With yellow bursting in the grass

“Those yellow flowers, what do you call them? They are so beautiful.”

“We call them weeds.”

The Frenchman cannot understand our reaction to dandelions.

Still, a sparrow carefully picks at the puffs bit by bit for breakfast.

A jerk here, tug there, then swallowing. And flies away.

~*~

Summer Full Out:

Kat smoking her new pipe

~*~

Nosmo:

Our four-legged asshole
an input-output equation
hops on our bed
tears at the carpet
leaps nearly three feet at eleven weeks
stinks terribly
goes after moths
when we call, he comes
“He’s really a dog”
“He’s really a pest”

 

Bear-hunting in mythology, not so far back

The Hunter is typically a male, an image of strength and tribe. In this case, Truckers.

Citizens’ Band radio, take a totem, new name for self:

  • Wildcat
  • Canadian Redhead
  • Blue Marlin (a Chevy van)
  • Kentucky Kid
  • The Illinois Playboy
  • Bluebeard
  • Old Dutchman
  • Bumblebee

with a talking stick / in your hand, in the air / at the wheel of an 18 / yes, eighteen-wheeler

Sometimes talking four-wheeler, too:

“Four-wheeler, she’s clear”

that is, not a Bear

“Ya got ears”

“Keep an eyeball out for”

~*~

Time check
Road check

~*~

“At 205, Eight-O
westbound Bear flipping around”

~*~

“Green stamps” are dollar bills
(reflecting store promotion trading stamps
of the time)
hence, “on the green stamps”
means turnpike tolls
perhaps bridges, too

~*~

“Was you in Harrisburg Pee A last night?
I was a-talkin’ to you”

~*~

In Gilligan’s Island, meaning Ohio
during Governor Gilligan’s term

“The Bears got seventy-five dollars out of me,
lost you,” meaning fine paid

A rig is reported doing “a roly-poly,” that can’t be good.

The signoff of departing or divergent interchanges:

  • “Have a good trip”
    “Don’t feed no Bears”
    “Catch you all later”

Wonder where they all are now.

Dreams of publishing poetry bigtime

In the Far East there is a vital, well-read proletariat literature – speaking for a people.

Here, we have intellectuals playing games. Along with populist idiots.

Still, how much of the Far West book scene I knew revolved around poetry-conscious, well-stocked bookstores that were also patrons to readings, broadsides, and small private volumes.

Suppose, now, a poetry journal allied with a bookstore where its authors’ books could be purchased …

This was pre-Internet, which has opened new opportunities, or before I knew of radical publisher and bookseller Giles Calvert and his Black Spread Eagle on Ludgate Hill near St. Paul Cathedral in London, the voice of many early Quaker tracts and volumes.

 

Step by step somewhere into the wild

Walking unrushed, meaning outdoors, in fresh air, releases something within me: I feel freer. When I begin, I’m like a slightly out-of-tune violin. I enter the woods full of thoughts, problems. The office is still with me, along with many worries. The wind may scurry up leaves, and I jump and then freeze, startled that I may have scared up a large animal of some sort. Or perhaps it’s be a twisting item that resembles a snake. Sometimes the sun stings my eyes. I adjust, from one system of time and timing to another.

As I fall into a rhythm, my mind clears. Poems begin.

In the hills or mountains or along the water, the world is always fresh: sunlight on branches or water.

 

So clear it could shatter a heart

The first three cuts on my first Joan Baez album (acquired in ’62 or ’63) were classic folksongs – “Silver Daggers,” “East Virginia,” and “Fare Thee Well.” Along with a few others, like “Wildwood Flower,” they exhibit a very moving quality that comes not so much from directed words (as in “calf with a mournful eye”) but from a sum that arises outside of the text.

The lyrics themselves are dry, compressed. The songs are best sung emotionally flat, with a childlike beauty and comprehension (or lack of it). Above all, there is a kind of detachment that makes the whole thing even more touching or eternal.

From Maynard Solomon’s album liner notes: “A remarkably compressed love story. … In its four short verses loom enough tragic characters to populate an 18th century novel … the haunting and mysterious opening verse, with its claim of historical authenticity and its foreboding of personal bereavement. … Perhaps its beauty comes from its biblical connotations, for the imagery of the closing verses is related to New Testament descriptions of the Last Judgment, and the song ends with a quotation from Mark (XII,20) – ‘Till all these things be done.’ … The seemingly obscure and disconnected text is emotionally fused. … Like many another favorite from North Carolina and its neighboring states, [it] has the strange quality of rejoicing as it laments, exulting as it weeps …”

I did not yet know my family roots in North Carolina, but I have taken this, internalized, as an ideal in my own writing that has followed, not that what’s followed has manifested that way over the years. Think, too, of how her material changed.

 

Lost and found in the woods of Lampkins Ridge

VO showing the grave sites of two infants at the edge of his ravine: one stone left, the other one, dating to early 1800s, stolen …

~*~

I see now, 50-some years later, there’s actually a public-access trail around there.

~*~

Further to the east was Brown County, with its rugged geology, state and national forests, and a large state park, making it Indiana’s outdoors destination. It definitely feels like stepping back in time. I have memories of hiking and camping there as a Boy Scout, even before my explorations during the time covered in my return to the university.

Hiking trail photograph by Kgirischandra  via Wikimedia Commons.

 

Panorama views by Elizabeth Nicodemus via Wikipedia Commons.

I had friends who lived in log cabins, which remain in widespread use in the southern part of the state.