Ken Hartke

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I'm retired and living solo "out west" in the New Mexico desert. I've been an observer and blogger for years and usually have four or five blogs going but wrote for myself or for friends. A lot of it was travel stories or daily random postings -- but it was good experience. Red Room allowed me to share things on a wider scale and with its demise I (maybe) found a more public voice.

Three Crows

Three joyful black Crows

aloft on the April breeze

laugh at Earthbound men.

 

Consumed by spring chores,

I’m the target of their fun.

I ignore their taunts.

 

Puzzled now – they come close;

Perched on the rooftop – watching

with conspiring eyes.

 

These are my old friends.

They so hate to be ignored --

I must laugh myself.

 

That’s all they wanted;

Just a little of my time.

They fly off crowing.

The Home Place, 2017

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Stone Upon Stone, Soul Upon Soul

 

582_1609 abo

For good or ill, they left their mark.
Rich in their vow of poverty;
at least by local standards.
They had their cigars and their chocolate.
They had their music and their books.
They had their Faith.
They had untold riches
in willing backs and upturned faces.

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Stone on stone. Wooden crosses.
Beams and candles. Silver chalice.
True, the graveyard was filling up
but there was work to be done.
They were here on a mission;
called by the Assisian of long ago.
Soul upon soul. Tally and count.
Blessed waters all poured out.

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Carry your burden. Stone upon stone.
Eyes lifted to heaven. Recall your lessons.
Soul upon soul. No room for doubt.
Where friars go, others follow.
Scores were settled by Godly force.
The “Holy Office” — an instrument of peace
in the wild lands west of the Pecos,
in this province of sand and salt.

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Women tending the graveyards,
upturned faces looked away. The cost was high.
The flesh was less willing, the spirit weak.
Some days the raiders came.
Voices raised – a stone thrown in anger.
An arrow. The fields are on fire.
The burden was there but with few willing backs.
Brother, tell us again about Heaven.

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Over the pass, it was a long slow walk.
First one mission and then another
left crumbling in the sun.
Stone upon stone. Soul upon soul.
A vow of poverty is for living,
not dying in the sand and salt.
So brothers, pick up the pace!
There will be other missions, but not here.

582_1610 abo

*     *     *

Enchanted, More or Less — 2017

https://malpaisweb.wordpress.com

Recent Comments
Rosy Cole
Sad and inspiring and beautiful, Ken. It could so easily be applied to our present age and, I guess, to almost every culture on th... Read More
Thursday, 20 April 2017 14:00
Ken Hartke
Thanks for the comment. Even after 350 years of abandonment the Franciscans will occasionally come back to Quarai Mission for a me... Read More
Thursday, 20 April 2017 15:39
Rosy Cole
Your trip to Perugia will surely have increased an understanding and appreciation of the settlement. Going even further back, what... Read More
Thursday, 20 April 2017 16:28
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Wanderlust

I don’t travel as much now as I used to. I seem content to go back to places that I’ve visited before rather than to strike out in a new direction. That seemed to be okay for now — as I am almost through my seventh decade — but maybe I need to re-think that just a little.

My mother did not travel much. Living and working in St. Louis, she was far from the wonders of the world. She went with a neighbor family to see Pikes Peak in an shiny new touring car sometime in the 1920s — crossing dusty Kansas on what passed for roads and camping along the way. She and a bunch of girlfriends drove to Biloxi and the Gulf Coast in the 1930s. (Whoa – how daring!) She wasn’t a driver so she rode in the rumble seat and got sunburned.  I only know that because she kept a little travel journal complete with grainy Kodak photographs. We travelled on family vacations beginning in the late 1950s and when she and my dad moved to Virginia in the 1970s they travelled around the east coast. On her first airplane trip, out to California to visit her brother and sister-in-law, she visited an old Spanish mission and pried up an original clay floor tile and brought it home as a souvenir. Maybe it’s good that she didn’t travel to some places. Is that really the Holy Grail in the pantry?

But I get some of my “wanderlust” from her. She was a big fan of Richard Halliburton, an almost unknown name today but at the time, back in the 1930s,  he was almost a rival to Charles Lindbergh. He was a dashing and fearless figure who travelled the world over and published stories and books of his travels. She scraped money together to buy his books and when he came to town she was in the audience. She went to see Lindbergh, too, but she seemed to be more impressed with Halliburton. He was almost a roaming evangelist for travelers: good looking and articulate — and single. He managed to turn travel into a career and made good money at it. His personal life was a little edgy by her standards, had she known, but back in the day much of that was kept private.

As I was recently going through some family books, I came across her old 1937 copy of Halliburton’s Book of Marvels: The Occident, which covers many of his travels and adventures in North and South America and Europe. I remember poring over that book as a kid and wanting to go see all those places that were pictured. Looking through it now, especially the old black and white pictures, I wonder how much things have changed. He was writing before WW-II but made reference to the damage that was done during “the Great War”.  Hitler was in power in 1937 and Halliburton pretty much ignored the existence of the German state except to mention the damage the Germans did in shelling Rheims Cathedral (complete with photographs of the burning church). My dad trudged all over western Europe in WW-II from London to Paris and Berlin with an eventful stopover in Bastogne and was much less impressed with the place.

As I paged through the book this time I see that I’ve managed to visit a number of places he covered in 1937. Some are commonplace today. He goes gaga over the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay Bridge in San Francisco. Chapters are devoted to Boulder Dam, Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls…people still are impressed with those. New York City gets a chapter with emphasis on the Empire State Building. Washington DC gets a chapter. It turns out I’ve staggered through all the places in the US that he featured in the book with the exception of Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas out in the Gulf west of Key West, Florida. I just never took the boat ride. There are a lot of places in the rest of the book that I haven’t visited. I’ve been to Machu Picchu and his pictures from the 1930s are interesting compared to what it looks like today. I’ve been maybe a couple hours away from some of the places but didn’t get there. I recall reading his account of Vesuvius and Pompeii as a kid and even wrote a report for school based mostly on the book but I never managed to get there — just a few miles down the road from Rome.  There are a few places I’ll not visit — monasteries, mostly, but there are a number that still beckon -- Iguazu Falls and Rio de Janeiro could be one trip. Athens and Istanbul could be another trip.

richard-halliburton-elephantHalliburton was a great self-promoter and he seemed to be awestruck with almost anything he encountered along the way. His prose was gushing in praise for everything and sounds silly today. He found all sorts of people to happily pose in native costumes for his photographs but he seemed to really like being photographed riding elephants. There are a lot of those.

Undaunted by the first hostilities of WW-II, Japan and China were at war, Halliburton had a Chinese Junk, the Sea Dragon, built in Hong Kong in 1939 and planned to sail it across the Pacific to San Francisco. How tough could it be? Halliburton and a crew of six Americans set off in March and ran headlong into a typhoon. The ship was last seen some distance west of Midway Island struggling through the storm. It was never seen again.  Initial reaction was that this was a publicity stunt — Amelia Earhart had gone missing two years earlier so nobody was dumb enough to try this without some back-up plan…right? Eventually the navy went out looking for the Sea Dragon or some evidence of wreckage but nothing was found. Halliburton was declared dead in October, 1939. Germany had invaded Poland the previous month so there was not as much attention paid to his disappearance. My mom was probably heartbroken. Rumors persisted for years that he actually was alive and living like a native in some remote location but none of the crew ever turned up. Eventually, in 1945, some wooden wreckage washed ashore near San Diego that could have been from the Sea Dragon but, after so many years of war in the Pacific, it could have been from almost anything.  I might travel a little more but I won’t be trying that.

     *     *     *

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
It's great to read you again. I enjoyed your piece. If you enjoy travel writing, may I suggest two books I love: "The Places In B... Read More
Saturday, 04 March 2017 12:38
Rosy Cole
This is fascinating, Ken. Richard Halliburton was only a name to me, so thank you for putting him in context. I followed it up wit... Read More
Saturday, 04 March 2017 13:42
Ken Hartke
Thank you both for stopping by. Writing is therapy these days...it keeps me from yelling at the TV. I think my mom was fascinat... Read More
Saturday, 04 March 2017 17:26
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On the Passing of the Year

On the Passing of the Year

 

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Auld Lang Syne: We cheerfully sing the phrase
but shiver to recall what went before or
guess what’s yet to come.

Old Long Since — “since what?” we ask. Time only knows.
We bade Godspeed to so many and so much.
Once young and bold but now so far apart.

But, yes, we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne. So may we someday raise
a glass, my friend… and may it be in better times.

But for now, in times like these, we say a prayer…
or a whispered hope… as far and near, to each his own,
we’ll raise a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

                                          *     *     *

***Thanks, always, to Rabbie Burns.

 

Recent Comments
Rosy Cole
Happy new horizons, Ken!
Monday, 02 January 2017 10:06
Ken Hartke
Blessings for the new year.
Monday, 02 January 2017 17:12
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Latest Comments

Monika Schott A rickety bridge
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Thanks, Di.
Diane Rampertshammer A rickety bridge
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Pure poetry - very evocative - you are a painter with words..Di
Ken Hartke Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
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Thanks for the comments. Rosy -- I look at this sort of social conversation as a healthful thing for...
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This is almost like a memory of birth, reviving those sensations, but translated in imagistic terms....
Rosy Cole Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
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Oh Ken, how rare that is! A gift. What a lovely sojourn in the byways and an unexpected exchange of ...

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