Sunday, August 13, 2006

Wish You Were Here

The Poet Laureate of Bellemaison sent a card, with a poem, and wrote a note, directing us to go here. You should go too. You'll know everyone.

Willie Metcalf

I was Willie Metcalf.
They used to call me "Doctor Meyers"
Because, they said, I looked like him.
And he was my father, according to Jack McGuire.
I lived in the livery stable,
Sleeping on the floor
Side by side with Roger Baughman's bulldog.
Or sometimes in a stall.
I could crawl between the legs of the wildest horses
Without getting kicked--we knew each other.
On spring days I tramped through the country
To get the feeling, which I sometimes lost,
That I was not a separate thing from the earth.
I used to lose myself, as if in sleep,
By lying with eyes half-open in the woods.
Sometime I talked with animals--even toads and snakes--
Anything that had an eye to look into.
Once I saw a stone in the sunshine
Trying to turn into jelly.
In April days in this cemetery
The dead people gathered all about me,
And grew still, like a congragation in silent prayer.
I never knew whether I was a part of the earth
With flowers growing in me, or whether Iwalked--
Now I know.

--Edgar Lee Masters
Spoon River Anthology

The 'Kan EWA


green libertarian said...

Spoon? Spooning, now that I know about.

curtcon said...

DO the boys and girls still go to Siever’s
For cider, after school, in late September?
Or gather hazel nuts among the thickets
On Aaron Hatfield’s farm when the frosts begin?
For many times with the laughing girls and boys
Played I along the road and over the hills
When the sun was low and the air was cool,
Stopping to club the walnut tree
Standing leafless against a flaming west.
Now, the smell of the autumn smoke,
And the dropping acorns,
And the echoes about the vales
Bring dreams of life. They hover over me.
They question me:
Where are those laughing comrades?
How many are with me, how many
In the old orchards along the way to Siever’s,
And in the woods that overlook
The quiet water?

Hare Drummer

jb3ll3 said...

the imagry is unparalleled!

green libertarian said...

Well now that's bizarre, I read that as Siemer's, I've been going to Siemer's Farm in Green Bluff, just outside Spokane, for years and years. Every fall, to U-pick pumpkins, and drink cider. And do the Corn Maze.

green libertarian said...

As you can see at:

the psycho therapist said...

You see, Green, it was no error. Perhaps there is GREAT meaning of life for you at this farm so your post works here as well as on the Thermals. (big smile)

/waving goodnight to Schmeebs, Green and Curtaincall.

Have I told you lately how much I love you all? Thank you.

jb3ll3 said...

I've been going to Siemer's for, gulp, over 25 years. Drove a car pool up there for kindergarten and never forgot the way. :) And when I read Hare Drummer I thought immmediately of Green Bluff and Siemer's. Go to the site and read the poems and pick on, gLib. They are luscious....

jb3ll3 said...

I love you all, back. :) xo

Shellz said...

And here's one more who remembers both Green Bluff and Siemers. I just wrote a little reminiscing story about harvest time at Green Bluff for a Seattle magazine a couple weeks ago. I guess it was 30 some years ago when I went there as a kid. Probably a bit more commercialized these days.

The website link and poems/epitaphs are fascinating. I read a half dozen or so and they all spoke to me in different ways. This one resonated in particular... maybe just because I had an eye exam last week... plus it reminded me of PT's tagline about "narrowing the gap between the way I see it and the way it is." That's the assignment, eh... for those of us who will take it on anyway...

Dippold the Optician

What do you see now?
Globes of red, yellow, purple.
Just a moment! And now?
My father and mother and sisters.
Yes! And now?
Knights at arms, beautiful women, kind faces.
Try this.
A field of grain—a city.
Very good! And now?
A young woman with angels bending over her.
A heavier lens! And now?
Many women with bright eyes and open lips.
Try this.
Just a goblet on a table.
Oh I see! Try this lens!
Just an open space—I see nothing in particular.
Well, now!
Pine trees, a lake, a summer sky.
That’s better. And now?
A book.
Read a page for me.
I can’t. My eyes are carried beyond the page.
Try this lens.
Depths of air.
Excellent! And now?
Light, just light, making everything below it a toy world.
Very well, we’ll make the glasses accordingly.

jb3ll3 said...


Thank you for playing. I loved the Optician. No I love 'em all!