OLD John Clevenger lets on, Allus, like he's purty rough Timber. -- He's a grate old John! -- "Rough?" -- don't swaller no sich stuff! Moved here, sence the war was through, From Ohio -- somers near Old Bucyrus, -- loyal, too, As us "Hoosiers" is to @3here!@1 Git old John stirred up a bit On his old home stompin'-ground -- Talks same as he lived thare yit, When some subject brings it round -- Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last, Fetched his wife, and et and stayed All night with us. -- Set and gassed Tel plum midnight -- 'cause I made Some remark 'bout "buckeyes" and "What was buckeyes good fer?" -- So, Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand And lit in and let me know: -- "'What is Buckeyes good fer? -- What's @3Pineys@1 and @3fergit-me-nots?@1 -- Honeysuckles, and sweet peas, And sweet-williamsuz and these Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare, Growin' round the roots o' trees In Spring-weather? -- what air @3they@1 Good fer? -- kin you tell me -- @3Hey?@1 'Good to look at?' Well they air! 'Specially when @3Winter's@1 gone; Clean @3dead-cert'in!@1 and the wood's Green again, and sun feels good's June! -- and shed your blame boots on The back porch, and lit out to Roam round like you ust to do, Bare-foot, up and down the crick, Whare the buckeyes growed so thick, And witch-hazel and pop-paws, And hackberries and black-haws -- With wild pizen-vines jist knit @3Over@1 and @3en-nunder@1 it, And wove round it all, I jing! Tel you couldn't hardly stick A durn @3case-knife@1 through the thing! Wriggle round through @3that;@1 and then -- All het-up, and scratched and tanned, And muskeeter-bit and mean- Feelin' -- all at onc't again, Come out suddent on a clean Slopin' little hump o' green Dry soft grass, as fine and grand As a pollor-sofy! -- And Jis pile down thare! -- and tell @3me@1 @3Anywhares@1 you'd ruther be -- 'Ceptin' @3right thare@1, with the wild- Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes Smilin' with 'em at the skies, Happy as a little child! Well! -- right here, @3I@1 want to say, Poets kin talk all they please 'Bout 'wild-flowrs, in colors gay,' And 'sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze' -- But the sight o' @3buckeyes@1 jis Sweet to me as @3blossoms@1 is! "I'm @3Ohio-born@1 -- right whare People's @3all@1 called 'Buckeyes' @3thare@1 -- 'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's Biggest in the world, perhaps! -- Ner my head don't stretch my hat Too much on account o' @3that!@1 -- 'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand Sows 'em broadcast ore the land, With eye-single fer man's good And the gineral neghborhood! So @3buckeyes@1 jis natchurly 'Pears like @3kith-and-kin@1 to @3me!@1 'S like the good old sayin' wuz, 'Purty @3is@1 as purty @3does!'@1 -- We can't @3eat@1 'em, cookd er raw -- Yit, I mind, @3tomattusuz@1 Wuz considerd pizenus @3Onc't@1 -- and dasen't eat 'em! -- @3Pshaw@1 -- 'Twouldn't take @3me@1 by supprise, Some day, ef we et @3buckeyes!@1 That, though, 's nuther here ner thare! -- @3Jis the Buckeye@1, whare we air, In the present times, is what Ockuppies my lovin' care And my most perfoundest thought! . . . Guess, this minute, what I got In my pocket, 'at I've packed Purt' nigh forty year. -- A dry, Slick and shiny, warped and cracked, Wilted, weazened old @3buckeye!@1 What's it @3thare@1 fer? What's my hart In my @3brest@1 fer? -- 'Cause it's part Of my @3life@1 -- and 'tends to biz -- Like this @3buckeye's@1 bound to act -- 'Cause @3it@1 tends to @3Rhumatiz!@1 ". . . Ketched more @3rhumatiz@1 than @3fish@1, Seinen', onc't -- and pants froze on My blame legs! -- And ust to wish I wuz well er @3dead and gone!@1 Doc give up the case, and shod His old hoss again and stayed On good roads! -- @3And thare I laid!@1 Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot, And socked @3that@1 on! Then I got Sorto' holt o' him, @3somehow@1 -- Kindo' crazy-like, they say -- And I'd @3killed@1 him, like as not, Ef I hadn't swooned away! @3Smell my scortcht pelt purt' nigh now!@1 Well -- to make a long tale short -- I hung on the blame disease Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort O' wore it out by slow degrees -- Tel my legs wuz straight enugh To poke through my pants again And kick all the doctor-stuff In the fi-er-place! Then turned in And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore -- @3Jis a buckeye@1 -- and that's @3shore@1. -- Hain't no case o' rhumatiz Kin subsist whare buckeyes is!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOU ON THE TOWER by THOMAS HARDY ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER by JOHN KEATS RECESSIONAL by RUDYARD KIPLING THE CROWING OF THE RED COCK by EMMA LAZARUS THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE by ROBERT MORRIS FOUND' (FOR A PICTURE) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE POET by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: DEDICATION TO LADY PENELOPE DYNHAM by WILLIAM BASSE |