farewell, friends, farewell
I cannot tell you why; but
here I go, goodbye
Based on the poem:
Farewell, my friends, farewell and hail;
I’m off to seek the holy grail;
I cannot tell you why;
Remember, please when I am gone,
’twas aspiration led me on;
Tiddly-widdly-tootle-oo,
all I want is to stay with you,
But here I go, goodbye.
The poem, written by Clarence Day, was published in the New Yorker Magazine on Dec 12, 1934, along with an original drawing by Mr. Day.
Day was famous for his Life with Father stories about Turn of the 19th Century New York City.
They were so good that the editor of the New Yorker, Harold Ross, said if he had done nothing more than published Day’s stories, he would have been satisfied with the standing of his magazine.
It was the last bit of Clarence Day published in the New Yorker and Day died a year later.
Clarence Day was also famous for once commenting:
“The world of books is the most remarkable creation of man.
Nothing else that he builds ever lasts. Monuments fall, nations perish, civilizations grow old and die out; and, after an era of darkness, new races build others.
But in the world of books are volumes that have seen this happen again and again, and yet live on, still young, still as fresh as the day they were written, still telling men’s hearts of the hearts of men centuries dead.”
I turn to that today because of the news from Washington.
A feel like a piece of the jenga pile of things that made America, America was pulled out today and the whole thing is coming down.
Suffice it to say I have no words for how I feel because I have no words for how I feel.
I have asked myself often what will cause me to stop writing these writings and having no words may just be the push off the cliff.
I have no words left it seems.
I have questions.
I have questions like, how do people have so much hate inside themselves.
I have questions like, when does the Statue of Liberty come down?
Won’t that be a day to rival the book burnings in Berlin?
But as Mr. Day said, Monuments fall, nations perish, civilizations grow old and die out; and, after an era of darkness, new races build others.
I should not be surprised.
Liberty lasting wasn’t ever in the cards.
For today, we still have books.
The world of books where there are volumes that have seen this happen again and again, and yet live on, still young, still as fresh as the day they were written, still telling men’s hearts of the hearts of men centuries dead.
But they will come for the books next.
Safe money bets, they will come with masks on as they know its wrong and deep down, they will ashamed.
Not enough to stop them.
But enough that they will wear masks.
Shame.
No Haiku For You 