Quaint Sayings of Uncle Jeff: On Friends

A child of the heartland, Iva Beatrice Core (1903-1987) grew up and lived most of her life in Richland Center, Wisconsin. As a young woman of 26 in 1929, Iva was determined to collect and write down the quaint sayings of her Uncle Jeff for posterity's sake.

Uncle Jeff had this to say about friends...

On the Road: Route 66 and a Navajo Blessing

Route 66 in Gallup, New Mexico.

The first day of summer — June 21 — is set aside to remember Native Americans. In Canada, National Aboriginal Day "celebrates the unique heritage, diverse cultures and outstanding achievements of First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples in Canada."

On the first day of summer as Americans make plans to hit the road for summer vacations the Bar None Group found this Navajo poem that welcomes travelers to Gallup, New Mexico alongside historic Route 66.

On the Road: Selma, Alabama and the Poetry of Soul

After twice being turned back at Edmund Pettus Bridge. The March to Freedom from Selma began on March 21, 1965.

Next year marks the 50th Anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery Voting Rights March from Selma, Alabama to the state capitol 54 miles away in Montgomery. The march, from March 21-25, 1965 was a cold, wet affair that months later resulted in the Voting Rights Act being passed — "the most successful civil rights law in the nation's history."

The Selma to Montgomery National Historic Trail today is marked with historical markers along U.S. Highway 80 and the Lowndes County Interpretive Center — one mile from Tent City — that recalls the March and the struggles of African Americans in the deep south of the mid 1960s. At the Interpretive Center we purchased two books of poetry.

Enigmatic Beauty

I have seen you
Disappearing into the shadows,
A mere glimmer in the periphery
Of my vision,
Brief glimpses,
Often caught
In moments of inattention,
Your faint traces
Alluding to a beauty
So unfathomable
It may be fatal to behold.

Why I Am Not A Painter

Poet Frank O'Hara to be honored with plaque in Tompkins Square today.

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

Columcille's Boat Song

Columcille or St. Columba is the Patron Saint of Poets.

Cut in the forests, swept down the two-horned Rhine,
Our keel, tight-caulked, now floats upon the sea.
Heia, men! Let the echoes resound with our heia!

The wild gusts swell, the slashing torrents fall,
But manly strength has force to tame the storm.
Heia, men! Let the echoes resound with our heia!