Hardin County Anthology
DogBoy / TinSoldier Publishing & The Malo Family Trust
Copyright 2018, 2010, 1999, 1985, 1978, 1970
For my beautiful children
RETURN to DogBoy / TinSoldier Publishing
Table Of Contents
The Fountain
The Lake
In And Out Of The Water
The River
Hardin County Home
A Different Word
While I Lay Sleeping
The Wounding
Teen-Age Lullaby
Angry Young Man
The Ice Palace
Snow Without Cold
Littleton
Runaway
Places To Fish
The Shadow Of Heaven
For Malachi
My Daddy Used To
Paris Green
All Night Long
The Cracks In The Sidewalk
All That Damn Desperation
Down By The Muddy River
Kings Of The Small Town Bars
Annie Johnson
Convention
Divorce Story
The Land Of Becoming
In A Whisper
The Patch
Your Beautiful Dust
The Godless World
Spiral Staircase
I Met A Savior On A Ghetto Street
Grace
Toward The End Of Each December
Dungeons
One Generation
The Eleventh Of September
The Patriot's Hope
House Of Dust
Forget Me Not
there’s a fountain in a forest
bubblin’ up between some stones
that whispers t’ the passin’ traveler
come rest yer weary bones
an’ the water there’s magic
flows from a time an’ place above
left here jus’ fer those a thirstin’
from the labors of love
an’ voices softly sing like the wind in the trees
‘round about ya when ya kneel down t’ sip
an’ children dance like fireflys out on the fields
in an’ out o’ the darkness they slip
if ya come t’ drink an’ rest
by the fountain in the wood
yer eyes ‘ll be wide opened
an’ ya’ll see the way ya should
the water there’s a flowin’
jus’ t’ show the stranger home
an’ keep the children growin’
where they’ll never be alone
an’ voices softly sing like the wind in the trees
‘round about ya like someone ya once knew
an’ children dance like fireflys out on the fields
in an’ out jus’ a flickerin’ fer you
in an’ out jus’ a flickerin’ fer you
barefoot an’ naked on the edge o’ the lake
drenched head t’ toe in moonlight
reflections o’ the chance we’d take
playin’ on the ripplin’ night
thousands o’ years o’ waitin’ fer home
tears that became an ocean
one little kiss an’ no longer alone
we’d set the whole thing in motion
faces in the lake of a million choices
children jus’ wantin’ t’ know
out o’ the water familiar voices
whisperin’ - jus’ let us grow
then across the glist’nin’ water we start
hand in hand toward the center o’ home
eye t’ eye we sink t’ the bottom an’ part
drowned in becomin’ alone
no one should remember the lake o’ the night
the fergettin’s jus’ a lovin’ embrace
what ya once were should stay out o’ sight
‘til ya become yer place
no one should remember the lake o’ the night
but I jus’ can’t ferget the place
where we stood and chose, with the moonlight
all over yer sweet lovin’ face
ya draw t’ yerself whatever ya need
t’ please the one ya find fair
‘cause if it’s real ya both were freed
a long time ago way up there
when the one that ya love becomes what ya feel
an’ what yer heart’s been aching for
then together ya’ll find ya can love any time
an’ go in an’ out o’ the door
in an’ out o’ the water
up an’ down in the flood
love bustin’ out like laughter
bubblin’ up jus’ like it should
hand in hand in the shadowland
jus’ waitin’ t’ feel yer own skin
in each other’s faces ya’ll understand
the way that ya gotta begin
I’ll choose fer you what ya draw near
an’ then ya can choose mine fer me
that way we’ll know when we get t’ here
we’ll already be what we see
in an’ out o’ the sorrow
songs that mean what they say
I’ already seen tomorrow
before I begin today
The River
rollin’ down through Council Bluffs
with the dark September night
a few frantic snowflakes run from my headlights
in a panic down the road
across the powerful Missouri I’ll go
followin’ the Platte t’ the west
‘til the Rockies raise their heads an’ shoulders t’ the sun
up against the river I’ll go
the growin’ glow up over the bridge
is jus’ the lights o’ the place I was born
sprawled out on the ground like a carnival fallen down
I’ll be passin’ through Omaha again
on a cold September night
in a hospital room full o’ fear
I drew my first breath, as my eyes filled with light
I thought how did I ever get here
I got nothin’ against Nebraska
it’s a nice enough place t’ pass through
but I got eighteen hours more o’ road t’ go
an’ my eyes are like lead in my face
my Daddy swam in the river once
he said it was muddy and wide
but he ain’t been the same fer quite awhile
not since my little brother died
when I get out on a river
I always wanna go upstream
it takes faith t’ get t’ where it begins
it ain’t nothin’ t’ jus’ drift t’ the end
a long time ago people crossed the oceans
followin’ desperate dreams t’ this land
an’ tossed little ships filled with eyes full o’ fear
emptied out war on these shores
outlaws an’ scoundrels an’ latter day saints
washed up like waves on this sand
farmers an’ ranchers an’ soldiers an’ slaves
all come over stormy oceans t’ here
shopkeepers, thieves an’ railroad men
carryin’ fear an’ hunger upstream
footprints o’ women an’ children an’ men
in the mud on the river bank west
I seen a lake up north in Wisconsin once
with a river flowin’ outa both ends
one flowin’ north t’ Lake Superior
one south t’ the Mississippi
both o’ them rivers end up in the ocean
most everythin’ gets washed t’ the sea
but the pure sweet water o’ that little lake
ends up in the same place twice
I married a girl fer love, part Cherokee she was
an’ we got us some bright pretty kids
we set the blood pumpin’ free in their veins
like a river o’ fergiven sin
the things people think are like a ragin’ river
it can tear ya up by yer roots
if ya go with the flow ya won’t be delivered
it ‘ll wash ya right outa yerself
out on the road in this black bruisin’ night
in a truck pointed outa this world
the snowflakes smash by like countless lost ghosts
without names on an uncaring wind
out over the river they dance with the moonlight
in the frenzy of an uncertain fate
fer a minute they glisten an’ shine so bright
then they drown in the flow o’ the flood
outa Ogallala jus’ before dawn
I got the ol’ Ford all unwound
hellbent fer places deep in my dreams
ninety-five in a four-wheel drive
me an’ my brother are laughin’ an’ talkin’
‘bout fishin’ an’ huntin’ an’ women
I’m tryin’ hard t’ tell him ‘bout somethin’ I feel
I’m so tired I’m asleep at the wheel
on a crisp clear mornin’ the river forks
an’ I head up the one t’ the south
I’m Denver bound an’ torn up inside
‘cause I can’t follow the river both ways
sometimes a man gets caught in a dream
he fergot he once had fer himself
but what’s good in him makes him see it through
an’ fight himself t’ make it come true
in the traffic an’ bustle o’ mid afternoon
Denver’s jus’ like most cities I seen
sometimes there’s a brown cloud an’ ya can’t burn no wood
all the freeways are hell when it snows
she lays against mountains long stripped o’ their trees
but there’s a difference in some people ya meet
some people come there jus’ t’ see other people
down from the mountains so empty an’ cold
now I’m goin’ uphill up past Red Rocks an’ Tiny Town
but aroun’ Windy Point I’ll slow down
then through Aspen Park up past Conifer Mountain
it’s out t’ Park County I’ll go
I go easy down the grade on Crow Hill
an’ in Bailey find the river again
the road follows the river past the Platte Canyon School
an’ after Shawnee it’s empty an’ grand
now the aspen’s so gold it glares in the sun
in between the straight an’ tall pines
an’ the river’s so cold ya think it’d freeze
as it falls through the rocks an’ debris
an’ what ground ya can see is so dry an’ sandy
yer surprised that anythin’ grows
an’ there’s magpies an’ squirrels an’ if yer lucky an eagle
‘r a coyote, ‘r mountain lion, ‘r elk
the river turns t’ its source aroun’ Grant
but jus’ a little bit higher I’ll go
an’ right at the top o’ Kenosha Pass
I pulled over t’ the side o’ the road
an’ the snow came up like a blanket o’ white
washed out everythin’ in my sight
an’ I knew that the mother o’ the river was ice
that jus’ melted an’ ran down the hill
there’s a force that pulls the snow outa the sky
on t’ rocks it holds up t’ the sun
an’ that pristine collision’s the way we begin
sparks an’ shards o’ jus’ light an’ ice
like children set dancin’ on a wind fer a moment
bound t’ fall on the rocks below
sweet dancin’ children bound t’ disappear
awash in some river o’ fear
then the snow stopped fallin’ an’ the sun was sinkin’
I’d come t’ the end o’ the day
I thought I heard wailin’ an’ keenin’ jus’ then
an’ I strained hard t’ hear it again
then a storm like a hand from another world
fell outa nowhere an’ blew everythin’ down
laid the pine an’ the aspen down flat t’ the rocks
as far as my eyes could see
I walked down t’ see what there was t’ see
toward the night where the day had died
I seen a red westward river all full o’ dead people
flowin’ in an’ outa every dead mouth
as I listened t’ hear what might be heard
the host in the flood seemed t’ speak
an’ the river o’ blood was jus’ human words
“kill ‘em all an’ let God sort ‘em out”
ya know I been up an’ down the river
I seen the beginnin’ an’ end
I even been swept down beneath the flood
but I jus’ rose t’ the surface again
there ain’t no way t’ stop its flow
the river’s gonna go where it goes
but once in Colorado I stepped outa the water
an’ laid that burden down
me an’ my lady went out fer a ride
on a soft Ohio summer day
jus’ lookin’ t’ see what we could see
in Hardin County along the way
we turned up an ol’ gravel road by a bridge
on top an ol’ levee along the Scioto
pushed up by some good farmers years ago
t’ keep the river outa the beans
the map showed the road straight through t’ McGuffey,
but it musta been an ol’ map
‘cause the road jus’ quit at the end o’ the levee
‘bout a mile or so outa town
ya could see houses out on the edge o’ the fields,
but ya’d hafta trample through the mud
maybe in the days when the levee was new
people went that way home fer the night
but the truth is I been t’ McGuffey before
now there’s a highway that runs right through
an’ I knew there was nothin’ I hadn’t seen there
so we jus’ turned aroun’ an’ moved on
well I’ been t’ Colorado
an’ the emptiness was grand
where the mountains cast their shadow
there’s a cleaness to the land
but the voices were so few there
there was an echo t’ the song
there was a sadness that I knew there
an’ I jus’ had t’ move along
I’ been in Wisconsin in the fall
when Indian summer ’s on the woodland
up north the whisp’rin’ pines are tall
the sun’s like heaven on a good land
but the winter was so strong
‘bout as long an’ cold as death
it’s jus’ hard t’ sing a song
when yer fightin’ fer yer breath
now Hardin county ‘s in my mind
there’s still life in this ol’ land
here I always seem t’ find
a different way t’ understand
let the children find their way
t’ the place they long t’ see
this is where I’ll stand an’ stay
an’ wait fer what I wanna be
from this Hardin county home
children head into the night
but they know they’re not alone
in my window there’s a light
I went out walkin’ on a fine spring day
list’nin’ fer what could be heard
I asked everythin’ livin’ along the way
do ya remember? do ya know the magic word?
I asked the bright red bird up on the wire
but there were only two songs that he knew
one fer his lady bird full o’ desire
an’ a warnin’ of a stranger passin’ through
I asked a fat gray squirrel way up in a tree
as she chipped t’ her mate on the ground
she jus’ chattered t’ her babies an’ scolded me
sent a warnin’ there’s a stranger aroun’
down by the pond I asked an ol’ frog
as he croaked fer his lady frog fair
an’ he lept with a splash off his pitchin’ log
as a warnin’ of a stranger standin’ there
I asked an ol’ dog on a porch in the sun
as she sighed an’ played with a bone
she jus’ jumped up an’ barked fergettin’ her fun
at the stranger passin’ outside her home
all up an’ down the county in the field ‘r the wood
hill an’ valley, at the park ‘r in town
I walked an’ I listened as hard as I could
but there were only two words t’ be found
sometimes I heard life longin’ fer life
an’ love makin’ a place fer more
sometimes I heard life fear fer its life
afraid o’ the stranger at the door
love o’ jus’ livin’ an’ fear o’ the unknown
are the only two meanin’s I heard
but once in a silence, broken an’ alone
I heard a whisper an’ a different word
once in this Egypt I bloodied my door
with pictures o’ loved ones gone on
but that angel o’ death don’t come here no more
he jus’ nods an’ keeps movin’ on
while I lay sleepin’ on the side of a hill
I dreamed o’ the other side
I dreamed myself dancin’ so happy there
that at first I thought I had died
the music was playin’ inside my head
so full o’ joy that I cried
on the side o’ the hill in my grassy bed
dreamin’ I musta jus’ died
as I watched myself dancin’ the pretty step
it seemed jus’ a bit outa time
t’ the music I heard on the hill as I slept
growin’ louder an’ less sublime
‘til it seemed like I danced t’ a different tune
than the one playin’ in my head
an’ not one note matched any step that I took
as I danced t’ what I couldn’t hear
then I watched as a child with a soft little song
took my hand an’ was dancin’ with me
as I slept on the hill I began hummin’ along
with the child on the other side with me
while I lay sleepin’ on the side of a hill
I dreamed o’ the other side
I dreamed children dancin’ so happy there
that at first I thought I had died
The Wounding
we’re always chasin’ that secret smile
tryin’ t’ find healin’ grace
walkin’ the road mile after mile
carryin’ the pain o’ this place
if we bleed ‘r cry it’s all the same rain
tears ‘r blood are jus’ salty an’ wet
it’s life leakin’ out o’ the river o’ pain
no matter what wounding we get
all o’ the hurtin’ ya see in the mirror
won’t drive ya away from this place
ya know in yer heart ya jus’ stopped here
t’ see the change in yer face
don’t be afraid o’ the broken heart
or dyin’ alone in the street
whatever it makes ya is jus’ the start
o’ the one that yer longin’ t’ meet
it’s all about love an’ fergettin’ yer name
an’ rememb’rin’ why ya began
an’ makin’ a pearl that ya can claim
from another one’s grain of sand
whether ya choose fer the bad ‘r the good
whether yer utterly shattered
if in the end ya become what ya could
it was only the change that mattered
goin’ out nice
always thinkin’ twice
about what counts
tryin’ t’ amount
t’ somethin’ worthwhile
lookin’ fer a smile
an understandin’ dream
a youthful fearless scream
goin’ out fine
lookin’ fer a sign
workin’ out the truth
in a crowded booth
sittin’ down drinkin’
silently thinkin’
in a smoky dream
an angry ancient scream
going out high
flyin’ in a lie
a ruptured dead repast
a pseudo first and last
getting’ in a fight
laughin’ at the night
as the music’s dream
obliterates time’s scream
goin’ out wild
hidin’ from the child
tryin’ t’ be strong
livin’ in a song
in hope of growin’ up
no fear of slowin’ up
chasin’ twenty’s dream
a trustin’ teen-age scream
how many times I tried t' rhyme with reason
the music of my life's confusin' season
t' realign rebellion with forgivin'
t' swallow pride, t' once again start livin'
how many songs I searched fer who I am
was I t' blame, was outrage just a sham
was I born o' darkness, locked inside a curse
was I bound t' search alone, through empty verse
it seems t' me that anger was my birthright
I always was a child o' the night
they say I was ungrateful cruel and mean
an' half the things I did they never seen
somewhere as a child I jus' went wrong
I guess guilt an' fear were anger all along
I dunno if a man can be born bad
but who I never was, was all I had
the joke 's on you if ya try and place the blame
no matter who 's at fault the pain 's the same
I know there is a secret in yer heart
ya wish that ya could have a brand new start
I lost my way when I was jus' a kid
so long ago I can't remember what I did
I know if I could try it all again
I'd never be the way I was back then
free spirit, fired in the times
pain glazed heart
as the picture ’s painted
advertised an’ sold
let yerself drink, all of life’s stink
‘til yer heart is chokin’
the eulogist has lied
no spirit ever was allowed t’ fly that high
child they said ya were free
we knew ya never could be
‘til the breath in yer body
had melted the gates
o’ the ice palace prison ya made
ya bought the magazine dreams
ya sold the packaged prayer
fer yer free love came pain
a carefully purchased white Christmas
didn’t ya know?
in the shinin’ crystal are the facets of a king
the shine o’ sweat, the forearm drips
down t’ the tip of his taskmaster whip
we cried, we cried
each time yer flesh was marked
it took such a long time fer yer heart t’ crack
we all had such great things t’ say
as we boldly spit back at each day
we did not sleep, we passed out
we did not wake up, we screamed out
sleep became the nightmare
the daylight struck back
much harder than we expected
he didn’t look the same
they combed his hair back
it snowed when we buried him
whitened up the sky a little
I spent that whole day in the snow
stayed awake for two days afterward
still can’t understand why he’s dead
o God can’t ya stand him up
bring him back fer a little while longer
the world loses hope each day
when people like him pass away
there were no dirges, his friends an’ lovers all cried
odd statues with rain on their faces
I stood in the snow, one of ‘em lied
and still hides in strange little places
mournin’ without warnin’
death without disgrace
destruction without desire
ash without fire
love without life
contentment without boredom
wisdom without age
snow without cold
lies without guilt
face without eyes
this mornin’ a warm little rain is fallin’
the grass is so green an’ bright
the birds are all singin’ an’ playin’ in puddles
it still seems like the world is all right
sometimes in the spring in Hardin County
it’s like heaven fell down from above
young things an’ green things soak up the bounty
an’ repay the day with their love
but the raindrops that fall off my daffodils
are jus’ tears fer lost children today
it’s gone all the way wrong in Littleton
an’ our children are losin’ their way
tell me where’s the thread
that ‘ll weave the tie that binds
an’ suffer the little children
t’ the truth they long t’ find
people do what they can t’ understand
but they don’t get much time t’ think clear
as soon as they touch their own baby’s hand
they can’t help but teach ‘em their fear
I lived up in the mountains before
Colorado’s a part o’ my soul
an’ ya know I’d knock down heaven’s door
jus’ t’ make all them children whole
it’s a hard thing t’ think, an’ harder t’ say
but ya jus’ can’t force heaven down
in America today it’s hypocrisy
that puts our kids in the ground
tell me where’s the thread
that ‘ll weave the tie that binds
an’ suffer the little children
t’ the truth they’re dyin’ t’ find
the winter wheat is blazin' green
ghostly flames across the snow
some things ain't ever what they seem
I never though ya 'd be the one t' go
ya had all the best o' me
I let ya have yer own straight voice
I raised yer soul up clean an' free
ya always had yer own sweet choice
I couldn't know yer hard hard mind
the way ya pounded on yer heart
the poison ya were bound t' find
I could only hope I give ya a good start
where are ya now, why are ya gone
I used t' pick ya up, an' help ya face it all
I'm broken down now help me on
little runaway why can't ya jus' give me a call
I dunno who got in yer head
'r why ya run off scared an' wild
I couldn't hear the things ya said
yer always gonna be my child
summer 's gonna come again
corn gets tall, beans get dry
I wish ya could remember when
I held ya in my arms when ya 'd cry
sometimes we'd go fishin' then
yer little brother 'd come along
we'd breath them days in without sin
t' me ya always seemed so strong
I know ya think ya can't get through
but honey I can carry you
I'd walk my legs down t' the knee
jus' to see ya happy, proud an' free
where have ya gone, jus' call home
little runaway ya shouldn't be alone
me an’ my ten-year-old went down t’ the Blanchard
t’ fish by the ol’ Park Street bridge
in a fifty foot stretch o’ river an’ rocks
we counted five water moccasins that day
we stayed up on the bridge an’ watched ‘em awhile
but we never went down on the rocks
there was jus’ too many snakes t’ keep an eye on
an’ still try t’ catch a nice fish
when I was a boy I’da caught them snakes
an’ flung ‘em up over my head
an’ bashed ‘em on the rocks
an’ left ‘em layin’ there dead
once I was huntin’ up north in Wisconsin
I found a nest o’ yellow rattlesnakes
I got some with my shotgun, there was aroun’ twenty
I stomped the rest with my cowboy boots
I never had no fear o’ snakes
I jus’ kick ‘em outa my way
but I’d never put my boy in danger
jus’ t’ prove I wasn’t afraid
he don’t need t’ be aroun’ snakes
he’s too young t’ understand ‘em
I know I can’t protect him ferever
but there’s a lotta other places t’ fish
I can’t remember what we were thinkin’
three sweet kids on a soft summer night
I was a little silly from drinkin’
watchin’ you guys dancin’ in the firelight
who was it we were thinkin’ ‘bout savin’
who was it who was turned toward the night
stuck in the shadow o’ heaven
halfway into the light
I don’t know how we could stand there laughin’
watchin’ our reflections in the lake
high on the plans we were hatchin’
turnin’ ourselves into somethin’ we couldn’t shake
what was it we were thinkin’ ‘bout makin’
down there in the valley o’ tears
stuck in the shadow o’ heaven
jus’ beyond our own ears
I guess I mighta talked a little too bold
I guess I thought I could carry the weight
but my back is bent an’ I’m growin’ old
I jus’ hope I’m not too little too late
I think of the love we been showin’
and I think of the life we give
yeah I wonder what we were thinkin’
a fishin’ trip into the night
stuck in the shadow o’ heaven
halfway into the light
For Malachi (adapted from 1984 poem)
hide me a father, hide him well
hide him in heaven, hide him in hell
it’s all the same
when the touch is forbidden
ya can’t love a father
who’s quite well hidden
sons o’ fathers become the same
hide an’ seek is a fatherly game
it’s all been the same
since the start o’ the game
and no one’s had the nerve
t’ give it a name
prophets o’ doom, prophets o’ peace
sellin’ mansions o’ rooms o’ sweet release
they’re all the same
blind, deaf, an’ dumb
selling deeds t’ a world
that won’t ever come
hide me a creator, hide him well
make him a heaven, make me a hell
it’s always the same
‘cause we can’t understand
a God who would make us
but won’t lend a hand
jus’ give me a poet with spit in his eye
one who won’t quit, one who won’t lie
let him frame the question
and the game is undone
“how good is a father, who’s never been a son?”
My Daddy Used To
my Daddy used t’ run his fingers through the dirt
he could smell the ground an’ tell ya what was wrong
people used t’ ask him what they oughta do
he ‘d save any crop with all the things he knew
they knew he could, my Daddy used to
my Daddy used t’ raise a barn all by himself
or with jus’ kids to chase fer tools an’ stuff he ‘d need
he built his own mill over south o’ Dola
college kids used t’ come an’ help him work
he’d teach ‘em how, my Daddy used to
my Daddy used t’ sing an’ play piano too
he could figure out any song ya knew
some Christmas Eves we’d sing almost all night
the neighbors an’ their kids from miles aroun’
they knew he’d play, my Daddy used to
some o’ them hard cold winters must a took a toll
or springs too wet, too dry, when young green things would die
‘cause Daddy lost himself somewhere along the way
an’ nobody knows who lives behind them suff’rin’ eyes
I wish he knew, my Daddy used to
Grandpa was a little bit crazy
I always thought Jesus bent his mind
but when he tried t’ hack up Grandma
we had t’ draw the line
It mighta been the Paris Green
‘r maybe he jus’ hated Jews
but one day he jus’ put on mean
an’ knocked ‘er right outa her shoes
My daddy locked him up right quick
in a closet ‘til the sheriff come
Grandma said, “He must be sick”
an’ they took him t’ the county home
They locked him up an’ shocked him there
‘til he learned how walk the line
He come back home like a Teddy Bear
an’ lived out the rest o’ his time
In Ohio we think electricity ’s good
We got compassion an’ we care
We shock ‘em first an’ if that don’t do what it should
hell, we jus’ give ‘em the chair
I worked the night shift
an’ fer twenty years them factory lights
were all that stood between me
an’ one long endless night
I’d come home, tell four kids good-bye,
an’ send ‘em off t’ school
lookin’ fer the day they’d grow up
an’ prove me no man’s fool
Cindy was the smart one
straight “A’s” she would go far
Tommy had it all
was a high school football star
Mary was the tender one
she ’d always lend a hand
Mark ‘d preached in church last week
was quite a fine young man
on all them heavy sweatin’ borin’ nights
four shinin’ faces
were always burnin’ in my mind
an’ lit them airless spaces
I’d see ‘em burnin,
all night long
burnin’
all night long
I’d see them faces burnin’ bright
like candles in a dawnless constant night
Cindy finished with college, married and divorced with no kids
now she teaches sixth grade jus’ over t’ Richwood
Mark became a preacher, married a local girl named Sue
they had a little girl named Jenny, pretty eyes of blue
one night jus’ last spring, Ken Larson was drunk and drivin’ hard
got on the wrong side o’ the road out on 53, only Mark was left alive
he don’t do much preachin’ now, though he still gets paid
he just haunts the graveyard, got nothing’ much t’ say
an’ Mary ’s still at home watchin’ Mama dyin’ slow
when Tommy got killed in Viet Nam somethin’ seemed t’ go
I retired a year ago
but mister I ain’t no quitter
when I get t’ feelin’ down
I just read Tom’s last letter
he wrote:
Dad there’s dead and dyin’
all around me in the night
we’re cut off from the company
they say we’ll never make first light
if I had the chance t’ choose again
I’d never kill no one
I know I ain’t got long to live
I hope ya understand
all night long I see all yer faces
shinin’ burnin’ bright
like candles in this dawnless jungle night
I see ‘em burnin’
all night long
burnin’
all night long
I see yer faces burnin’ bright
like angels in this godless jungle night
in between all the life an’ the death
in between every breath
there’s still enough space to set someone free
there’s still a space ya can be
there ‘ll always be people who live like a weed
an’ take whatever they need
the cracks in the sidewalk are filled with pain
but they ain’t outa reach o’ the rain
as long as an angel comes down from above
there ‘ll still be a place fer love
it’s dead men who make all the noise an’ greed
t’ make room fer their dead men’s seed
it’s dead men who think a war will end
the threat to the hope they pretend
it’s dead men who teach their children war
an’ t’ fight fer their right t’ be more
it’s dead men leadin’ their children t’ shame
dead men who can’t believe children came
t’ lead them back from the land o’ the dead
t’ a home where the children are fed
the cracks in the sidewalk are all runnin’ red
from the dead destroyin’ the dead
but as long as an angel comes down from above
there must still be a place fer love
there must still be a place fer love
in my 59 Ford at eighty-five
runnin’ them back roads young an’ alive
where the grass grows right down into the pavement
with turns so tight ya think ya won’t make it
the night divin’ through the windows
the wind tearin’ at yer shirt ‘til it shows
yer body achin’ fer someplace t’ hide
t’ throw off all that hunger inside
like fallen angels cut off from the throne
hatin’ the place that they’re forced t’ call home
all that damn desperation
drained all our hope o’ creation
left us all afraid o’ inspiration
all that damn desperation
the fog killin’ off the headlights
the taste o’ those shootin’ star nights
parked deep in them summer country lanes
throwin’ together our separate pains
the smell o’ the dust o’ those dried up farms
like an open grave drove me t’ yer arms
we were closer t’ life than we understood
an’ we fed t’ the fire all that we could
an’ burned up what we needed most
like flamin’ dancers runnin’ from a ghost
I was over t’ Marion with my best friend Clay
one long ago Popcorn Festival day
I seen her waitin’ in a crowd at an ice cream stand
I walked right up t’ her an’ held her hand
she never even jumped, that one didn’t scare
she said, “I wanna root beer float, do ya wanna share?”
Clayton Ray drawled “Honey yer a cowboy’s dream.”
she laughed and said “Texas yer buyin’ ice cream.”
then she looked in my eyes like she could really see
and said, “Ohio farm boy here’s comin’ with me.”
when she talked it sounded like singin’ t’ me
when she walked it was like she danced herself free
that day went by like a sweet tastin’ dream
bein’ with her was like eatin’ ice cream
the sun was goin’ down, there was a little mist o’ rain
Clayton had some beers an’ he was feelin’ no pain
she was in my arms an’ we were touchin’ soft and slow
she whispered “I can’t wait, I think we oughta go”
I said “let’s go home to my place” an’ she grabbed me real tight
we poured Clayton in the car an’ headed out into the night
up against the Blanchard an’ west out t’ the track
I got a couple hundred acres where the soil is almost black
we pulled into the yard an’ left Clay sleepin’ on the seat
we went down t’ the river through the mud in jus’ bare feet
when she sighed it felt like it was comin’ out o’ me
when she moved it was like she was tearin’ me free
down by the river in the rain I laid her down
an’ gave up everythin’ I had on that muddy ground
a couple years went by, I thought we were growin’ strong
we never were apart, an’ we always got along
people said we were a match, an’ oughta marry now
it was like we walked each other’s steps an’ knew the way somehow
I was over t’ Bucyrus chasin’ tractor parts one day
I come home the house was empty, no Cherie an’ no Clay
I walked down t’ the river, t’ this day I dunno why
I can’t make myself believe, I went down there t’ die
I saw them naked, lovin’, my girl, an’ my best friend
fer a minute I still loved ‘em both, but then I knew it had t’ end
when she sighed I thought I heard her sayin’ no t’ him
I thought she moved like she was tryin’ t’ get away from him
down by the muddy river I beat my best friend t’ the ground
an’ hit him in his face ‘til I heard that funny sound
I thought it was thunder an’ light’nin’ but the sun was shinin’ bright
an’ then I was lookin’ down at Cherie in a strange an’ quiet light
she looked so cute standin’ there in nothin’ but Clayton’s shirt
I loved her more than ever, an’ asked if she was hurt
she never said a word, jus’ dropped my pistol t’ the ground
an’ drug me off o’ Clay jus’ as he come around
they dug a hole, an’ buried me, underneath an’ ol’ sycamore tree
down by the muddy river where nobody knows but me
nobody knows what happened t’ Cher, she jus’ disappeared
an’ Clay went back t’ Texas, now he never comes up here
up against the Blanchard an’ west out t’ the track
I got a couple hundred pretty acres where the soil is almost black
down by the muddy river underneath a sycamore tree
I’m restin’ where I loved a girl nobody knows but me
every night at seven o’ clock
they shine around like fadin’ stars
park their rusty cars
outside their usual bars
they mount their thrones, an’ throw the bones
in their sacred spot
taking one free shot
at some predetermined pot
some show scars, some smoke cigars
they often have tattoos
wear boots an’ never shoes
fight an’ never lose
but in the court they hold there is a fool
always playing pool
trying t’ look cool
an’ teen-aged boys of thirty-eight
must choose a stick that’s straight
an’ gamble on their fate
they play the game, always the same
a challenge t’ their pride
one ‘ll say one lied
the other says outside
the parking lot’s the field of honor
where they hold the duel
there are no special rules
the winner is the fool
the victor comes t’ claim the spoils of war
the stool by the door
the free drink on the bar
an’ celebrate, a wild eyed child with toy
a sacramental ploy
t’ always stay a boy
my name is Annie Johnson she said
I dunno where that come from
prob’ly some southern gentleman
a little too full of rum
yes I got two boys in high school
their names are Joe an’ Will
when they bring home their report cards
they make me proud as hell
yes that’s Mrs. Johnson
but my man ’s not here no more
he run off and left me
back in 1974
he used t’ work fer the railroad
‘bout 13 years or so
they laid him off when the track got cold
tol’ him things were just too slow
yes I work for the hospital
been there ten years this June
takin’ care of the cleanin’ up
the white ladies don’t like doin’
I earn about two weeks livin’
an’ make it last fer four
a couple of weeks ‘fore the first of the month
is the only time I feel poor
sometimes I get to feelin’ guilty
raisin’ the boys with no Daddy
an’ I blame myself for losin’ my man
not doin’ the special things that a woman can
like puttin’ on a clean dress an’ a little perfume
t’ meet your man when he walks in the room
at the end of a hard day make him feel good
I didn’t always do what a woman should
but anyway Mr. Welfare Man
I ain’t here t’ live off the state
but it’s six days ‘til the first o’ the month
an’ my rent is already late
an’ Will come home with straight A’s t’day
he’s workin’ real hard t’ make it
tomorrow ’s his fifteenth birthday
an’ I’d like t’ give him a party and cake
yes sir I got friends an’ relatives
they respect me sir, I’ll have ya know it’s true
an’ down on the block where we live
the street kids even call me Ma’m, yes they do
Annie ’s just not one to try an’ fool
I can see right through any kind of man
don’t do no good t’ be hard or cool
anyone ‘ll tell you, I walk proud o’ who I am
even the white kids respect me
they know I never back down
don’t need no one t’ protect me
I’m respected anywhere in town
the grocer knows I always pay my bills
some months I have t’ borrow t’ keep clear
an’ this month ‘s somethin’ special
an’ that’s the only reason that I’m here
sometimes I get dressed up real nice
I tried t’ find a new man once ‘r twice
but it’s a different kind o’ man ya meet today
they don’t want a woman in my family way
I still think I’m pretty enough
though some men say I act too tough
but I can tell you when any man has lied
they jus’ envy me ‘cause I still got my pride
when ya wake up in the night
an’ yer own hands are streaked with blood
ya try t’ push it from yer mind
no my God she ’s just gone away
in yer sleep ya stroke her pitch black hair
an’ hold her like she ‘s really there
an’ ya wake up screamin’ in the mornin’
hatin’ everythin’ that ’s black ‘r white
an’ yer sittin’ in a shadow
contemplatin’ human prejudice
while runnin’ up an’ down yer spine
are piebald men with long sharp knives
an’ ya curse ‘em an’ their kids an’ wives
in a twisted tortured courtesy t’ yer soul
an’ yer talkin’ in yer sleep again
ya wake up and she’s there
eyes shinin’
dark face glist’nin’ with new tears
Divorce Story (adapted from 1982 song)
yer desperate cry fer self-esteem
t’ me became a vicious dream
an’ my relentless freedom fight
t’ you became an endless night
we each put on our fearless faces
standin’ guard on hidin’ places
so here we are undone by fear
neither one will shed a tear
oh Kathy I would not pass the blame
as each of us begin a brand new game
like children we kept demandin’ more
an’ now we give up things, we never would before
the lawyers spoke of self-respect
an’ killed what we could not protect
our words of pain would load the gun
their deadly aim would get it done
we laid commitment in the grave
an’ buried love we would not save
an’ each of us went out t’ try again
hopin’ this time we would win
oh Kathy I won’t say we can’t go on
holdin’ our new partners in the dawn
but even though our love may still have died
I wish we’d been more givin’ when we tried
The Land Of Becoming
once I lived in the land o’ becomin’
once I watched only over me
once I danced with joy an’ desire
once I felt like I was free
once I tiptoed the edge o’ beginnin’
peakin’ at what I would be
once I fell into the sense o’ meanin’
fergettin’ would give t’ me
once I went on ferever
in my great wide open beyond
once flowed like an unceasin’ river
from a bottomless shimmerin’ pond
once I searched my glorious being
ferever comin’ into the light
unfoldin’ relentlessly into my seein’
out of a previous night
each face I uncovered I quickly fergot
as a brighter one took its place
‘til finally I came t’ where I am not
‘cause I can’t recognize my own face
an’ when I fergot me I finally saw you
when you fergot you ya saw me
ya uncovered me an’ I uncovered you
an’ in each other’s light we could be
snow fallin’ down makes a soft little sound
that most o’ the world don’t hear
most people’s hearts are thumpin’ so loud
it’s the only sound in their ears
up in the parks along the Front Range
the night can be quiet an’ long
things that ya hear can seem new an’ strange
but the silence is its own kinda song
each little flake’s like a dyin’ dove
a soft tiny plop on the ground
an’ the fire in the stove’s like dyin’ love
fadin’ softly as it burns down
ya can hear an elk bugle down by the creek
coyotes howl, hooves an’ antlers clatter
an’ ya can’t find a voice fer the words ya should speak
‘cause yer feelin’s jus’ don’t seem t’ matter
sometimes the sound o’ the skin yer in
is so loud it shatters yer ears
an’ ya give up yerself jus’ t’ save a dear friend
in spite o’ the truth in yer tears
most people think we’re jus’ dust t’ dust
an’ what matters is what’s inside
but on the side o’ the road when it all goes bust
yer gonna wonder what really died
up in the mountains on a cold black night
yer life can go over the side
an’ the sound o’ the snowflakes is so soft an’ light
like a whisper o’ somethin’ that died
down at the bottom in the wreck there was peace
I could hear the blood drippin’ outa my head
I lay there dyin’ waitin’ fer my release
but ya jus’ wouldn’t leave me fer dead
an’ the sound o’ the snowflakes is so soft an’ light
in Colorado so silent an’ still
an’ it’s always in a whisper that ya hear what’s right
like a shadow comin’ over the hill
Sunday mornin’s a soft conversation
with my friend on the porch in the sun
a hot cup o’ coffee an’ a sweet dissipation
t’ the cold in my bones has begun
all over the county birds chirp affirmation
another day’s come outa the night
an’ the dew melts away in the warm revelation
o’ the world spinnin’ into the light
then suddenly lost in deep fascination
I watch the work o’ her needle an’ thread
the deft fingers sewin’ with no hesitation
patch a shirt I once gave up fer dead
across the street church bells are ringin’
across the street people are singin’
up on the porch in the promisin’ day
I’m thinkin’ ‘bout love an’ fear
an’ in spite o’ the sorrow along the way
I ain’t sad that I ended up here
with a laughin’ “think fast” an’ a cute little smile
she tosses my shirt at me
it won’t last ferever but it ‘ll do fer a while
‘til the patch shrinks away an’ pulls free
across the street church bells are ringin’
across the street people are singin’
another Sunday service is done
an’ children run laughin’ an’ shoutin’
their beautiful day’s jus’ begun
Your Beautiful Dust
lookin’ fer places t’ jus’ begin
tryin’ t’ fit in between the lines
if ya’ find there ain’t no room at the inn
there’s a stable ‘ll do jus’ fine
fallin’ into the chosen story
siezed in a moment o’ trust
fergettin’ yer past o’ rest an’ glory
dressed up in yer beautiful dust
buildin’ a child, buildin’ a town
buildin’ a world o’ peace
buildin’ a house that ‘d once fallen down
‘til we all come an’ go as we please
I’ seen a mansion on a hill
with windows all full o’ light
there ya ‘ll come an’ be what ya will
in spite o’ the fallin’ night
buildin’ a child, buildin’ a town
buildin’ a love that don’t end
fillin’ a house that looked fallen down
with kids who don’t hafta pretend
fallin’ off o’ the mountain
lost in a moment o’ trust
landin’ next t’ a fountain
dressed up in yer beautiful dust
The Godless World
While in prison in 1944 for conspiring to assassinate Adolf Hitler, a 39 year old Lutheran pastor named Dietrich Bonhoeffer began to work out some remarkable propositions concerning his religious beliefs. He wrote of humanity entering an age of Godlessness in classical terms, and age necessitating a maturity into an adult humanism with anthropomorphically derived responsibilities and values. He defined the future of humanity as a process of growing into adulthood in all its suppositions, a future without superstitious fairy tale perceptions of God, a future of human introspection, yet a future of robust engagement with living the human condition willing to know the cosmic consequences wholly. He wrote of religion-less religion, a faith of adult self knowing rather than child like hoping. He wrote that God in a goodly act of fatherhood had now forsaken humanity as a mystical provider of common sense hoping, because the infant human species must now seize its own destiny from its own wherewithal, without any supportive fantasy.
For Bonhoeffer faith was completely embracing and engaging this Godless human situation with all its sorrow and failure; to live in the world as it really is now, with no miracles, no rescue, no external source of value appropriation other that the utter sublime embrace of human maturity. The cross of Jesus to him was bearing a full human engagement with an adult responsibility for self development, and its clearly obvious necessity of responsibility for other development. For him the father had not forsaken the child, but rather left him to grow up into a sharing of the fatherhood of adult children with God himself.
In what poignantly amount to theophanic terms for modern man he writes that we must engage life without a working hypothesis for what our God may be, and trust that it is God's wisdom that draws us to mature and share in his suffering for the world. He writes of Jesus waking his disciples in sadness and saying, “You could not watch and wait one hour with me in my prayers and suffering?” Bonhoeffer predicts that we are all destined to be awakened to this true state of things; this adulthood, watching, waiting patiently, supporting and suffering together for our true human destiny. In the sorrow, in the patient suffering, adult wholly human unconditional love is waiting to be discovered. We are free to grow or wither.
In the end Bonhoeffer maintains that we must find God in his weakness to know him enough to love him; and that we are not free of an unavoidable envy to really love a God who is powerful in the human world. He argues that God leaves us in the world without knowing anything about him, so that we may find the qualities in ourselves that our are true inheritance of him. God has, as Bonhoeffer puts it, Let himself be pushed out of the world in crucifixion and death, so that we may discover in ourselves our own life.
The Spiral Staircase
I seen a spiral staircase
standin’ on a dreamy shore
run right up through the clouds
all the way t’ heaven’s door
‘round about each narrow step
a railin’ circled tight
kept anybody climbin’ there
from fallin’ through the night
I never had no fear o’ fallin’
still I wondered at the sight
I could hear some tender voices callin’
like children beamin’ an’ bright
then I seen a man in a gown
all covered in dirty handprints
by a cyclone whirlin’ ‘round
full o’ unsaid words an’ wind
he reached in an’ pulled out a song
in a language I couldn’t hear
with music that sounded all wrong
an’ words spoke out o’ fear
he poured it in a silver cup
an’ held it out t’ me
I wondered as I drank it up
would it set my children free
a boy’s voice echoes down a tombstone alley
keenin’ out o’ the graveyard night
anybody seen my sister Sally
Daddy’s beat down bad from a fight
the bigger boys sit on the casket lids
dead cold steel underneath their baggy sweats
they’re fourteen now an’ they ain’t no kids
an’ these streets are as rough as it gets
the streetlights hang their heads an’ sigh
an’ the whole damn clique turns mean
hey little brother forget it get high
go on, get up an’ outa yer scene
I met a savior on a ghetto street
he had no hands an’ he had no feet
his lips were blue as he said to me
this frost burns t’ the death of me
give me the hands t’ touch a face
give me the feet t’ walk someplace
count the cost up, count it twice
then set yer face against this ice
then the children came t’ play in the snow
an’ I watched the city dyin’ slow
an’ howlin’ from the cracklin’ night
the brutish wind cursed black an’ white
I’ been ‘roun’ children playin’ nearly all my years
I know their laughin’ well, I’ dried their tears
I ain’t no expert, but friend the eyes betray
the suff’rin’ in the tiny souls o’ children at play
when ya walk into the dirt floor rooms
o’ those strange fergotten places
old men’s eyes look back at ya
from nervous baby faces
they play an’ giggle some, children always will
but sorta in slow motion, half afraid t’ cry
some’ got a cried out look, like tears’ll never spill
talkin’ is a major chore, the words jus’ seem t’ die
I ain’t no crusader, I dunno who t’ blame
fer all those little Jesus Christs, we couldn’t feed
I ain’t got no answers, I jus’ think it’s a shame
babies hafta die fer me, to get the grace I need
when ya walk into the dirt floor rooms
o’ those strange fergotten places
ancient eyes look back at ya
from nervous baby faces
I gotta have an answer
I jus’ can’t shake the shame
that babies hafta die fer me
t’ get the grace I claim
there are rules that some men hold to
in an image they would mold you
of a God that they can’t trace
havin’ never seen his face
ya can find a God t’ die fer
an’ there’s a lotta dreams t’ try fer
but the fear that ya can’t shake
is the chain ya hafta break
it’s only love that leads ya
t’ the secret heart that needs ya
in all the hungry places
in starvin’ children’s faces
a livin’ God is dyin’ by yer hand
toward the end of each December
there’s a birthday some remember
of a man they never knew
that they say is God’s son too
but they buy no gifts t’ please him
‘cause no one ever sees him
an’ it makes no sense t’ share
with someone made of air
love can only lead to
another love to need you
hauntin’ hungry places
in starvin’ children’s faces
a livin’ God is reachin’ fer yer hand
in a dungeon with walls o’ glass
live the prisoners o’ class
windowed t’ their dreams but locked and barred
from the one time big connection
by the self righteous rejection
o’ some glittered saint whose pockets are unscarred
who cries
I did it all in yer name Jesus
far an’ wide I brought ya fame
I did it all for you, I’m not t’ blame Jesus
if those lost ones never came
a poor man cannot resist them
and soon supports their system
these big bright shiny men, who speak o’ better days
into hands that take not give
trustin’ words that die not live
these poor ones spend their future on some rich man’s purple haze
who cries
I built it fer the glory of yer name Jesus
I thought these shining walls would bring you fame
I built it all for you I’m not to blame Jesus
if they waited and heaven never came
from coffers of conceit
the televised elite
hope t’ speculate on mansions in the sky
though some may trust the dreams
o’ their demagogic schemes
they just can’t buy the kind o’ wings it takes t’ really fly
what are they doin’ in your name Jesus
are they playin’ a clean game
I don’t really think ya came Jesus
t’ leave the poor man in his shame
One Generation
ya mighta heard there was salvation
at an altar in a glen
ya mighta gone there as a nation
tryin’ t’ put off yer sin
but the priest that was waitin’ jus’ offered ya death
put his cold bony hand on yer heart
an’ jus’ fer a minute as ya struggled fer breath
ya saw faces, an’ places, an’ a promise to do yer part
yer God’s jus’ a God o’ one generation
He don’t give a damn where ya been
‘cause the children that chose ya without hesitation
once believed ya would let them begin
an’ all o’ the little ones that ya jus’ offered death
only came t’ lead ya back t’ the shore
an’ jus’ fer a minute as they struggled fer breath
they saw faces, an’ places, an’ wept ‘cause ya coulda been more
ya mighta heard there was salvation
at an altar in a glen
but God’s jus’ a God of one generation
it’s yer children who lead ya back in
somewhere out there’s a garden court o’ wise an’ subtle minds
an’ princes an’ philosophers contend on what ‘ll come t’ pass
an’ children play about the place, an’ lovers live there free an’ clean
an’ everybody watchin’ there anticipates an answer - an’ clarity
they all choose sides, one side is right, one side is wrong
the only thing that matters is the truth
a lot o’ them ‘r’ runaways who love the garden life
they made it all an’ care fer it, they think they won’t get trapped
they cling t’ what they think they are an’ never give an inch
their light might rival all the stars, but stars can jus’ go dark
they jus’ make waves, one washes in, one washes out
the only thing that matters is the truth
my son turned eighteen on the day them towers come crashin’ down
huddled ‘roun’ the television my family watched in shock
my boys all talked o’ war, an’ my girls were all in tears
we jus’ kep’ watchin’, an’ searchin’ fer reasons - an’ sanity
ever’body wants t’ tell their side, some build things up, some tear things down
the only thing that matters is the truth
most people do the things they do t’ prove somethin’ t’ God
some try t’ show they’re good, some try t’ show they’re hurt
no matter what grand things they do they jus’ can’t prove a thing
they can’t prove God, hell they can’t even start t’ prove themselves
ever’body wants t’ live in peace, some talk o’ faith, some talk o’ love
the only thing that matters is the truth
all children learn t’ trust what they believe in, an’ never know
the only thing ya gotta prove is truth
The Patriot's Hope
I find it humorous at times that I am left with breath enough for passing new days; days that cannot be my future; as I swear they grace or splatter a page long before they come to any reading. Yet come they do, refusing to cease, like so many tattered pages of the forgotten nows of scribblers yet to come. It bangs my head at times like cymbals in between the already painfully sparkling pulses marking out my human days here. The joke is that I can write at all of anything that is; since it is not for me anymore; but somehow, there we all are: angels on a reckless trek toward flesh and blood and green blue bright and shining worlds.
In early September walking about the town I can never have, for there is no return to any error of what once was, as it never should have passed as so even then; I marked a cicada at eye level on a tree trunk, drying and growing it wings spread to the sun; not yet knowing why I fixed it in my mind at all. As luck would have it on an evening in a day or two returning downcast I kicked a ball of twine in idle rage across the parking lot stunned to its unraveling perfectly revolving and laying down a trail of twine for twenty feet or so. An event again not exactly out of the ordinary, yet something to barely notice for later recall, a kyogen in a way for me in the kind of days I lately pass.
All men are not brothers. It is the way of it for humans that fraternity is latent; just a mention in the molecules of the planet, a spun up arrangement of circumstance for simply greeting things with some kind of hope. As such,brotherhood is a facilitation of introduction to its own idea, a saying of self to self in and through a same wound string of possibilities. To me every motion is literary in some sense; and as such, philosophy is a literary device unencumbered of responsibility for truth, but rather a simple stimulation to motion away from the normal human evanescence toward self-apostasy.
All men are not brothers, and this is evidenced in this age in the natural hostility of the planet itself to the misuse and abuse of it by men. A human brotherhood would not destroy the enablement of itself. Sadly, it is now sure: that the lie written out in the sky, the deception cut out in festering wounds across the earth, the commingled abomination pouring out of spring and stream and river; is breathed and eaten and drunk toward a sacramental marking of the clans in this deepening age – the stupefied degenerate, or those rooted in and by the saying of this place; the fearful grasping greedy, or the makers of the human future that is a future at all.
It is true that once at Nuremburg we held the world in rapt attention, full grown with strong and youthful dreams; even as Wolfe had surely marked it to come; with hard, dry, and powerful young wings, a ghastly beautiful creature not to be ignored, yelling out its dreams from tree to tree for brotherhood, life, and goodness. But now that startlingly loud and arrogantly arduous claim to hope has been devoured by the clangor and cry of both the enablers and the victims of greed. The vibrant youthful song has disappeared into its natural destiny of cacophony, and its new children, though of the same flesh, are not all brothers in the same good and natural hope once sung so loudly.
There at Nuremburg we were the well-grown and loudly dreaming children of an old political marriage, consummated of necessity in the face of an unjust and cruel apostasy. We were for all to see in our glorious dreamings: the posterity of Calvin, Zwingli, and Luther, wed to Hobbes, Smith and Hume – reformation Protestantism wed to Capitalistic Scientism – the true forbears of American freedom. We should not be surprised that what was then thrown down sought new life; re-assimilation and inculcation into the glorious mortality that had robbed delusion of the vain underpinnings of its claims to immortality.
But this is an older story still: of forlorn Ariadne and the frustration of self-betrayal, and now we live it ourselves; for greed is the seed now spun up in the DNA of this age to bloom to its fullest extreme again. She offered herself and the whole soul of her own people in exchange for attention and new children. When the posterity of her own people was overthrown, and she was spurned by the conqueror, she turned to idle pleasure, vain and inattentive immortality, and a numb and satiating disengagement from cycling life and death. She stands in the harbor now, her gaudy light held high, sensuously clad in the diamonds of her glowing national heritage, bent on seduction and another betrayal. It was right to be young and loud then; but never to grasp at the claim of righteous and pure – for that is what was thrown down then in that striving noon of our days.
There are no eyes more blind, nor ears more deaf, than those of the children of the children of glory. The fault of the failure of my generation; that of Huey, Bobby, Martin, and Malcolm, of Janis, Jimi, Lennon, and Dylan; lies not with our fathers but with our fatherhood. Wolfe could easily have marked that the cycle comes now to burial; for human self-apostasy can only die under the stern and steadfast force of the soil of the planet itself.
I am sure, though rare, that the wherewithal of brotherhood is scattered here and there across the universe on spheres spun up for a time in an order that avoids their knocking together; but I am also sure that brotherhood is of the same essential qualities there. The potential to gain brotherhood lies in the dirt, however exotic, that enables its expression. For Ariadne the question remains: would the possession of brotherhood and its mortality, and the production of a mortal posterity, erase the taste and thrill of a dalliance with immortality from herself and her posterity; or is it become genetic, memetic, or viral?
Here literature may find some blame for itself, as Wolfe again struggled to explain. To write with any active purpose toward judgments of human merit in general is probably criminal without an autobiographical account of the self. Perhaps immortality once had is inescapable doom. I think to write beyond a mere vanity of useless instruction demands a thorough engagement with self-examination. It may be that immortality once had can only be written away with memories of mortality. It is surely a koan for this age: the whether or not to share the rusty needle and the morphine with Tristessa. Nations are only people in literary thrall; and as such, like the fabric of the universe, unavoidably autobiographical. They cannot rest then on any apocalyptic hope of indehiscence; for they are relentlessly written not toward any blankly vain and blustered emptiness, but rather toward humility. There the patriot's hope is renewed...
standin’ high an’ ancient, worn an’ brittle on a hill
leftover from a daydream there’s a great ol’ house o’ dust
in every crooked window tired curtains cling the rotten sill
an’ through all the ages busted panes resist no season’s thrust
every battered door unhinged but the rustin’ locks still sound
the burglar ‘r the henchman walk the place right with the saint
timbers set beneath a different sun keep it all from fallin’ down
an’ every new owner puts on his own new coat of paint
ya can whisper, ya can scream, ya can mumble ‘r shout
ya can come t’ bring peace ‘r bring harm
no answers, no lies, no thoughts are held out
they blow through them rooms like a storm
no single body‘s held from its rooms
in it ya’ll find what ya find
no single body’s held from its tomb
neither cruel nor kind
Forget Me Not
somebody tried t’ tell me ya’d leave
‘r jus’ be taken away
it was jus’ somethin’ I couldn’t believe
‘cause I knew jus’ what ya’d say
butterflys flowers and snowflakes
seem t’ die at jus’ the touch of a man
I think it’s only ‘cause they cry an’ ache
t’ know the things that he can
all o’ the tears that we suffered an’ shed
along the path that we stepped
could only remember an’ bring back the dead
it was only love that we wept
all that we walk is a valley o’ tears
but we fill the meadows with rain
an’ everyone blossoms beyond their own fears
‘cause o’ somebody else’s pain
all that we walk is a valley o’ tears
we breathe in a body o’ fears
but out there alone in that wasteland o’ thought
I know ya’ll forget me not