From
The Shepherd Express:
I’m Art Kumbalek and man oh manischewitz what a world, ain’a? So listen, three words to remember during the coming week: VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! And if it helps, I suggest you grab a Sharpie and write “VOTE” on your forehead, so that a simple glance at the bathroom mirror will jog your memory. Whatever it takes, what the fock.
Next, a “thank you” to constant reader Ingrid/Mae for the very nice note. And speaking of notes, me and the fellas are humming a blue one these days. So, no essay this week ’cause I’m off to the Uptowner tavern/charm school for some needed camaraderie. Come along if you like and, believe it or not, this time I’ll buy the first round. Let’s get going.
Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey, Artie! Over here.
Herbie: Gentlemen. Now that we’re all here, it’s time to raise your glass. To Martha.
Julius: To Martha.
Ernie: To Martha.
Ray: To Martha.
Emil: To Martha.
Little Jimmy: To Martha.
Art: And for Martha, for all, I will read a poem by the esteemed Mr. Yeats, “The Stolen Child.” And full disclosure, I’ve taken the liberty to change the gender here and there in the poem, so sue me, what the fock:
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us she’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
She’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into her breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For she comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than she can understand.
To Martha.
(Hey, this is going late but good and I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear, ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)
