Poetry Thursday

Indiana claims James Whitcomb Riley as the "Hoosier Poet," and there is a collection of his manuscripts at the Lilly Library at Indiana University. You really only need one poet like Riley to enchant the school children with the rural dialect and old stories, so there probably wasn't much demand for Harry S. Chester, the "Elkhart County Poet," who also enjoyed and wrote poetry in this style. He was the Clerk of Courts, and although I've browsed through the Internet, this poem, "The Wakarusa Band," is the only title I can find. I didn't actually find it on the Internet either--I was doing genealogical research at the public library, and it is in the Elkhart County History. I have few ties to this county, but don't you get a little misty eyed thinking about old Harry behind the desk scratching out the marriage licenses, and tapping his toe while he passed his time writing poetry.

The Wakarusa Band
by Harry S. Chester

You talk about your Brooks's Band and Boyer at his best
An' Thomas's big orchestra, an' Sousa an' the rest
Their hifalutin' music, I suppose, is good enough
For city folks who educate on operatic stuff;
But when you want to reach the heart and make it laugh an' sob,
An' be in touch with nature like, and make it thrill an' throb
With melody an' music that a child can understand,
You ought to hear a concert by the Wakarusa Band.

They ain't up on concertos an' cantatas an' the like
But you can't beat 'em grindin' out a quickstep on the pike
An' when they play "Old Nellie Gray" an' "Where the Daisies Grow,"
My memory goes slidin' back to the long, long ago;
An' music that'll work like that an' strike your very soul,
An' flood you full of memories an' all your past unroll
That kind of music playin' fills its highest mission and
That's why I like to listen to the Wakarusa Band.

I saw the great directors in Chicago at the Fair,
With all their fine musicianers annihilatin' air;
A drum'd bang, a horn'd blat, a clarinet's shriek
An' ef you call that music, say, you ought to hear me speak;
I want the kind of music, that'll melt into the heart
I wouldn't give a picayune for all their classic art;
Let educated critics gulp it down an' call it grand
But I’ll just sit an' listen to the Wakarusa Band.

There are several photos of the Wakarusa Band (not to be confused with the music festival in Kansas) in the archives at the Public Library in Wakarusa, Indiana, here and here.

While I was at my public library, there were some middle school “musicianers annihilatin' air" with bang and blat and shriek.

My Turn
You ramble in your Myspace on why you do that stuff--
Your fuzzy youtube I 'spose is good enuf.
But still I'd rather read your words and text
without that noise ef from you gen-next
which don' melt my heart or strike my soul
as your past and future you unroll.

Poetry Thursday
Wakarusa, Indiana
dialect poetry