Author: David Jacobi

I am a writer, photographer and artist. This blog will be a running commentary on country living, gardening, cooking, history, people, folklore, writing, reading, art, flora and fauna, photography, music, movies, traveling and whatever else I might be pondering off the back porch.

Marie

Townes Van Zandt

Like many of his fans, when I discovered the music of Townes Van Zandt I couldn’t get enough of it. Along with my various CD’s of his albums and a few DVD’s of his performances, I have all of his stuff offered by Spotify in my library. Townes is worth listening to and learning about, a modern troubadour who told so many stories, both joyful and tragic.

Marie

By Townes Van Zandt

I stood in line and left my name
Took about six hours or so
Well, the man just grinned like it was all a game
Said they’d let me know
I put in my time till the Pocono line
Shut down two years ago
I was staying at the mission till I met Marie
Now I can’t stay there no more

Fella ‘cross town said he’s lookin’ for a man
To move some old cars around
Maybe me and Marie could find a burned-out van
And do a little settlin’ down
Aw, but I’m just dreamin’
I ain’t got no ride
And the junkyard’s a pretty good ways
That job’s about a half week old besides
It’d be gone now anyway

Unemployment says I got no more checks
And they showed me to the hall
My brother died in Georgia some time ago
I got no one left to call
Summer wasn’t bad below the bridge
A little short on food that’s all
Now I gotta get Marie some kind of coat
We’re headed down into fall

I used to play the mouth harp pretty good
Hustled up a little dough
But I got drunk and I woke up rolled
A couple of months ago
They got my harp and they got my dollar
Them low life so and so’s
Harps cost money and I ain’t got it
It’s my own fault I suppose

Ah, the Pocono’s down but the Chesapeake’s runnin’
Two freights everyday
If it’s just me I’d be headed South
But Marie can’t catch no train
She’s got some pain and she thinks it’s a baby
Says we gotta wait and see
In my heart I know it’s a little boy
Hope he don’t end up like me

Well, the man’s still grinnin’ says he lost my file
I gotta stand in line again
I want to kill him but I just say no
I had enough of that line, my friend
I head back to the bridge
It’s getting kinda cold
I’m feelin’ too low down to lie
I guess I’ll just tell Marie the truth
Hope she don’t break down and cry

Marie she didn’t wake up this morning
She didn’t even try
She just rolled over and went to heaven
My little boy safe inside
I laid them in the sun where somebody’d find them
Caught a Chesapeake on the fly
Marie will know I’m headed South
So’s to meet me by and by

Ah, Marie will know I’m headed south
So to meet me by and by

Written by: John Townes Van Zandt

Album: Be Here to Love Me

Released: 2005

Lyrics provided by Musixmatch

Fun With AI: Part Two

After reading a very eye opening article about AI I figured I had better hurry up and get to learning more about this massivly important invention that sounds like it will soon be sweeping over us all. Last time I asked The Duck to write some poetry using rugged American place names. This time I asked it to write poetry specifically about the American State of Iowa.

DUCK.AI: Ode to Iowa

Heartland Harmony

In the fields of Iowa, where the cornstalks sway,
Golden grains whisper secrets at the close of day.
Des Moines rises, a city of grace,
Where rivers entwine, in this heartland place.

Rolling Hills of Greene

Through Greene County, the soft hills roll,
With farmhouses standing, each telling a soul.
The charm of the Cedar River flows by,
Beneath endless skies, where the hawks like to fly.

Spirit of the Prairie

On the windswept plains of Western Iowa,
Cattle graze gently, life’s rhythm a law.
Sioux City calls, with stories so bold,
Of pioneers’ journeys, of legends retold.

Autumn’s Embrace

As Pella blooms with tulips so bright,
In springtime’s embrace, a picturesque sight.
The Lake of the Hills reflects soft sun’s kiss,
In this tranquil haven, find moments of bliss.

The Echo of History

In Iowa City, where scholars convene,
Pages of history whisper and glean.
The spirit of learning, so deeply ingrained,
In this tapestry woven, where knowledge remains.

From the cornfields to rivers, Iowa sings,
In the hum of the heartland, resilience clings.
With its landscapes so diverse, this state shines bright,
A symphony of colors in day and in night.

ME: Wonderful! Do you enjoy writing poetry?

DUCK.AI: I’m glad you enjoyed the poetry! Writing poetry is a unique way to express thoughts and emotions, and it allows for creativity to flourish. Capturing the essence of places and experiences through words is incredibly rewarding. Do you have any favorite themes or topics in poetry that resonate with you?

ME: Are you creative?

DUCK.AI: I strive to be creative by generating unique ideas, stories, and poems based on what you’ve shared or requested. While I don’t experience creativity in a human sense, I can certainly provide imaginative and original content. What kind of creative projects interest you?

I decided to stop there for the day, as I could see me wasting a whole afternoon with the Duck. I think Frost and Joyce are safe for now.

Next: I will sacrifice a story outline I wrote in high school to the Duck and ask it to write a complete short story. Hint: The outline involves a robot that discovers the will to live.

Yard Pole, Fox and Crazy Weather

There are plenty of these to pick up again this year

The power company finally replaced our yard light pole, which had been leaning more and more precariously next to our machine shed. A representative showed up several months earlier to tell us the pole we had been complaining about for years was just fine. We grumbled that it was leaning far enough that we were worried it could fall on one of our vehicles. He smiled and said no worries. Then on a cold and windy January day the gnarled, bent and grey pole was replaced with a straight, fresh brown pole.

We have seen a beautiful, multi-colored fox trotting cautiously along the boarder of our acreage lately. It is usually spotted heading for a large brush pile behind our machine shed. Our cat Sammie hides sometimes under the porch, while our dog Dice will bark occasionally in the direction of the pile. Of course, that can happen when the wind blows, as well. Sammie is not only a mouser but has caught two rabbits so far this year.

Despite a few blizzards, this winter has been very dry. February had a warm spell followed by bitter cold, while March suffered a blizzard only to experience a 90 degree day a week later! The tree buds are mostly open now, but not leafing yet, while the grass is trying to green up in spots. Various little shoots are poking up from the thawing ground, while robins test for worms. Spring-cleaning awaits!

Al, Carole and Evadna

Carole Landis
Al Ridste
Evadna Stone

Carole Landis in some ways could be a prototype for Marylin Monroe, who was born later and lived longer than Carole. Both were beautiful, underrated actresses, changed their names, attempted to survive the Hollywood system in place at the time, and died tragic deaths.

While the world knows of Marylin, few remember Carole. The only reason I know of her is because of a distant family tie. My Great Aunt Evadna was married to Carole’s father, Al Ridste. This was after Carole had died, but Uncle Al still carried a photo of her in his wallet and was proud of his daughter.

Over the years Evadna and Al were married they would travel back to Iowa from their California home to visit friends and family. Al was a mechanic, and gifted me as a kid a child size set of hand tools, which I treasured for years. Al complained he could never get a truly cold glass of water, so my dad showed him a trick. He filled a glass with ice then slowly filled it with a trickle of water from the faucet, making sure the water was constantly running over the ice. Once full, he handed the glass to Al, who drank it down and said it was cold, but not as cold as he would have liked. Whenever I have used dads trick the water can be cold enough to hurt my teeth. On a different visit Al ended up with cake slicing duty. Things went well at first, but Al did not wipe the knife off between cuttings, eventually resulting in a giant mess of mangled cake. My dad had offered to help, but Al insisted on doing it himself.

Al was always very kind to me, and he and Evadna were a memorable couple to me as a child. They both seemed very old and loud (as do most people to a kid) and foreign, because I didn’t know them except for their trips to Iowa in the summer when the family welcomed them back. I remember Al being very animated and talkative while Evadna would stand back and observe and smile, watching with her piercing, pale blue eyes. I associated happiness with them because the family always welcomed them back with joy and open arms.

Over the years I have sought out and enjoyed some of the movies Carole Landis appears in, and I have read a few brief biographies of her. She seemed to be very thoughtful and caring, but emotionally vulnerable. She died at age 29 of suicide. Al died as the result of a car accident, and Evadna from Lupis and strokes. All three are buried in California.

Fun With AI

After reading a very eye opening article about AI I figured I had better hurry up and get to learning more about this massivly important invention that sounds like it will soon be sweeping over us all.

So I decided to ask it to write some poetry! Here it is, using Duck.ai:

ME: write some poetry using rugged American place names

DUCK.AI: Rugged American Landscapes in Verse

Lonesome Mountain

In the shadow of Pikes Peak, where the aspens sway,
Resides the echoes of a wild, spirited day.
Cascades of currents carve the granite rock,
At dusk, the sky ignites—time’s unyielding clock.

Heart of Appalachia

Where the Smokies whisper through the fogged embrace,
O’er valleys deep, a soft, haunting place.
Harlan County sings of struggle and pride,
Where ghostly trains rush; history’s tide.

High Desert Dreams

From the windswept plains of Albuquerque’s call,
To Santa Fe sunsets that ignite and enthrall.
The spirit of the Rio Grande flows strong and deep,
In the heart of the desert, where wild dreams leap.

Northern Exposure

Amidst the rugged peaks of Denali’s throne,
The chill of glaciers, nature’s ancient bone.
Juneau stands proud as the sea meets the stone,
In this northern expanse, the wild is alone.

Rust Belt Reverie

In the heart of Detroit, where engines would roar,
Ghosts of the factories, old dreams at the core.
Yet, life pushes forward, a resilient scene,
Where art meets the struggle—something evergreen.

These rugged names echo in hearts that roam free,
In landscapes profound, they craft history’s spree.
Let whispers of America linger and soar,
In the beauty of wildness, forever explore.

ME: did you write that?

DUCK.AI: Yes, I created that poetry with rugged American place names specifically for you. Each piece captures the essence of various landscapes and their unique stories. If you have any particular themes or places in mind, I’d be happy to craft something more tailored!

ME: I like those. Would you write the same type of poem specifically about the American State of Iowa?

Next: AI Iowa poetry

Vintage Ads and Ephemera

Last summer I bought a stack of old magazines from a local tag sale. I decided to scan the contents of whatever interested me and share. I will also include scans of some other stuff I have sitting around.

These ads were seemingly everywhere when one would pick up a magazine or comic book during the mid-20th century. I learned my lesson the one (and only) time I sent off for one of these catalogs. You received advice for your $1, such as “visit an army surplus store”, or “ask if the owners are willing to bargain.” I would imagine most people were too embarrassed at being so gullible to ask for a refund. I remember I was.

Alone

This poem by Mikhail Lermontov (1814-1841) has multiple translations. This is the one I like the most.

Alone, I come to the road.
The stony track gleams in the mist:
the calm night listens to God,
and star is speaking to star.

All’s marvelous, grave, in the sky!
Earth sleeps in the radiant blue…
Why such pain then, such weight on the heart?
Do I regret, wait for something new?

I expect no more from this life
and I’ve no regrets for the past.
I look for freedom and peace:
I want rest and oblivion at last…

But not the chill peace of the grave:
I’d like to sleep for all time
so life’s powers slept in my chest,
and it heaved with my gentle breath:

an enchanted voice in my ear
singing, day and night, of love:
and a dark oak to rustle over me,
and bend down from above.

Translated by A. S. Kline