AGING: An ode to poems of old

Those of you who have been reading this column for awhile know that one of my loves is poetry. My wife says that part of that comes from our generation when poetry was given more emphasis in school and memorizing was common practice.

I wondered the other day as I watched a gaggle of geese flying south if others seeing that would also remember William Herbert Carruth's poem, "Each In His Own Tongue." One verse of that poem went like this and you will see why it came back to mind:

A haze on the far horizon,

That infinite, tender sky,

The rich ripe tint of the cornfields.

And the wild geese sailing high,

And all over upland and lowland,

The charm of the goldenrod,

Some of us call it Autumn,

And others call it God.

I liked that poem so much I took the liberty of adding a verse to it:

Concern for the rights of others.

That silent voice of restraint,

Suggestions for moral goodness,

A whisper ever so faint,

It reminds us, so very often,

We all should have felt its prod,

Some folks call it conscience.

And others call it God.

That is very serious poetry, but there is the other kind too. Norman Mailer who died recently was quoted in an earlier interview saying that he believed in reincarnation. Reminded me of an acquaintance made during my 20 years in Montana, Walter McRae. Walt wrote a poem entitled, "Reincarnation." "What does reincarnation mean?"

A cowpoke asked a friend.

His pal replied:

It happens when

Yer life has reached its end.

They comb yer hair and warsh your neck,

And clean your fingernails,

And lay you in a padded box

Away from life's travails.

The box and you goes in a hole,

That's been dug in the ground.

Reincarnation starts in when

Yore planted 'neath a mound

Them clods melt down just like yer box,

And you who is inside,

And then yore just beginnin' on

Yer transformation ride."

In a while, the grass will grow

Upon yer rendered mound.

'Till some day on yer moldered grave

A lonely flower is found.

And say a hoss should wander by,

And gaze upon this flower,

That once was you, but now's become

'Yer vegetative bower."

The posie that the hoss done ate

Up, with his other feed.

Makes bone, and fat, and muscle

Essential to the steed.

But some is left that he can't use,

And so it passes through.

And finally lays upon the ground.

This thing that once was you."

Then say, by chance, I wanders by,

And sees this on the ground.

And I ponders, and I wonders at,

This object that I found.

And I thinks of reincarnation,

Of life and death and such.

I come away concludin' Slim,

You ain't changed all that much.

Bernie Hughes, Ed.D., is a retired educator who resides in Superior. He can be reached at Bernie1@cpinternet.com .