May you Nevermore! Crowe Old
An ode to Crowe in Several Stanzas for Bob on the beginning of his final voyage
Once upon a midnight dreary, pondering matters literary, O’er some long and since forgotten bit of old New Salem lore, Gently then there came a tapping, but, alas, poor Bob was napping. In retirement seems he’d done this, so says Sandy, more and more.
And while lying there in slumber, something ripped his dreams asunder, A croaking sound like winged thunder fell upon his chamber door. And there, a bird in funeral bunting, dressed in feathered cloak and something Darker now he knew was coming, coming through his chamber door.
Poor Robert woke, he thought, and stirred, and stared upon this ghastly bird So decked in splendor, Bob’s eyes blurred a-wondering what could be in store. ‘Twas not a raven … that was Poe … nor blackbird, rook, nor buffalo, But ‘twas a solitary Crow, a-standing at his chamber door.
A single word from such a bird, poor Bob in Aspen one time heard, Would make a brave man’s heart ungird no matter how the man implored. He knew that once the crow had flown into his quaint and humble home That all the future might be known and what the fates might have in store.
“I’ll ask this bird,” he mumbled low, “and speak here frankly, Crow to Crowe, About what plans I’ll see unfold, before my life is finally o’er. “Excuse me, bird, my name is Crowe, a name I think perhaps you know. Actually, I’m C.E.O., of this and that, and much, much more.”
“I’m not as young as once I was, and now I’d like a hint to what My future holds you see because, I’m stumped … as I have been before. Tell me bird, and say it quick, should I retire and just go sit, And with my work, but done with it?” Quoth the old Crow: “NEVERMORE!!”
“But surely bird,” he then inquired, “life seems sweeter when retired, And surely Sandy needs my….fire! Surely there is nothing more! I could go ski, and scuba dive, there’s lots to do while still alive, And take my scotch at half past five.” Quoth the old Crow: “NEVERMORE!!”
“You see!” said Bob, a bit chagrined, “I thought I’d given up, then Ken Became my partner, suave and thin, and ruined all I’d planned, and more. I’d bought a home among the groves of orange trees and marigolds And planned to spend my ill-got gold on Florida’s sweet and sunny shore.
“We wrote a show about a Toad, based upon my book, you know And people loved it even though I found rehearsals quite a chore. And then there came five other shows, all pretty good, and I suppose That I was happier than those who chose to just sit back and belch and snore.
“Then there came this Lincoln thing out at New Salem’s parks and springs I thought I’d simply spend a Spring or Summer there then shut the door. I thought I’d go and try my hand at Lincoln for a season and Along came this thing Abraham! Just plug it in.. and nothing more! But strangest thing, I’m sure you’ve heard,” Bob said unto this ugly bird. The damn thing flew! ..excuse my words…and it may play Forevermore!”
So Crow to Crowe and toe to toe, they tossed their volleys to and fro And then from somewhere down below came stirring from without his door. “Bob!” said Sandy, “Are you on the phone? Is there somebody up there?” So said Sandy, out of time, breaking meter, dashing rhyme, but with her joyous smile sublime, which by all is much adored. “Bob! Come to bed! You’ve worried enough for one night! And now you’re starting to talk to yourself!” “Uh..”… said Robert, much amused, a line he filched from Dr. Suess. “I’d really like to take a snooze,” but quoth the old Crowe “NEVERMORE!!”
The blackened bird looked straight at him and with his gaze Bob’s hair grew thin And this strange creature gave a grin as if his words to underscore. He seemed to say, with but a stare that more would be discussed and there Would soon be secrets darkly shared concerning what fate had in store.
“It now occurs to me,” said Bob, “I met you on my other job, That furry, feather thingamabob, when I retired forevermore. You were the bird who came to me when I was ‘bout to be set free From my desk to liberty and all those things which I adored.
“Bob! You’re doing it again! Come to bed, sweetheart!” She yelled again, destroying metre on a whim, and some might take offense But then she’d done it many times before.. Once, I heard, in semaphore!
The crow then nodded his assent and Robert knew what that nod meant For now would come the answer bent on telling poor Bob’s fate and more. “Should I then assume,” said he, “that you now know my destiny And all that will occur to me?” said Robert, fearing what this now forebore.
Another nod was all the crow would give and Robert’s feet grew cold For now his fate would be foretold and all his future be explored. “Let’s not be hasty,” said Sir Bob, “I’m not quite sure I like your job Of playing, as it were, a god, and telling what fate has in store.”
The tension then from crow to Crowe was so intense that even though The hour was late, the fire was low, their voices rose, the pressure soared. Vainly Robert pled his case, he stalked the room, he flushed his face But nothing would it seems erase, the old bird’s call of “NEVERMORE!!”
“But what about my dreams and plans? My trips to far-off, distant lands? My summer house down in the sands? My reveries on foreign shores?” The bird, perturbed at what he’d heard, just blinked and said then not a word But sat there with a smile absurd and finally mumbled, “NEVERMORE!!”
“Bahamas?” “No,” replied the crow. “And Moscow?” “Nyet,” his mind was set. “Heidelburg!” he then rejoined But all the crow could say was, “Nein!” “I’ve labored 60 years!” he sobbed. “I’d hardly call it labor, Bob!” said Sandy then who listened in. Well, who could sleep through all this din?
Confounded then, by what he’d heard, from listening to this blasted bird, Poor Bob then carefully chose his words and one last time he then implored. “Bird!” say he, “Does this then mean, instead of chasing all my dreams and kicking back as most men do, that I’m to take advice from you? “And chuck all my retirement plans all for this thing called Abraham!? “Will I ever then retire and slowly grow to be admired as one who’s lived as life requires then simply sink into the sand?”
The bird then shouted, “NEVERMORE!!” and once again, the “NEVERMORE!!” And through the night his croaking soared, Oh, “NEVERMORE!!” and “NEVERMORE!!” “NEVERMORE!!” the old crow sang, and “NEVERMORE!!” his old voice rang. And “NEVERMORE!!” shot through the trees and shattered stillness on the breeze.
“Ok!” said Bob. “You win! I lose! I’ve never yet a crow refused!” “You’d better not,” his wife disclosed, “refuse the pleadings of this Crowe!” “I’ll keep it up! I promise now! I give my single, solemn vow That long as I have breath and soul I’ll head the murmerings of this crow!”
And then from out his chamber door there came a rumbling on the storm, An eerie sound like rolling thunder sought to tear the night asunder. And Robert rose to find the sound, he opened up his portal proud And gazed upon a gathering herd of crows like Hitchcock’s blackened birds.
They sat upon his monkey bars and stared beneath the cold night’s stars And looked upon his withered form with sooty beaks upon the storm. “My heavens!” said poor Bob, “In fact, I think I recognize these chaps!” For on the necks of these dark crows were faces that Bob used to know. “There’s Tyler Toad! And Mrs. Him! And Clyde, my little monster friend! “And Herndon, Selby, Willy V, and there’s old Judith now I see! “And that one crow who seems half dazed … She’s wearing Sylvia’s dear face! “And look! That crow who’s half prepared! That’s David Shaffer perching there! And then from all the crows there flew. a daring bird Bob thought he knew. A feathered fowl of noble mane flew forth and flittered on the stage. He had the eyes of one who saw above the fray to worlds beyond. The stately crow then arched his eyes and sung the words Bob recognized: “Booth lead boldly with a big bass drum!” ARE YOU WASHED IN THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB! “No more retirement! There’s work to be done!” ARE YOU WASHED IN THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB!
Once upon a midnight dreary, pondering matters literary, O’er some long and since forgotten bit of old New Salem lore, Gently then there came a tapping, ‘twas Bob’s destiny a-rapping, Would retirement find him napping? Quoth the Old Crow, NEVERMORE!
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
PAGE
PAGE 5