Martin shares a glimpse into his background and what makes him the person he is today, starting with his parents and their immigration to America and the courage it took to begin anew. He beautifully recites The New Colossus found at the base of the Statue of Liberty and its significance to our nation as well as the rousing poem “Chicago,” an homage to the bold and fearless city by Carl Sandburg. This episode is filled with heroic stories and poems and the men and women who, despite the dangers, valiantly followed their hearts.
Martin shares a glimpse into his background and what makes him the person he is today, starting with his parents and their immigration to America and the courage it took to begin anew. He beautifully recites The New Colossus found at the base of the Statue of Liberty and its significance to our nation as well as the rousing poem “Chicago,” an homage to the bold and fearless city by Carl Sandburg. This episode is filled with heroic stories and poems and the men and women who, despite the dangers, valiantly followed their hearts.
Network Sting: MSW Media Media.
Martin Sheen: Hello, and welcome to the Martin Sheen Podcast with yours truly, Martin Sheen, of course, and I'm delighted to be your host for this podcast pilgrimage where the destination is the journey itself. Along the way, I plan to share stories and personal memories of some of the many people, places, and events that have helped to shape my lifelong happy and continuing struggle as an artist and a man to unite the will of the spirit with the work of the flesh. I also hope to explore poetry as a powerful form of expression and communication by proxy, as it were, and how poetry is such a vital and necessary component of our spirituality and our public discourse. And from time to time, I'll invite friends, fellow actors, poets, scholars, and family members to join our pilgrimage and, uh, discuss what inspires their artistic journey. And so, friends, let us begin. I've been an actor all my life. In fact, I have no conscious memory of ever not being an actor. I couldn't identify it as such when I was a child, of course, until I started going to the movies around the age five or six, where gradually it dawned on me that I was like one of those people up on the screen. It was an extraordinary and comforting revelation, and I knew even then that I would never be happy. And I could not lead an honest life if I did not pursue that wondrous mystery which possessed me and which gave me a possession of myself. So, in a strange way, my chosen profession was a foregone conclusion. But while acting is what I do for a living, activism is what I do to stay alive. And I'm often asked how I came to unite the two. In truth, I don't really know, because it was far less a conscious effort than it was a natural progression. Of course, if you grew up in a large, poor immigrant family, chances are you're either Irish Catholic or Hispanic. And I was lucky enough to be both. So I had a clear advantage when it comes to social justice activism.
Both of my parents were immigrants. My father was Francisco Estevez, born July 2, 1898, in northern Spain. My mother was Mary Ann Phelan, born May 22, 1903, in County Tipperary, Ireland. They met in Dayton, Ohio, at Citizenship School, where they fell in love and married at St. Joseph's Church in 1927. They raised a family in America, a nation newly defined by a poem, no less, from a brilliant young woman named Emma Lazarus, who. Who dared to declare in no uncertain terms what image America should, nay, must project. Written in 1883, the poem was called the New Colossus, and it was not a shy suggestion or a mere possibility. There was no national debate or any consensus. There was no alternative offered nor any explored, and there was no government consideration on the matter at all. In fact, there was no serious objection from any corner whatsoever, and it has never been bested before or since. No, nothing, not a word. And for good reason. The poem reveals a powerful, young and complex country beginning to fully realize its true self, its national pride and responsibility, its humble start, its self confidence and deep compassion, even its unbearable tolerance. With all of that and more, in 1903 the poem was tattooed on the leg of the lady dancing in the harbor with one hand waving free, and it reads
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Emma Lazarus was born in New York City on July 22, 1849, into a large Sephardic Jewish family. She was a brilliant scholar who wrote prose as well as poetry. She spoke four languages, including German, French, Italian. Besides English, she was revered as a tireless and courageous advocate on behalf of indigent Jewish immigrants, especially those victimized by the Russian pogroms in Eastern Europe. She died on November 19, 1887, in New York City. Emma Lazarus was 38 years old. Consider this thought on the matter. America is the oldest country in the world because it was the first to enter the 20th century, and the foundation of America's incredible success was built and maintained in large measure by the millions and millions of immigrants who poured in from every corner of the world when America opened its doors wider and kept them open longer than any other nation on earth. 21st century immigration is a deeply complex issue worthy of an honest, informed and compassionate debate, not biased rhetoric and reckless blame. And my prayer is that the moral compass of that debate is governed by the command of the prophet Isaiah to welcome and protect the alien among us, ever mindful that we too were once strangers in a strange land.
We'll be right back.
And we're back.
Chicago By Carl Sandberg
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
Chicago, city of the big shoulders.
Carl August Sandberg was an American American poet, biographer, journalist and editor. He won three Pulitzer Prizes, two for his poetry and one for his definitive biography of Abraham Lincoln. Sandburg was born in Galesburg, Illinois, on January 6, 1878. He died July 22, 1967. Carl Sandburg was 89 years old.
Our next selection is baseball by John Updike.
It looks easy from a distance, easy and lazy even, until you stand up at the plate and see the fastball sailing inside an inch from your chin. Or circle in the outfield straining to get a bead on a small black dot, a city block or more high. A dark star that could fall on your head like a leaden meteor. The grass, the dirt, the deadly hops between your feet and overeager glove. Football can be learned and basketball finessed, but there is no hiding from baseball. The fact that some are chosen and some are not. Those whose mitts feel too left handed, who are scared at third base of the pulled line drive and at first base are scared of the shortstop's wild throw that stretches you out like a gutted deer. There's nowhere to hide when the ball spotlight swivels your way and the chatter around you falls still, and the mothers on the sidelines, your own among them, hold their breaths and you whiff on a terrible pitch or in the infield, achieve something with the ball so ridiculous you blush for years. It's easy to do. Baseball was invented in America, where beneath the good cheer and sly jazz, the chance of failure is everybody's right. Beginning with baseball. John Updike was born March 18, 1932, in Reading, Pennsylvania. He was a novelist, poet, short story writer, art critic, and literary criticism. He was one of only four writers to win the Pulitzer Prize for fiction more than once. He published more than 20 novels and more than a dozen short story collections as well as children's books during his career. John Updike died January 27, 2009, in Danvers, Massachusetts. He was 76 years old. Consider this very popular quote from George Bernard Shaw, made even more popular and famous by Robert Francis Kennedy, the senator running for President in 1968 Some see things as they are and ask why I dream things that never were and say, why not? In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks. A quote from the book Steep Trails by renowned environmentalist John Muir along with the great poets, the writings of John Muir have come to mind quite a bit lately, and sharing quotes and excerpts of his work feels very much at home here on my podcast with the topics that interest and inspire me. Muir's desire to relate his adventures in the wild to readers went far beyond simply marveling at nature's grandeur. It was a spiritual journey. Reflecting on a summer spent working as a shepherd in the Sierra Nevada in 1911, he wrote, climbing higher, we enter the thin azure, where only the fiercest sunbeams pass penetrate the mighty rock. Waves are roughened within innumerable peaks and spires, radiating, throbbing with life and light like the upraised hands of a congregation in silent worship. Every crystal, every flower a window opening into heaven, a mirror reflecting the Creator. I have seen thousands of glaciers and a multitude of forms of ice, but none more glorious than those of these noble mountains, shining but the light of the most holy dawns. I should like to stay here all winter, but though loth to go, I shall wander back again to this vast, serene, and godful wilderness, sure that I shall find my own heart again within its sacred solitude. Born in Scotland, John Muir came to America with his family in 1840 at the age of 11. His father, Daniel, settled his large family of eight on a farm in Wisconsin and imposed a strict religious upbringing. But John vehemently rejected this, uh, orthodox dogma and pursued his own belief that valued nature for its spiritual and transcendental qualities. Muir first visited California in 18. After studying and traveling extensively, he made it his home in 1880. In his lifetime, he was a man of many titles. Farmer, inventor, writer, philosopher, botanist, geologist, and, of course, environmentalist. He is also referred to as the father of national parks, and thanks to his tireless efforts, he deserves much of the credit for from making both Yosemite Valley and Sequoia national parks. In one of his essays, he even refers to the national parks as places for rest, inspiration, and prayer. For long periods of time, he lived alone in the wilderness, where he continually kept journals. And from these carefully detailed accounts came the publication of over 300 articles and 12 books. Muir poetically and masterfully conveyed his adventures and captured the American public's interest and sparked their imagination with his spirit for adventure and endless curiosity for the unexplored wilderness. Only by going alone in silence, without baggage can one truly get into the heart of the wilderness. All other travel is mere dust and hotels and baggage and
00:15:00
Martin Sheen: chatter. Uh, he truly wanted everyone to experience nature in a way that nourished the soul and brought peace and connection with the earth. I am losing precious days, he says. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the new. He recounted eloquently the beauty of these majestic lands and encouraged us to experience it as a precious gift that we must take responsibility to protect and preserve. I first became aware of John Muir through the PBS documentary series the National Parks by Ken Burns, and I was curious to learn more. In his book the Mountains of California, he wrote, no wonder the hills and the groves were God's first temples. And the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself. John Muir composed those words over a hundred years ago. Clearly, he feared that without these sacred places of untouched wilderness, we were in jeopardy of losing the power that grounds us to our very soul. Born in Dunbar, Scotland, on April 21, 1838, John Muir died December 24, 1914, in Los Angeles, California. He was 76 years old. Stay tuned. We'll be right back. Welcome back. The following is a selection from the book Blessed among Us by Robert Ellsberg. The book is filled with daily reflections that explore the lives of saints as well as ordinary men and women with extraordinary stories of courage and spiritual awakening. Harriet Tubman. Harriet Tubman was born into slavery on a plantation in Maryland. While growing up, she experienced the typical cruelties of slave life. The beatings and daily indignities. Like other slaves, she became skilled in the art of passive resistance while struggling to maintain an inner conviction that she was worth far more than a piece of property. But she was not content merely to survive with her inner dignity intact. She was convinced that God intended her to be free. From the time she was a child, Tubman was subject to deep trances in which she heard the voice of the Lord. In one of those experiences in 1849, she perceived that the time for her escape had come. traveling by night, following the north star, she passed through swamps and forests until she crossed into the free state of Pennsylvania. She looked at her hands to see if I was the same person that was such a glory over everything. And I felt like I was in heaven. But she perceived a wider mission. She could not be truly free while others remained in bondage. And so over the next 12 years, Tubman made 19 perilous trips to what she called Pharaoh's land, rescuing at least 300 slaves, including her own parents. Each time, she risked death. Despised by the slave owners, she was known among the slaves as Moses. After the civil War, she retired to a house in auburn, New York, Supporting herself with a small garden. She lived into her 90s and died on March 2010. 1913. Harriet Tubman was 93 years old. Her quote. I had crossed the line of which I had so long been dreaming. I was free, but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a stranger in a strange land. Robert Ellsberg is an American publisher specializing in religious and and spiritual exploration. He is editor in chief and publisher of Orbis Books. He lives and works in upstate New York with his wife. Our final selection is an American Indian prayer. O great spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me. I am small and weak. I need your strength and wisdom. Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes ever behold
00:20:00
Martin Sheen: the red and purple sunset. Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice. Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people. Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every rock and leaf. I seek strength not to be greater than my brother, but to fight my greatest enemy myself. Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes, so when life fades as the fading sunset, my spirit may come to you without shame. I invite you to delve further into the works of the poets I shared with you, and I hope you seek out writers and poets whose work speaks to your hearts and minds with the power to inspire your life. If you've enjoyed what you've heard here, please subscribe to my podcast, the Martin Sheen Podcast, with your host, yours truly, Martin Sheen. Of course, wherever you find your podcasts. Yeah, I have to say that you can find a complete list of the poets and titles of their poems that I've chosen at our website, themartensheenpodcast.com I want to thank the people who make this podcast possible. Our producer and research assistant, Rene Estevez, who assures me that the Internet is a real thing and a safe place if not used off label. And our sound engineer and editor, Bruce Greenspan, the man behind these rich and seamless recordings. And to his dog Gracie, our studio mascot, who snores in perfect pantameter. And so, friends, we part with the prayer from Tagore. We are called to lift up this nation and all its people to that place where the heart is without fear and the head is held high, where knowledge is free, where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls, where words come out from the depths of truth and tireless striving stretches its arm towards perfection, where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sands of dead habit, where the mind is led forward by thee into ever widening thought and action, into that heaven of, um, freedom. Dear Father, let our country awake. Amen.
: The Martin Sheen Podcast all rights reserved. No part of this podcast may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form without prior written consent of the author and TE Productions. Baseball by John Updike is from Endpoint and Other Poems and available to buy in print and audiobook from Penguin Random House. It is included here by copyright permission. Blessed Among Us Ben Salmon by Robert Ellsberg. He's included here by granted copyright permission and we thank the author for this opportunity to share his work.
00:23:27