Herbie Mann Comin' Home

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Last Laugh





D says (with Tony Curtis dead),  

They die off one-by-one, in threes, as we grow old.

We've talked on this before, noting that our parents 

Said the same to us, and they're now gone.





What happens when D does go, or I disappear in the dust?  

Survivors will tell on until the last pair of ears go deaf

And the young ones fly to their mating and their wars.

Eventually, none of what was known is known at all.



This is why we joke.


.

7 comments:

  1. One of the reasons I started to blog was to leave my children something more to remember me by after I turn to dust. Only they will see me in there in my millstone if and when they ever feel like looking. I'm contented with the thought that I'll live for as long as those who love me live and then it's oblivion. Who wants to live forever?

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  2. Oh how true. But even in life, I fear, much of what was(is) known isn't known by the younger generations. Our world now is so temporal and shallow that attention spans have snapped like rubber bands.

    Refreshing to find your site (through Willow)! And your Sammy link... The "Lady Is A Tramp" cut is from a wonderful live album I have somewhere in the stacks of vinyl. I had the pleasure of meeting him in the early '70's. After reading another post about Sammy a couple of months ago, I wanted to do a post about meeting him. Just haven't had the time to get it done!

    Look forward to visiting your site regularly!

    Rick

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  3. Claudia,

    My vanity challenges me daily to keep producing. I print these entries out every so often, my distrust in the electronic or who may 'erase' it strong.

    You're right: love is the motive, love is the engine. To the end, even lightly with the last strangers.

    Rick,

    Thanks for coming in! I could descant at length about relating to the young -- I teach some -- but that can keep.

    You may be the first to mention the Sammy Davis, Jr.. Celebrity mavens automatically reach for 'Rat Pack' in dealing with him, at least at first, but I remember him as a knock-down entertainer.

    As boys, 3 of us on someone's birthday, went to a performance of his -- 1961?. George Kirby opened the show, then Sam.

    Wow. Not just singer, but comedian, mimic, dancer, actor. All skills. Pleasure to meet him -- I'm sure! It was pleasure enough to watch and listen.

    TFool

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  4. My greatest fear is insignificance.

    Isn't it strange and haunting that they seem to die in threes? Nice piece.

    Hey, seems some of my friend have found you! :)

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  5. There was much poignancy in this, as well as a chop to the consciousness in the last line, "This is why we joke." I read once that the way we look at death is the way we look at life. The older I get, the more I ponder that.

    The odd thing to me is that none of my children read my blog. They have no interest in politics, nor the causes I hold dear. They do not read or write poetry. They have electronic gadgets which will fizzle one day and die. They will be replaced with new gadgets. I grieve for the loss of my parents, loved ones and those like Tony Curtis who influenced me. I wonder...will my children grieve over the dust of me? I suppose it will not matter. I won't be here to bear witness. So I, too, joke.

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  6. Willow,

    Yes. That fear of not having counted. Or only trivially having counted. As if you and I have to be 'Head-Liners'. When you think about it, yesterday's head-liners are today's headstones.

    Thanks once more (!) for your support -- and for Rick, a real live extra, interested reader from your blog to mine!

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  7. Cher,

    It's more than theoretically possible for me to have fashioned a 'celebrity'-type blog given the Hollywoodization of my imaginative life.

    I'm just not obsessive enough. So I sprinkle my celeb comments amidst those other postings, a tang of parmesan on the al-dente surprises otherwise in the bowl.

    My daughter knows of this blog, but I know I have to cut-and-paste selections from it and attach those docs to emails for her. She loves me -- what can I say? And in that I'm one of the most fortunate ever to have lived.

    She probably feels guilty not to read this! The path of a parent is like walking the edge of a razor?

    My solution to the lost ones is, mythically, to conceive of an afterlife where we all get together, hug one another, and eat good food. (After all, it's been 'quite a ride'.)

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