You, me and Woody Guthrie

Gold cherry
Story of the week

By Parson Thru

Mon, 07 Aug 2017
  • 16280 reads
25 comments
 

Woody Guthrie painted a dark but beautiful picture of barges rocking on the Hudson River around 1942.  I’m nearing the end of his autobiography for the second time and sinking deeper into his story than in any of the preceding three hundred pages.  But then all those sorry, and perhaps tall, tales come back into focus as he plumps for a barge to who-knows-where, rather than “Rockefeller’s Center”.   In the surging black river water, Clara didn’t look burnt and Mama didn’t look crazy, and somewhere there was hope.

I read those pages in a café on our plaza, eating a sandwich and escaping the heat.  Moments before, I’d read a letter from my friend – a beautiful friend; one of the loveliest and most deserving people I know; maybe the most deserving.  We share a particular kind of tragedy – mine many years ago, hers all too raw.  I wish I could tell her how much she means, but what can you do when someone is in so much need?  

There are times when we are on our own.   Sometimes those times are filled with light; others, they are impenetrably dark.  I’m sure everyone is trying to shine a light on her right now, as they have for the last couple of years.

Pain and loss change us – make us who we are, or who we become.

“Will I go back to normal?”

No my love.  I don’t think you will.  You’ll carry on like we all do, shouldering this burden, and then the next, and the next – but I think you know that anyway.  In fact, I know you do.

Woody looked up and saw Ruth – the girl on the fruit farm way down in California.  He cursed his luck and fixed on what was up ahead.  He held his guitar, thought of the songs he still had to write for all the people struggling out in the orchards, in the oil-fields, crossing the cold, black Atlantic through the torpedo trails.  He knew he had a purpose.

That’s what we all need: a purpose of some kind.  This is a harsh world and people get knocked about – sometimes by richer folks, who can never be so rich they can manage without the little we have; sometimes by fate.  Fate’s often the cruellest of all – crueller than the harshest fruit farmer or the meanest and greediest boardroom.

We all need a purpose.  Millions have seen their purpose taken away as wealth made its way upstairs and out of reach, but humans are resilient and resourceful if only they wouldn’t shut themselves down.  When there’s something you know you care about, something you know is right, aim towards it.  Follow your sense of purpose.

Certificate U
Non-fiction
Letters
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by Ewan on

a tonic. I've bookmarked this, for the times when I'll need to read it and for the times when I'll wish I'd written it.

Author Page at the 'Zon
 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Thanks Ewan.

Parson Thru

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

Thank you for this, Kevin. I have a copy of Bound for Glory on my nightstand. (Do read Woody Guthrie: A Life by Joe Klein.) Still trying to find a footing after great loss. You lose your sense of self and wonder if you'll ever get it back. Those moments I do get it back are fleeting. For twenty five years I was the father of an only child, and now. . .

The things I've always written seemed to amuse people. That sounded like a good purpose to me. Still does. So I forge ahead. One day at a time, as they say. I'm convinced I have a purpose. And part of that purpose involves having empathy for all living things. I seem to possess more of it these days. I find I know what not to say to people that are hurting. Sometimes people just need a hug. Words be damned.

Didn't mean to get so wordy. I simply wanted to thank you for this wonderful reminder. I joke with my wife that 'I'm there, but not all there.' Not yet anyway. But I wll be. Cheers to you, bud.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Warmed the cockles of my heart, Rich. Sometimes there are no words, and sometimes there are. Lots of love to you and Darcey. I'll be seeing my friend in the next few days and she'll be getting a big hug. I think I've finally found a purpose - not without its complications but, hey, life is complicated. Originally my purpose was oblivion in its many forms. This feels better. Robbing from Dylan this time, the pain doesn't go away, you just find ways to switch it off. I'm on the lookout for a new book, so thanks. Been reading "Bound For Glory" and "The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test" in parallel. Cheers mate.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Tom Brown on

Yes it should rather read "You, me, Bob Dylan and Woody Guthrie" since he was a folk singer and Bob Dylan's idol and inspiration. And how does "You, I and Woody . . ." sound? It is fake this " I " business in all the movies no-one talks like that.

Just as by the way.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Good point on Dylan, Tom Brown. I was up to my eyes in Guthrie when I wrote this.

You and I, he/she and I. Subject.

You and me, Woody, Bob and me. Reflexive or object I think. I defer to obsessive grammarians.

We are all fake at some point in some way. Well, I am, and you can join me if you like.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Tom Brown on

Ok.

 

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

A PS to this, Kevin. We must be on the dame wavelength. Because I posted a dustbowl thing last week that was very unlike me. But the notion came and I went with it. When great minds collide. lol.

Rich

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

When you've got the notion...

Parson Thru

Submitted by fatboy74 on

Such a potent piece from Parson Thru, who could "write the phonebook as good as Elvis could sing it" right now - this is our Facebook/Twitter pick of the day. Why not like and share if you enjoyed it as much as we did.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Wow! Thanks FB. Fantastic!

Parson Thru

Submitted by YaseminB on

Brilliant piece. loved it.

Yasemin Balandi

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Thank you YaseminB.

Parson Thru

Submitted by celticman on

Hope is the sister of love. In fact they are co-joined twins. 

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Now who's soppy? :)

So true, celt.

Cheers mate.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on

Yay! If Woody was around he 'd like this a lotsmiley I have been in Exmouth Library today and picked up David Harsent's new anthology. My fave poem is 'Sang the Rat!' A true survival anthem to the 'little camp follower' who is often exploited by us in science labs as a 'little spare-part-rat-machine'. When my daughters were little we looked after a gorgeous,plump,characterful, Ovaltine-hued cutie who had been named Chocolate by her previous owner who had to part with her because of her daughter's allergy. Viva survival!

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Viva indeed! Thanks Elsie.
And amazingly, the amazing person of whom I speak once had three white rats. They're the only rats of the four-legged kind with which I've ever been well-acquainted. The strange fact is that they all reached their point of termination within weeks of each other. 3 rats, 2 rats, 1 rat, none.

I'll look Mr Harsent up. Thank you.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Wise, beautiful and true - lovely writing.

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Thank you, Philip Sydney.

Parson Thru

Submitted by airyfairy on

It's great stuff, PT.  And that bit about not getting back to normal - sometimes we need reminding that it's OK to not get back to what was previously normal.  Just carve out a new normal that works.  Thanks for posting.  

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Hi airyfairy. I think we see it the same way. Thanks for reading.

Parson Thru

Submitted by airyfairy on

Congratulations - this wise and wonderful piece is our Story of the Week!

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Speechless. Just been to see a lovely aunt in dire straits. Life.

Thank you.

X

Parson Thru

Submitted by jolono on

Nice piece PT. Struck a chord for too many reasons... Well deserved POTW.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Thanks jolono. Life, eh?

Parson Thru