Crossed Over to Classic
by Roy Blount Jr.

South of Lookout Mountain
by James Fowler

Meditations on the
“Partly Colored”
by Leslie Bow

Crossed Over to Classic
    Roy Blount Jr.

Though where immortals go, it ain’t
Always brother-brother,
Now and then the late and great
Groove on one another.

At such a moment Homer cried,
“Glory be—Hank Williams!
Shake my hand. No line of mine
About old bloody Ilium’s

“Half as sad as your ‘My hair’s
Still curly . . . eyes still blue,
Why don’t you love me like
You used to do’!”

“Well,” said Hank, “that line of yours,
‘The wine-dark sea,’ is deep.”
“But nothing like your ‘Did you ever
See a robin weep.’”

“Nice of you to say so, Homer.
Me, now, I’m not partial,
By and large, to epic-type
Recitals that are martial,

“But once I heard you holding forth
About the Fall of Troy,
And that—but look who’s coming here.
Do you know this old boy,

“Hails from ancient Rome and sings
Of arms and of the man?”
“Ah,” said Homer, “Virgil.” Then
They both said, “I’m a fan.”

Those two, somehow, had never met—
Hank introduced ’em.
And now up there in Armstrong-Bach-
Tintoretto-Proustdom,

Three pals swap licks of tears and things,
Kaw-liga and a horse,
Of faith and sons and dads—and Helen,
Dido and Audrey, of course—

Homer, Hank and Virgil daily,
Strumming lyres and lying.
So anytime you start to feel
Too bad about Hank dying,

Bear in mind that he’s not lonesome
On that radiant shore,
He’s pretty much quit drinking, and
His back don’t hurt no more.

And as to reputation—you
Have seen what kind of stead
He’s standing in. In Glory, Hank’s
A far cry from dead.