THE BARBER OF SEPO
Trimmed but not cut too short; the temples shaved,
Neck clipped around, not shaved, an oil shampoo,
You have a world of time before the train
And when it comes it stops ten minutes—then
The depot's just a block away.
Oh yes,
This is my own, my native town. But when
I earn the money to get out, I go.
I've had my share of bad luck—seems to me
Without my fault, as least life's actinism
Makes what we call our luck or lack of luck....
Go down this street a block, find Burney Cole
And ask him why I was not graduated
From Sepo's High School at the time he was.
It was this way: I fell in love that spring
With Lillie Balzer, and it ended us,
Lillie and me, for finishing that year.
I thought of Lillie morning, noon and night
And Lillie thought of me, and so we flunked.
That thinned the class to Burney Cole, and he
Stood up and spoke twelve minutes scared to death.
Progress of Science was his theme, committed
To memory, the gestures timed, they trained him
Out in the woods near Big Creek.
Lil and I
Sat there and laughed—the town was in the hall,
Applause terrific, bouquets thick as hops.
And when they handed Burney his diploma
The crowd went wild.
How does this razor work?
Not shaving you too close? I try to please ...
Burney was famous for a night, you see.
They thought his piece was wonderful, such command
Of language, depth of thought beyond his years.
Next morning with his ears and cheeks still burning,
Flushed like a god, as Keats says, Burney stood
Behind the counter in the grocery store
Beginning then to earn the means to take
A course in Science—when a customer
Came in and said: a piece of star tobacco,
Young fellow, hurry! Such is fame—one night
You're on a platform gathering in bouquets,
Next morning without honor and forgotten,
Commanded like a boot-black.
Five years now
Burney has clerked, some say has given up
The course in science, and I hate to ask him ...
But as for me, there was a lot of talk,
And Lillie went away, began to sport.
She's been around the world, is living now
In Buenos Ayres. Love's a funny thing:
It levels ranks, puts monarch or savant
Beside the chorus girl and in her hands.
I stayed here, did not have to leave for shame,
But Lillie changed my life.
When she was gone
My conscience hurt me, and that very fall
When I was most susceptible, responsive,
And penitent, we had a great revival.
And just to use the lingo: after much
Wrestling at the Seat of Mercy, prayers
And ministrations then I saw the light,
Became converted, got the ecstasy.
I wrote to Lillie who was in Chicago
To seek salvation, told her of myself.
She wrote back, you are cracked—go take a pill....
I know you've come to get your hair trimmed, shaved,
Also to hear my story—you shall hear.
The elders saw in me a likely man
And said there is a preacher. First I knew
They had a purse made up to send me off
To learn theology, and so I went.
I plunged into the stuff that preachers learn:
The Hebrew language, Aramaic and Syriac;
The Hebrew ideas—rapid survey—oh, yes,
Rapid survey, that was the usual thing.
Histories of Syria and Palestine;
Theology of the Synoptics, eschatology.
Doctrine of the Trinity, Docetism,
And Christian writings to Eusebius.
Well, in the midst of all of this what happens?
A fellow shows me Draper and this stuff
Went up like shale and soft rock in a blast.
My room mate was John Smith, he handed me
This book of Draper's. What do you suppose?
This scamp was there to get at secret things,
Was laughing in his sleeve, had no belief.
He used to say: "They'd never know me now."
By which he meant he was a different person
In some round dozen places, and each place
Was different from the others, he was native
To each place, played his part there, was unknown
As fitted to another, hence his words
"They'd never know me now."
And so it was
This John Smith acted through the course, came through
A finished preacher. But they found me out
As soon as Draper gnawed my faith in two.
The good folks back in Sepo took away
The purse they lent and left me high and dry.
So I came back and learned the barber's trade,
And here I am. But when I save enough
I mean to start a little magazine
To show what is the matter. Do you know?
It's something on the shelf—not booze or jam:
It's that old bible, precious family bible,
That record of the Hebrew thought and life—
That book that takes a course of years to study,
Requires Aramaic, Hebrew, Greek and Coptic
And epigraphy, metaphysics, not
Because the book itself is rich in these
But just because when you would know a book
In every character and turn of phrase
And know what's back of it and went into it
You draw the learning of the world, that's all.
Take Plato, if you will, and study him
After this manner, you will travel far
In every land and realm. But this is nothing.
The preachers are a handful to the world.
They eat this dead stuff like bacteria
That clean away decay. The harm is here
Among the populace, the country, all
That makes for life as life.
See what I mean?
We have three thousand people in this town.
Say in this state there are a thousand towns,
And say in every town on every Sunday
In every year this book is taught and preached
To every human being from the time
It's five years old as long as it will stand
And let itself be taught—what have you done?
You have created, kept intact a body,
An audience and voting strength—for whom,
The reformer, the fanatic, non-conformist,
The man of principle who wants a law
And those who, whether consciously or not,
Live in the illusion that there is an end,
A consummation, fifth act to this world,
Millennium, as they say; and at the last
When you get rid of sin (but they must say
What sin is) then the world will be at peace,
Life finished, perfect, nothing more to do
But tend to business and enjoy yourself
And die in peace, reach heaven. Don't you see?
These people are deluded. For this stuff
Called life is like a pan of bread you knead:
You push it down one place and up it puffs
In another place. And so while they control
The stuff of life through Hebrew influence
Of duty, business, fear, ascetism
And yes, materialism, for it is that,
The dough escaped, puffs out, the best of it,
Its greater, part escapes us. So I say
That bible taught in every village, hamlet
And all its precepts, curses, notables,
Preached fifty times a year creates the crowd
That runs the country at the bidding of
Your mediocrities, your little statesmen,
Your little editors and moralists.
And that's your culture, your American
Kultur....
I'll finish you with eggs, it's better
Than soap is for the hair. You've lots of time.
I think I'll start my magazine next year.
Step down this way—over the bowl, that's it—
A moment while I ring this money up.
As I was saying—is the water cold?—
Now back into the chair—as I was saying
That book upon the shelf has made our culture.
We must undo it....
Yes, your train is whistling—so long!