“I Am an American,” a poem by Elias Lieberman was published in 1916, and became such a favorite that it was recited at graduations and American Legion meetings. It was discovered locally in The Lincoln Readers-Book Seven, published in 1929, one of many textbooks at the Cliffs School Museum.
Cliffs was a one room schoolhouse which served children in grades one through seven from 1878 to 1939.
Located 8.5 miles south of Chestertown on Rt. 289, Cliff School Museum is open every third Saturday from 1pm to 4pm through October. Visitors will see lessons on the blackboards, Col. Vickers’ desk used as the teacher’s desk, student desks, the water bucket used by all the children and many other artifacts of the era.
Lieberman, a Russian Jew, emigrated with his family to the United States at the age of seven. Following graduation from City College of New York in 1903, he worked as a public school teacher and went on to earn his M.A. and Ph.D. from NYU.
I am an American.
My father was an atom of dust,
My mother a straw in the wind.
To His Serene Majesty.
One of my ancestors died in the mines of Siberia;
Another was crippled for life by twenty blows of the knot;
Another was killed defending his home during the massacres.
The history of my ancestors is a trail of blood
To the palace-gate of the Great White Czar.
But the dream came—
The dream of America.
In the light of the Liberty torch
The atom of dust became a man
And the straw in the wind became a woman
For the first time.
“See,” said my father, pointing to the flag that fluttered near,
“That flag of stars and stripes is yours;
It is the emblem of the promised land,
It means, my son, the hope of humanity.
Live for it — die for it!”
Under the open sky of my new country I swore to do so:
And every drop of blood in me will keep that vow.
I am proud of my future.
I am an American.
joe diamond says
I had forgotten this work,
I know I read it in elementary school and let it drift. The nuns who introduced it used it as a backdrop to other things; blah, blah blah! It was again presented in a survey of American literature course, one of those sessions with a number on the door, not as a real poem, but rather as an introduction to perhaps Carl Sandburg. Now I re-read it and think of Franz Kafka. . . .”Kafka’s portrait of American reality is distorted from the very opening scene of the novel, where the Statue of Liberty slides into view wielding a sword in the air rather than a torch, . . .” ( from a nameless review) And Kafka never came here!
Anyhow, back to ” I am an American. ” It needs more stanzas! This poem is (my opinion) a great launching site for an explanation of the last century. How did that statue of the lady at the gate (NYNY) work out for other generations? Is this place still a last refuge for the atoms of dust and the straws in the wind? If not, why not? Should here have ever been a refuge?
The questions are endless….answers harder.
Thoughts?
joe