It’s one of those uncanny details
of history that John Adams and Thomas Jefferson both died on the same day, July
4, 1826. “Founding Fathers” both, and ideological rivals (Jefferson had defeated
the incumbent Adams in the presidential election), John Adams’s last words were
“Jefferson still lives,” a lament that he hadn’t outlived his rival. (Jefferson
had actually died earlier that day, but Adams didn’t know it.) Historians no
longer attribute the rancor between the two that they once did, having studied their
correspondence and recognized the grudging respect and friendship they
developed. But the relationship between the two was always challenging and prickly,
and for a long time stood as demonstrative of the dislikes and even hatred
underlying America from the beginning. (There is no doubt that Adams and
Alexander Hamilton openly despised each other. Of course Hamilton despised
Aaron Burr too, and look where that
got him.)
Dream Song #22 is a rage, against
the idiocy, hypocrisy, hatreds, foolishness, and anti-intellectualism B. and other post-war intellectuals
saw in American society. Alan Ginsberg’s
“Howl” is this poem’s ideological companion, and I would think B. was at least
drawing from it or even re-expressing Ginsberg’s sentiments in the highly
compressed form of a Dream Song. “In vain, in vain, in vain” is such a clear
statement: Is this what Adams’s and Jefferson’s dreams all came to? Really?
This? Think of Mario Salvo’s pronouncement from the steps of the Berkeley
administration building: “The operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes
you so sick at heart” and you’ve got the gist of this one. Henry, on the other
hand, is too weak to resist: “Henry Pussy-cat. My whiskers fly.” He’s outta
here, Jackson. This stuff is way too upsetting, for the likes of a Henry.
And all I can say is plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Shall I go line-by-line over the lists of the first two stanzas? (You do it…)
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