Tag Archives: blues

Song: Marcus Bales, ‘Those Got-To-Leave-You Blues’

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Well, he was near played out when I went on and took him in.
His mind and body like his clothes were worn.
His self-control and wallet like his boots were mighty thin.
I patched him up wherever he was torn.
He needed somewhere safe and warm so maybe he’d begin
To grow a callus back someone had shorn.
There wasn’t much he’d ask that I’d refuse
Until he got those got-to-leave-you blues.

He said “I’ve got those got-to-leave-you blues,
You understand the way it is, I’m sure.
But I’ve got ramblin’ fever in my shoes
That only walkin’ lonesome roads can cure.”

I smiled and nodded and I thought there always comes a day
When being treated well will get to you
When hurt so bad you lash out in that narcissistic way
And all the good I’ve done or might yet do
Is twisted with dependence, and it’s something you can’t say.
So you are acting out now right on cue.
I said “I kept your outfit, every rag,
So here’s your boots and there’s your travelin’ bag.”

When they’ve got ramblin’ fever in their shoes
I give them back the worn-out stuff they brought,
Since if they think they’re giving me the blues
They won’t be gettin’ anything I bought.

He doesn’t know and I don’t say he’s not the only one
I’ve helped who’s helped me make it through a night
Or several whether in the short or in the medium run,
Nor will he be the last to find the sight
Of those white center-lines out on that road there in the sun
Will make him feel he’s never been not right,
And he’ll regret he’s giving me bad news
That he has got the got-to-leave-you blues.

He doesn’t see it’s me who gets to choose.
There’s half a dozen others just like him
Who’ll washed up here whose ramblin’ fever shoes
Are looking for a road a bit less grim.

He takes his stuff and tries to not look back
To see if I will notice that he does.
I give him one sad smile, then eye the pack
To pick the next one care-worn as he was.

And he’ll be near played out when I go on and take him in.
His mind and body like his clothes are worn.
His self-control and wallet like his boots are mighty thin
I’ll start to patch him up where he’s been torn.
He’s needing somewhere safe and warm so maybe he’ll begin
To grow a callus back someone had shorn.
There isn’t much he’ll ask that I’ll refuse
Until he gets those got-to-leave-you blues.

*****

Marcus Bales writes: “One of the song tropes my brother John and I used to enjoy mocking the most as we listened to records or the radio in our shared bedroom in the late 60s in Columbus, Ohio in our early teens was an odd one for a pair of Air Force brats whose whole life experience had been saying goodbye to new friends whose parents were being irrevocably transferred somewhere else, never to be seen again, or we were being similarly transferred away, and that trope was the country or blues song addressed to the woman by the ramblin’ man whose litany of reasons to leave seemed, to us, whose leavings and arriving were dictated by unequivocal orders, thin-to-non-existent. The singer was constantly moaning about how, despite how good he had it, he was movin’ on . John and I thought it was hilarious that civilians would voluntarily abandon situations in which, by their own accounts, they simply had no good reason to leave. We’d left, or been left, by that time, by a decade and a half of friends. The very notion that some cowboy or bluesman felt like there must be greener grass down the road that never ends seemed ludicrous. We’d seen those pastures. We’d ridden down those roads. We’d flown that wild blue yonder to other states and countries. We thought that plea of desperate yarning was a load of crap. 

What’s the woman’s side of the story? It occurred to me that she probably thought that ramblin’ fever was a load of crap, too. And, maybe, that it made for a nice change from time to time, since in all those songs and stories he wanders off, but she gets the house. Maybe she got the better deal. And, so, voila.”

Not much is known about Marcus Bales, except he lives and works in Cleveland, Ohio, USA, and his work has not appeared in Poetry or The New Yorker. His latest book is 51 Poems; reviews and information at http://tinyurl.com/jo8ek3r

Photo: “Pat, July 15, 2011 – Rambling Man” by pat00139 is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Opposing Poems: Marcus Bales, ‘All the Blues’, ‘When the Sun Shines’

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Since you left the sky’s expanse of grey
Is what the sun and clouds may briefly cruise
As light comes after dark for each dull day;
My lover leaving used up all the blues.

And since she left me I’ve been color-blind;
Now half the world’s in greys I cannot use
Since vivid red and yellow’s all I find:
My lover leaving used up all the blues.

My friends assure me better times will come,
But tinkly happy songs do not amuse
My soul still wants the searing wail and thrum
Of pain and sadness spreading like a bruise,
But now instead of tunes there’s just a hum —
My lover leaving used up all the blues.

Oh, since she left I don’t miss her at all
Though autumn leaves spread half a rainbow’s hues
Across a landscape ripening to fall:
My lover leaving used up all the blues.

*****

Marcus Bales writes: “Barbara Ehrenreich happened to read my poem ‘All the Blues’ on Facebook when I posted it some years back, and left the terse comment “It’s even worse when the sun shines.” I was at the moment so into the notion of the fall and the coming dark that I was startled by her insight, which prompted another poem, ‘When the Sun Shines’. I was gratified by her notice.

When The Sun Shines
for Barbara Ehrenreich

They sing their songs of their pure pain;
They lose their taste for the real wines
Of love and life when they weep rain.
It’s even worse when the sun shines.

When the sun shines
And the birds sing
And the green twines
On everything
And your love’s gone
And life’s a curse
In the dim dawn
Each poem’s lines
Are even worse
When the sun shines.

They write like they’ve known every hell
And mined despairing’s deepest mines;
But no one knew how far I fell.
It’s even worse when the sun shines.

Not much is known about Marcus Bales except that he lives and works in Cleveland, Ohio, and that his work has not been published in Poetry or The New Yorker. However his ’51 Poems’ is available from Amazon. He has been published in several of the Potcake Chapbooks (‘Form in Formless Times’).

Photo: “Shut out the world.” by Neil. Moralee is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Potcake Poet’s Choice: Claudia Gary, “Blues Manqué”

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Claudia Gary

Claudia Gary

I’ve suffered, but I can’t quite sing the blues.
My troubles are occasional, not chronic.
My angst is true, but not the kind you’d use

against the everyday, to find or lose
your heart. My chords are major and harmonic.
I’ve suffered, but I don’t dare sing the blues.

Any attempt would probably amuse,
but not in ways your songs have made iconic.
Your angst is true, while mine’s nothing to use

in threatening to blow a major fuse
or skip to Paris on the supersonic.
I’ve not suffered enough to sing the blues.

Saying I have is asking for a bruise.
You’ll throw tomatoes. They’ll be hydroponic.
This angst is true, but nothing I can use

to make you say mine is the pain you’d choose.
The plates I spin are porcelain, not tectonic.
I suffer from a need to sing the blues
with insufficient angst, too kind to use.

Claudia Gary writes: “I chose this poem because people have seemed to enjoy it at various readings, as did the wonderful editors who chose to include it in “Love Affairs at the Villa Nelle.” Also, villanelle is one of the forms I love to teach at writer.org—currently online, so people can “Zoom” from anywhere in the world and wear their pajamas to class.”

Claudia Gary teaches villanelle, sonnet, and meter “crash courses” at The Writer’s Center (writer.org). A three-time finalist for the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award and semifinalist for the Anthony Hecht prize (Waywiser books), she is author of Humor Me (David Robert Books, 2006), chapbooks including Genetic Revisionism (2019), and poems appearing in journals and anthologies internationally. She also writes chamber music, art songs, and health/science articles. See also pw.org/content/claudia_gary, @claudiagary (twitter), and claudiagarypoet (instagram).