It is my fervent wish that any two people in a romantic relationship have found what Maureen and i have found, and as i believe, my parents had it all along. All else is secondary.

i wrote the first part of this “epic poem” while at sea (obviously) two months after we had married and one month after she spent the Labor Day weekend with me in Jacksonville, Florida before my last ship, the USS Yosemite (AD-19) deployed. i wrote the second one two days ago, thinking of it when i woke up and putting the first draft down before i went off for golf. i suspect there will be a third part of this later.

To Maureen: The Beginning of an Epic Poem

Indian Ocean phosphorescence;
glowing waves in the night awe me no longer
(younger sailors almost shout in delight
at the discovery of sparkling waves),
i walk back to my stateroom with better things to do:
to dream true visions:

There should have been a diaphanous mist,
ethereal, mystical,
flowing about her
when she walked toward me the first time

Mind, do not play tricks on me.
i desire to remember the moment exactly as it was:
Clear, finite.

Her dress seemed to be a gossamer gown
softly caressing the elegance of her body;
her hair curled softly,
falling gracefully to her shoulders,
framing the delicate, fine features.
Eyes, oh eyes, drawing me in, taking my breath,
suggested more than my mind could comprehend,
grasped my soul and told me
Scherazade’s thousand tales,
drew me into the bottomless pit of emotion
before i knew emotion had no end;
allowed me to float suspended in her beauty.
i was afraid to speak,
afraid i might fall from suspension,
break the image before me.
then we got down to business.
What in god’s name did i think, i think.
perhaps suspicions of such beauty, certainly awed.
i made a joke.
Did she notice i was nervous?
Oh little boy, walk away as if
you were merely happy with the thought
you will see her at least one more time.

i am deep into the Indian Ocean night.
i have learned to gauge the depth of the night
by the strength of the coffee.
now the coffee is very strong, very black.
the work seems endless.
the sea infinite.

Yet i smile
when i dream of her.

over the hill: the continuation of an epic poem that began in my head, 1982

the wind blows gently over the hill
from the sea to the west
to the home
where we have lived
some thirty-plus years;
she sits across from me at breakfast,
by my side at the kitchen counter for lunch,
on her love seat, me in the lounge chair
with dinner trays for supper;
she usually goes to bed early;
later, i slip i beside her,
touch her hand,
no more than that:
quite different from years past,
i wish her to sleep, not wake her,
(rituals of the marriage dance, you see)
she does not completely understand me,
but
probably more than i understand her;
we agree on most things;
we are different,
far different than either of us
ever imagined when it all began
in an Rx7, dinners, sailing,
John Lee Hooker, Doc Watson,
Sarah Vaughn, MJQ,
Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra,
Mose Allison:
not the stuff of today,
before i went back to sea for a while;
we either laugh at our differences
or understand and abide;
she is as beautiful as when i met her
just a little bit different from younger years;
she remains so beautiful inside
it makes my heart ache to be without her
for more than half a day.

you see, we have learned to love
through all sorts of stuff
and
this makes our world calmer,
which is what love is supposed to be.

A week or so ago, i posted a short story about Venerable T Houston. Part of this character was modeled after the legend of Hamper McBee., but with all of my fictional characters, Venerable, in no way is Hamper. i get my ideas from people, events, and things i remember, and then they become different from the source, greatly different.

Billy Parsons introduced me to Hamper in the early sixties while we were at Vanderbilt.. A Nashville dentist whose name i do not remember was a student of Tennessee folk music who went up to Monteagle Mountain, found Hamper and recorded him, mostly out in the woods. i have lost my copy of that record, which included a number of narratives of Hamper’s in addition to folk songs. i loved it and, after i lost the album, i looked for another copy for years. In the late 1980’s, i finally found a cassette tape of the album in a classic old record/music store in. of all places, San Diego. That version is holed way with a large box of my CD’s up in the garage attic. i’m too lazy to go dig it out.

Hamper McBee was a mountain man, a legend, and just a tad wild. He was rather incredible and well known by the locals and even some of my friends. When you crossed Monteagle Mountain headed southeast on old route US-41 back in the day after an uncountable number of switchbacks, you reached the crest. The highway took you through the town of Monteagle, To the southwest was Sewanee and between the two towns was Tubby’s. Tubby’s was a tavern.  If a white mule was tied up outside, Hamper was inside drinking beer, spinning his tales, and singing. i regret i was always in a hurry and never stopped to see if the mule was there. Mind you, this is a legend i cannot verify.

Then, Amy Beth Hill, another Heights alum and the Director of Member Services at the International Bluegrass Music Association, posted about my hometown’s Antique Mall and a store with about a  gazillion old records (at least it seemed that way). It brought back my longing to hear Hamper McBee.

So i searched on Google, and lo and behold, he popped up. i ordered a record from the MTSU Marketplace, something that they didn’t have when i (finally) obtained my BA in English. If you are looking for some great old time music, this is a great source.

The album, “Hamper McBee: Cumberland Moonshiner” arrived three days ago. It has not been continuously played, but it’s been played a lot, and when it’s not playing, i’m humming one of the songs.

While searching, i ran across the video of Hamper telling his stories while making moonshine whiskey. If you want to hear some good old hill music and learn a bit about making white lightning, This video is a must.

arhttp://www.folkstreams.net/film-detail.php?id=236

John Moriarty, i thought you might find this amusing.