Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome
Nothing about me shines or sparkles. If asked,
I would place myself among the discarded —
remnant cloth and straw, worn, inedible,
useless, if not for packaging intended to
convey a certain message, which I of course
have subverted to “Welcome, corvids!” Even
my voice lies stranded in the refuse, silent
yet harmonious, clear yet strangled, whole
and unheard, dispersed, like tiny drops of
vapor listing above the ocean’s swell, enduring
gray skies and gulls and those solemn rocks
bearing their weight against the white crush.
Why do I persist? What tethers a shadow
to its body? How do we hear by implication
what isn’t there? Bill Monroe hammered
his mandolin, chopping chords, muting,
droning, banging out incomplete minors
to expectant ears, constructing more than
a ladder of notes climbing past the rafters
into the smoky sky. What I sing is not
heard but implied: the high lonesome, blue
and old-time, repealed. Crushed limestone
underfoot. Stolen names, borrowed sounds.
Dark words subsumed by light, yellowed,
whitened, faded to obscurity, to obscenity.
Who among you has eaten a cake based on a poem? Stephanie L. Harper made this for me to celebrate a recent birthday. The photo doesn’t do it justice – the level of detail, especially in the crow feathers, doesn’t come through. An incredible cake by an incredible poet and human being. And wife! I am a lucky man.
“Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome” first appeared in Crannóg, in June 2017.
O at the Edges 
A seriously impressive cake! Welcome indeed, Corvids.
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Stephanie’s got some serious cake-decorating chops! Yum!
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Excellent poem. Beautiful cake (I would guess that, if that much attention was given, it probably tasted wonderful, also…though I’m sure there was a pang attached to the need to cut it).
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Thanks, Robert. It was difficult to cut into, but knowing that it was chocolate Amaretto made the deed easier. 😛
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You are a very lucky man Robert .. the poem is totally sumptuous, and I love this piece ..
” constructing more than
a ladder of notes climbing past the rafters
into the smoky sky. What I sing is not
heard but implied: the high lonesome, blue
and old-time, repealed. Crushed limestone
underfoot.”
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I do know how very fortunate I am! And thank you!
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An excellent and fitting gift. (K)
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I had no idea what Stephanie was plotting. What a great surprise!
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I adore all corvids (ravens especially but crows and magpies also spin my gears) – and I find your scarecrow poems delightful!
A sense of kinship in defying the “expected” to befriend the delightful. The cake looks yummy but how could you bring yourself to cut into it?!
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Scarecrow might be a bit of a contrarian. 🙂 Well, I’d tasted a bit of the cake – Stephanie made a three-layer cake, and then trimmed it, to form the pumpkin, and she offered me a taste of the trimmings. Once I’d had that taste, there was no possibility of NOT eating it. Though I really would have liked to preserve it and place it on top of the book cabinet of my desk.
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A marvellous culinary creation and a delightful poem
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It truly was marvelous!
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I am gobsmacked by the cake….how could you eat it???!!! And your poem, of course, too, LOL….but that CAKE!!
I keep returning to the last line, how obscurity becomes obscenity. Sweet.
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Ha! Well, chocolate-Amaretto. I couldn’t keep from eating it.
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Bob said “Scarecrow” in his sleep a few weeks ago. I figured he was answering my question from the previous day about how I should decorate his birthday cake this year, but he says he has no recollection of that happening. I had fun conspiring with his subconscious! 🎃 It was worth having to commit squashicide…
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