Liberal Troglodyte: A Poem

Well-known and many times published Llyn Clague, a Kendal resident, read the poem “Liberal Troglodyte” from his latest book at the gala Kendal New Year’s Eve celebration. He received many requests for copies, so we are happy to print it here.

 Liberal Troglodyte

I live in a cave.  I have hair on the backs of my hands. My eyebrows are bushy, my body  stocky, and I’m a touch mulish. I am a liberal troglodyte.

I hark to the cry of JFK, Ich bin ein Berliner! and its spirit, if not the letter – “I am a jelly donut.”  Across the Wall, I am one with you. 

I look back to FDR, we have nothing to fear but fear itself, and the spirit of a new fairness, if not the letter, of give  the little guy a better deal.

I reach further back, to JC, not as a savior for my person, but to the spirit, if not the letter, of blessed are the poor and loaves and fishes for the crowd.

I am a liberal troglodyte. Beady-eyed, jut-jawed, and proud, I am out of sync with the letter, and even more the spirit, of Don’t tax, don’t tread on, Me.

I walk with Walt Whitman, radical democrat, and hear again his barbaric yawp –              By God!  I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms – the spirit, and the letter, of  we are, en masse, as one.

An Excerpt from Mimi Weare's Memoir "Come Walk with Me"

La Rochelle

Mimi Weare and her husband Ashley are founding members of KoH. Mimi was born in France, raised in the city of La Rochelle, majored in English at the Sorbonne, and moved to the U.S. in her 20’s. Besides conducting the French conversation class weekly at KoH with about a dozen residents and continuing her interest in art, Mimi wrote her memoir for her grandchildren. A small selection from it is included below. The complete version is in the KoH library.

The names of my two grandmothers are piled on my unsuspecting head: Marguerite – Pauline. My brothers simplify the rather ceremonious names by calling me “Mimi.”

I do not remember the inside of this house as the family has moved to a large house on the main square of town when I am still a very young child. However, the smell of the sea, the fishing boats bobbing up and down in the harbor with the tides, the screams of the seagulls and swallows, the clear light, fast moving western storms accompany my first years in this world and are woven into my personality to this day.

Imagine a sleepy harbor suddenly coming into intense activity when the sardine-fishing fleet comes into the harbor, a procession of smallish boats draped in drying blue nets, accompanied by swooping seagulls overhead. The fishermen, dressed in faded smocks, bérets on their heads and clogs on their feet pass trays of glistening sardines to their women folk who have appeared on the quay at some mysterious signal, pushing wooden carts. They wear black gathered skirts and clogs on their feet. Their hair is pulled back tightly into a “chignon” covered by a delicate starched coiffe. These women and the fishermen hail from Brittany, and this is a traditional Breton headdress. I do not understand what they say to one another, as they speak a Breton patois.

Our new house on the rue Chaudrier, overlooking the Place de Verdun is inland from the harbor, but to walk along the street (also called rue du Palais) is full of delights. Like the maze of streets in the center of town, our street, Rue Chaudrier, is arcaded and mysterious. Even on rainy days you can walk nearly all the way to the harbor without getting wet, and there are so many interesting sights.

Mother and Son by Deena LaMotta

THE SILENCE SHROUDING THEIR ACTION MASKS THE SPIRIT OF THE DAY

THE CRYSTALLINE WALL BEFORE THEM A PRESENTIMENT OF THE UNKNOWN

AN UNDIMMED TRANSPARENCY REVEALING IMPENDING PARTING

NIGHT SHADOWS OF THEIR PAST LOOM NEAR TO MARRY THE RAYS OF THE SETTING SUN

SIDE BY SIDE…IMMERSED ALONE IN REFLECTION GIRDED BY THE STRENGTH OF STEEL IN THEIR BOND

LOVE AND FAITH CLAIM THEIR SPACE WITH THE TRUTH OF A PENDING LOSS

ERSTWHILE TIMELESSNESS EMERGES AS A CHERISHED NOW… AND THEN