Daily Archives: January 4, 2011

The Sun Sets On Downey California

sunset on Downey

sunset, Downey, Brookshire

Soon these unreal colors, so warm that one can feel the heat bouncing off the picture, will fade into darker and darker shades, until just the darkness will bounce off…The crisp cold of this winter nights: you can already smell the incomparable smoke escaping the fireplace brick stacks: Smell of smoke house, of smoked sausages, and bacon, and slabs of ham, and ribs…Yeah, the smell of winter: So distinctively apart while so close to home at the same time.

Fog: Carl Sandberg

fogs little cat feet.

it seats looking over harbor and city

Carl Sandburg – Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind

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Four Preludes On Playthings Of The Wind
         “The past is a bucket of ashes.”


The woman named Tomorrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it
and fastens at last the last braid and coil
and puts the hairpin where it belongs
and turns and drawls: Well, what of it?
My grandmother, Yesterday, is gone.
What of it? Let the dead be dead.


The doors were cedar
and the panels strips of gold
and the girls were golden girls
and the panels read and the girls chanted:
         We are the greatest city,
          the greatest nation:
          nothing like us ever was.
The doors are twisted on broken hinges.
Sheets of rain swish through on the wind
          where the golden girls ran and the panels read:
          We are the greatest city,
          the greatest nation,
          nothing like us ever was.


It has happened before.
Strong men put up a city and got
          a nation together,
and paid singers to sing and women
          to warble: We are the greatest city,
                 the greatest nation,
                 nothing like us ever was.

And while the singers sang
and the strong men listened
and paid the singers well
and felt good about it all,
   there were rats and lizards who listened
   …and the only listeners left now
   …are…the rats…and the lizards.

And there are black crows
crying, “Caw, caw,”
bringing mud and sticks
building a nest
      over the words carved
      on the doors where the panels were cedar
      and the strips on the panels were gold
      and the golden girls came singing:
             We are the greatest city,
              the greatest nation,
              nothing like us ever was.

The only singers now are crows crying, “Caw, caw,”
And the sheets of rain whine in the wind and doorways.
And the only listeners now are…the rats…and the lizards.


The feet of the rats
scribble on the doorsills;
the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints
chatter the pedigrees of the rats
and babble of the blood
and gabble of the breed
of the grandfathers and the great-grandfathers
of the rats.

And the wind shifts
and the dust on a doorsill shifts
and even the writing of the rat footprints
tells us nothing, nothing at all
about the greatest city, the greatest nation
where the strong men listened
and the women warbled: “Nothing like us ever was.”