<\/path><\/svg><\/button><\/div>\n<\/div>\nI love these deep dives into the origins of a song. I call them “ludic shuffles.” In other words making clear the “how-to” of creative play that weaves through any song (or poem or…).\u00a0 Even better: see how Prine fits together disparate elements of the human condition with his own simple observations into one all-encompassing carousel.<\/p>\n
He made me consider my own muse of late. A neglected pool, I fear.\u00a0 At best I have only a very small\u00a0 audience here who come by every once in awhile for a drink of poetry at my pub. Few though they be and very fine that they are, it would seem that I haven’t had much on offer here. Even a moment’s pause tells me that unless I dip out that pool on a regular basis, it will stagnate. You gotta do the ludic shuffle even if you dance like poleaxe-drunk hippo.<\/p>\n
That’s why Prine’s ramblings while driving are so important to me. They are the map that by some miracle is also the territory.\u00a0 Prine is channeling his world but, also, THE world.<\/p>\n
Here is my raw material from my world, unchanneled and waiting to root, slowly rotating, inchoate and raw but conceptualizing…learning inside itself. Below is my way of taking you for a ride in the car that is my life.\u00a0 Enjoy, my friends, few and fine and far-flung all.<\/p>\n
My World<\/h4>\n
Wagon load of hay, 2 tons<\/p>\n
Mold on it.<\/p>\n
Zoom faculty meetings<\/p>\n
Mold in it.<\/p>\n
The World<\/h4>\n
Equivalent work?<\/p>\n
Yeoman’s work? (Story of how I came to my KY county and first heard really old farm folk calling my ‘ewes’ yeow’s. I am the only one left to tell that story?)<\/p>\n
Working class teaching —–> working class farming<\/p>\n
My World<\/h4>\n
Trout lilies, one wild blink and then gone for a year.<\/p>\n
Walking sheep to the field, no different than any shepherd ever, my crook in hand.<\/p>\n
Reminded of documentaries of timelapse mycelial growth<\/p>\n
Stars and spring peepers<\/p>\n
Pear tree blossom snow storm<\/p>\n
with pollinating pizzazz, a hum like a drum but not humdrum,<\/p>\n
Muddy rams that need shearing.<\/p>\n
The World<\/h4>\n
Unprepared for the world<\/p>\n
that moves me.<\/p>\n
The clearest vision<\/p>\n
comes from unfocusing toward the periphery<\/p>\n
where most of the vision resides.<\/p>\n
The surest hearing<\/p>\n
comes from cupping your hand and tuning.<\/p>\n
Start as a hedgehog and teach yourself one think,<\/p>\n
then play with the many masks of the fox,<\/p>\n
and then re-focus from the many to the one,<\/p>\n
one vision not entirely a single way,<\/p>\n
but just enough so that I can make my way.<\/p>\n
My World<\/h4>\n
Blankets of air,<\/p>\n
Layers,<\/p>\n
Warm<\/p>\n
then cool.<\/p>\n
Drafts of night air<\/p>\n
on the back of my neck<\/p>\n
come and go<\/p>\n
as I walk to the field<\/p>\n
to check our lambs.<\/p>\n
Subtle.<\/p>\n
Had I not become a shepherd,<\/p>\n
I would never have known this<\/p>\n
nearly mute touch,<\/p>\n
this unflattened topographic map,<\/p>\n
this ludic shuffle.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I have been listening to John Prine of late.\u00a0 He has been in Intensive Care, a victim of the COVID19.\u00a0 Touch and go.\u00a0 One YouTube vid I looked at was one where he tooled around the old Chicago neighborhood where he lived and wrote the song, “Bruised Orange”. I love these deep dives into the
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