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+                               The Poets Corner                              +
+ VOL. 7                                                   NUMBER 06 ISSUE 70 +
+ Copyright (C) 1993 Kevin Keyser                                   June 1993 +
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+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++   +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
+          In The Corner!           +   +         Info, Info, Info!           +
+                                   +   +                                     +
+ Greetings!                        +   +   The Poets Corner is published     +
+                                   +   +   monthly by Kevin J. Keyser.       +
+   With this month's issue, The    +   +                                     +
+ Poets Corner is starting a very   +   +   Please feel free to distribute    +
+ special series of poems.  Read    +   +   The Poets Corner!  I only ask     +
+ about this below, in the          +   +   that you do not change the        +
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+                                   +   +   access to this publication.       +
+               Kevin               +   +                                     +
+                 James             +   +   Because of Copyright concerns     +
+                   Keyser          +   +   and other legal mumbo jumble      +
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                                An Introduction


         Twenty years ago a man passed from this Earth to whatever
         is afterwards.  His name was Edwin Cerney.

         I called him Uncle Edwin, even though he was not my uncle.
         He was still a relative, I was just never sure in what way we
         were related.

         I would spend my Saturdays with him and my Great Grandmother
         at their apartment.  Uncle Edwin was very close to my
         definition of a "renaissance man."  His day job was musical
         director for radio station WMAQ, 670 AM in Chicago, but that
         was just his job!  This man wrote musical scores for the CSO
         (Chicago Symphony Orchestra), was an excellent outdoors man,
         and he wrote poetry.

         I have always been fascinated by writing.  I wrote several
         short stories when in grade school, I wrote articles for the
         grade school paper (if you can count two articles as a
         plural!) and I did write some short poems, but no one ever
         knew that!  After all, poetry was just for sissies, right??
         Wrong!  Uncle Edwin was the man who taught me that poetry was
         nothing to be ashamed of, in fact it is a great art form.

         He taught me this by example.  After all, here was this
         "man's man" this hunter, this musician, and he wrote POETRY!

         For the next few months I will be publishing his poems which
         were given to me after his untimely death in 1973.

         The first poem, "Peers" was put to music by late night radio
         host Jim Hill shortly after it was written in 1969.

         This recording was played over WMAQ radio many times.  I
         believe it was the only poem of his that the public ever
         had the joy of experiencing.

         The poems I am publishing for the next several months were
         written over many years, they are his life's work.

         I do this so his words will not pass from this Earth, so they
         will continue on and so you, the reader, will know this
         remarkable man, through his words.

                                         Kevin
                                          James
                                           Keyser
















                                     Peers

         (On TV, many people saw General Chas. DeGaulle pay his final
         respects to General Eisenhower.  It went something like
         this.)


         The old soldier entered -
         He didn't walk,
         Nor march,
         nor parade...
         He strode - with the radiating authority of one born to
         authority -
         Proudly wearing the impeccable uniform
         Of general of all his forces.
         His old bones racked to rigid attention;
         His now gnarled hand whipped up;
         The wrinkled forefinger met his stiff-billed cap
         As he came to full salute.
         And his face!
         His face was a craggy terrain
         Of all of the combats they had shared,
         Cooked granite in the many suns that had scorched them -
         Solidified in the frosts of the campaigns
         Thru which they shuddered.
         The eyes -
         Not even the eyes moved in the face -
         The body was a true soldier's attention...
         Immobile.
         The eyes wandered not a fraction
         as they bore into the catafalque...
         AND I HEARD HIS MIND SPEAK!
         "On field and off
         Our battles have been many,
         Our victories the things of which minstrels wonce sang.
         We have shared the glory days -
         Now, this day,
         The glory, bitterly won,
         Is yours."
         The old hand snapped down;
         That first salute, long held, was ended.
         He stood; he -
         Not looked, not peered -
         The eyes found the soul in the catafalque
         and AGAIN I HEARD HIS MIND!
         "Dear God, few men are great in Your Presence;
         Graciously accept the best we have to offer."



















         A minute passed;
         The wrinkled hand whipped to salute against the stiff-billed
         cap -
         AND AGAIN I HEARD HIM!
         "We have shared many farewells.
         For the last time, dear comrade-in-arms...
         Farewell."
         About face;
         March out....
         AND NOT A WORD HAD BEEN SPOKEN!




         * Written in late March or early April 1969.



















































                                Words For "Night"


         Nightide.....

         Loosen the fetters

         Of my sun-chained conventions.

         Let me sing with the midnight wind

         And roam the undefined corridors

         Of moon-Sundered obscurity.

         Free me to fly

         With the conjur people;

         Grast me and eagle

         And touch the shadowed hollows

         Of the night gods.




                                       -|-






                                    Fragment
                  (For a girl, dearly loved, tonight married)


         Your muted gasps of pleasure

         Sing in the dawn.....

         A mourning dove

         sips my tears.







                                                                     *FIN!









