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MY GRANDFATHER SINGS AGAIN I found a cassette with your voice singing.
The wheels of the tape turned away from time
to let me hear your rendition of Folsom Prison Blues.
When I was a boy, I sat on your lap and you taught
me those words--the song of a lonely prisoner
staring from his cell window at the miles
of metal rail that lead the train past the jail.
When I was a boy, the dollar bill woven in your strings
was a rattling snare of steam; your voice was a wheel
grinding the track, rolling across California.
But now, when that song floats into my adult ears,
you are the whole train pressing on into the distance
and I am the prisoner listening to a whistle blow
the hot sound of freedom. I am watching
the train's slow escape, the soot billow falling behind
to earth as a frown of black cloud.
This is one of my sensei's poem's-- one of my favorites-- from his collection entitled, "Morning and What has Come Since." (Finish Line Press) Dave Harrity's blog is here.
Why do these images feel like Advent to me?
Labels: poetry
posted by John David Walt | at 12/13/2007 07:07:00 PM
Today...
1 Comments:
"people get ready, there's a train a comin'..."
i think the idea of captivity hearing, sensing freedom, is the idea of advent.
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