River of the Air

This is a poem I wrote after attending a rock concert at Sultan, WA in 1969. The concert was called SKY RIVER.

RIVER OF THE AIR

Thunderous eruption,
rain squalling,
shutter slamming
beat,
with raunchy rhythms
crashing through everyone,
like ice-green lagoon-blue waves washing
over loose sand.

Shaggy minstrels maneuvering melodies,
drawing quivvering throngs together
at Sky River;
current without water,
perched on a Zeus stage,
far from the death ooze of the Ganges,
thrusting electric sobs
out over the steaming multitudes.

Talking, praying, singing, crying,
about love,
and loving
in the black dust
that settled on a
many thousand-lipped smile.

Hosted by a stoned Buddha,
begging for a blowjob,
while braying,
"There is misery in this world,
and there is happiness !
Which do you choose ?
Look around you.
There can be
freedom,
just look around you."

And we did,
and there was.

Absent
was that jagged laurel of pigs
usually prevelant at such gatherings.
Gone
even was the threat of sober steel,
that vicious arm-in-arm lock-stepped
helmeted Hessian terror.
Present instead
was a great iron train
on towering tracks,
that slowed and waved
and slipped away.

Yes, there were people spaced out,
and drugs were vended
like peanuts,
and there are always those
who must run naked through the crowd;
even though they were
mostly ignored;
just a silly naked ass
dancing, twitching, or holding a beer.

But for most of us,
the loftiest rapture came
from just being
an intimate cell in that sublime creature
that we were;
tourist, freak, artist,
stoned and enlightened
as one,
merely a infintesimal cell
of the voltaic din;
blended, weaved, woven,
inseparable
as one person
with a hundred thousand limbs,
with the strength of millions,
of rebellion,
of song,
of youth.

When the light on the earth passed
and sank into the horizon armpit
like poppywine
smearing the sky,
the giant screen behind the musicians
exploded with color,
extending the sunset
long into the night,
as people
hugged, swayed, dreamed, kissed,
and kept warm.


Glenn Buttkus 1969