One of the more annoying things about modern life (or at least my modern life) is that things that I do to relax or stay current with the world can quickly mutate into an additional “need to” items. It’s silly, but there are definitely times I find myself saying:
-But, I haven’t read all the NY Times yet. That’s a waste of good paper. Or the Atlantic, the Economist. There are several articles I really wanted to read.
But, free time isn’t really something I have much of these days. And quiet time reading a magazine if often perceived in our house as sinfully gluttonous. You know, because there is always SO MUCH TO DO.
However, as I do drive for hours and hours each day, I do like to listen to audio programs, podcasts or audiobooks, often by the dozens. One thing I like to do is listen to “The Writer’s Almanac” hosted by Garrison Keillor. Each day it has some minor literary trivia followed by a poem, sometimes contemporary, but often not, and usually not by someone I would normally go read. Also, their catchphrase “Be well, do good work and keep in touch” is probably the best and most elegant send-off I know. So, every few days I will download the latest 5min segment and listen to it while I drive or do some minor task. There are few things I do nowadays that really remind me of my graduate days in creative writing. I suppose this little thing keeps me from feeling like I’ve lost all literary sensibility.
Today’s poem I listened in the car after dropping the kids off to school. I think it will become one of my favorites, or at least for awhile.
Graduates of Western Military Academy by George Bilgere
One day, as this friend of my father, Paul,
was flying over Asia,
he vaporized a major Japanese city.
True story. They’d been chums
at a military academy in Illinois
back in the thirties.
My father was the star: best in Latin,
best in riflery and history,
best in something called “recitation,”
and best at looking serious.
In the old yearbooks he has exactly the look
you were supposed to have back then:
about fifty-two percent duty, forty-eight percent integrity.
Zero percent irony.
But somehow, all my father got to do later on
was run his own car dealership. A big one,
but still. While Paul
got to blow up Japan. My father
ushered in the latest models.
Paul ushered in the Atomic Age.
It seems unfair, but there you are.
Paul had been an indifferent Latin scholar. Weak
in history and recitation. For these and other reasons
My father took a refreshing swim
across a large, inviting lake of gin,
complete with strange boats and exotic shore birds,
which resulted in his internment
under some shady acres I occasionally visit.
While Paul went on for decades,
always giving the same old speech. Yes,
he’d done the right thing. No doubt about it.
He improved his skills at recitation
and developed a taste for banquet food.
To this day he struggles with his weight.
“Graduates of Western Military Academy” by George Bilgere, from The White Museum. (c) Autumn House Press, 2010.
