Georgia and the information man.
in Thoughts and Feelings, words all strung together
as best songs, cliche, Georgia, good friend, hand, healing conference, information man, kind, little trip, love, mediocrity, poem, pulse, reaction, sky, suburban yard, time, wakefield, yard
“The best songs are the ones about Georgia–
Even though I’ve never been there, it’s the only place I still believe in Jesus.”
That’s an excerpt from Buddy Wakefield’s poem, The Information Man. I just read it again. I don’t know how many times I’ve read it now, but each time I do, it rearranges me all over again.
It’s like a good friend, someone who knows the real you and calls you out. Doesn’t let you sink into mediocrity. Doesn’t let you settle into some boring relationship just because it’s been a long time since you’ve held someone’s hand.
I remember the first time I met that poem. Yes, met it. It had that much of a presence. I listened to a guy–Ryan–recite it in the back of a suburban yard, under the kind of sky that makes you remember how small a thing it is to be human. My pulse quickened, my breathing changed. My reaction was visceral. And I was in love. Listening to him recite that poem was like standing in front of the ocean; I was at once overwhelmed and encouraged. So finite, yet my heart felt vast in a good way.
You owe it to yourself to listen to it.
I was thinking about it tonight, specifically, because I’m considering a little trip to Georgia next week. A friend wants me to sing with him for a conference. A healing conference, of all things. How cliche for me right now.
I’m nervous about a few things, but all of the sudden I like the idea of Georgia. We’ll see–the decision is still in dispute, I suppose.
But Buddy Wakefield’s poem is definitely not in dispute. It’s absolutely breathtaking.
Just like life.
Maybe even just like Georgia.
(i’m not your)broadway baby.
in Thoughts and Feelings
as alliteration, broadway baby, broadway tour, change, cliche, comic, half, house, Jim Gaffigan, laughter, pause, phrase, phrase cards, remark, song, way, yeah
He used to call me his broadway baby and I didn’t like the way that sounded. Because the alliteration annoyed me and also, I was only doing a Broadway tour, mind you, and I didn’t want to pretend otherwise.
He wrote me a half of a song once. Half of a song. That about sums it up because he never did finish it. Also, the words “broadway baby” were in the chorus. I would suggest a change, something that sounded a little less cliche, perhaps, but it was his song. Or rather, his half of a song.
He recently told me that he found a box of cards that people had written to me, stashed away in some corner of the house he still lives in. He asked me if I wanted those cards. I remembered that I am me, that I love words, that a card is a special and dear thing, so I said, “Um, yeah.” And then he told me that he would make sure there were no cards in the box from him. There was a pause in the conversation then, with that last phrase, “cards…from him…” hanging in the air between us. “I know I wasn’t very good at giving you cards,” he finally said. And then I laughed. I burst out into laughter like he was Jim Gaffigan, a standup comic that actually makes me laugh, because not many do.
And he listened to my laughter and amended his remark to, “I know I wasn’t very good at giving you cards, among other things.”
And all I could do was agree.
Because no, he wasn’t very good at giving me cards, but that is maybe close to the bottom of a very long list of things he wasn’t very good at when it came to me.
And he never did finish that song.
And now I no longer want him to.
