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For the fourth year, we’re delighted to present
poems about Abraham Lincoln’s life, written by author and professor
Dan Guillory as though the Great Emancipator had penned the verse himself.
Chronicling the events and people in the life of the 16th president, the
poems offer a glimpse into the great and mundane events of Lincoln’s
life. Guillory is professor emeritus of English at Millikin
University in Decatur and the author of several books about Lincoln. His
latest work, Macon County, part of the “Images of America” series, was released
in January by Arcadia Publishing of Mount Pleasant, S.C. His earlier Lincoln poetry is available at
www.illinoistimes.com. — Editor
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Eating Illinois Originally, after the founding of the state of Illinois
in 1818, the counties were huge and covered hundreds and hundreds of square
miles, but the residents complained that the county seats were often too
far away. Some people had to travel days to obtain a marriage license or
have a deed recorded. So the counties split into parts and then split
again, like living cells. More and more people moved into Illinois as word
of the rich farmland spread eastward — and as technological
improvements such as the John Deere plow allowed farmers to plow up the
dense prairie sod and prairie grass nearly 3 meters high. Lincoln knew all
the Illinois counties comprised by the 8th Judicial Circuit, and he
traversed most of the rest of the state by raft, rail, and horse. He had,
in one sense, devoured the state.
The tender parts, the haunch And liver and sweetbreads, Are the first to go.
Like counties, their overcooked Joints fall apart, meat tattered on the bone, Smaller and smaller fragments, Shelby From Crawford, Macon from Shelby And from Macon itself, Moultrie and Piatt.
The lonely line of separation, the cord Knotted from mother through sons To fathers, stretches taut as a towline A clean and legal demarcation Like townships into counties.
We live as maps, The menus of the earth. And under it all the heart beats incessantly While the river flows in a crooked black line Even when covered with ice.
Choke Cherries
The choke cherry (Prunus
virginiana) is a common tree east of the
Mississippi River, usually found growing along fence rows and hedges. It
produces brilliant but bitter red fruit that cooks down into excellent jam
and jelly. Lincoln certainly encountered this familiar tree (really a large
bush) during his frequent circuit riding and other travels in central
Illinois. Choke cherries are abundant along the watercourse of the
Kaskaskia River in Shelby County.
The trees are tenanted with red fruit And October visitors, tourists From Canada, Michigan, and New York.
Ordinary robins and spattered starlings Gossiping in strange Northern dialects, Debating the sectional politics
Of land use and ownership, here In this grove of choke cherry, fruited With berries that are acid on the tongue.
They sing of boundaries and the ending Of the day, an unmistakable note of sadness That lingers, even in translation.
Flub Dubs By the fall of 1861, Mary Todd Lincoln had already
overspent her $20,000 household allowance by $6,800. Doris Kearns Goodwin,
in Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of
Abraham Lincoln (2005), quotes Benjamin French,
the commissioner of public buildings, whom Mary had enlisted to speak to
the president on her behalf. French reported that the president said,
“It would stink in the land to have it said that an appropriation of
$20,000 for furnishing the house had been overrun by the President when the
poor freezing soldiers could not have blankets, and he swore he would never
approve the bills for flub dubs for that damned house!” Like Jackie Kennedy and Nancy
Reagan after her, Mary left her mark on the old mansion. When the Lincolns
arrived in Washington, the Capitol dome was still under construction. Like
the nation, it was a work in progress.
Like a hatless man, the Capitol dome Remains uncovered, while canvas-tented soldiers
Sleep on the ice-hard ground, blanket money Going to Mary’s silver tea trays and sugar
bowls,
Heavy candlesticks, gas lamps with glass globes, Limoges dinner plates, gold-roped tapestries, Damask curtains, and carpets, carpets, carpets!
Seemingly, there is no end Of buying goods and making war. In the slough between the White House And Potomac, good Washingtonians Dispose of the odd carcass, Feline, human, or canine —
How merciful were it mine.
Tom Thumb at the White House, February 13, 1863 “General” Charles Stratton, 36 inches high,
was the star attraction of P.T. Barnum’s circus. He married Lavinia
Warren, who stood only 32 inches high. To celebrate this marriage —
and Valentine’s Day — Mary Todd Lincoln invited the diminutive
couple to a special party at the White House. According to Daniel Epstein,
author of Lincoln and Whitman: Parallel Lives
in Civil War Washington, most of the Cabinet
members attended this gala event, which was well reported by the press.
Stratton often depicted the little figure of Cupid, cavorting about the
stage and shooting tiny arrows of love at his appreciative audience.
Lavinia is a little beauty in white satin And massive diamond necklace — Charles Is attired in simple black with heavy gold watch
And elegant white kid gloves. Two human dolls,
They stand no taller than the bottom Of my waistcoat — Charles and Lavinia, Abraham and Mary, twin odd couples On display in the White House Circus. Show your ticket and behold two pairs Of documented freaks, each one shot By the unerring Arrow of Love, drawn From the bottomless quiver of Desire.
Keckley, Dressing My Hair Elizabeth Keckley — modiste, or seamstress, to Mary Todd Lincoln — was a former
Virginia slave who had purchased her freedom and that of her son by dint of
hard work and perseverance. She composed a famous autobiography, Behind the Scenes or Thirty Years a Slave, and Four Years
in the White House (originally published in 1868
by G.W. Carleton and reprinted in 1988 by the Oxford University Press).
Keckley was a remarkable woman who became the most trusted servant of Mary
and Abraham. President Lincoln often requested Keckley’s tonsorial
services before events of state. After the president’s assassination,
she was dispatched to New York to sell off Mary’s considerable
wardrobe in a futile attempt to raise cash for the beleaguered former first
lady. In 2003, historian Jennifer Fleischner published Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Keckly [sic]: The Remarkable Story of a Friendship Between a First lady and a
Former Slave.
She flexes her fingers like a concert pianist, This African queen, teasing grace notes From my choppy thatch, gracefully playing Glissandos on my crown. She presses ever so Close, the joist of her hip touching my ribs, Her pneumatic bosom swelling Against my back, her hands fluttering Over my cheeks and beard. And thus The Presidential locks lie down in perfect Harmony as Lizzy strikes the final chord, Gently withdrawing her hands, stepping Away, as she admires her artistry When, all too suddenly, the music dies.
The One-Legged Man, August 11, 1863 On a torrid day in the summer of 1863, President
Lincoln encountered a one-legged former slave who was begging on the dusty
streets near the White House. According to Epstein, Lincoln stopped and
wrote a check on the spot for $5. That amount would equal more than $100 in
today’s currency. At this time, the city of Washington was swarming
with soldiers on leave and refugees from the “slaveocracy” of
the Confederate South. There was no federal policy for dealing with this
influx of hungry, homeless, and disoriented persons into the nation’s
capital.
To lose your nation, Your native tongue, your wife, Your little children, and everything Familiar — that is Tragedy enough.
Then to suffer the loss of a leg, Hobbling around Washington in wartime, Like a three-legged hound, grateful For scraps — that is insupportable.
So on Riggs Bank I draw a cheque For five American Dollars, payable To the “Bearer,” whom I emancipated Into a life almost as bad as slavery Contact Dan Guillory at dan1944@frontiernet.net.
This article appears in Feb 1-7, 2007.
