Yesterday, I walked into the main office of Wayne Hills High School – where I teach literature. I was surprised to find someone reading my recently released book Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War. It was the first copy of the book I saw and the first one I signed.
Posted in A Poet's Life, Poetry, Private Hercules McGraw
Sutter's Mill - 1850
On this date in 1848, a millwright named James Marshall discovered gold along the banks of Sutter’s Creek in California, forever changing the course of history in the American West.
On the morning of January 24, Marshall was examining the channel below the mill when he noticed some shiny flecks in the channel bed. As later recounted by Marshall:
“ I picked up one or two pieces and examined them attentively; and having some general knowledge of minerals, I could not call to mind more than two which in any way resembled this, very bright and brittle; and gold, bright, yet malleable. I then tried it between two rocks, and found that it could be beaten into a different shape, but not broken. I then collected four or five pieces and went up to Mr. Scott (who was working at the carpenter’s bench making the mill wheel) with the pieces in my hand and said, “I have found it.”
“What is it?” inquired Scott.
“Gold,” I answered.
“Oh! no,” replied Scott, “That can’t be.”
I said,–”I know it to be nothing else.”
Here’s a poem that suggests what could have coursed through the nooks of Mr. Marshall’s mind.
Passion and Prudence
Passion has always and, I’m convinced,
will always be a thorn in the boot of man,
causin’ man’s reason to pick-up,
hop on one foot, cussin’ and frettin’ –
might as well step on a nail.
I shoulda clamped my lips tighter
than a bear’s jaw around its dinner,
but I had to go blabbin’ ‘bout what I found –
shoulda just filled my pockets
those pretty rocks that caught the sun
and threw it out again bright as any star.
But I blabbed like I said I did –
Now everybody and their kin
are splashing through that rill of water
lookin’ for their bits of heaven.
Damn it – all of paradise coulda been mine.
Posted in Gold Rush, History, John Marshall, Poetry
Tagged Marshall, Montgomery Scott, Scott, Western United States
On this date in 1824, Stonewall Jackson was born. He died on May 10, 1863. Confederate pickets accidentally shot him at the Battle of Chancellorsville on May 2, 1863; the general survived with the loss of an arm to amputation. However, he died of complications of pneumonia eight days later. I believe that had the general survived, the outcome of the War could have been, would have been, different, to say the least.
Here’s a poem that I’ve posted here before, but I felt it appropriate to share once again.
Happy birthday, Stonewall.
Stonewall Jackson at Manassas: July 21, 1861
That beard hangs
from his chin
like an anvil.
Ain’t no lie.
Yankee bullets
veer `round his head
so not to smack
against his face.
We should just point
him toward Washington
and shackle up behind
like a chain of geese.
I swear we’d rename
this country Virginia
before it’s cold
enough to harden
your nipples.
Today is Robert E. Lee’s birthday. He was born in 1807. Here’s a poem from my book, which will be released within days, that calls upon that stately general.
Gen. Robert E. Lee
Pissing
Off pissing behind a tree, I saw Lee trading
words with Longstreet. Had to admit it—
Lee looked more like Camelot’s
king then one of us southern folk. His hair
was as white as God’s. And the way he moved—
more like floating than walking. Surprised me
that Longstreet had the brass to spit on Lee’s opinion
the way he did. From what I gathered,
Lee wanted us to charge at a rock wall
way over yonder. Yanks were choking
the ridge beyond that wall. Our big guns
were already barking away like a horde
of hungry hell hounds hoping to put a dent
in the enemy line. We was gonna plug that dent
with a bit scream and holler, scare them Billies
back to Abe. Seemed Longstreet was sure as certain
that we’d all be as easy to shoot as blind ducks
in a mud pool once we started charging `cross
that yonder I mentioned. I pissed a bit more,
squeezed it out like juice from an orange.
I figured it was the last piss I’d be taking—
at least until I pissed in Jehovah’s outhouse.
Posted in American Civil War, Confederate, Gen. Robert E. Lee, History, Poetry
Tagged Civil War, History, Jehovah, Lee, Lee Robert E, Longstreet, Martin Luther King, United States
My book, Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War is off to the printer!!! It should be available for purchase very, very soon.
Here’s the book’s first poem.
Prologue
Now, don’t go running from me this time.
You promised me your ear and I intend
to fill it. Hell, I need to. If I don’t spill
this stuff I’ve been holding, it’ll mud-up
in me thicker than a pig’s slop
at feeding time. Yes, my nose
has feasted on pies cooling on farmhouse sills:
apple and blueberry. Even swiped a few when
my belly was just that empty. And I like the way
little fires dotted our camp when we weren’t marching
or fighting, dotted our camp like stars dot the sky.
But we always started marching again—fighting too.
That’s when I imagined the perfume of those pies
and the warmth sliding off those fires.
I guess memory saves the beautiful things.
Everything else—nothing but salt sprinkled
on a hurt: pain on pain. Yup, pain on pain.
Posted in American Civil War, History, Poetry, Soldier's Life
Tagged AmericanCivilWar, Civil War, Health, History, Pain, Private Hercules McGraw, United State, Wars
Happy New Year all!!
The poem posted below is written after I spent some time in the Bible, meditating on Psalm 40: 1-4. The poem is written, as most of my poems are, in the voice of a Civil War solider; however, I wanted the voice to be a voice that could have been generated by a Confederate or a Union soldier.
Here’s a link to the scripture referrenced above:
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+40&version=KJV
Again, Happy New Year. God bless.
New Year’s Day: 1862
Kinda thought today was a day
of new beginnings, but I felt
more like retreating , fearing
the hell this war done yanked
from sleep, so I slunk off to find
God – knelt and prayed
in a congregation of tall grass.
Sure enough, Jesus came,
pulled me from this pit –
marching, hollering, sweating, bleeding –
and put my feet on promises
I could stand on, stand as tall
as Abe himself, taller still.
He hummed me a song
like momma does, buried deep
in my fear – I was full of music.
When Amens were said, and I
Stepped back to camp, boys said
I was whistling like a boy
that just stole his first kiss.
Soon enough they all was out
in that grass, bending knees,
looking for a bit of God song.
Posted in American Civil War, History, Poetry, Soldier's Life
Tagged Bible, Civil War, God, Jesus, New Year, Old Testament, Psalm, United States
"The Peacemakers"
“The most famous Christmas gift of the war was sent by telegram from WilliamTecumseh Sherman to Abraham Lincoln on December 22, 1864. “I beg to present you as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, with 100 and 50 guns and plenty of ammunition, also about 25,000 bales of cotton.” The gift, of course, wasn’t the guns, the ammunition or the cotton, but the beginning of the end of the Civil War” (http://civilwarstudies.org/articles/Vol_4/xmas-2001.shtm).
This one slants toward the gruesome side. War is indeed hell.
Reb in Sherman’s Wake
Kinda like a parade,
`cept they ain’t tootin’
much on horns – just burnin’
and breakin’ stuff
as they move along.
Their horses been eatin’ good.
I see the oats in the shit –
Pick it out if’n the oat is big
`nuff to grab-a-hold of.
If it be too small, might
as well pinch a fart.
Once I get me a bag or so,
I’ll skip on down to the river,
wash them up best I can –
have myself a meal.
Ma’d wup me good if she caught
me feastin’ on shit, but Ma’s dead
and I sure don’t wanna
be givin’ her hugs just yet.
“The most beloved symbol of the American family Christmas–the decorated Christmas tree–came into its own during the Civil War. Christmas trees had become popular in the decade before the war, and in the early 1860s, many families were beginning to decorate them. Illustrators working for the national weeklies helped popularize the practice by putting decorated table-top Christmas trees in their drawings” (http://dburgin.tripod.com/cw_xmas/cwarchristmas.html).
Here’s a poem inspired by the information presented above.
`Round that Tree
Me and a few boys got ta thinkin’ –
we need ourselves a tree all dressed up
like Christmas time. Found ourselves
a stout pine on the skirts of camp,
but spent more than a minute scratchin’
our heads what ta hang on it.
Jasper hung his hat on a limb.
Smiling, we all done the same.
Started collecting hats from this fella and that –
they all gave`em too, once they
knew what we was doin’. We all stood
`round that tree for a bit,
even when the wind strated ta bite.
All said and done, for a time
none of us thought
about the blood and chunk
we usually gotta juggle.
Damn nice tree it is.
Posted in American Civil War, Christmas, History, Poetry
Tagged Business and Economy, Christmas, Christmas tree, Decorations and Props, Holidays, Horticulture, Shopping, Trees
Lord willing, for the next two weeks, I’ll be focusing on Christmas and the Civil War. Each entry will be inspired by portions of letters and journals written by Union and Confederate soldiers. Here’s my first seasonal effort.
On December 27, 1864 a soldier, Private Levi McCormick, wrote his wife. The following is his letter as it was written in 1864.
Dec 27th 1864 Camp 4th Del Vol 3 Brg 2 Dev 3 Corps
Dear wife I will send you a few lines stating how we are I have bin down with the diarier for about a weak it has bin the most sevear that I hav ever ha but I feel better to day & I hav washed all of my cloaths & I borrowed some cloathes while mine are drying I cant write you mutch this time but if I keep wel I will try and write you a interesting leter some of those days we hav got houses built up wonce more but Christmas was a very dul day hear we have not had it yet but the war news is good we have had a despatch from G Shairman he has done more than we could of asked of him I hope this will find you all wel Samey is not very wel he had a cold we hav bin very mutch exposed but I dont want to write about You can sea the reason why I hav not wrote I send my love to all from you ever true and loving Husband
Levi McCormick good by send on your box
Here’s a poem inspired by McCormick’s letter.
————
Private Levi McCormick Writes His Wife: Christmas 1864
I bin down with squirts.
My backend’s raw as a sun bernt scalp
and cold air snaps at me
when I drop my trousers.
I borrow’d some clothes.
Had to wash mine, bein’ so smelly.
Ther hangin’ on a tree limb near the fire –
stil they be frozen, stiff as a ten day corpse.
Seen me plenty of them.
Anyway, send on a box. I need a scent of home.
Tell the boys mery christmas.
I’ll be lookin’ for that christ star whilse I wate.
_______
Note: I’ve been having diffuculties properly formating my poems. They no longer cut and paste the way I want them to. If you can help, let me know.
Posted in American Civil War, History, Poetry, Soldier's Life
Tagged Christmas, Civil War, Confederate, History, Holiday, Union, United States, Wars
The poem below focuses on Gettysburg’s Peach Orchard and the battle that raged therein; however, there is a connection, albeit slight, to Christmas. The poem is taken from my forthcoming book, Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War.
The Peach Orchard
We steamed up through this orchard of peach trees.
It was as hot as a pan sizzling ham, and them peaches,
strange enough, made me think of Christmas –
each one hanging like a pretty bell. But I couldn’t hear
no music. Only clanging my ears was able to capture
was musket pop and a whole lot of screaming.
Screaming turned to cheering once Gen. Barksdale
spurred his horse and bolted out before our charge
like a mongrel after a piece of meat. He cut
the air above his head with his sword, swinging it
like he meant to slice the noggins’ off the whole Billy army.
And the way that hair of his trailed behind him,
just like Santa’s locks when he scoots in that sleigh of his,
made me think us Southern folk has a chance to do some damage.
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