The Song That Calls Us Home

The Song That Calls Us Home

(for Bobbie Ann Mason)

My old Kentucky home
the place I've run from
most of my life
the place friends left
to find a better way
the place hearts long for
on cloudy days.


Kentuckians have stood
in the canyons of New York City
gazed at snow capped peaks
of reflected light
on jagged skyline
looked to skyscrapers
pointing out the new frontier.


We've been absorbed in the crowd
     of Mardi Gras
stumbled through the streets of
     bottles, booze and boudoirs
watched bare breasts
bounce to the rhythm of Jazz.
Yet
any place we go
Kentuckians are lost
          homesick
          restless
to return.


Some deny it
swear to never go back
but
     somewhere
hidden by tall Bluegrass
or green tobacco
there is a tombstone
reserved for them
where family and friends
are buried in deep fertile soil.


And, those of us
     who've come home
     who've seen bright city lights
     who've heard the quiet of desert sand
     who've smelt the smog of L.A.
     who've smoked dope
and slept in the arms of whores,
we know.

Those of us
who've seen the Rhine
          the Tames
          and the Dead Sea...
Those of us
who've crossed oceans
to be shot at
and to shoot back

Those of us who've cried
          and laughed
          and groaned
with strangers everywhere,
we know.


We know
in the end
by no real choice of our own
we come back.
We come back because
we hear the song.

The song that calls us home.
Tony Sexton

Some years ago Bobbie Ann Mason wrote a piece for The New Yorker about the song, My Old Kentucky Home and it was the inspiration for this poem. As I read the article, I realized there was a unique thing about Kentucky. It's sort of like the Eagle's song, Hotel California, we can check out but we can never really leave.

I once interviewed several Kentucky authors to see if I could find a common thread among them and the reason for thier success. Bobbie Ann was one of those authors. And, what I found out was, each of these authors had a professor at UK named Robert Hazel. He was  not the greatest teacher any of them had, but his idea was you have to go to places like New York or LA in order to find success. And that is what each of them did, only to find this philosophy was flawed. They were not so much homesick as they were misplaced. One, Ed McClanahan, did not see any success until he and Wendel Berry visited an old, falling down theater where Ed once worked as a ticket taker. As they sat in that theater with the roof half missing, Wendel pointed out a finch that lit on one of the rafters. They discussed it and Ed went home and rewrote, The Natural Man which has become a classic among Kentucky literature. All the time Ed was away from Kentucky he held a bitterness about where he grew up but after the conversation with Wendel, he realized, Kentucky was his home. In a sense, I suppose he finally heard the song that called him home. Of course, Ed has gone on to write many wonderful, funny and pointed books that reflect life in Kentucky.

So this poem reflects my feelings about Kentucky and the knowledge that there is something about a person home whether it be Kentucky or some other state that gives them a foundation for the rest of their life. For so many of us, we do have to go home again to find our place in life.

You will find references to the war, Viet Nam, and to places I have never been. But, my friends have been to those places and they have related thier feelings of loss while living there. Of course, this is not the case for every Kentuckian because there are those who have left and while they often return, they do not feel the need to come back to live. However, in the end, even those will always remember and be influnced by their life in Kentucky.

Are you a Kentuckian? Have you gone away and returned home? I would like to hear your story. Write to me. And, I would love to know what you think of this blog, the idea and purpose.
See you next time.
Tony






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