Defenders of Alice Walker’s anti-Semitism surface, including Al Jazeera

January 13, 2019 • 12:15 pm

The day after Christmas I reported on a controversy that involved the renowned author Alice Walker, whose most famous work was the Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel The Color Purple. The controversy began when, in an interview with the New York Times about what books she was reading, Walker noted that one of them was And the Truth Shall Set You Free, by David Icke. Icke is a notorious anti-Semite and a total crackpot who thinks the world is controlled by giant alien lizards who are usually disguised as Jews. (He says he’s not anti-Semitic, just biased against Jews who are really reptiles.)

Now Walker didn’t just mention this book and let it be; it turns out that she’s been a fan of Icke and his crazy theories for years; and Walker’s anti-Semitism, also evident in her poems and prose, was called out by both Tablet and Vox.

This poses a dilemma for Leftists, who have traditionally fought bigotry against both blacks and Jews. But what do you do with a black author, like Walker, who hates Jews and suspects a reptile beneath their skins? Well, the Women’s March resolved a similar dilemma in favor of Louis Farrakahan as opposed to the Jews he hates, because, I guess, Jews are lower on the oppression scale than blacks. This saddens me, for, as I’ve said, Jews and blacks were once traditional allies, especially during the civil rights movement of the Sixties. Now prominent blacks like Walker and Louis Farrakhan are, with the approbation of their followers, attacking not just Israel but Jews.

It’s no surprise, then, that people are coming to Walker’s defense, either not having read her posts and poems about Jews, or having read them but deciding that the works’ anti-Semitism can be overlooked. One of Walker’s defenders is (no surprise again) Al Jazeera.

Reader J. J. has been closely following both Icke and the Walker controversy, and contributed her own thoughts to the issue, which I’ve put up here as a guest post (indented).

Regarding the WEIT post on Alice Walker, there have been a few new developments, including the tangential involvement of Angela Davis.

The first matter is that, concurrent with a second defense by Robert Cohen, Walker herself has mounted yet another clueless defense on her website, titled “Effort: helping to heal the world by making it more visible to one another” (huh?), with a note from the controversial Israeli professor and Palestinian rights activist Nurit Peled-Elhanan, who may be reevaluating her support for Walker—especially given that Peled-Elhanan comes from a Zionist family, albeit Leftist, and whose grandfather was a signatory to Israel’s Declaration of Independence.

Once again, Walker and Cohen use the same poem, this time “Conscious Earthlings” (at Walker’s link above), which she states is “about the necessity of separating Jews from Zionist Nazis” as a ‘proof’ that Walker isn’t an antisemite. Given the timing and content, I can’t but wonder if Cohen and Walker are orchestrating these defenses.

Further, the term “Zionist Nazis” is odious enough on its own, but the poem “Conscious Earthlings” must be read in the context of Walker’s adherence to David Icke’s teachings and world view. The title alone is a tip-off: “Zionist Nazis” means Rothschild reptilians [JAC: Icke thinks the Rothschild family are among the reptiles disguised as Jews], not “real” Jews. This poem, such as it is, is nothing but a coded piece of reptilian propaganda for Icke, and I doubt that either Cohen or Peled-Elhanan understand this. Or perhaps for personal and political reasons they’d rather remain willfully ignorant of the specifics of Icke’s demented ideas and Alice’s infatuation with them and with Icke.

How Walker and Cohen or any of her defenders imagine that her poetry or anything else she puts forward demonstrates that she’s not anti-Semitic is completely beyond my ken. It does precisely the opposite. She is her own worst enemy. Everything Walker and her defenders have written is ignotum per ignotius and simply mires her more deeply in the cesspool of hate that she plunged into headfirst long ago.

Her latest attempt at PR spin was to post a brief, seemingly innocuous video, which shows Icke and Credo Mutwa, a Zulu shaman, and several other Zulu adherents wearing blue and white uniforms, gathered out in the veldt at the site where Credo Mutwa intends to erect his “Temple of Peace.” Icke gives a boilerplate New Agey inspirational exhortation about peace and love and then the Africans begin singing. How peaceful and beautiful! What Walker didn’t link to is the “Reptilian Agenda,” six hours of video of Icke and Credo Mutwa in conversation, just two crypto-herpetologists jawing about reptilians. Credo Mutwa claims to have eaten reptilian flesh after mistaking one for bush meat. Perhaps that was before he was fitted with glasses.

Then, several days ago, Al Jazeera published an opinion piece, “In defense of Alice Walker“, by Susan Abulhawa, who came out with guns blazing, blasting Walker’s critics with a take no prisoners, shoot-first-ask-questions-later style.

The author of this hit piece delegitimizes herself from the get-go by making an injudicious admission and stating two false assertions.

First, Abulhawa hubristically declares that she hasn’t read Icke and, what’s more, she doesn’t need to. She then states that Walker does not endorse Icke’s ideas: she simply had his book on her bedside table.

Abulhawa apparently hasn’t read much Alice Walker, either, especially not her blog posts, or she’d know that not only does Walker have a history of making egregiously anti-Semitic statements (and professes to be baffled when she’s called an anti-Semite), Walker has said and written that she considers Icke to be a genius—brilliant. She believes in the literality of Icke’s abominable fantasies about reptilian aliens and hybrids in the guise of “Rothschild Jews” (and a few gentiles), and Walker believes that what Icke says is true with the same fervor that Christian and Muslim fundamentalists believe in the literal truths in their holy books.

Walker proselytizes Icke’s gospel, and she has been doing so since 2012 or 2013. Faithful disciple that she is, she even made a pilgrimage to see her guru guy, touch the hem of his garment and bask in his vibes. The charming couple had a photo taken to memorialize the occasion.

https://twitter.com/davidicke/status/780821818970034176

Abulhawa also repeats Walker’s false assertion that she’s called an anti-Semite, “slandered” and condemned solely because of her support for Palestinians and BDS, and that Icke is also slandered by this accusation. Walkers’ assertion, though, is nothing but a red herring waved around to distract attention from the vile doctrines and myths that Icke propagates and that Alice Walker avows are real—that is what precipitated this particular eruption of outrage against Alice Walker, not her support for BDS and the Palestinians.

Some who have sympathy for the Palestinian cause—and BDS in particular—would not take kindly to Alice Walker if they realized she believes in the “reptilian agenda,” the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and Holocaust revisionism, so it’s best to obfuscate that. Now Abulhawa has swooped in to defend Walker at all costs, truth be damned. Abdulhawa is good at practicing tu quoque; but what Abdulhawa doesn’t examine are the facts with respect to Alice Walker.

All of this takes on added significance because just a few days ago, the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute decided against conferring the Fred Shuttlesworth Human Rights Award on Angela Davis because of her support for BDS and accusations that she is an anti-Semite. This, of course, is causing a furor. In my opinion, the matters of Alice Walker and Angela Davis should not be conflated. Walker, while also a supporter of BDS, has a raft of blatantly anti-Semitic statements to answer for that have nothing to do with BDS or Palestinian rights; and if she can link her case to that of Angela Davis, she can, I fear, successfully muddy the waters and deflect the discourse away from Icke.

To add yet another layer of ugly and ironic insanity, David Duke has given Walker a glowing endorsement, calling her a “courageous black woke womanist.” The notorious Holocaust denier David Irving even gives a tip of the hat to her in his newsletter, which reads thus:

Blacks don’t like them either: Alice Walker, answering backlash, praises the bravery of anti-Semitic author [David Icke]. Jewish groups including the Anti-Defamation League [ADL] have been monitoring Walker’s talks and writing for years.”

I’m sure that Irving included the comment about the ADL to cement Walker’s credentials as an anti-Semite, and he’s also cynically messing with her, just as David Duke did.

When Alice Walker protests that she and David Icke aren’t anti-Semites, but simply supporters of Palestinian rights who are being unjustly tarred and feathered, I’m reminded of what Andrew Gillum said to Ron DeSantis during a debate when they were running for Governor of Florida last year. To paraphrase Gillum: I’m not calling Walker an anti-Semite, I’m simply saying that anti-Semites believe she’s an anti-Semite.”

Finally, I find yet another screed on the Al Jazeera site that relates to all this: “The Zionist Fallacy of Jewish Supremacy” by Yoav Litvin, subtitled “Framing Zionism as Jewish and not white supremacy is a dangerous proposition,” which relates to a number of WEIT posts on the nature of Zionism, most recently this one.

The Nation grovels to the mob, abasing itself by apologizing for a poem it published

August 1, 2018 • 10:00 am

On July 5, The Nation published a poem called “How-To” by Anders Carlson-Wee, a young white man.  It describes how panhandlers, the homeless, and others asking for money should behave. That behavior, as you can see in the poem, involves using tactics designed to pry money out of people who are reluctant to give some spare change. The argot used by the poet is that of some black people, although others say simply “Southerners.” Read it for yourself (click on screenshots to go to the poem and apology page):

 

The Torrington Register Citizen in Connecticut notes :

The poem offers advice to presumably homeless panhandlers on the best way to pry cash from passersby, including this line: “If you’re crippled don’t /
flaunt it. Let em think they’re good enough / Christians to notice.”

Throughout the poem, the narrator also adopts an ungrammatical vernacular that many readers found equally troubling: “Don’t say homeless, they know / you is.”

Those on social media actually found two problems with the poem. First is its “ableism”, which doesn’t bother me so much as it’s about homeless and disabled people asking for money, and that’s simply a fact of life. The other parts, about how to get more money out of passersby, may be imagined, but there are surely tactics that panhandlers and the disabled use that have brought them more money. Having a nearby animal as your pet helps, as does displaying one’s handicap and so on. And surely some of these tactics have been passed among the disabled and homeless. I have no issue with this, though I’m not sure “How-To” constitutes “poetry” in my book, as it lacks meter, imaginative images or interesting language. That’s a matter of taste. Nevertheless, The Nation considered it poetry and published it.

The second issue is the use of language: black argot like “You hardly even there” or “they know you is”, which, I suppose would be okay if the poet was black but was deemed cultural appropriation because he was white. That could seem a bit more problematic, but then there are people who speak this way, and the use of other people’s English has been part of literature for a long time, including in “Huckleberry Finn” and “A Passage to India.” On balance, I don’t find the poem problematic.

But many people did, and let The Nation know on social media, considering the poem not only ableist but racist. A few examples:

After I wrote the above, I asked Grania for her take on the poem, and she gave me permission to quote her view:

From what I can see the poem is about how to claw back some semblance of power while in a position of submission or powerlessness, which is an interesting concept. The narrative voice is describing their fictional self and their own actions and acting. It’s got nothing to do with “othering” or “belittling” communities, and anyone claiming to be hurt or injured after reading the poem needs a big sign tattooed backwards on their forehead so that every time they look in the mirror they can read the words:
IT’S NOT ALWAYS ABOUT YOU

I suppose the editors should have been prepared by this kind of social media pushback, but instead of defending their right to publish what they wanted, they issued an apology almost unparalleled in its groveling.  Their admission, for example, that the poem is “ableist” is not supportable: the poem is about being disabled and having to ask for money. As for having caused “harm to several communities”, the harm is only to feelings (n.b. “the pain we have caused to the many communities affected by this poem.”). But the poem will damage no minority group. And the editors now feel that they have to earn the readers’ trust back, when in fact some readers defended the poem’s publication and criticized this apology.

This kind of groveling and truckling to the mob is, to me, absolutely contemptible:

The poem had its defenders, and the Nation its critics for apologizing:

https://twitter.com/jonkay/status/1024144201439694848

and from philosopher Jeremy Stangroom:

There’s a good case to be made that The Nation should have followed Stangroom’s advice.

Nevertheless, the poet apologized on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/AndersWeePoet/status/1021794320435699712

According to Page Six, the poet’s apology didn’t still the critics, who piled on even more, calling Carlson-Wee’s use of the phrase “eye-opening” ableist as well. And according to the tweeter below, the apology didn’t go far enough (Carlson-Wee donated his fee to charity). There is nothing he can do now, for he has been cast into the pit of perdition, and this will follow Carlson-Wee forever. As a poet, he’s toast.

This is now what’s happening in America (and Canada and the UK): the thought police, screaming on social media, are baying for people’s jobs and reputations because their words don’t conform to what critics see as the ideologically correct position. Literature is especially vulnerable since it’s imaginative and doesn’t always deal with the writer’s sex, ethnicity, or race.

If those who oppose the thought police remain silent, the Pecksniffs will win by default, so it’s up to us to criticize this kind of censorship and apologetics whenever we can.

h/t: cesar

Why I prefer to read a poem than hear it recited

August 23, 2017 • 12:00 pm

When I was a  very young boy, I was an obsessive reader of Charles Schulz’s comic strip Peanuts. Not only did I read it as soon as the daily paper arrived, but I cut out every strip and pasted it in a scrapbook, with a whole page reserved for the big Sunday color strip.  The animated films and television adaptations didn’t come out until 1969, when I was long past the age of Peanuts infatuation, but when I saw them I was horrified. The characters didn’t sound the way I thought they should sound! 

Mind you, I didn’t know how they should sound, for when I read comics or any work of literature, I don’t form a mental audio representation of the characters’ voices. (But when reading all literature, I always have an imagined visual representation of the people and the surroundings, as I think most of us do. (When I read Anna Karenina, for instance, I form an image of not only what Anna, Vronsky, and Levin look like, but also what the scenery and houses looked like.) It’s just that no voice would do; comics and literature don’t come to me with voices. That’s why, when I saw the first Lord of the Rings movie, I didn’t like it because the hobbits’ voices didn’t sound right; only Gollum’s seemed accurate.

And I think this goes for poetry as well—at least for me. When I read a poem I may conjure up a scene, but I never imagine a voice reading the words. And when I hear anybody doing that, even the poets themselves, I don’t like it. Poetry, at least for me, is meant to be read and not heard, even though its mental effect resides largely in the beauty or sonority of its words. Isn’t that curious?

I realized this again last night when, perusing YouTube, I was at first chuffed to come across Sylvia Plath reading her poem “Daddy”—one of the great poems of the twentieth century. I could read it again and again, and have done so many times, always enthralled with the wonderfully unexpected language and disturbed by the tortured picture of her father. Here’s the written version as given on the Poetry Foundation page:

DADDY
Sylvia Path
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time——
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.
If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

So I was delighted to find her reading it in a YouTube recording, as Sylvia Plath’s readings aren’t easy to come by. Here it is:

Many of you might like this, but I don’t. I don’t like the cadence, her voice sounds wrong (granted, no voice would be right!), and I don’t like the “eech” pronounciation of “ich”. Granted, this is one of the better readings I’ve heard by the composing poet, but I much prefer reading it to hearing it.

Particularly grating to me are readings by another favorite poet, T. S. Eliot. His voice is simply flat and monotonic, and overly “toff”, even though he was an American. Here he is reading what I consider his greatest poem, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, begun when the poet was only 22 and published when he was 27.

It’s a boring and almost pompous reading. I much prefer the written version, which you can find here.

So many poets decide to read their works in a monotone voice.  That, too, is my problem with Dylan Thomas, one of my favorites. Here’s his reading “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” (not one of my favorites, but perhaps his best known work). I don’t like the semi-monotonic voice, the quavering tone, and the overly histrionic bits:

Maybe actors, trained to use their voices, can do a better j0b, for here’s Anthony Hopkins reading the same poem, but in a way I like much better (his version starts at 2:15 after an introduction):

In my life I’ve been to several presentations of poetry read by the writer, but I’ve never liked any of them. And so I’ve stopped going, for I prefer my poetry imbibed alone, perhaps with something else to imbibe. Am I alone in this opinion?

An algebraic limerick

January 24, 2016 • 8:00 am

by Matthew Cobb

Spotted on Tw*tter. I’ll give the source later, along with the explanation. Post your explanations below. If you know the answer already, please refrain from posting – if you work it out, go ahead!

Limerick2

[EDIT: The correct answer appears in the first comment below! If you want to spend some time working it out, DON’T READ THE COMMENTS! I will put in some extra returns to push the comment below the bottom of your screen… If you don’t care, hit the ‘comments’ button or scroll on down]

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“Metamorphosis” by Wallace Stevens

November 1, 2015 • 7:10 am

Since November has arrived, I’ll take this opportunity to post one of my favorite Wallace Stevens poems. My absolute favorite is “Peter Quince at the Clavier“, but this one is more is appropriate as it expresses both the change of seasons and the degeneration of nature, ending with a completely disordered month.

Metamorphosis

by Wallace Stevens

Yillow, yillow, yillow,
Old worm, my pretty quirk,
How the wind spells out
Sep – tem – ber….

Summer is in bones.
Cock-robin’s at Caracas.
Make o, make o, make o,
Oto – otu – bre.

And the rude leaves fall.
The rain falls. The sky
Falls and lies with worms.
The street lamps

Are those that have been hanged.
Dangling in an illogical
To and to and fro
Fro Niz – nil – imbo.

Facing dismissal, distinguished teacher resigns after reciting lurid Allan Ginsburg poem in class

June 1, 2015 • 2:03 pm

David Olio, a Connecticut high-school English teacher, has resigned rather than face being fired after reading a racy Allen Ginsburg poem to his class.  Olio not only teaches AP (Advanced Placement) English, but won Connecticut’s highest award for teaching excellence. You can read the poem,  “Please Master,” here.  There’s no doubt that it’s salacious, but it’s also likely to inspire a good discussion.

But the circumstances are even more exculpating than him just reading an inappropriate poem to students. As The Daily Beast reports, he was more or less blindsided by it:

It was the kind of moment teachers covet. An Advanced Placement English class focusing on poetry, and a student brings in a poem that caught his eye, hoping to discuss in the waning moments of the period how the poet uses language in his work.

The teacher, David Olio, a 19-year veteran of the South Windsor School District and winner of Connecticut’s highest award for teaching excellence, didn’t know the poem in question, but he took a look and walked the students through it in the remaining time.

The poem the student discovered and brought in was “Please Master,” an extremely graphic account of a homosexual encounter published by Allen Ginsberg in 1968 that begins: “Please master can I touch your cheek / please master can I kneel at your feet / please master can I loosen your blue pants.”

Clearly, “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” this wasn’t. But the students were 17- and 18-year-olds, some of whom were taking the AP course in conjunction with the University of Connecticut and receiving college credit.

One day after the class, Olio was placed on indefinite, unpaid leave by the district. Seventy-two hours later, the district began termination proceedings against him. Three weeks after that, he agreed to resign.

If you read the Daily Beast or the CNN accounts, you’ll see that this incident has severely divided the town, with many taking Olio’s side. I am one of them. Perhaps he made a misstep reading the poem, which after all is pretty graphic, and for that he was admonished for upsetting his students. The school superintendent, for instance wrote him this:

“It was irresponsible for you to present this poem to children under your charge,” she wrote. “Some of your students are minors, and you gave neither the students nor their parents any choice whether they wished to be subjected to the sexual and violent content of this poem. Moreover, some students reported being emotionally upset by having to hear this poem.”

And I can see their point of view. Had I been him, I would have either warned students (but maybe he didn’t get the chance, for he was simply presented with the poem), or asked them to read it on their own, letting them know it was graphic.  Yet one can defend the poem, too, as a sort of metaphor:

In the series of poems written around the time of “Please Master,” Ginsberg was trying to explore every aspect of the human experience—intellectual, egotistical, spiritual, and sexual, no matter how messy or unpleasant. Like Walt Whitman, he was attempting to catalogue every aspect of the self, “even those we normally hide from ourselves in order to feel better and flatter ourselves and to make ourselves feel like important people,” said Steve Silberman, a San Francisco-based writer who was a student, teaching assistant, and friend of Ginsberg’s for 25 years.

“Allen thought that by bringing material into poetry that were previously considered unpoetic, he enlarged the poetic occupation,” Silberman said.

Read literally, the poem is about Ginsberg, presumably, describing his sexual abjection before a lover, in this case usually considered to be Neal Cassidy, a bisexual sometime lover of Ginsberg’s and the hero of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. But there are other readings. Silberman puts the piece in the long tradition of religious poetry that crosses all faiths and which involves a submission to a figure who represents the divine. It can be read, too, as a metaphor for a society that represses and marginalizes those who engage in the kind of acts described.

Well, maybe. Regardless, it’s just dumb to fire an award-winning teacher for reading a poem that one of his students gave him—a poem that he only just saw and didn’t have time to review.  At best, he could have been reprimanded. But I worry that his incipient firing will keep other teachers from reading “challenging” poems to students. Given the nature of students these days, in fact, I don’t think this poem would shock many of them. Have a look for yourself and weigh in below.

Google Doodle celebrates Langston Hughes

February 1, 2015 • 7:30 am

Today’s Google Doodle celebrates the life of Langston Hughes (1902-1967), author and poet, who would have been 113 years old today had he lived. The Doodle is especially good today—animated, and with music. You can see it by either clicking on the screenshot below, or, if that doesn’t work for non-USers, watch the YouTube video below that:

Screen Shot 2015-02-01 at 6.11.55 AM

 

Hughes, who was on our assigned reading lists in college, was a founder of the “Harlem Renaissance”, a black movement of literature, and culture in general, of the early 1900s. It was perhaps the first sustained celebration by African Americans of their own culture.

The poem in the Doodle is Hughes’s “I Dream A World”: it’s a forerunner of Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech.

I dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Where love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom’s way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind-
Of such I dream, my world!

His most famous poem, though, is “Harlem,” from which came the title of a famous play and movie:

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Google tells how the artist, Katy Wu, made the Doodle. The source of the music is intriguing:

The doodle’s music, serving as a tour guide through each verse of the poem, features Adam Ever-Hadani on the piano and the The Boston Typewriter Orchestra, a 6 member musical ensemble that make music using manual typewriters.