Ode to Michael Blake
By Charles Redner
Here’s to the Age of Retirement
and all that jive,
sixty plus cinco
on twenty-ten, July five.
Give a cheer ‘cause Michael’s
made it to here.
Ya’ll know the drill—
a toast—lift up a frosty,
cold mug of beer.
His classic Dances taken on a life of its own,
then Twelve raced off to heaven, but is hardly alone.
Hundreds now follow their undaunted King
a galloping Pegasus over endless valleys upon angel wings.
The Holy Road’s waiting
for Hollywood to call,
where that darn Kevin guy
is too busy hitting a ball.
Indian Yell tells the stories
white-folks shudder to recall
but needs retelling, so never again
at a Wounded Knee they fall.
___________________________
You may bury my body in Sussex grass,
You may bury my tongue at Champmedy.
I shall not be there, I shall rise and pass.
Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.
Stephen Vincent Benet
“American Names,” 1931
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Nine minutes of fame!
On the set of “Write-On” with host, Judy Saxon. Could Oprah’s sofa be far off?
Monday, May 10, 2010
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