This is a rewrite of an old piece that was published in MID-AMERICA POETRY REVIEW... sadly this journal folded when editor Robert C. Jones died....
Jones had suggested some revisions that I make today. He bought it even tho he felt it was a bit "loose"... I'm looking for ways to tighten it up.
I'm thinking to let the dialect remain somewhat free... I welcome any and all suggestions. Dewell
THERE WAS A TIME…..
when a feller could get born
and dead in the same bedstead.
Live his whole dern life
same house, same land:
work, school, church, clean-----
folks was always workin' and cleanin'.
There was a time.....
when you grew your eatin',
wove your wearin',
chose a gal from school,
church or county fair,
raised a whole passel of young 'uns.
There was a time.....
when you held your head up high
in town on a Satidee aftanoon
at the movin' pitcher show,
tipped your hat to ladies,
looked out for everbody's kids.
There was a time.....
when a man's word was his bond---
the law would git you for doin' bad.
Worst thing was messin' up
the fambly name or runnin' off
leavin' the fambly farm.
There was a time.....
least wize my Granpa tole me they was.
-Dewell H. Byrd
Jones had suggested some revisions that I make today. He bought it even tho he felt it was a bit "loose"... I'm looking for ways to tighten it up.
I'm thinking to let the dialect remain somewhat free... I welcome any and all suggestions. Dewell
THERE WAS A TIME…..
when a feller could get born
and dead in the same bedstead.
Live his whole dern life
same house, same land:
work, school, church, clean-----
folks was always workin' and cleanin'.
There was a time.....
when you grew your eatin',
wove your wearin',
chose a gal from school,
church or county fair,
raised a whole passel of young 'uns.
There was a time.....
when you held your head up high
in town on a Satidee aftanoon
at the movin' pitcher show,
tipped your hat to ladies,
looked out for everbody's kids.
There was a time.....
when a man's word was his bond---
the law would git you for doin' bad.
Worst thing was messin' up
the fambly name or runnin' off
leavin' the fambly farm.
There was a time.....
least wize my Granpa tole me they was.
-Dewell H. Byrd