First Time I Saw Jesse James

According to the website True West, Phillip Steele, in his 1995 book Many Faces of Jesse James, reported that [James] family records tell of Jesse James’ strongest features being his soul-piercing crystal blue eyes.

I want my narrator, Silas Thatch (introduced a few posts before this one), to fixat on Jesse’s blue eyes throughout the book. The poem posted below describes Silas seeing Jesse for the first time and being captivate by those eyes.

So here it is , poem two. As always, edits and revisions will be made later.

We was Both 10, or So

I first seen Jesse back in Clay County.
It was a hot day, dry as bone. Dust drifted
all over, sheets of it, draping horse and man

like a powder. Made the world wanna cough
and I think it must’ve done just that a time or two.
But even through that dust I seen’em -

eyes as blue as heaven, Jesse’s eyes.
His ma was tuggin’ him across the steet,
yankin’ him by the hand and he just stumbled

along after her not wantin’ any part of where they
was goin’. Ma James, cause that’s what I learned
to call her, stopped to chaw with another lady.

Jesse, one hand locked in his ma’s hand,
stood there still as stone, his eyes burnin’
like blue fire. I almost ran and hid when them eyes

caught mine. They bore down on me, heavy as heat,
but I kept lookin’ back. Not cause I was a brave one,
but cause I couldn’t move until they let me go.

Once Ma James pulled on Jesse’s arm again,
those eyes turned away a let me free.
Funny thing, sure as a chirpy bird in a iron mine,

I felt like I was in a place I didn’t belong
and like some sissy, I started to cry.

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• Meet Silas Thatch (thelintinmypocket.wordpress.com)

Meet Silas Thatch

It’s begun – my next book, my third book. My first two books are stories of the American Civil War. They are featured on this blog and on Amazon. My third book, like my previous two, revolves around a piece of American history. This time, I’ll be exploring the life and times of the gunslinger Jesse James. The book is, or will be, narrated by Silas Thatch, a fictitious character who knew Jesse  when they were both yet boys. Wanna meet Silas? Here he is.

Introductions

I’m guessin’ you’d like to know my name,
but, truth be told, I’m not much for truth,
so I reckon I’ll lock my name down deep

where it can sleep as sweet and sound as a babe
rockin’ in the love of its mama’s arms,
but you can call me Silas. That’s what I been callin’

myself for a time now – Silas Thatch.
It’s gotta sound to it I like. Besides, a thatch
covers my home from sun and stars

just like I’m coverin’ my name
from your mind and eyes. Aint that funny.
I’m old now. My beard is thicker than a bucket full

of sand and grayer than a corpse
so memories been squeekin’ away from me
like a herd or scared mice, but I ain’t forgot

nothing about Jesse James, best and worst man
I ever known. And like ya asked, if you keep
my throat full of whiskey, I’ll tell ya all about

that heathen, son-of-a-bitch, man killin’, ghost maker.
So, buy me a bottle. Better yet, buy me two, but remember,
truth and me aint always hitched to the same horse.

 

Memorial Day 2013: Thank You

photo by S. Thomas Summers

“Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal
background, the countless minor scenes and interiors of the secession war; and
it is best they should not. The real war will never get in the books.” – W.
Whitman.

Thanks to all the men and women who saw the “interior of war” and were
denied the opportunity to share their tales. You are all heroes. Although I
do not know your names nor do I know your faces, I shall never forget
you.

Weekly Writing Challenge: A Manner of Speaking

I’ve decided to take part in the writing challenge offered this week by WordPress. It tasks writers to connect with their “our geographical, generational, and cultural affiliations” and produce a piece of writing. I (kinda) did just that. The poem posted below is from my book Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War. The poem’s speaker, Hercules, is a Confederate soldier. I hope, I think, the poem illustrates a Confederate voice.

Seasons

It’s like a season passed in the blink
of an afternoon. This morning
I smiled at tall shoots of lavender
reaching above the grass and clover.
Bees hummed from bloom to bloom
like politicians knocking on doors,
mustering votes. Breeze carried scents
of earth and honey – sweetest spring day|
that ever filled my lungs. Made me wanna
touch something soft, something special –
maybe the hand of a Tennessee beauty.

But after a day of trading spit and smoke
with a regiment of Billies, this pretty spot
done shed all its pretty. Blood has a queer smell,
like a bog choked with sour fish,
but it don’t mud a patch of ground
like water does. Blood turns dirt
into syrup – walk in it too long
and you’ll get all gummed up.
And the dead are leaking blood all about.
From here it looks like a herd of fellas
decided to nap, but they ain’t waking up
no time soon. You can see their last thought
carved on each of their faces. It’s never fear or anger.
Mostly it seems like sorrow to me, like they know
they just lost memory and hope all at once.

Don’t seem like spring no more.
What season is it? It’s a season for breathing –
at least while you still can.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Change

Venturing forth with my new camera, I’ve confronted this week’s WordPress Photo Challenge with vim and vigor – well, at least I think I have.

The challenge is to present photos that somehow exhibit, personally or universally, some form of change. Let’s see what I came up with.

1. This first photo is of my son’s scooters. Walking our of my garage, the scooter’s were arranged just as they are pictured. I thought the arrangement made for a fine photo. Why change? My boy is growing up. He doesn’t use these scooters much anymore.

photo by S. Thomas Summers

2. My second photo is of a tree in my backyard. The photo was captured a day or so before Hurricane Sandy visited the Northeast. After Sandy struck, the trees leaves, all that gold, was gone.

photo by S. Thomas Summers

3. My third offering represents a more universal change. I write about the American Civil War. My first book, Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War, was released in 2012. My second, The Journals of Lt. Kendall Everly, should be released soon. The photo presented here is of a Union Cavalry Guidon. Flags of this type flew 150 years ago. The flag pictured here, flies in my yard.

photo by S. Thomas Summers

4. Finally, I present a photo of the English department’s book storage room at Wayne Hills High School where I teach literature and writing. Education has changed quite a bit in my 20 years as a teacher. Unfortunately, many recent changes are hurting education. This photo reminds me days gone by and why I became a teacher. I love books. I love a good story.

photo by S. Thomas Summers

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Into the Backyard

Before I started to write about history (the Civil War and currently the life and times of Jesse James), I often would sit near a window that overlooks my backyard. Backyards often provide a writer/poet with inspiration. Well, my backyard often inspired me.

Today, looking out that same window, I was inspired – not to write, but to click, to click my camera. Here’s what I saw.

Shiloh: A Blaze of Glory

I have a difficult time reading text-book accounts of military operations. As a Civil War enthusiast, that poses a problem. It’s not that I don’t understand those text-book accounts. Truth is, I simply find them boring. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

However, I very much enjoy reading dramatic accounts of historical events. Guess that’s one of the reasons why I’m a literature teacher/professor. I love a good story.

Earlier today, I finished reading Jeff Shaara’s novel A Blaze of Glory: A Novel of the Battle of Shiloh. Loved it.

Book reviewer David N. Kinchen wrote “I particularly like how Shaara toggles between the actions of the generals on both sides, and the ghastly events of the war as experienced by the “grunts,”making the historical novel (with the emphasis on historical) well-rounded. Even though Shaara advises the reader in his “To The Reader” to read historians Shelby Foote and Jim McPherson if you want a detailed history of the Battle of Shiloh, I think even those eminent historians would recommend A Blaze of Glory to the general reader.”

Even before I finished reading the novel, I started researching the battle it speaks of: the generals, the places, the causes, the strategies, the triumph, the tragedy…and yes, the glory. Yes, I must admit, I read several “text-book” accounts. You see, once I get the story in me, once the story lights that fire of discovery within me, I’ll read anything to make that fire burn and burn hot.

Over the next few days, I’d liked to share my thoughts regarding Shiloh. Hopefully, some of my Civil War compatriots will join in the discussion.

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A Triumphant Yawp!!

I did it. It’s done. Save for a few minor edits and revisions, my second manuscript, The Journals of Lt. Kendal Everly: A Story of the American Civil War, is done and should be on book shelves later this year.

It was tough nut to crack, much darker than my first book, but it’s done and I’m happy.

Here’s the book’s first poem, the first entry in Kendal Everly’s journal. Everly is a teacher and a pacifist. He writes this not long before the Civil War begins.

English: Gen. Charles Griffin (1825 – 1867) (as Captain), career officer in the United States Army and a Union general in the American Civil War. He rose to command a corps in the Army of the Potomac and fought in many of the key campaigns in the Eastern Theater. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is the Place

April 1, 1861

Here, beneath these trees –
oak and ash – shadows lay
like blankets spread
for a community of picnics.
I feast on a moment’s song:

breezes, still laced
with March’s chill, weave
as ribbons about these limbs,
Giggling children dart
behind stalwart trunks

hiding from each other and me –
children teasing me, their teacher,
as I walked to school.

But this spring rumbles.
Men who drape themselves
in the dark robes of politics

brandish words as warriors
brandish swords –
and I am afraid.

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Confederate Ghosts

The poem posted below is taken from my developing
manuscript, The Journals of Lt. Kendal Everly: a
Story of the American Civil War. I thought it well
met a writing challenge presented on New Jersey poet Adele Kenny’s
blog, The Music In It. The
challenge is to write a “mysterious” poem. Would you like to read
the challenge? Just visit Adele’s blog.
In this journal entry/poem, Everly imagines his enemy,
Confederates. What will they be like? He wonders for he is soon to
meet them. Let me know what you think. Confederates July 17,
1861 – Entry Two Night comes and my heart finds its
rest. But daylight: a cursed time, when the enemy unfurls long
shadows, long fingers that stretch from behind the wrinkled hide of
trees and stones, scratch promises on the wind: blood and death.
Damned, foul ghosts: gray, so gray.

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I Got Some Fan Mail

I was very happy to receive this note earlier today. It’s from someone who read my book, Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War. Please allow me to share it with you here.

——————————————————————————-

Scott,

I received the book between 4:30 and 5:00 this afternoon. Once I got a few minutes to pause, I read the first 35 pages before I absolutely had to put it down.

Scott, this work is excellent! Have you ever served in combat? I have, and the sensual and emotional nuances you’ve captured here are genuine.

On the other hand, for the very reasons I’ve stated, it’s a gut-wrenching read, and that, my friend, is maybe the highest accolade I can give you.

——————————————————————————-

A nice Christmas gift.

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