The Frenchman and The Black


From Gandertown we went wheels up,
A nor’wester hard did come,
To Agadir we went direct,
It cut the trip down some.

Three thousand miles, nine hours gone
We land again we find,
We’ve flown the day in measured time,
To a thousand years behind.

The night is spent, then on we go,
To Mopti, and there land
The custom guys come out to see
What we do have on hand.

We meet them folks, and jaw a bit
We caught a ride to town
Found our hotel, got our rooms,
And lay our bodies down

We went on out, next ‘mornin’ time,
Our crew to train was back,
We met them there outside the plane,
A Frenchman and a Black.

We jawed about the plane awhile,
Got howdy’d and we shook,
We showed them all the spots to watch,
And just were they should look.

The Black got in the cap’ins seat,
We took off for a ride,
He done real good, he flew ‘er well,
And lands with a look of pride.

So loading up the Frenchman,
They both knew what to do,
They took me straight and fine and fast,
On up to Timboctu.

Back at home the Black he sez,
“c’mon out to my digs”
Can’t say no, it ain’t polite,
(I’ve learned on foreign gigs)

Now let me state, that Mali is,
A dismal spot at best,
The folks ain’t got no money,
In rundown homes they rest,

From days of hard and grueling work
Their food of course to find,
They bust their humps to get ahead,
But come out a bit behind,

I was amazed when I did spot,
At the end of his gate run,
A Spanish lookin’ hacienda,
Shinnin’ in the Mali sun.

We ate some grub, we spent some yarns,
An’ then this feller ‘lows,
“Ya’ll can wait here if ya want,
I got to feed the cows”

My heart it leapt from out my breast,
I felt my soul fly free,
We went out back, and there I saw,
The dangest sight to see.

Sixty head of white faced cows,
And one fine white face bull,
Were in a pasture, green and kept,
An’a feed bunk, ‘bout half full,

I had left my own cattle back,
Twelve thousand miles away,
But with a five tined pitchfork
I tossed some flakes of hay.

The next few days we flew with them,
Then adios’d and left,
For Dakar, then Londonville,
And then we headed west.

Now London is a fancy town,
But it always makes me smile,
When I land at JFK,
An’ I’ve been gone a while.

I called my wife, said, “Dear, I’m home”
She said, “I’m glad you’re back,”
I told her I had made two friends,
A Frenchman and a Black.

Terry

Terry,
This is a really heartwarming poem, you've outdone yourself again. Some things are not so different eh. I can tell you had a good time, but I'm sure a tiring one.
Why do all Americans think all English people live in London? You might have been able to call Stephen or Izzy, but I live in Illinois, you cowboy you.
Glad you're back.
JP

Sorry, I thought you lived in Yorkshire. Looked all over the phone book fer ya... guess I know why that didn't work huh?
I thought all Englishfolk lived in Liverpool with the Beatles....
Danke..

Terry

Terry, This is delightful and heartwarming, I dare say that you don't generally have trouble making, or keeping, friends. jhs

Terry:

I love your use of conversation within your poetry. You have a good ear for the vernacular and a real talent for incorporating it within your verse. I was wondering if you were familiar with the following poem by James Loughlin, as it provides a good example of this style:

GO WEST YOUNG MAN

Yessir they're all named
either Ken or Stan or Don
every one of them and

those aren't jus nick-
names either no they're
really christened like

that just Ken or Stan or
Don and you shake hands
with anybody you run into

no matter who the hell
it is and say "glad to
know you Ken glad

to know you Don" and then
two minutes later (you
may not have said

ten words to the guy) you
shake hands again and
say "glad to have met

you Stan glad to" and
they haven't heard much
about Marx and the class

struggle because they
haven't had to and by
god it makes a country

that is fit to live in
and by god I'm glad to
know you Don I'm glad!

This poem reminds me of a trip I took to the east coast about 15 years ago. I was working as a loader on a big rig traveling coast to coast. We stopped in South Carolina at a truck stop. The gal in the little store asked
us how we were doing and how long it had been since we left home. She seemed genuinely concerned, not just like someone who was passing the time of day. My partner and I both discussed this hospitality and came to the same conclusion you cite here. People are the same all over the country.

And as you have just illustrated, they are the same throughout the world, too. Thanks for reminding me of this commonality. Too often we think only of ourselves, our families and our community. There's a huge world out there. It's nice to think that they aren't so different.

Thanks, I am a 6'1" blue eyed blond. 220 lbs. And I have disappeared in Dakar by knowing that the only race of people on this planet is the human race.

Terry

Joe,
I was not aware of that one. I do like it a lot. I just try to write like I think. Bulls or airplanes,, either one will give you a heck of a ride, or kill ya graveyard dead.

Terry

Les,
Once, long ago and far away I was leaving as I usually am. I shook hands with a man from that country and said, "I'll see ya'll again" He replied, "It will not be soon enough" I stopped and looked at him. It was the nicest thing I was ever told when parting. I said it to the Frenchman and the Black.

Terry

i really enjoyed that. well done terry, well done.

I can't believe nobody else has posted on this since 2002. I guess it's time SOMEbody did.

Les

Les, you have a deep shovel.

Doesn't he though! And he hit gold.

I have a friend here who is looking to set up a Morroccan tea house here in Prince George. She just married her Husband in Mali (he is from there) and has filled my head with many exciting tales about North Africa.

Good pome Terry. I have read it before, but looks like I didn't comment before this.

Brucefur

Les, you have a deep shovel.

I was shocked to discover, that the other poem I bumped was not included in your anthology. (I'm going to fix that by the way.) Some of the poems which were posted by authors on the "general discussion" forum were missed by yours truly while I was compiling those anthologies. My bad.

Les

210,

yeah.

"...the only race of people on this planet is the human race."

...and the poem's a pip.

also, thanks, Les, good dig.

Peter

my two trips to work with these two guys included two of my trips to Timboctu, and 25% of the reason that I retired from project work. as Danny O'Brien said, "Eight times in Timboctu is enough for any 'white' man"
It is an interesting city. Everything is made of sand. There is a river, filthy, and three osaisi(?) One of them is cold as a mother-in-law's smile. Never need to see it again. eight times is enough for any person, man or woman, black, white, purple, or orange. 'Tain't Tahiti.