Goodman Brown

"“Thank you,” said the Martians, after looking up “thank you” on translate.google.comâ„¢. “How may we best discover the essence of America?” 

“Through its literature, would be my choice,” I said, “but I’m biased.” 

“O.K.,” said the Martians. “What should we read first? Can we have marshmallows?” 

“Let’s start with two stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne,” I said. “ ‘The Maypole of Merry Mount,’ and ‘Young Goodman Brown.’ Here are your marshmallows.”"

                Margaret Atwood, Letter to America

By 2005 I began to see how the paranoid vision in Young Goodman Brown was as American as cherry pie.  The country was partly in despair because of the foolishness in Iraq, and then Katrina.  It seemed as though we didn't know ourselves anymore.  I reflected back to the days of 1965, when cops used to beat long haired young white men simply for looking different, when the Watts riot forced everyone to look at the despair of the black community, perpetually under police surveillance.  

There is a certain element of insanity which comes out during times of war and cultural stress.  During the demonic Bush years America felt the paranoia of Goodman Brown.    

Goodman Brown 

(after Hawthorne)

“The Devil’s in the forest,”
    said Goodman Brown.
“The Devil’s in the forest,”
    said Goodman Brown,
“Comin’ up behind me.
    Gonna shake me down.
Walkin’ right beside me,
    right beside ol’ Goodman Brown.”

“Who are these people?” 
    asked Goodman Brown.
“You know em all,” said the man in black.
    “They’re your neighbors from your town.”
“What are they here for?
    Who did they come to see?”
Devil’s snake head staff shook his head, 
    hissed, “They came for me!
They wanna taste the fruit, 
    feel the flesh,
dance ‘round the tree.
    They want the mojo ju-ju...
        let Satan set ‘em free.

It’s the Devil’s Communion, 
    we’re gonna feel the lash.
    We’re gonna drink the blood 
    of the throats we slash.
We’re gonna use torture, 
    chains and dogs. 
Make ‘em feel all like they’re 
    two foot small.
We’re gonna show ‘em 
    just what Jesus meant,
    nail ‘em up on a cross 
    til they all repent.
You’re the wicked!  You’re my kin!
The scorching voice of rage within.
The beast that’s never been satisfied.” 
Just then, Goodman saw his wife by the Devil’s side.
She was glazed in the eyes, stained and wet 
    with the sweat of sin.

Goodman Brown, he woke up.
    He didn’t know what he’d seen.
He was a changed man
    from the place where he had been.
In the land of the demons,
    to a place of evil deeds.
That was the break point, 
    that fearful dream.
He never recovered from
    that fearful dream,
that fearful dream,
    his fearful dream.
        His American dream!  

Copyright © 2005, 2014 by David Larstein, all rights reserved.  

« Back