March 22nd, 2010
Hearing History
Testing, testing, can you guys hear me? I couldn’t think of a snappier way to present sound than a recent trip to southern Louisiana.
In New Orleans the decibel levels flew off charts, right along with history, dog ugly and gorgeous as any I’ve ever heard. Even so, I relished the whole Who Dat and Zydeco music and the waitress named Nicole but pronounced Ne-cole. Her inflection piped out like a shot of New York swirled with Louisiana Creole. I kept asking her questions, well, because I’m irritating that way, and because I adored her voice.
“Why y’all don’t vee zeet more?” she finally said, grinning.
Ne-cole, Ne-cole, Ne-cole. A charming sport if I ever met one.
The sounds of New Orleans were spicy crazy indeed. In the streets were drummers, harmonica players and clacky washboard renditions. People were chattering like squirrels, their shoes popping on sidewalks.
In Café Du Monde, we finally plopped down, legs worn and feet aching from traipsing every inch of the French Quarter and miles beyond. I figured I’d earned myself a beignet, snowed under with powdered sugar and washed down with a café-au lait. Spoons were clinking against glass coffee cups while sugar buzzy conversations exploded, and underneath that, the sigh of our pooped waitress, trying to keep up. A fat tip was in order, which made her smile.
So, two days later, I listened to Creedence Clearwater Revival in the car as we headed to St. Francisville, because it would have been a sin not to hear Born on a Bayou if one is going to hang out with gators and Cajuns. And because I’m a Creedence groupie.
Visiting here is like stepping on ancient, exotic soil. Did you know even history has sound? It wails and screams and laughs here in the wind, the birds and bayous.
Three times now I’ve come to this place, trying to grasp a tragic and mysterious chunk of history. Bits and pieces the land has absorbed and yet shouts through the live oak trees. But none makes sense, nor do I condone it. Meanwhile I fancy the people and appreciate the beauty of place. And I remember those without voices and try to honor them with my presence. My heartfelt interest.
The following poem is based on a cemetery we visited while staying on plantation grounds. It was only one visible record, but there are still many loud secrets. Listen for sound in silence.
Fallen Stars
They have gone silent and cold
yet I heard a woman’s voice
in a crows cackle
calling
suppertime…suppertime…suppertime
But that can’t be
sixteen souls long hushed
resting like whispers in black dirt beds
on loud property
they didn’t have time to praise
Days booming with tears and laughter have passed
no more spring afternoons, summer days
snappy fall breezes
or horizons
blazed with red
They lie silent atop a hill now
ringed by a stone wall
gray and chipped
shaggy cedar to ward off sun
and pine silt carpet for decoration
I traced their names with fingertips
when the sun was blooming
and remembered those I never knew
Marguret, Thomas, Mary, Edward, Sarah, Percival
and the others
Then when night turned to coffee
we walked through crispy grass
flashlights beaming
sky flushed with hot stars
now fallen icy atop the hill.
Bonjour Mes Amis- Good day, my friends. Listen well.
March 22nd, 2010 at 10:53 am
Wow. Awesome. Louisiana Bayous come alive.
March 22nd, 2010 at 12:24 pm
Thanks, sweetie!
March 23rd, 2010 at 7:59 pm
beautiful. that was the last stop on our honeymoon trip 7 years back…
March 24th, 2010 at 8:04 am
Nice pick for that honeymoon fun, Paige! And not too far from us at all.
March 24th, 2010 at 11:42 am
Dorraine,
You brought back some wonderful memories. Our son wanted to visit the French Quarter on our way back from DC one year. It was interesting to say the least. Your take on the sounds is spot on. How do you do that?!
I loved your poem. It’s excellent.
Elizabeth
March 24th, 2010 at 3:22 pm
Oh, I’m so glad you’ve been there and done that. It is a fun place to explore, E. The air is alive there. The only problem was deciding which sounds to focus on.
Thanks so much. The poem waltzed in while there.
March 25th, 2010 at 7:49 am
Dorraine, I needed this so much. Thank you. I have always been fascinated with the bayou, (and I love CCR too), but the only time we’ve been in Louisiana is while passing through to get from Dallas to Biloxi. But during that short time, (I think it was only about 10 miles or so), I could feel the spirits coming alive around me. I wanted so much to just park the car, get out and walk until my legs stopped working.
I know I’ve told you that your descriptions astound me, but it’s worth saying again and again. As much as I can’t stand “racket”, there’s just something about people making music on the street that gets my blood pumping and my heart soaring – I love it.
Thank you so much for this wonderful post, (you know I needed it), and the poem is just as gorgeous as you are.
I can’t wait for this book to come out!
March 25th, 2010 at 11:32 am
Well my little Chick-a-dee, New Orleans missed out on having you there. There would not be another dance in the streets like yours and you know it!
I’m not much on clatter either but the buzzing seemed quite necessary for a city with so much color. I rather liked it.
The poem came from a little further north. Sleepy town, yet with one eye open wide. I gathered it from the moss, the pond, the woods and the quiet resting places of those gone by. I’m thrilled you enjoyed it. Thanks so much. Love you.
March 25th, 2010 at 2:26 pm
Well, Drain, in your usual inimitable way, you nailed Nawlins. I love that place, I love your words and I love your poem. (Have I sucked up enough for my beignets? If not, I’m a CCR groupie, too.) There, that should do it. Now get busy on PF.
March 25th, 2010 at 4:10 pm
My dear Lidna, you’ve officially sucked up without even having to. I got your goodies and they are on their way!
Really, without you there would be be no polished version of any book. You are my bright and shiny editor. There, I sucked up, too!
Hey, you know I love ya! Okay, I’m working now.:-)
March 26th, 2010 at 8:40 pm
Dorraine, I love NOLA, and I loved reading your impressions of your recent visit. It makes me want to go there. It’s been seven years in April since my last visit. I went with three friends from high school, met with an Australian friend and we all went out with Richard, who was still living there at the time. It was so much fun. We saw wrought-iron fancy fences, ate raw oysters, walked and walked and rode the streetcar, taking in all the sights and sounds. New Orleans is a different world.
You’re poem was absolutely beautiful. Loved it! Now I want to go there, too!
Thank you for your blog. I really enjoy reading and keeping up with your exciting life.
March 30th, 2010 at 9:59 am
Hi Karen! Yes, I remember Richard. I met him somewhere down the line. I’ll bet he was a jolly one to take to New Orleans. Sounds like you absorbed every ounce of the place, which is how it should be.
Thanks for reading and for your kind words. What a nice surprise to find you here.:-)
April 2nd, 2010 at 7:33 am
Hey lady – award for you on my fiction site, The Other Side of Deanna: http://theothersideofdeanna.wordpress.com/2010/04/01/what-makes-you-happy/#comment-871
Thanks for making me happy!
April 3rd, 2010 at 8:01 pm
Yes, Yay! Thank ye much. I did see that over at your place. I’ve been in the garden…..
April 4th, 2010 at 11:53 pm
Dorraine,
I am bestowing on you the Happy 101 award. You are always upbeat and seem very happy. You can pick-it up at my blog.
Elizabeth
April 6th, 2010 at 8:43 am
Thanks so much, E! You made me very happy.:-)
April 11th, 2010 at 8:29 am
so, hows it going and junk? and much like Eliza I have something for you at my place if you choose to grab it.
wow you are loading up these days