by ST, mid 1980s
I was a lute player
I traveled along
any road that I happened
to happen upon,
any road that happened
to fit the day's song.
I was a lute player
I had no abode
I wandered wherever
by whatever mode,
and the lute that I carried
was my only load.
1.
I saw an old man
resting under a tree
by the side of the way--
by the wayside,
you might say--
He seemed not to see me--
had a far look in his eye;
I disturbed not his thoughts,
no babbler am I;
but slowly I picked out
a melody on my lute
and hummed very softly
some impromptu tune
that the peace of the day,
and the peace of the place,
and the peace that the old man
wore on his face
seemed to inspire.
Then came to my lips some word or two,
and then a verse followed--
though of what I sang
I hardly knew--
the sun and I set,
as the day and I mellowed,
'til the old man broke in, suddenly
answering, "You, my young fellow."
What had I asked?
I couldn't remember--
I was taken aback,
nearly back to November!
He so suddenly spoke--
and yet that so calmly--
my thoughts blanked mid-stroke;
his words thus unarmed me.
"What?" asked I of him
in a disconcerted voice.
"I'm waiting here for you,"
he replied in his ever steady poise.
I was the more dumbfounded--
'til I realized he was old--
I thought, "I'll indulge him,
see what interest it will hold:
Infancy and age have each their games;
From atop the hill I saw them both--
One before me, one behind--
So opposite, yet the same."
"Why do you wait for me here?"
He saw that I was playing--
he chose to be the cat.
"Why do you ask?" "I want to know."
"Do you?"
He turned, and that was that.
Again his gaze was lost in the horizon . . .
And so now was my answer.
Out before us stretched the distance,
and now between us two--
My lute was silent,
I was silent,
not knowing what to do.
The old man was unaware of us--
at least he seemed to be--
Evening came, and it was cool . . .
Still we sat, and all was still: I felt a fool.
"There's someone you ought to know,
if you care to search for him."
"Never had a purpose in my life--
I see more as I walk along the rim."
He didn't appreciate my metaphor;
his mind had shut its door.
"Who is he?" I attempted.
"He'll be a friend of yours."
I had somehow the feeling
That when this old man played,
he won.
I said, "Already I know my friends . . ."
He chuckled, and I grew red.
"Don't be satisfied with too easy an answer,"
was all he said.
Then from his side he pulled a steel--
that hadn't been there before!
"Take this and be on your way,"
He nodded the direction I should go.
"But it's now nearly night . . ."
He waved me go away;
seemed unconcerned with my plight,
pulled 'round his cloak and down he lay.
Knowing naught else,
I turned, and took his direction.
Night advanced as I,
and we walked along together,
slept side by side, with no affection.
2.
The dream of the night
faded in the light
of the dawn.
I rose, I stretched, inhaled the day,
and yawned.
Now refreshed, I was about to go my way . . .
But still lay the steel
where my lute used to lay.
I steeled myself: I stole a sight--
a sight worth seeing:
What a fright!
I laid the edge against my complexion,
scraped off the worst
as best I could,
then looked again, and better liked
my own reflection--
straighter, then, I stood.
I paused to mourn a moment more
having left my lute behind,
but what could I do,
other than take up that blade,
and off on a likely route, or, rut?
Empty the road all morning,
save ME.
Empty my gut, all mourning:
SAVE me.
I noticed a young man coming my way,
He was not at all unlike me:
He came up closer, I saw in his eye
a playful look--
A likeable sort, he looked to be.
I saw he, too, carried such an edge,
So a lighthearted challenge made I--
yet not before quickly I had gaged
that he walked no easier, as his blade also
hampered his thigh.
A playful joust--
that's all it was,
fencing with glee, but no grace.
Funny poking, and poking fun--
then he nicked me, near the face.
I flinched, he stepped back,
still wordless our exchange--
first of steel, and now of eye--
then together we laughed, the mood changed,
it passed by.
"Have you eaten? . . . Nor have I . . ."
He questioned and answered in one--
He'd heard my gut growl its answer--
". . . and I have nothing to offer, not a bone."
"If no bone, even, to pick have either of we,
let's clasp our hands, and part company."
And we did.
3.
I ambled on in my usual aimless,
missing more and more my lute.
That little scratch became a little sore,
and my disposition infected to suit.
Days went by;
more sullen grew I.
Then met I again
my sparring friend.
With a smile I flashed,
and he flashed too,
but before he did,
his mood I viewed--
how similar to mine!
Both smiling facades,
there both we stood . . .
Then I called, "On Guard!"
There in the midst of a wood.
A tree-full place
is no place to face
an enemy:
hampered I was,
no room to maneuver.
He maneuvered the best cover
to shield him from my point--
I couldn't reach him.
Underbrush underfoot, entangled feet;
low limbs wrapped me in their arms
and on the head.
Amid the trunks I was darkly hooded
as a monk:
Branches so dimmed the sun's life.
It was then he struck,
I leapt back in surprise--
My blood! That's no trickle . . .
I stared, hypnotized.
He looked at me, self-satisfied:
he'd won.
I looked at him with loathing--
this game was not in fun.
Arm dangling at my side,
vows forming deep in pride,
I sulked away--
sure I'd win another day.
I hated him.
After a week with no sleep,
so painful was my hurt,
embittered dreams invade me:
in brutal feuds I baited him:
when he went down, I laughed
and berated him;
when he begged mercy
I was curt.
I planned my attack--
how I'd beat him down,
how I'd hew and hack,
so black
my hating heart had grown.
4.
I chose the field:
I waited for him there.
This would be my chance:
my challenge was a dare.
On a wide open plain--
all to my advantage--
I struck at him, slashed at him,
with all the force that I could savage.
Exhaustion overtook me;
I fumbled, faltered, slumped.
In rage I'd cut MYSELF to pieces--
I lay there dazed and numb.
I closed my eyelids for the finish:
and when the finish didn't come,
no strength had I to question;
when I wakened he was gone.
So weak I was that nothing to me mattered.
If he came to find me here,
he could kill and leave me scattered.
No reason to go forward,
yet no reason to return,
I drained my wounds of pus and fester,
but with less interest, less spirit,
than an urn.
5.
We met again--
I wondered that he'd let me heal
before returning
to make the kill.
They say a mended bone grows stronger,
so had I;
And this time dueling, showed some skill,
and with new wisdom,
lasted longer.
I felt no longer the old revenge,
Something better from my sprang
and leapt to meet his challenge.
Bout after bout
we measured one another,
then shared a drink
when each was done.
I was scarred;
he was handsomer than ever,
but to hate him now
would only be wasted endeavor.
He no longer gloated in getting me down,
truly sporting partners were we--
more skilled I became with each succeeding round . . .
I watched him, I imitated, and thus he taught me.
6.
There came a day
I was lithe as he,
and skillful with the sword.
I matched him only,
never laid him low--
but pride in me shone clearly
in his friendly tutoring eye.
And we laughed to think how clumsily
at first we'd fought.
This was the one the old man had said
was to be my friend--
I'd met him ever on my journey,
it seemed at every bend.
Yet only now had I come to know
to be glad for the old man's direction:
that he'd set me out on this life's odyssey
to find my life's friend, his respect, his affection.
No longer long I
for the lute of my youth;
my life then looks foolish,
when looked at in truth.
The song I sing now
I sing to accompany
men who are men:
it sounds like a symphony--
compared to the tune of before.
I look back at my friend,
look back at my self--
understanding comes
as though in stealth:
my friend all along
was just a little better than me--
yet he was never better
than I thought I could be.
Enemies we, when each other we defied,
'til at last we discovered
we fought for the same side:
as I grew better, better friends grew we:
Now I know you, my friend, you are ME.
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