speaker, I yield back the balance of my time.

                          ____________________