For the Makers

Abstract

For the Makers William Harmon (bio) I want to say a word for Alan Duganbecause he took a shark, though beached dead,as kin,testimony for Kenneth Patchen:“I believe that the perfect shape of everything has been prepared”—inane, I know,but so. I want to say a word for Eleanor Farjeonbecause she imagined “Sweet peas like butterflies”as kin(flowers like insects, insects jewels, jewels stars …)and sang banging on about “dromedaries, cassowaries,elephants and apes,”testifying among many friends “born of the one light, Eden saw play”—childish, I know,but so. I want to say a word for Ibycusbecause he hailed a crane, far overhead,as kin,testimony to the pernicious superstition of the wicked,the murdered poet avengedby accidental birds—far-fetched, I know,but so. I want to say a word for another murder victim,Maxwell Bodenheim,because he acknowledged the “shapeless humility” of a sidewalk [End Page 202] as kin:testifying “one too long on his backcan appreciate stars.”Never avenged—unjust, I know,but so. I want to say a word for Kobayashi Issabecause he took the humblest creatures—fleas, flies, bedbugs,and such—as kin:juxtaposing snail and Fuji in testimonywitness to the one oneness overall—wild, I know,but so. I want to say a word for Walter Lowenfels,because he gallantly regarded youngstersas kin,including them in anthologies.Refusing to testify, he did timebut treated the House Un-American Activities Committeewith charm and charity—quixotic, I know,but so. I want to say a word for Emily Brontë,because she adopted “gray flocks in ferny glens”as kin,alongside a huge bull mastiff called Keeper and a pet hawk,testimony of grief and glory alike—provincial, I know,but so. I want to say a word for Nezahualcoyotl,because he numbered the hummingbird—”emerald trembler”—as kin, [End Page 203] alongside the mockingbird of four hundred voices,testamentary evidence of royal and priestly gifts—grandiose, I know,but so. I want to say a word for Wallace Gould,because, bypassing formal gardens, he took the chiggerfloweras kin,its testimony “burning, / its molten orange glowing.”Fed up, he walked hundreds of miles south, and when his funds ran outfetched upin a backward backwater, playing silent-movie piano—flamboyant, I know,but so. I want to say a word for William Dunbar,because he saluted Walter Kennedyas kin,though Kennedy had called him a “wanfukkit funling,”lamenting: Good Maister Walter KennedyIn point of Dedth lies verily;Great ruth it were that so suld be: —anomalous, I know,but so,but so. [End Page 204] William Harmon William Harmon, in his fifth decade as a contributor to this magazine, continues in retirement in Oxford, NC. Having served in the US Navy for some years and later sailed on board Costa Concordia in 2009, he is drafting a book about that ship’s disaster in 2012. Copyright © 2015 William Harmon