into keewatin - pt 3.3
by john k zimmerman
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
Rated "G" by the Author.
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part 3.3 at last!
the "'rat" refered to in the first line of the last stana is a muskrat
Ole Spotted Mule, the fiddler, is a character in his own right. I can not exercise much control over him or his opinions.......
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Rosin on the Bow
I watched the old one ride off on up the dusty trail cliche
Heard him whistle “Soldier’s Joy” to his spotted string
I watched till they dropped out of sight beyond the next rise
Then with a step-dance step I stepped off to see to my mules.
Ole Red needed an ear rub; the grey a reassuring hug. Both
Were glad when down to the creek I lead them to drink.
Back at the creek my lines yielded two fat fall fish, not trout
But fried with my last onions my hunger was nobly served.
Chores done, down I sat by the fire and penned a line or two
About drought and a desperate farmwife and the lengths that
Love might go. I checked one last check of the campsite
Then threw down my bedroll in the bed box, and climbed in...
“O it is you: she said. “I hope you don’t think...”
Her face softened, “it is good to see you, for old
Times sake....” suddenly the other one was there,
‘What are you doing here alone with her”
“Nothing” we answered a little to quickly.
They glared, and circled out of earshot.
I thought that they were going to fight over me.
I was flattered!
Then they sat down and spoke earnestly.
They are comparing notes about me. I thought
And puffed myself up
“I’m the man I really am the man.”
Now the conversation became more animated,
More intimate and sister like
I’m thinking menage a troi
I crept closer
To overhear what they was saying.
Teacher jargon!
They were not talking about me at all!
I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon in the pan.
The old one was standing by the fire, “Bad dreams?” He flipped
A pancake. “Don’t know.” he snorted with derision. Flipped
The pancake added it to the stack. I pulled on jeans and boots.
He handed me a cup of strong black coffee and a plate piled “bout
Three miles high. “Mules are fine. Eat your breakfast. Saskatoon
Preserves?” He let me eat in silence while he filled a plate for himself,
“ you dreamed of your women. And learned what you didn’t want to know.”
“For all your thrashing and banging. All the heart ache and lost sleep
When it comes right down to it they really don’t think much of you”
“That’s what I learned when I slept here. They really don’t think of us ‘tall”.
He poured us more coffee, divided the bacon and pancakes between us.
“Oh we’re fine t’have when we’re younger for getting a child or two.
And when the well goes dry, or the screen door is broke, or the
Basement floods they always look to you. But even if we bring home
The bacon we’re kinda in the way. We’re just not important to them.”
“A weak man turns to the bottle, a small man to his work. The fool
Goes into politics. That leave the likes of you and me. You I see
Are a scribbler, and a dreamer, you rider the red mule well. Me?
Why I’m a fiddler, and a dreamer. I pass on the songs of my father...”
He stopped, wiped his eyes and took up his fiddle tune a string and
Started to play . He played the songs of his fathers in eloquent argument
In the interplay of string bow and rosin, the resonance maple and spruce,
I understood my meaning, saw my purpose for ranging the earth...
* * * * *
“I see, my friend, that you plan on settling down.” He laughed as he mounted.
“You haven’t said a word, through chores and saddling, for this hour or more”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Tell you what I’ll do: I’ll swap you that grey mule
For my daughter. She’s the baby, Kate and I raised her right, we did, for sure.
She can chop wood, and boil water, skin ‘rats, make bannock, and tea. She’s
A fine big Metis women: Keep you warm in the winter, you’ll see. But
Caveat emptor She is a school ma’rm, a good ‘un like her mother....”
I laughed. “Thanks, but I’ll keep my mule. I’m riding north west. Come along!”
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| Reviewed by Mitzi Jackson |
2/18/2005 |
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ha!!! love the dialog
and the tone of this piece
outstanding scene
got the tone down packed!!! |
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| Reviewed by ya mama (Reader) |
3/28/2003 |
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| an excellent poem indeed |
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| Reviewed by Trish - The Trickster |
3/27/2003 |
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| Superb write, John. ~Trish~ |
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| Reviewed by Janet Caldwell |
3/27/2003 |
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You always make me laugh. Too cool John!
Love, JC xoxoxo |
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| Reviewed by Birdie Houston |
3/27/2003 |
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| Well written |
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| Reviewed by Tinka Boukes |
3/27/2003 |
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very nice..I like this one...macho!!
thought that they were going to fight over me.
I was flattered!
Then they sat down and spoke earnestly.
They are comparing notes about me. I thought
And puffed myself up
“I’m the man I really am the man.”
Now the conversation became more animated,
More intimate and sister like
I’m thinking menage a troi
I crept closer
To overhear what they was saying.
Teacher jargon!
They were not talking about me at all!
HAhaha....very good...excellent!
Love
Tinka
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| Reviewed by Phyllis Jean Green |
3/27/2003 |
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| This is wonderful. What a great sense of humor you have. Language is great, and the rhythm. Thanks for the ride,john-boy {sorry..betcha hate that}. Ah'm keepin' ma spurs an' chaps on so I'll be ready for the next'n. Phyllis |
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
3/26/2003 |
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| excellent write... |
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| Reviewed by Kate Clifford |
3/26/2003 |
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| The chat by the fireside. Nice write. |
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| Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader) |
3/26/2003 |
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john,
excellent!
Peg |
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