Obama in Montana

barge-mcnco-no_20

my great grandfather Johnnie O’Sullivan had a peg leg

and piloted the St Lawrence for Alcoa Aluminum in 1903

when the ice trapped his barge

and the Iroquois moose hunters saved him

and brought him to their village to recuperate

 

after two months, everyone in Colosse gave him up for dead

but Johnnie showed up on Easter Sunday at the back porch

to surprise my great grandmother Rosalie as she was leaving for church.

 

the nation electing Obama President feels like that.

Advertisements

the road to hell

poem by charles bukowski from The Flash of Lightening Behind the Mountain

the road to hell

if only there were more magic people

to help us get through

this strange life.

 

surpisingly there are a few.

 

the problem being that often

their magic doesn’t hold up

for long

mainly

because they begin to

think it’s because

they are special

 

when really

it’s almost an off-hand thing

like some damned crazy unearned

gift.

 

and when the magic people

begin to misuse their

prowess

begin to use it

in the wrong ways

then

it

vanishes

 

and

that’s a

law

 

and it’s one of the most

unalterable laws

of the gods and the

universe

 

and there is

nothing sadder

or more

frightening

than the once-gifted ones

still trying to work their

magic

for the

crowd

 

which never offers,

but only

accepts.

mercy.

 

-Charles Bukowski

 

time for a missoula break – remembering a little of why i am here

Richard Hugo 1923-1982

understand he loved to fish and write. I missed meeting him by a year. by the time i arrived his writing notebooks had been archived in the Mike and Maureen Mansfield Library at the University of Montana. i had the good fortune to actually touch those tear and coffee and beer stained pages before they were carefully catalogued and microfilmed away to their secret sepulchre.

touching real pages worn with Dick’s scratched out doodles and margin thoughts felt like a special privilege- much like living in missoula is a special privilege. the beauty of the place haunts me as i go about my appointed rounds. the privilege to meet and listen to many of Hugo’s understudies like the ever shy buffalo William Kittredge and our town’s now newly mourned James Crumley has been a uniquely missoulian privilege. meeting my life long partner at Charlie’s and sharing missoula with her has been a rare privilege also. the gratitude i feel for the gifts that missoula has brought me cannot be expressed in words because i cannot write like this man could. the following is my favorite poem about a bar not far upriver from here.

The Milltown Union Bar

(Laundromat & Cafe)

You could love here, not the lovely goat

in plexiglass nor the elk shot

in the middle of a joke, but honest drunks

crossed swords above the bar,three men hung

in the bad painting, others riding off

on the phony green horizon. The owner,

fresh from orphan wars, loves too

but bad as you. He keeps improving things

but can’t cut the bodies down.

You need never leave. Money or a story

brings you booze. The elk is grinning

and the goat says go so tenderly

you hear him through the glass. If you weep

deer heads weep. Sing and the orphanage

announces plans for your release. A train

goes by and ditches jump. You were nothing

going in and now you kiss your hand.

When mills shut down, when the worst drunk

says finally I’m stone, three men still hang

painted badly from a leafless tree, you

one of them, brains tied behind your back,

swinging for your sin. Or you swing

with goats and elk. Doors of orphanages

finally swing out and here you open in.

for Harold Herndon

-from The Lady In Kicking Horse Reservoir- Poems by Dick Hugo

half dozen poems

here in missoula

Indians must teach us the true way

to conduct a seance

because our dead are so outnumbered

 

 

a long time ago

 

we writhed like worms on barbed hooks

dangled in front of hungry trout

but we found a way to crawl off

and dig out homes more suitable

than teeth

 

grew up on

 

Looking Glass Hill 845 Cheshire street

where jar headed kids on stingrays

threw dirt clods and filberts at the weak

and the lonely vet drank all day telling us

he was the first up Iwo Jima and his kids

gave me whooping cough

 

 

best job i ever had

 

we drilled anchor holes for a snow retaining wall

to keep glaciers from pushing Paradise Lodge

off the side of Mt Rainier

gave away my best bird dog to the construction foreman

who promised her a good home.

met set designers for Muppets Take Manhatten

in the Motel lounge while watching the world series

and we cheered each eruption from Mt Saint Helens.

 

another day in Missoula

 

and another great writer shows his stuff

to the world with great swooping rooster tails

pushed along by 300 horsepower twin merc brains

and here I limp along- nurse my 5 horse Evinrude

with a coughy carburetor

too dumb to be scared

i cut accross the wake

stubborn for that distant shore

 

 

Charlies Bar

 

was also Eddies club when Mr Hugo lived here

but I came too late to Missoula to meet him

so I learned to travel where ghosts end up

and found him almost everywhere I went

given to hyperbole: another reason i love my life

drift fishing the yellowstone in the fall

the absaroka beartooths loom and words fail utterly

words only exaggerate the obvious

and they must fail as literal shells hatch caddis

so that the yellowstone cutthroat can react

words fail 

 

“If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?”-T.S. Eliot

picnic in montana: problembear’s dream #324

there’s been so much to absorb what with elections, wars and all that

i would like to propose a picnic in montana to get to know one another

a potluck for the world

miles davis said we could use his music

and coltrane and thelonius

they will smile on us from above

republicans can bring potato salad and hot dogs

democrats fried chicken and cole slaw

independents can never be told what to bring so surprise us

libertarians same as above

green party how about a nice organic salad and fresh baked bread?

unions bring the beer

country clubbers can bring the wine and scotch

and if you wouldn’t mind terribly, since you can afford it

all the desserts!

homeless bring your hunger

 

me and tom waits will bring ” eggs & sausage with a side of toast

coffee and a roll

hashbrowns over easy

chili in a bowl

burgers & fries….”

can you bring good chips and salsa, pitchers of lemonade?

it is time we took a break from the drama

and enjoy what is here again

Fulcrum

everything still works

and that amazes

considering the birth

of swings and death poets

has dug up enough oil

beneath the Antarctic

to serve roast succulent

penguins for years