sonora2sonoma

I sometimes recall

an afternoon long ago.

I was sitting on a couch with Harry, my first wife’s father

visiting an old friend of his, a man named Hastings White.

Hastings was a poet, an eccentric and an intriguing man

with an air of mystery surrounding his Bohemian persona.

Unshaven, disheveled, and clearly at home in his humble lean-to of a dwelling,

the remnants of his love of cheap wine—

an impressive mound of empty wine bottles—

rising like an edifice through the weeds

that grew unbridled behind his house.

Harry was, like Hastings, a man of impressive sensibilities,

possessed of a singularly inquisitive mind and towering intellect;

his accomplishments were many and varied.

It was Springtime.

We were drinking beer

and talking of important things–

of life and art and Zen–

all matters of terrible import to me

for I was a dreamer

even back then.

Me in my mid-twenties

and they in their late forties

we carried on,

me mostly listening,

to the exchange

taking place between these two fascinating men.

I sensed mystery, excitement,

stimulation of the kind

that occurs when people of exceptional intellect

engage in the trade of ideas and concepts.

I remained silent, mostly,

not because I had figured out at that point in my life

how much more there is to be gained by keeping one’s mouth shut

and one’s ears wide open,

not because I didn’t have that much to add

to the discourse, (although, reflecting back, I realize I didn’t),

for beer can loosen tongues that ought not be set free,

but mostly because I didn’t want to appear foolish,

to demonstrate my ignorance,

to interrupt the illuminating discourse

to which I was privileged to bear witness.

At a certain point,

I don’t recall exactly when,

our host said something

that struck singular resonance with my father-in-law,

Harry responding with a laugh and a knowing smile aimed at his friend.

I couldn’t quite make out what was said

but, sensing its importance, I sought clarification

and was told, in essence,

that I wouldn’t have understood it had they explained it to me,

that there were some things—

they said in amusement—

that you just had to be older

in order to understand.

Tim Konrad

Originally written 2015.02.17

Revised 2020.04.02