I come up from America,
from the hollows and the creek beds
from the blue willows of spring
I come up from the quiet places
from the leaves which have lain for ages long,
I upset things on your lawn
notice that your soldiers are gone
make believe at love
and search for Lincoln in your drive-ins
and your bars.
I come up from America
dressed in patched overalls
and wide brimmed hat
up from America
to dance with the ladies on your wide streets
to argue with the old men on the corner
to run with the boys in the ghetto and the barrio,
I come up from America
the ancient hills and the old oaks,
the men laughing about the stills
the native songs that echo
through the hollow
and the creekbeds,
my notes bend through the falling leaves,
through the trees and meadows
fall into the muddy rivers
and are carried to the sea
that remembers America
and what it wished to be.
In a list
A contest entry
- 100th Contest ....for my Favorites by MuddyKing.
10000 points, ended September 23, 2007, 23 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 28 of 28
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i think back to the old days of america...
and if i would want to live then..
in a way yes...
in a way no...
congrats on this one mr. lute
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congratulations- wonderfully consistent poetry
m
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Congratulations~
a very lyrical feel to this.
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I think the last comment is right...there is a music to this. One that was forgotten along the way...maybe covered over by I-75
I could see this coming to life on a ridge, sitting quietly for hours and hearing what is and what was. I know you will understand that. As one stated he couldn't relate but liked the poetic nature...I can relate and I love the feeling be it written or spoken.
When I first read this I knew it was a contender.
You haven't been a favorite long, yet it feels like you have. I look forward to reading more of your music Lute.
peace Muddy
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I was thinking how evocative this is this morning as I was reading something about Hart Crane -- how so real poetry not the AllMePoetry stuff that is beginning to wear me down.
This should go in the America book - in case you forget.
Thanks for feeling safe about saying "Nopey" on my poems 3.5 years ago and then doing the rip and shred.
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..... sigh
I grew up nestled in a valley.. inside the blue ridge mountains... It's my home, my people... I live in a place now that tries to be like that.. but it doesn't compare. I miss the hounddogs, the coon hunting, the gossip over the cb radio and especially the blue grass music...talking to the same old people on your way to work at the same old store over coffee That's not what you are talking about though and I'm rambling.. People forget what it means to just place a stake in the ground to claim land.. what it meant to protect your family and land... Real people, I miss REAL people, humble, talking about the weather everyday.. weather's a big deal with farmers.. lol. Anyways.... your poem is beautiful Lute. I love it. Made me homesick.
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Good... not as good as the other, but good.... Just not as good. Sorry... Just some magic to certain ones. This doesnt have it.
~Asa of the Poets of Reclusive Thoughts -
An impressive penning, laden with images viewed through an ever-changing kaleidoscope - your skilled manipulation of language. The last stanza was my favorite, lending nostalgia to the faces & phrases I experienced while reading this piece. I concur with the others - Walt would be proud. Good luck in Richard's contest. Be well, Poet. Wanda
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Yeah, ol' Walt is speaking in tongues here ... that last line gives it away though
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u have such a walt whitman thing going on about you
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What a delightful poem. Complete and progressive in action as well as character development because the voice of the poem says at the end he remembers America and what it wished to be. You know, when you are through with the poem, you have virtually, described America as what it wished to be. Very well done. 3 drunken faces for sure..............
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I'm just crazy about your poetry... that's all. It's like reading a dance or a song... hard to explain.
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good write, good imagery and repetition, and good luck.
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wow, this has so much depth and passion, as if i am sitting once again at the feet of Woody Guthrie or listening to a street prophet from the sixties..Very nice use of “I come up” the itinerant element, the migrant element, the rough language of one who with conviction says “I am here!!” I love the earthcontent the streetclatter and heartecho, all of it. It resonates deep within as i read this aloud and make no mistake, dear contest holder, judge of this contest, if a poem were meant to shouted aloud it is this one. A brilliant poem, full, rich, and if this does not take gold i would be greatly disappointed. My Gosh, i’ve not see a poem of this caliber posted here in the ‘featured’ column in a very long while. You have my admiration, dear poet and my applause
blessings and best wishes,
~richard
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the first thought i had here was so what - you come from america - there is a bigger world than america, it is not the be all and end all of this present time, but i softened after reading your poem, and i realised we are proud people, we do care where were from a good poem, it made me think
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cool
love it -
I read this, of course, yesterday and let the comments anger me enough to keep me from commenting on the poem which fueled my anger even more. I slept.
After reading it several more times, I find this:
T.B.L.P.E.
I will be doing an essay on this for posting after the contest is over.
Lisa
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There is a blend of irony and melancholy, but also of identity and nostalgia at play in this poem - in other words, Who am I? Who are you?
My best,
Maria -
I really liked this. I couldn't connect with it on a personal level due to the subject matter - but the images chosen and the way it read made it a pleasure. The repetition of "I come up from America" was a great way of bringing it all together. For some reason I got the whole "We are Legion" thing in my head reading it. That kind of implacable, relentless threat.
Best of luck in the contest!
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I think this Lute poem is exactly who Lute is ...
and more. It is also tenderness and beautiful visuality; dreams of knowing places of peace; it is a reaching back into the future, a wishful acknowledgement of change and melancholy of times grand and simple. It is subtle love. And tears cried in rivers of mud.
The poem carries the symbols of all ancient ... and old: willow, oak, river ... love. Yes. Love, becoming a mere symbol of what could have been ... Now stripped to hope, in search of simplicity in decayed abundance.
I wish I could place a soft kiss on your brow and say: Do not fear, Poet, the Dream is acoming.
Love
Myra
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I loved this so much. I really responded to this stanza in particular:
"I upset things on your lawn
notice that your soldiers are gone
make believe at love
and search for Lincoln in your drive-ins
and your bars."
I get this vision in my head of a foreignor roaming around, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out, "America, are you here? America, where have you gone?"
Very poignant.
Beautifully written. Simple and concentrated. Excellent work.
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“Too many of us look upon Americans as dollar chasers. This is a cruel libel, even if it is reiterated thoughtlessly by the Americans themselves.” ~ Albert Einstein.
after reading your poem and a previous comment I start thinking that the american dream failed at Reading not at Writing.
...and like Mark Twain said: "An Englishman is a person who does things because they have been done before. An American is a person who does things because they haven't been done before."
in conclusion the world is composed by two nations
the americans who wanta become
and the brits who wanta boo
(and the humble rest of the world who lives in ignorance)
speaking strictly about the poem
people who write poems are of course poets
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Not too bad if you don't mind perfection.
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Sort of like Carl Sandburg who often took an impersonal focus for his subject matter, in this case, America.
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I was at the Reading festival last night and Billy stupid Corgan played the merican nation anthumb in one smasheen pompkin song and everyone everyone got vury cross and angry and bood (me like your unspellingness - nobody see I really not sure how speel bood anyways - bohed bohed?) yes he played that and everyone got all shouty and started throwing cups of wee at him. I always get vury frightened I am sort of racist or woteverer bout mericans which is very unfair because I know know they cant all be like georgie, i know i know they not all blood thirsty like wot some peoples tells us - I try verrry hard but then still get a bit freaked out by the word merican for some reason and that's awful. Fing is I am a bit convinced we come from our mummy's fannys mostly and not from merica or uzupio or where ever. I fink it's all a bit of a mistake finking bout wheres peoples come from because we didn't get much say in it did we nope and it's like star signs and skin colours and blah blah everyone and everywhere has its murders and its peacey peoples don't it. Every place is so lovely and vile.
I think this is a love poem sort of and sort of more I think it is an invasion and I think it is quite splendid and I fink if Billy nobbing Corgan sanged this song instead of bashing out a gross anthem den his audience would have been way happier.
merica just needs someone not selfish and not stupid in charge like mr moore, who is a bit of a birk but I love him I do.
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I was reading an anthology yesterday, that has some old American folk songs in it.... this reminded me of those... the melody and past lives... the wishfulness and the stoicism
yes
this is stoic Mistah....
I wish you peace in our time
Gill
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Eloquent (can I say that..can I spell that)
This is Thomas Hart Benton Lute
unexpected
more than welcome
makes it's own music
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