The slowly balding wrinkling tired pilgrim gathered his now
adult children, the dogs and anyone who was gracious, had enough wine or
saintly patience to listen to his story one more time.
“Well it was 50 years ago today Sergeant Pepper taught the
band to play. Back when I was in England in ’61 something was happening…”
“Please, you were going to tell us about the time the
Beatles saved your life,” answered an anxious voice from the back of the
gathering and it added “ you can tell us about those related episodes at
another time, ok?”
“What? Oh yeah. Well anyway back in ’62-‘63 or so my cousin
I met in London was sending me letters from there about a new rock band that
was shaking up more than the music scene in England. Girls were screaming and
fainting while tossing panties onto the stage at the band’s performances. I
needed to hear this music for myself since this band had not yet received radio
play in the states. In response to my pleas my cousin started sending me forty-fives from
England.”
“Forty-fives? “ that same questioning voice in back
interrupted.
“Oh yeah…these were small black vinyl discs with one or two
songs on each side that were played at 45 revolutions per minute on a
turntable”
“A turn ---- what?”
“Never mind. My cousin sent me these discs almost weekly. It
seemed as though this band was recording more songs than the typical performers
recorded in a lifetime. By this time word was starting to spread in the U.S. about
this band called The Beatles. Did I tell you how they actually created their
name as a homage to Buddy Holly and the Crickets?”
“Yeh, ya did dad, and you have told us how Buddy Holly was
your first rock n roll hero and how you were depressed when Holly died
tragically. Just tell us how The Beatles save you.”
“ Ok, Ok. You see the word got around that I had these 45’s
from England and no one in the area or even in the state had these records or
had heard these songs on the radio. So, I started to bring these records as I
got them to the local music store. These discs were as if they were gifts from
an unseen god. That store was sort
of the church of anyone who was interested in contemporary music. My friends
would be my bodyguards and co-disciples of sorts as we bicycled our way through
once quiet suburban streets to the small center of town that was lost in a
previous time. Everything was about to change and only a select few under the
age of fifteen were aware that something was in the air. There at this center
of this sacred store a crowd of girls and boys waited outside and cheered and
screamed as if I were one of the Beatles they come to baptize the believers. As
I entered this sanctuary my friends cleared a path to the main counter where the
manager stood with his turntable ready to play the new record. Reverential
silence took over those gathered to hear the words as girls reached through the
crowd to touch the holy grails, I mean records. I felt like a combination of
John the Baptist with Buddy Holly’s spirit carrying me each step. The voice in
wilderness had come home. It was the first time in my life where others seemed
to have some interest in me. I knew it was interest in and admiration for the
Beatles and their music, but I didn’t care. I think that is where for the first
time girl asked me out on a date and she didn’t even mention the Beatles or
bringing any of the records. I brought a couple of 45’s along on that date just
in case. “
A voice for the group chimed as if to bring this story to
closure” So, this is how the Beatles saved your life?”
The pilgrim slowly smiled saying,“ Hold on there this was
just the beginning.”
He continued and he knew he had to talk fast.
“One Friday night around that same period a small group of these
disciples and I gathered at a friend’s house that January as it was rumored
that the Jack Paar TV program was going to have the Beatles on his show.”
“Who, What?” that same voice queried. The old pilgrim looked
around and no one was checking or sending texts on their smart phones yet so he
quickly jumped back to the story before he would lose them.
“ Well, though the broadcast was just a filmed performance
of The Beatles somewhere in England there was some satisfaction. I had thought
‘ I was right! There is something special about these guys’ and suddenly I and
the small collection of disciples desired more. It was then announced that on
February 9, just weeks away, that the Beatles would perform live on the Ed
Sullivan Show. I know. I know. You were going to ask ‘who is Ed Sullivan?’
let’s just say if a performer made it to his live show you had made it to the
high mass of recognition in the entertainment industry.
More of the Beatles’ records were now being played on the
radio ten, twenty, thirty times a day. No one seemed to get enough of them.
Some of their recordings played I didn’t have. My importance and popularity as
the keeper of the Beatles’ flame in out little town faded fast. I regained some
of that attention when my cousin sent me a signed poster of the Fab Four for
their Command Performance at the Palladium in London. No one cared if the
signatures on the poster were real, replications or plain ole forgeries! No one
had seen such a full four-foot colored iconic poster of the Beatles. My
co-Beatle fanatic friend, David, encouraged me to find a bank vault for the
records and poster. My folk music friend, Matt, gave that smirky smile singing
‘The times they are a changing.’
Before we knew it that Sunday of infamy arrived. It was the
day of truth, true revelation, the day of the Ed Sullivan show featuring the
Beatles. It was like Christmas Eve all day as the time wouldn’t go fast enough.
I hoped that someone would decide to broadcast the show earlier than planned to
avoid riots in the streets and masses of teens dying of heart attacks or
suicide! But I had to hold my breath a little longer as the show would go on as
planned. Readying myself for the anticipated sacramental experience I retreated
into the bathroom earlier in the day and combed my hair down to lie across my
forehead in Beatlesque mop top style welcoming the troubadours into my home
through that magical mystery of technology called a television. My dad just
laughed. My younger brother followed my lead and my sister said wasn’t sure
about what was about to happen but the found the excitement contagious. And
then, then it happened….
The Beatles played five songs at different spots in the program
and from the first note of the first song my heart pounded harder and faster
than it has ever done before. My inner self was screaming in silence with the
girls in the live studio audience. A new chord had been struck. A flame that I
thought was out was not just rekindled but it exploded into a bonfire. When the
TV screen showed personal facts about each Beatle as they appeared on the
magical screen the camera panned on to the lead guitarist, George Harrison. The
words I saw are burned in my memory forever that he and I had the same birth date,
February 25. I felt as if it was
karma, speaking directly to me… and it was, it was …it is difficult to explain.
When I saw my friend David at school the next morning we could see the same
fire in each other’s eyes. It was just the beginning.”
One of his children who had been politely listening to this
half fable said, “Is that it? When are the Beatles going to save you? Didn’t
you and your friend David see them in concert at Shea Stadium? “
He smiled and said “ Yeh, we saw them at Shea but that was
later “
“But what was all the excitement about and when did they
save you?”
A little exasperated but smiling the pilgrim said “Ok, but
it would be a much longer story to discuss the significance of the cultural and
societal shift these young men had…. on music, the new types of lyrics… by the
way they would end up using the word ‘love’ 613 times in their songs over their
career together …social attitudes and values shifted and.”
One daughter abruptly interrupted, “Please no! Can you just explain
in a few words to us what it was all about and how they saved you?”
He smiled again and added, “ I guess it is ineffable. I guess
you had to be there. Maybe they just woke up dormant spirit in me…and were
channels to bringing light and joy to life."
( Sometimes the videos don't appear on smart phones...try clicking on the link)
This is for David who said he didn’t hear a note when we
saw them at Shea in ’65.
What will your verse be?
What is your true voice?
A recent powerfully imaged television ad for the new Apple
iPad Air uses a voice over from one of my favorite scenes in a favorite movie
of mine, The Dead Poets Society. It also helped me recall a favorite poem of
mine by Mary Oliver. Each of these fuels the flame of my love for poetry and helps me remember why I love poetry - while revisiting the question “ Have I been or am I authentic enough and have I contributed a verse
to this powerful play?”
The original scene
The new iPad Air
“We don't read and write poetry
because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human
race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business,
engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But
poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from
Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the
endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good
amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists,
and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your
verse be?”
Autumn Poem
In
the last jovial, clear-sky days of autumn
the mockingbird
in his monk-gray coat
and his arrowy wings
the mockingbird
in his monk-gray coat
and his arrowy wings
flies
from the hedge to the top of the pine
and begins to sing — but it's neither loose, nor lilting, nor lovely —
from the hedge to the top of the pine
and begins to sing — but it's neither loose, nor lilting, nor lovely —
it's
more like whistles and truck brakes and dry hinges.
All birds are birds of heaven
but this one, especially, adores the earth so well
he would imitate, for half the day and on into the
evening,
All birds are birds of heaven
but this one, especially, adores the earth so well
he would imitate, for half the day and on into the
evening,
its
ticks and wheezings,
and so I have to wait a long time
for the soft, true voice
of his own glossy life
and so I have to wait a long time
for the soft, true voice
of his own glossy life
to
come through,
and of course I do.
I don't know what it is that makes him, finally, look
inward
and of course I do.
I don't know what it is that makes him, finally, look
inward
to
the sweet spring of himself, that mirror of heaven,
but when it happens —
when he lifts his head
and the feathers of his throat tremble,
but when it happens —
when he lifts his head
and the feathers of his throat tremble,
and
he begins, like Saint Francis,
little flutterings and leapings from the pine's forelock,
resettling his strong feet each time among the branches,
I am recalled,
little flutterings and leapings from the pine's forelock,
resettling his strong feet each time among the branches,
I am recalled,
from
so many wrong paths I can't count them,
simply to stand, and listen.
All my life I have lived in a kind of haste and darkness
of desire, ambition, accomplishment.
simply to stand, and listen.
All my life I have lived in a kind of haste and darkness
of desire, ambition, accomplishment.
Now
the bird is singing, but not anymore of this world.
And something inside myself is fluttering and leaping, is
trying
And something inside myself is fluttering and leaping, is
trying
to
type it down, in lumped-up language,
in outcry, in patience, in music, in a snow-white book.
in outcry, in patience, in music, in a snow-white book.
- Mary Oliver
amdg
