As a poet living near Johns Hopkins where he ended up (also Green Mount Cemetery — pink Georgia stone) I so enjoyed staying out by the tidal flats at Camp Glynn — (Sidney Lanier’s masterful poem “Marshes of Glynn) during the recent trial of the Kings Bay Plowshares nuclear protestors.
Nobody likes to be preached at, especially by Yankee outsiders. But on the other hand, I was appalled at the lack of thoughtfulness or Christianity from the court — judge, prosecutor and jurors. Except for the defendants, who seemed like Biblical prophets, the judge and jury and prosecutor seemed, to me, like Romans and the mob around the cross. Did y’all ever go to church?