something essential

I don't know
if I've got this story
exactly right,
because it didn't happen
to me,
and I heard it
many years ago,
but I am sure
I retained
the essence of it.

My friend Juan,
who I think
was descended from
old Mayan kings,
had disappeared
from society for a while,
by hiding out
down below
those iconic cliffs,
on that beach
in California,
where he met this
Vietnam vet
who lived in a cave
and hunted fish
with a spear launcher
made with an old
bicycle inner tube.

Above them,
atop the cliff,
there was
a Buddhist monastery,
and Juan used to climb up
and pick fruit
from their garden
while they sat there
meditating
among the plants,
and they never
moved or said anything.

And for me,
that image captures
something essential
and beautiful
about life
that is hard to define.


-Jim DuBois
September 2015

Giving Up the Search

If we could give up
our search for perfection,
"the one",
that perfect place,
that perfect time,
that perfect person,
and accept the good
in what comes our way
or create good
in the here and now
when we need to,

we could embrace
more fully
these wonderful days and lives
we've been given,

but to accept now,
to accept that
there are no perfect people,
not even any perfect lives
or perfect moments,
is to lift up
your broken heart,
your old wounds,
those ancient fears and frustrations,
those delusions you labor under,
and say,
"This happened.
I can't fix it.
I can't change the past.
I didn't like it.
The world is not perfect.
Bad things happen in it.
There is suffering,
and pain,"

and that's harder than it seems,
but you can pause a moment,
and add,

"but there is goodness.
I have seen it.
I have done it.
I have been it."


-Jim DuBois
July 28, 2015

Working Class Wisdom

A man walking down the street,
his daughter trailing behind,
and I overhear him say,

"Because being nice
doesn't always get things done."


-Jim DuBois
March 23, 2015

Working Class Wisdom #2

How I used to write poems

Like the sun
Like gravity and hurricanes
Like the first day of spring
Like the first snowflake of winter
Like the smell of rain on warm pavement
Like the secret fort in the stone wall from long ago
Like those early friendships
Like the ever-expanding universe
Like a radio-wave
Like first love
Like possibilities
Like nothingness


-Jim DuBois
April 12, 2015

Chasing Sunsets

I remember
getting up late
in the winter one year
and going out to chase
the last bit
of sun
and running into you.

We went to Fire and Water
and sat there for a minute
before inspiration struck
and we decided
to go climb Bare Mountain.

Even though
it was pretty late,
we thought if we rushed,
we could make it to
the top for the sunset.

Of course, it was January
and there was slick
ice-covered snow
all over that steep trail
and we had to drive
a half hour to start,
but we went
and ran up that trail,
and fell over and
slid back a lot,
and missed the sunset
but reached the top
and then falteringly
made our way down
in the dark.


And it turned into
a thing we did
that winter.

Not planned,
always at the last minute
when we bumped into
each other in town,
we'd say "I bet
we can make it up
______ mountain
and see the sunset
if we rush!
Let's go!"

And we'd get
partway up
and notice the sun
going down,
and head off-trail,
straight up the hillside,
punching holes in the
ice crust to keep
our hold,
and rushing, and slipping
and sending ice-chunks
zipping down behind us
and never make the top
in time
and laughing at each other
when we fell over
and over
on the way down.

We never, never
saw the sunset
from a peak,
but it was
such a good winter.


-Jim DuBois
Dec 22, 2014

For Gabriel García Márquez, upon learning he has Alzheimer's

This is a pen,
you use it
to write words
and tell stories

This is paper,
upon which you write
those stories

This is a novel,
you read it
to gain insight
into the magical loneliness
of existence

This is a poem,
you read it
every day
to understand
that someone
appreciated
your creations,
and to remind yourself
of your great contributions
to literature


-Jim DuBois
Dec 11, 2013

Gabriel García Márquez has Alzheimer's - the Guardian

Grandfather Turtle, and Snake Hunting Near Gregor's Crossing

"Thank you,"
I say
as the first snake
of the season
slithers into view
ahead of me
on the dirt path.

I slow down.

I take its picture.

I start to think
about all the animals
I have seen
down here
near Gregor's Crossing,
the snakes,
frogs,
owls,
ducks,
fish,
chipmunks,
and beavers.

And one time,
when the evening light
was slanting
in just the right
way to illuminate
the streambed
clearly to me
on the bank,
I saw this
giant 3-foot long
turtle
swimming along placidly.
So I followed along,
tried to get pictures
but none came out,
wondered where he came
from,
thought about age
and survival.

There were many people
nearby that day,
walking,
swimming,
enjoying the day,
but none of them
noticed the turtle,
and he seemed
to sense
when they were
nearby
in the water,
and turn back.

Old Grandfather Turtle,
I thought,
swimming near
Gregor's Crossing,
appearing only
when the light
and time are right,
appearing only to those
who can notice,
who can be silent
or still for
the right amount
of time.
Not noticeable
by the hectic modern
world of humans,
but still swimming
below the surface,
holding to the old ways,
the peaceful
and silent ways,
the enduring ways.


-Jim DuBois
April 18, 2013


PS - Two days before I put up this poem, I went for a walk, saying to myself, "I will notice the present moment this whole walk." And then I saw the turtle again! I got a few pictures.

Tiny Sand Frogs

Turning over
a canoe on the beach

I discover
    reveal

a multitude
of tiny sand frogs,
(five could fit on my pinky)

tiny sand frogs,
descendants
of the glorious stars,
constructions
of tinier atoms

tiny sand frogs
leap about
in a tiny horde
after I turn over
a canoe
on the beach


-Jim DuBois
July 15, 2012

Gandalf Gets Married

In a basement somewhere...

"A great evil
is rising again
in the south,
and we must..."

"Gandalf!
Did you take out
the garbage yet?!"

"The garbage
must wait!
There is a
great evil..."

"Great evil?!
Are your
little friends
visiting again?
The hairy ones?"

"They're called Hobbits!
And they're our
only hope!"

"Yeah, yeah.
Just take out
the damn garbage.
Evil can wait."

"Ok... Fine!...
Sorry Frodo,
I've got to go.
Maybe we could
get together
another day.
If I don't take
the garbage out
I won't get
any pussy
tonight!"


-Jim DuBois
July 6, 2012

Return of the Slacker - The Book!

I made another version of my blog: a printed one.

It contains all the poems on this blog, except the two right before this entry. That's over 200 poems from 4 years, all in this one book.
Click here to get a copy

Click here to get a copy.

The Inertia of Familiar Things

The inertia of familiar things
The inertia of familiar places
The inertia of familiar people

The orbits we live in
The places we stay at rest
The places we stay dormant

Dormant potential energy

The bonds we don't break
The escape velocity we usually never reach
The bubbles we live inside

The ruts we travel along
Those familiar grooves
Those familiar moves

The energy trapped in neural pathways
The memories we always revisit
The moments we repeat through time

The things we always say
The habits we learned long ago
The roads we take without thinking

Repetitive habitual energy

Time for something new

Some unfamiliar territory
Some awkward things to say
Some unpracticed words

Things we don't know how to do
Places we haven't been
Broken bonds, released energy

Dynamite in the foundation
Rocket fuel in the boosters
Fire in the neurons

A new day
A new life
New time

Now


-Jim DuBois
May 7, 2012

Rocket Boy

We must have told you
that Daddy was far away
after he died,
or something like that,
because you got it
in your head
that he was out on Jupiter
in outer space, or at a star,
and we let it stand at that,
because often there was
no more reasonable way
to say it.

Lately you've loved to watch
the launch of Apollo 11
on youtube,
and listen to the song
"Rocket-Man"
by Elton John,
and I think
as I sit there with you
that you are on
a kind of a lonely quest
to find your father,
and I am awed
by the deep hope
you have
that maybe it's possible.

It is serious
and important for you,
at four and a half,
to be on this quest,
and it is important
for me to set down a reminder,
a note to your future self,
saying that even though
a quest might take you
across the universe,
it always ends up
being about coming to terms
with what is inside of you.


-Jim DuBois
Dec 10, 2011



Bonus Videos! Watch them separately, or do an experiment and run them both at the same time.

Start this first:


Start this after a couple of minutes or so:

After the Funeral

After the funeral,
there was nothing to say
which was not awkward,
nothing to say
which did not seem cliche,
but I kept trying anyway.

I talked to the father
of the deceased man.
I said things like
"It's very sad."
We didn't look at each other
and he said something like,
"I feel terrible,
especially for my grandson,"
and looked up at the trees
and shed some tears.
A half minute later,
he said something like,
"but we've got to get on with life,
and try to help the people
left behind."

I figured out that that moment
between us, however awkward,
however brief,
was important
because it was about caring,
and that what I said
didn't matter as much
as that I cared.

So, when the parents
of the deceased were leaving,
I went up to the mother,
and took her hand
and looked her in the eye
and said as warmly
as I have probably ever
said anything,
"take care."


-Jim DuBois
July 28, 2011

Yes, the Rain

There is a first time
we each heard the rain,
or felt the wind,
or saw the sun.

Even now,
there are four new infants
who can't yet wonder
"what is rain?"
or
"why is there rain?"

They can just
hear it.


-Jim DuBois
Aug 15, 2011

Gone

Gone,
for a little while
playing flute by the swamp
-- only the birds knew me


-Jim DuBois
June 5, 2011

Two Old Men After a Funeral

1.

Two old men,
patriarchs of their families,
leaning against the porch rail
after a funeral
- they thank me
for all the work
I have done
to take care of
their daughter and grandson.

I am caught off-guard
by my emotions.

I search for a reply,
then say,
"I felt it was important."

One of them replies,
"It was...
  it is."

And I carry on.



2.

Two old men
after a funeral
remind me
that to care and to love
are important.

Two old men
after a funeral
pass down
ancient primate wisdom
and responsibilities.



-Jim DuBois
September 8, 2010

Promises

Before you died,
we knew you were sick
for a long time
and I always imagined
being there
for your final moments
and promising you
that I
would always
be there for your son.

(But) when your end came
you were unconscious
and in a different state
and it turns out
that those imagined moments
were disguised promises
to myself.


-Jim
Sep 15, 2010

There's Still Time

There's still time
    to surprise me,
    to show up randomly at my door
    and pledge yourself
        to the revolution
        and to me,
    to don your old heroic gear
        and enter the battle
        once more,
    to open up your mouth
        and say no
        to the things that need
        to be said no to,
    to stand up,
    to fight for love,
    to reach for other humans,
    to be brave,
    to open your heart.


-Jim DuBois
Jan 28, 2011

A Certain Peace

The first time I remember
    walking down route 9
    by St. John's church
    in Northampton,

I had given up hope
    and was carrying
    a rolled up blanket
    and looking for a place
    to sleep.

I had given up hope
    of finding people
    of finding my way
    of finding a home,

but there was a certain peace
    that settled over me
    in that moment
    (maybe because
    I had stopped trying)
    and then Julian pulled up
    on the street
    (in Steve's british car
    he was borrowing without asking)
    and took me to stay
    at the Cummington Community
    for the Arts
    for a few days.

I remember wandering around
    up there,
    going into the weird little cabins
    (which I later learned were private),
    sitting in a field
    playing flute
    which echoed back nicely
    from the hills
    and imagining
    I was the long lost son
    of a woman I imagined
    lived in the little old house
    nearby.

I remember eating a lot of carrots
    and seeing Lauren's
    circular art cabin,
    with the hand-made walk,
    nestled in the edge
    of the woods.


Now it is nearly twenty years later
    and I am sitting on State street
    on the low stone wall
    by Edwards church
    and I am trying
    not to try
    and to give up hopes
    I have of other people,

and even though
    I've had insomnia recently
    and my best friend's husband
    died three months ago
    and we (including her three
    and a half year old son)
    haven't found our bearings yet,
    a certain peace
    has settled over me again
    and I am using it
    to relax,
        to remember,
            and to write.



-Jim DuBois
Nov 13, 2010

Faded

I.

I never thought
those times would
become faded

Or that my voice might be
the spectre of the past
calling out,
reminding you,
reminding me,
of something…

…something indistinct
but important,
locked away in memory,
in childhood,
in these faded photographs
of who we used to be
but can never be again.



II.

I never thought
those times would
become faded,
but these photographs
tell the true story,
that we weren’t who we
thought we were,
and we still aren’t,
and it’s only by a trick
of the mind
and avoidance of the sight of our old bad
hair cuts
that we convince ourselves
that nothing’s changed.



III.

Sometimes something
indistinct can tell us
more than something precise,
because what is essential
is dynamic and can’t be captured…

…we can only be reminded of it,
and experience it anew.

We have memories and feelings
about the past
but no more moments of it.



IV.

I look out the window,
watching the grey weather
quietly drop snow onto Northampton
as I write down some thoughts
that came to me
after looking at these old pictures.

I know that one day,
this moment will also fade,
this ink will disappear and
the paper crumble.

Until then
I just want to say:

We still have time
to be who we’ve
always been.



-Jim DuBois
2005?