The Museum of Funeral Customs, 1440 Monument Avenue invites all poets to an annyal poetry reading in the spring. Poems shared may be their own or a favorite poem by someone else. All poems by the presenters are published (with their permission) in an annual anthology. This yearI was asked for the second time to moderate the event: introduce participants using “scripts” each provides. And for the second time, I accepted.
I was inspired by the coming occasion to write a new poem (as I’ve done almost every year) and for this occasion, as I have done for three others, For the first time, I visited Oak Ridge Cemetery. This year I visited the cemetery administrative office and asked what person buried there had the largest monument, second only to Lincoln Tomb. I was told Mattie S. Rayburn, and was given excellent directions to find it. Mattie was worth the visit as you will see in the pictures and poem below. The office people showed me a fine book about Mattie, available for $15 cash; no checks, but considering my circumstances, I could not justify such extravigance. Instead, I explained, I intended to search the Internet for info. Silly me.
After returning home from the visit with Mattie, it soon became obvious the Internet is a joke if you seek info about her. I found almost nothing: mostly a link to Carl and Roberta Volkman’s fine new book from Arcadia Publshing, Springfield’s Sculptures, Monuments and Plaques, which includes a picture and brief description.. Also consulted was the late great Dr. Floyd S. Barringer’s book about the graves of notable folks permanently residing, so to speak, at Oak Ridge. I left my copy of his book at the reading; will share the title here when I get it back. For half a day I was moderately steamed that so little info was available. Then I sat down with a clear head, nothing else to do for the evening, and wrote tthe poem. And revised it slightly about 15 times in less than two days to produce what you see here.
Pictures are thumbnailed for faster loading. Click on any for a larger view and “Back” to return to this page..
I thought I read the final draft at the museum, but during a commercial break as I watched Da Vinci’s Inquest this morning, I made another. Here it is.
Considerable Mystery Still Surrounds
by Job Conger
written 9:10 pm, March 13, 2008
Scotch granite, topped with ghostly marble white.
Her echo in our town is tall, but slim;
this visage of a brilliant love that bloomed,
the soul mate, spurned by the old-world starched and prim.
She, in common law, wed a great preacher of the age,
and he, for that, deposed but not expelled by his angry flock,
built a graveyard torch-song to blaze to all below:
imperious statuary boasting “free love,” modern stock.
Mattie S. Rayburn, the bishop’s second wife
whom holy folk of Rushville would disdain
would rise above the wingless cackling crows,
and there, in silent triumph, would remain
since 1891, forty feet in lofty rank,
second in height only to Lincoln’s noble clan,
this stony testament of husband’s love
joined by their God sans sacrament of man.
The grand, polished, pedestal proclaims his passion fire,
yet, how the quaint marker almost in its shade
just to the east, whispers her burial place,
smaller than the nearby names and dates arrayed.
The bishop sailed from turbid Springfield tides
to destinations not remembered well
He’s buried in Ireland or pauper’s grave
in Paris; none alive today can tell.
<>Can we imagine what lustful laughter and
joy our Mattie gave to her man true?
that covenant between harmonious souls
the love most prairie sod busters never knew?
Do we dare dream our own life mates can match
the story of the bishop and his wife
who only to each other pledged their hopes
and arm in arm, gladly, embraced this life?
It’s fitting if we can, and without shame,
embrace that legacy to Oak Ridge eyes
sparkling still today for visitors to see –
that shows the ages love that never dies;
reminds the world how God can join as one
what biddies cannot denigrate with spite,
and sings to us from firmament of stone:
Scotch granite topped with ghostly marble white.
Soon after writing the first draft, I noticed that as Mattie’s monument is 40 feet high, my poem is 40 lines high. Divine coincidence? I think so. I hope you like the poem.
Live long . . . . . . and proper.
