Poem: Pictorial History of the DoukhoborsKoozma J. Tarasoff's Poem used for chapter openings in his1969 book Pictorial History of the Doukhobors. All rights reserved by the author. I am an idea that rambles through time; I am part of Homo Sapiens. For humanity I speak — Some call me Spirit; some Wisdom; some Love, but I am man — born and born again. I am your brother — whether you are of one shade or another, of one political stripe or a different one, whether you speak a 'foreign' language or live in a distant place. You know, we really speak one tongue! We are of one family stretching from the north to the south, from the east to the west. I say it is wrong for us to fight one another; to got to war; to snuff out that spark of life in each of us. For I am part of you and you are part of me. We are one. Anarchist Kropotkin said that there was a place across the sea where I might go — a place where I could toil as I saw fit, a place where I could plant the seed of life without the burden of the military yoke; a place where I might talk and walk and stand as a free man can. I took up this offer (although half of me stayed behind). Thanks to my brother's help, I boarded the S. S. Lake Huron and set off on my journey — out to the turbulent sea. The endless rocking and tossing set me on my back, but I survived. My eyes stretched far into the horizon and to land again. As my feet touched the ground I gave a sigh of relief — I had landed, a slice out of a loaf. By the sweat of my brow I sing a song of humanity as I pull the plow, fell the trees, build the houses, plant the gardens, and work on the railroad. To the sounds of other pioneers opening the West, I toil, I am one of them as they are one of me. We are all brothers. But, lo and behold, you appeared again — cloaked in officialdom and democracy this time. You whipped me with the arm of the law — stole part of my land ('legally', of course) and set me free. To the brilliant glade nestled in the Canadian Rockies Several thousand came. My muscles strained as rock and timber gave way to orchards and roads and a mighty river looked up as I crossed its path. My mind strained, too, and my heart beat faster as the many clashed with the few and the few with the many. No one had a monopoly on truth. I led a sheltered life as the dark mourning clouds gathered and gathered until they mushroomed into a devastating blast of hell. I felt sorry but would not sign up, salute the flag, or sing 'God Save the King'. 'Traitor', some called me as I turned the other cheek; I could not follow the piper's tune. As the seed was planted so arose the garden. Close-lipped peas that wouldn't say anything; pumpkins that were full of stuff; naked beans beaming in their pods; outspoken spinach bursting for air; hardy carrots pushing for the sun; and red potatoes tied to their apron strings. Taken together they were one. Separated, they were many. For some they were none. 'I think therefore I am' is one philosopher's creed; By the look of your face it is true indeed. Buildings have their faces, too, some are jovial some are blue. Buildings and landscape form the place where there dwells the human race. Buildings are made of blocks and wood; bricks and stones are also good. Together with Nature man forms a team — as builder, as craftsman, as a carpenter's dream. Behold I am many faces: 'Gone but not forgotten'. Behold my marble smile stands steadfast in one solemn stare. Behold I speak in broken words written on lips not of my making. Behold 'Rest in Peace' 'Gave his life for the good of mankind'; 'His religion Tolstoy'; 'Sufferer for the principle "Thou Shalt Not Kill"'. Behold — 'Gone but not forgotten'. Work — it's a test of bodily strength as well as of the mind. Work — it's a way of life for man and other animals. Work — the opposite of rest, depending on how you flex your muscles. Work — some take the tractor, others grab the wrench; some map the earth, pull the tooth, treat the patient, defend the innocent, and analyze the atom as well as man. Work — yes, we all work in our own ways. I form a multitude — spanning the globe, separate but related. My sorrows are yours; my hopes are yours; my joys are yours, too. I am one with you. One, sets his sights as mapmaker, diplomat and father. Two, takes the chair for meetings common and rare. Three, plants the seed, nurtures it and gives it to the man in need. Four, takes his pen, writes, and lets his thoughts transcend. Five, grapples with rock and timber, as the sweat pours off his brow. Yes, as families we all form a multitude. Come Brothers and Sisters Come! Let us gather together as people have from the dawn of history. Come — take me by the hand; lead me to the door and let me in. Come — give me a chair to rest my feet and an ear to hear me speak. Come Brothers and Sisters Come! Radicals and independents scout around me like a fox; but I am neither left nor right — I am merely Orthodox. Singing is my pet endeavour for the young and for the old; give me love and give me freedom, never mind that greedy gold. Leaders are my common history; I adhere to their command. Like the turtle on the seashore I bow down to the sand. But my independent brother, he refuses to abide, for what I consider proper is for him the passing tide. So my brother we're in trouble — eye to eye we cannot see; only when we lay down arms, peace for all can there ere be. 'Know thyself' — a common motto of the man with a crooked nose — he's the one who drank the hemlock; he's the one who stepped on toes. So in youth I took the lesson — took the motto by the hand; grabbed a handful of tradition, sifted pebbles from the sand. With the pen I stirred the mixture; with the tongue I tasted it; with the heart I felt a murmur as I sympathized a bit. You may judge me in the courtyard; you may say I'm rather queer — but be patient, sympathetic, there's no need to stew in fear. Come along with me as I walk through the forest No smell of stale air here or the noise of roaring motors as drivers rush through the intersection to beat the red light. Walk where you please; there's no one here but trees to regulate your path. Feel your feet sink into Mother Earth; relax your toes as you walk along; there's no concrete here to wear out your soles. Look around: see the squirrel climbing the tree; he'll play with you if you would only stop and wait for him. Look further: there's a nest and little babies in it; they're waiting for their mother to feed them. As you walk through the clearing — rest your eyes, take off your pack sack and stay awhile; relax in the warmth of the sun. Tomorrow is another day. I'd stretch my hand across the sea From West to East; from you to me. I'd even go so far as say: 'Good day, my friend, good day!' Raise up your voice and call 'the time is ripe'. Protest the slaughter of men — speak! Let's get together — speak! My country is all mankind. Again I sing a song of humanity: one world at peace. I sing of freedom, love, beauty and justice. I sing for all. I walk along the street carrying a sign: 'We are all brothers'. My friend beside me carries another: 'A Department of Peace for Canada'. But who listens? Who cares? Who's the victor? Who's the vanquished? Speak! 'Thou shalt not kill' — Can you hear me? Speak! Can you? Speak! |