Valediction of the Confederate Monument at the University of Mississippi

The student government has voted unanimously to take me down, and to those good young persons, I will say thank you with all my heart. For a hundred and thirteen years, I have stood my post and watched down University Avenue without complaint. Now I am weary. The century has grown shrill, crowded, oversized, jagged with foolish contention, and I am ready to join my comrades in the cemetery, where I pray I will be left in peace at last.

Before I go, however, I would offer some thoughts for contemplation.

To the few who still feel kindly toward me, I urge you to accept the inevitability of my passing. Every age must give up its artifacts soon or late; those who surrender them must mourn, and you are chosen. Honor your ancestors, but remember that the past does not belong to you; it is the province only of those who lived it, and you would do well not to claim for yourselves that which you have not earned.

To the good young persons, be aware you are making the world you will have to live in. Take care you do not mistake smug self-righteousness for moral courage (anyone can remove a statue–it is no great victory). Keep in mind that history, unlike morality, has no absolutes; a person who views the past with no appreciation of its ambiguity is not only ignorant, but vain.

Finally, there can be no real inclusiveness. Someone always gets left out, and one day it will be you. When that day comes, what monuments will you have to mourn? Or, in your eagerness to embrace an Eternal Present, will you leave no monuments at all?

Farewell, then. I will go now and stand watch over the dead, who care nothing for the opinions of the living. Neither do they demand anything of you, save to be left alone. Deo Vindice.

Recorded by Howard Bahr,
University of Mississippi Class of 1976

Photo: Joshua House

 

Hymn to Priapus

Cupped, cradled, ADORED—everything in one stride,
There, where you crease your form, a presence
Coiled, cuffed, MOORED—something of space, a pride
Of lions, three in hand, a rope, eternity, essence.

How once I BURNED to find, to feel to hold,
To know carnality—rampant, quaking lust—
But what where who TURNED the WHY, no boldness
Came to set me free, to make me see my fire was just.

Now throbbing in my THROAT I thrust in need
My tongue around the glans seeks musky cream
Priapus intactus! BLOAT my mouth with satyr’s seed,
Dripping on my beard, a faun am I to dream.

So now the What the Who the WHY have fled,
Make MY tongue the temple for your head.