Approaching 65 -- #20 -- A New Poem

When I became serious about poetry for the second time n my lfe,  it was because of a poetry group that met at the local Barnes & Noble (bookstore) in Springfield. The idea of poets reciting poetry to each other had no appeal to me, but, I was told, this would be different. I was writing folksongs at the time, and some poetry, but since I played folk guitar pretty well, I didn’t hang with poets, who reminded me of chess players. The great thing about gathering at Barnes & Noble was that people who were not poets heard what we were sharing from the simple coincidence of occupying the same coffee shop as the poets did. The poets I met for the first time that night in 1994 or so  read their poems from loose papers and notebooks, sometimes from published books. I had never seen poetry shared that way. At MacMurray College, we all (and I was one of the “we” for a while) recited. When I participated in the first meeting I attended at Bar’ble, I recited the three I shared. Strangers talked to me that night. It was a good evening for me. I had my first brush with “significance” if not “fame.”

One of my new friends was involved with teaching remedial English to freshmen at a local university and was admired, in the course of my years attending and eventually emceeing the Bar’ble gatherings, by everyine in thge group, including me. He had a voice like James Earl Jones and the demeanor in front of a microphone like Bill Cosby, though he was more focused on grace than comedy. On the night of one of the gatherings, I went to his table aftter I had been introduced and showed him a hard copy of the poem I intended to recite. There was a word I considered absolutely essential, and I wanted to be sure the word would not be out of place at Bar’ble, that it would not offend dedicated parents of nearby progeny, that people would know what it meant and be okay with it. His smiling reception on seeing the copy of my new poem convinced me I would be okay. I recited the following  poem for the first time in late April 1996. I recite it often and am pleaseded to share it with you here.  When I introduce the poem in person I raise a small sign with the words “Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!: on it. I ask the audience to shout it in unison with me when I raise the sign so they can see it. Then we priactice chanting it four of five times so the audience can hear themselves. They become accustomed to the sound of themselves, and it’s fun to hear themselves. You are welcome to read or recite this poem any way you like. Have fun!

Tuff Tookas
by Job Conger

You have a “gift” and the world doesn’t give a damn?
Tuff tookas! Tuff tookas!
You feel “lost” and you hardly know where you am?
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!

When you’re altogether twisted, down and feeling blue,
When your friends are moving upward, and you’re stuck like glue,
Just remember what the world wants to say to you:
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!

Yes, you told me that you loved me when my kisses were sweet.
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!
Now you tell me that your life seems in com plete.
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!

It’s the fate of everybody that we crash and burn.
When you reach the point of panic and there’s nowhere to turn,
There’s a moral to the story that we all must learn:
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!

The nice thing about “age” is there are fewer surprises.
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!
You still hurt like hell, but you know what to be wise is.
Tuff tookas!  Tuff tuff tookas!

Now’s the time to get you working up a new head of steam.
Find  an on-ramp to tomorrow and an open dream.
Say good-bye to pain and sorrow with a primal SCREAM:
Tuff tookas! Tuff tuff tookas!
Tuff tookas. Tuff tuff tookas.

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Live long . . . . . . . and proper.