A Legacy of Grace
Robert B. Repenning 1972 (Virginia)
October 22The needle in the grooves works its mojo, digging into my ears, spinning words, mystical melodies and an encompassing voice, warming my memories with the familiar songs of an old friend, a snapshot of a mystery white boy, until in shuffled a dark angel and my dream brother was taken, gone, but never to be forgotten.
It was three o’clock in the morning, guitar case in his hand, a long coat warmly braces against the chill of Manhattan wind whipping off the river, blushing his cheeks rose and numb, moistened eyes, walking, pitching around with a muted falsetto, stray verses, stitched together line by line, searching for a home.
A lover longs for his beloved, a tender heart still burns for her, even as he steps through the ruins of that last goodbye, a final kiss, a murmured promise that slipped away, nevermore to be fulfilled. No heroes or villains, just two haunted souls, dancing in moonlight, mocked by its immortal glow and its dreamy taunts of perfection.
Wherever the truth lies, the ear hears and it cannot be denied; he touched something eternal or maybe he found the secret path into a state of grace, sacred chords born on wings, rising above the city, glancing off starlight, capturing it all in a swell of plucks, strums and the occasionally thrashed rhythms of desire, devotion to an endless dream and movements of the heart.
Dream brother, dream brother, I carry you now with me, tracing your cast shadow, all those years ago, criss-crossing my path on the same haunted streets and avenues searching for answers that always seemed so far away, distant, past and slipping away and in the night, brushing up against the cold dark wings of loneliness, loss and pain, but finding hope in every draught that you drew and even with the bitter, to smile.
I confess, I was late to the show, in those day the sounds I gravitated to pulled me elsewhere. Had I heard you, I wouldn’t have understood you. I’d have probably run away, fast and in the opposite direction, finding something wrong with: the songs and arrangements, your voice and guitar tone, the album cover, the lyrics and chords. Everything would have seemed wrong and I’d have been wrong on just about everything.
Now, your fragile songs transcend shallow critique, defying age, so real and out of time, unattached to fashion or trends, these songs survive by their own merits and strength, thanks in no small part to your patient loving labor, exhaling, breathing into them life, howling and wailing, grabbing ahold of us, pleading the case to savor what truly matters inspiring courage to face down our dark, lonely nights - screaming down from heaven.
Dream brother, dream brother, this city is drenched with the sound of your voice, your songs more precious than silver and gold, and whether wailed or whispered, weaving still their sensual spell upon the magics of the night, secreting me away with stardust melodies and strains, hypnotizing verses, daring the epic dance of fire, wait in the fire, wade in the fire, weighed in the fire, we were born to rise from the ash.
The city burns alive in my heart, sweet reveries of golden years, carnival nights and you, my dream brother, walking with me, and singing to me the songs I hadn’t heard then you know these misty streets and avenues, her labyrinthine ways and where they lead in the ghostly silence and from an open window you know the hush and swallow of rain, that teardrop rainfall and the moonlight hues painted blue on a rush of dissipating clouds,
You know the slow amble of lovers’ footfalls on sidewalk, the peal of buzzed laughter, the ebbs and flows of traffic, its bang and clatter, the church bells ringing in the dawn, you elegantly channeled into dimly lit studio sessions the symphony of this mystic city, a passionate invocation to live and love; from nightmare and the maelstrom, a shelter; an urgent plea, to wait for her sweet return; and to hold and to cherish life and its dream.
Dedicated to Jeff Buckley
17 November 1996 - 29 May 1997
About this poem
Influenced by his album "Grace," this is a meditation of Jeff Buckley. When he was alive, I visited his neighborhood often, unbeknownst to me. When "Grace" came out I didn't even notice. However, years later no album encapsulates my Manhattan years as perfectly as "Grace" and the words, music and voice of Jeff Buckley. This tribute to Jeff deliberately blends phrases and motifs from "Grace." Sadly this past May 29th, 2022 marked the 25th anniversary of Jeff Buckley's passing. more »
Written on October 04, 2022
Submitted by TheOutlawHalo on October 13, 2022
Modified on April 27, 2023
- 3:35 min read
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Quick analysis:
Scheme | A X A X X X A X X X XX |
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Characters | 4,027 |
Words | 718 |
Stanzas | 11 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2 |
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"A Legacy of Grace" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/142341/a-legacy-of-grace>.
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