In 2012, Larry Godfrey — one of the original founders of the Southwest Word Fiesta — stepped away from the organizing committee. With his departure, he left behind not just memories and contributions, but also a gift.
Rooted in the spirit of the Gila, the weight of time, and the tension between old and new, this poem remains as relevant today as it was then. It is a meditation on change, technology, memory, and the enduring power of language and bones — quite literally.
We share it now in honor of Larry’s work, and as a reflection on the beauty that remains in things we almost forget to see.
“And I, only, am escaped alone to tell thee”
— Book of Job“The dreadful chill of change”
— Henry James
Chance, mundane thrust of sage and rabbit-brush
Grow violations amidst symmetry
Decreed by law of skeletons’ decay,
Haphazard growth, by rot’s largesse more lush.
I stand, time’s exile, solitary song.
To witness loss these horses’ bones attest.
My father, likely now more dust than bone,
Once straddled equine architecture, long.
Since only sculpted beauty I admire
These bones, torn shreds of time, bequeath death-dried
Bouquets, sweet scents of melancholy spirit,
Silent dirge of whispering, spectral choir.
And only I escaped alone to tell.
I linger amidst scissored pieces cut
From universe of sound bites and computer
Bytes, an ignorant churl, cursed to excel
In pleasures, insights, skills from days of yore—
A peon in this aristocracy
Of chip intelligence, illiterate
In hand-held gadgetry, a Luddite bore.
I live an alien, my language but one
Tense — Past intimate — archaic, lost
‘Midst virtual, computer-generated
Sum of Self, all human surges done
In tiny miracle of single chip.
I breathe an air computerized in throbs
And aches, diseased and festering with my
Displacement, loss, reluctance to equip
Myself with tools to flourish and survive.
Like Miniver, a child of scorn, I sigh
For what is not. I read my books on printed
Page, seek wisdom without bytes, derive
My pleasures in old-fashioned modes, unfettered
By twit-twittered friends and plug-in loves.
And so I stand in peonage, alone,
To witness beauty been in bones unbettered.
I stand, time’s exile, solitary song,
To witness loss these horses’ bones attest.
This simple skeleton, organic frame,
Sings truth and beauty no chip can prove wrong.
— Larry Godfrey
Silver City, New Mexico
February 14, 2012
Thank you, Larry, for reminding us that the past speaks — if we are quiet enough to listen.
