my first eighteen years
i lived in an old house across
from the old town hall, erected
the later part of the 19th Century.
the tall stone structure was planed,
erected and engraved with the year,
one hundred years after
the signing of the US Constitution.
along the line, i am sure,
people worked hard, even
fudged a bit with the timing,
and were pleased it came out that way.
1876 was carved in stone
for all to see, prominently
high on the face of the building,
just below the roof top towers.
from across the street i saw it
everyday i looked.
of course, it was there
even days i didn’t look.
though years have passed, and I’m sixty-five,
my feelings for that building haven’t changed.
i respected that old place.
they knew what they were doing.
now the house i lived in and that town hall,
along with the rest of downtown,
since, have been torn down.
urban renewal they called it,
and got new police fire and city quarters
a new post office out of it, and the old bank.
things like stores, several restaurants
many bars, two drugstores,
ice cream shops, newsstand,
parking, the movie theater, the dairy,
public restroom and benches,
the old hotel, things for the little people
were taken away,
not to be returned.
now there’s space
in their place.
after my forty years away,
i’m back, one street over
and a few blocks down,
living in a home dating from 1838.
in 1876 a prominent citizen and minister
was halfway through the
forty-one years
he had lived here.
the town hall was called the opera house
where shows and meetings were held.
i know the Reverend Samuel Marks
co-founder of the Mason’s Lodge
buried under the tallest monument in
the old cemetery,
i know that Marks
had visited that beloved hall.
thus giving new significance to me,
for a once-prominent building
in this town,
that isn’t anywhere.
suddenly, i’m old
and among the last
to remember the village,
and that beloved old building.
i will fondly remember
the old town hall and the life
the way it was; until i too, wash
into wherever memories go.
in what i've said there is nothing new.
it’s what old people always, have done
and do holding dear to precious history,
bringing to mind how it used to be.
i lived in an old house across
from the old town hall, erected
the later part of the 19th Century.
the tall stone structure was planed,
erected and engraved with the year,
one hundred years after
the signing of the US Constitution.
along the line, i am sure,
people worked hard, even
fudged a bit with the timing,
and were pleased it came out that way.
1876 was carved in stone
for all to see, prominently
high on the face of the building,
just below the roof top towers.
from across the street i saw it
everyday i looked.
of course, it was there
even days i didn’t look.
though years have passed, and I’m sixty-five,
my feelings for that building haven’t changed.
i respected that old place.
they knew what they were doing.
now the house i lived in and that town hall,
along with the rest of downtown,
since, have been torn down.
urban renewal they called it,
and got new police fire and city quarters
a new post office out of it, and the old bank.
things like stores, several restaurants
many bars, two drugstores,
ice cream shops, newsstand,
parking, the movie theater, the dairy,
public restroom and benches,
the old hotel, things for the little people
were taken away,
not to be returned.
now there’s space
in their place.
after my forty years away,
i’m back, one street over
and a few blocks down,
living in a home dating from 1838.
in 1876 a prominent citizen and minister
was halfway through the
forty-one years
he had lived here.
the town hall was called the opera house
where shows and meetings were held.
i know the Reverend Samuel Marks
co-founder of the Mason’s Lodge
buried under the tallest monument in
the old cemetery,
i know that Marks
had visited that beloved hall.
thus giving new significance to me,
for a once-prominent building
in this town,
that isn’t anywhere.
suddenly, i’m old
and among the last
to remember the village,
and that beloved old building.
i will fondly remember
the old town hall and the life
the way it was; until i too, wash
into wherever memories go.
in what i've said there is nothing new.
it’s what old people always, have done
and do holding dear to precious history,
bringing to mind how it used to be.
4 comments:
Hey Jack,
WTF! Great Poem. Yeah, oldness. Nice painting s over on the other blog too. I don't paint anymore.
Have you talked to Stan lately? Say Hi to M. wherever you guys are.
Briget from Stan's Art class 1000's years ago
Hi Jack,
Thank you for preserving that history. Though I don't know your town, I know my old town and how it used to be. My husband remembers his old downtown, and has often described to me the buildings and places that are no longer there. Your memories are important.
Briget, best to you and california.
we are in either ohio or rome.
i'm a few years behind on contact with Stan.
there's always more to do.
Annie,
thanks for the comment.
the old town is fun to recall.
the big wheel keeps on turning.
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