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t-bonebunton · 5 years ago

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From Surry with Love

My first great professor was named Michael White. He was an interesting cat with a taste for Kiss and William Blake. But not just Blake... He gave me a hardback copy of William Shakespeare’s complete works when I was about 25 years old as a birthday gift and a book on analyzing Blake. I cherish them both 18 years later.

I was still going to Surry Community College on their eight-year plan. It’s only a two-year school by the way.

Michael White was a pretty large dude with a great laugh. I met him in his Brit Lit. class...There were 8 people in there. Great for class discussion. He played music sometimes...Fist place I heard Eva Cassidy was in there. He talked about KISS a lot, but Blake was his thing. I had some friends who were lit nerds already and I knew about William Blake, but Michael LOVED Blake and really engaged us in a way that no one had before. We dove in headfirst....

I finished the first part of the class and was going to take a break the other summer session, so I could hang out at the pool for the rest of the summer. No rush on life for me.... Lots of hanging out. Lots of .....well.......that’s for a different blog.

Fast forward a week or two later....

Michael called me at home and told me that he needed one more “body” to make a class...Would I please consider taking the other session. I really didn’t want to, but I liked him and his class...So I said sure. It turned out to be the best thing I’ve ever done academically speaking.

Michael shared stuff from his personal life.... that’s always tricky, but I am glad that he did. He grew up in rural Va. And was bullied because of his weight and possible sexuality... Not sure if he was gay or not, and would never have mattered to me, but he alluded to it as being a problem with the kids in rural Va. Long story short... He quit school at 16, went to Surry for the GED program, got an associate degree from Surry, transferred to Radford for the BA, and then got a master’s degree from there. Finally, got a job at Surry. I always found that story inspiring.

Michael is the very reason that I finally transferred out of Surry to App State... I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but because of Michael White I ended up getting an English degree and becoming a teacher. That lasted only 5 years, but that is definitely for a different blog. Turns out I’m a bit dogmatic.

Michael White died when he was 33 years old, lying across his bed from what I was told. I was slammed hard by that one. His death crushed me like an anchor. It was only a short while after I moved to Boone, NC.......People come in and out of our lives for cosmic reasons that we don’t know until many years have passed sometimes.

From Jerusalem:

“I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.” -William Blake

Toby T. Bunton

7/2/20

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t-bonebunton · 5 years ago

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Merle

I could never make good paper airplanes.

They always flew up fast, then crashed hard;

nose diving straight down slapping hardwood.

Sometimes days feel out of sorts,

never meant to be swallowed whole.

They take energy to finish.

Like the day Merle Haggard died,

the day crumbled like a wet wasp’s nest,

sprayed and completely bogged down.

Toby T. Bunton

April 7, 2016

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t-bonebunton · 5 years ago

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Three older poems...around 4 years..

Behind Poverty

I live here now

Quiet, on a street behind poverty

Barking dogs pace inside chicken wired squares

Where discarded things are strewn like measles

Fireworks sometimes explode on Wednesdays

Or Thursdays, maybe Mondays

I imagine the old people can’t sleep

But I don’t know

I used to see your ghost in Hawaiian shirts

Holding a pistol, but I don’t know what kind

Always on the edge of a treeless field

That hid you inside for three days

You are still on Elm sometimes,

Walking under the streetlight,

Standing idle with a smirk

Knowing what you’ve done

I live here now

Quiet, on a street behind poverty

Things left Scattered

We’ll paint the house in the field

Now you’ve been covered in earth 12 years or more

I always wondered what you would’ve thought

About your knife and change being left scattered

Somehow we have to go on

Life didn’t end

In the crazy dark of the afternoon shroud

Sleepy winds still plow the acres

Your hidden shoes slept for years under the bed

No one thought to look

And the loaded guns rust while leaning

In unchecked corners

The memories of you drift in and out

Like the sweat from your ball cap

Some supply company screen printed across

The places you went when you were out working

I really need to feel all things painful

8 years sober in June

I did rest outside the funeral home

That first night not knowing how to sleep

Brown Season

Way out past those places

Flat, sprawling-Open ended

We rose and fell and rose again

Holding our breath

We walked across, well-worn dirt rows

Bare feet blasted from charred crystal flecks

I lost a pocket watch there, probably soon tilled over

Or sunk deeper after that first December snow

What’s left of everything now hangs around,

Latched onto the soft July ground

When nothing grew and all our people

Either moved on or moved out

Restless for seasons, waiting for the brown

Sky to recover

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t-bonebunton · 5 years ago

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Sonic Sorrow

(For the peaceful, yet dead)

There are several I know,

strewn across and laid awkwardly;

on display under recessed lighting.

Different circumstances, fitful,

the flowers smell

like geriatric perfume.

The people I know who come here

make small talk, but

in the same clichés wrapped in prosperity.

The final dirge

ushers in the rest,

in preplanned circumstance.

It’s all been sorted for the peaceful,

yet living.

Toby Bunton-4/8/15......revised 6/17/20

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t-bonebunton · 5 years ago

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Herbie Hancock Buys a Sandwich in a Gas Station

Somewhere around 2003, I was riding back to Boone, NC, after visiting my future wife in Winston Salem. It was a Tuesday or a Thursday....One of those “T” days, I know. I was extremely tired and unusual for me, as I am an early riser and usually wake up ready to go. I thought that I would fall asleep, so I pulled over in Wilkesboro, NC, to the new travel center they had just built, to buy some gum and water. I realized that I didn’t have any cash, so I was standing at the ATM getting money when a very well-dressed gentleman walked in through the door. We made eye contact and he smiled. I was instantaneously, and I mean instantly, transported to a poster hanging in my apartment bedroom. I knew then and there that Herbie Hancock had just walked through the door of this Exxon. I was stunned and all the thoughts were racing in my head...I was second guessing myself and I was trying to figure out why this was happening on a Tues/Thurs. day!

That’s when I saw her! Herbie’s drummer back then was Terri Lyne Carrington....One of the best drummers on the planet! Then the rest of the band made their way into the station one at a time. They were driving a gold Ford Excursion. Huge.... I also knew they were somebody important, because they were the only people in there NOT wearing camouflage for fashion. Herbie was rocking a 3K dollar suit, I am sure, with an even more impressive top coat, as this was winter in NC.

I knew it was them because I had driven to Philly, Pa. and to Asheville, NC over the last two years to see them perform. That’s also when it hit me, that I was originally going to see them in Brevard the night before....so their logistics were starting to make sense. I also knew they were playing at Roanoke, Va. that evening. I had intentionally missed the Brevard show to go see my future wife, since we hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks. Ironically, if I had gone to the show, I would have never met Herbie.

After getting my cash, I start stalking them and spying on what they were buying. Terri Lyne, was buying a cheesy southwestern style “itchy” blanket. The bass player was buying a drink, then I saw Herbie! He was buying one of those disgusting gas station sandwiches.... I wouldn’t even eat one and I eat anything! Well, anything, but onion, peppers, pintos, broccoli, radishes, Kiwi,... OK...I’m picky and that was a lie. But I DON’T eat gas station sandwiches.

So.... after the initial shock of seeing Herbie Hancock in the first place, and after the second shock of seeing this legendary Buddhist iconic Jazz hero of mine, buying a salmonella laced death roll, I went up to him.

Now I am cool...you may not know it by looking at me or by listening to me, but I am cool. Actually, in my head, I have such a swagger, that Mick Jagger, George Clinton, and Lemmy from Motorhead (RIP), all three called me once, on a conference call to discuss my style.

So establishing that I am cool, I was determined not to blubber or ask any stupid questions of Mr. Herbie Hancock. I was determined to not ask for an autograph. In the early 2000’s my seven pound cell phone, most certainly didn’t have a camera either.

So I said, “Helloo sir...you remind me so much of Herbie Hancock.” That’s it..... he looked at me and smiled....then he said the coolest thing that he could have possible said, to a 27 year old hip cat like me. He said,” Yeah...that’s me.” Woah!!!!! Herbie just spoke to me. Collecting my thoughts, I told him about driving to Philly to see him at the Kimmel Center and waiting outside for 45 minutes to meet him and now here we randomly are in the same space. I wanted so badly to pick his brain and fanboy him about the secret world of Jazz, or the brilliance that is the Blue Note jazz label. But I didn’t.... we moseyed along to line so we could pay...I thought, should I offer to buy him a sandwich? Would he even let me? How modest he must me...Maybe he will buy my gum and water for me...but only, ”Next”, the cashier said.

Herbie did however introduce me to Teri Lyne. I can’t recall what I said to her, but it was really, not very profound. It was something like, “Nice to meet you, you are an amazing drummer.”

As I was walking back to the car, all I could think about was what I should have said.....Did Herbie want to talk more to me...this random, non camo wearing stranger he just me? Was Herbie surprised that I knew him at all? Would Herbie ask me to hop in the Excursion and go on the road with the band? Maybe security or management? Sadly...this did not occur, and I sat in my car waiting for them to pull out.

Ironically, I did have a copy of his CD “The Prisoner” in the car. I took out whatever Grateful Dead I was listening to and quickly threw it in the player. I started calling everyone I know that would care...This would be about three friends in Boone and one in Ashville. No one believed me. Not one soul... I was in such a flux about this, that I didn’t take into account all of the BS stories and joking around I had been doing for the entire time they all had known me. I threatened to go back and secure the security tape if they needed proof. I think eventually they came to believe me...maybe, because I only talked about that for the better part of three months. I’ll admit, If you know me at all, and well...let’s just say I see their point.......because, who eats gas station sandwiches in the first place?! I’ll tell you who does.....Herbie Jeffrey Hancock does, that’s who!

Next week.... Michael White Teaches British Lit.

Stay riveted!

Toby T. Bunton-6/5/2020

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t-bonebunton · 5 years ago

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Hello and welcome to “Beowulf Has Left the Building!” The purpose of this blog is really for me to share moments in my life that have been seemingly insignificant or slight at first glance, but turn out to send me in directions I never expected. I am almost 44 years old and for some reason, I think I should share some of these things and at least leave some sort of record. For me personally, it’s the small experiences that take place in the moment, that permeate and grow into greater understandings as time marches on. Oh yeah.... there will be poetry as well!

I didn’t grow up loving soccer. Where I am from, it was played by the more affluent kids from in town. I grew up in the rural county and we played basketball, baseball, and of course.... American football. No soccer loving socialist here! Or so I thought.... I’m pretty liberal, so I would laugh at that if someone said that to me!

Back to the oratory....

If I knew of anyone that played that strange sport called soccer, I made fun of them and would comment about how “I would rather watch paint dry!” Self-righteous to the core.

This went on for years and years and then early in January 2012, I was home sick on a Sunday afternoon and soccer was the only thing that was on that I hadn’t already seen. I was bored with marathon style police and home improvement shows, and the Dallas Cowboys were not on TV that day.

But that Sunday, something caught my attention....

It was the crowd....the chanting and the singing in unison was the thing I didn’t hear in American football...or the traditional “American” sports in general. The fans were also way closer to the field (“pitch” I’d later learn)...As I was laying there with a 100 + temp and trying not to cough up both lungs simultaniously, I perked up just a bit. I didn’t even know who was playing at first...Arsenal and Fulham, I found out after a few minutes. Ironically, Arsenal was playing in the first match I ever paid attention to, but would eventually become a hated rival! I refer to them as just “Arse” now, because who would pull for Arsenal? Ugggh.

I was 36 years old in 2012 and had never given soccer or football a second thought, other than the obligatory glance on ESPN during World Cup. Brazil and Holland seemed cool because of their uniforms (I would later know are called kits), but that’s about it. My friend Wellington had told me a story about visiting his home in Brazil, once during a World Cup qualifier, and hearing a collective roar through the hillside when they scored a goal that would send them on to the next round. Apparently, the folks in the village had pulled their tv sets out into the streets to watch the match communally. I always enjoyed that story, but didn’t really understand what that meant...The collective power of community and sport. In the poorest of areas, the hope of a nation can rest on one simple goal. I’ve grown to understand and appreciate so many things about the healing power of football over the past eight years.

But on that day in January, something awoke from inside me and I had an epiphany.... 36 years in the making. Every sport or sports team I followed has been assigned to me, or I liked them because of a family member or friend. This was like discovering this obscure band that no one else you knew had ever heard of.... but they were yours.... Finding “real” football...was like this.

I was entranced and mesmerized by the beauty, aggression, skill, balance, speed, and lack of scoring! I thought of this as a brilliant chess match...In later years, I love that the lack of scoring is a real problem for “Arse”, but I found it interesting that in traditional American sports, scoring is always the focus. In soccer, a 0-0 draw or a 1-0 (nil) win is just as enthralling because of the flow and strategic patterns of the game. I truly can’t explain that realization any better...it just came to me and with that observation, epiphany, the crowd chanting and singing, I knew I was hooked.... My 100+ temp seemed to break and I was sweating by the end of this prolific 1-1 draw.

Thank God for the internet and Wikipedia....that afternoon, I knew that I had to find a team....and by the grace of God, it was not going to be Arsenal! Their manager Arsene (accent mark somewhere hahaha) Wenger, looked like the old man, Mr. Burns, from the Simpsons. Probably a nice guy, but there was something about him I didn’t like.

I didn’t have a smart phone then and I was teaching English at a local high school. Before school every morning for two weeks, I read the Wikipedia of every team that was in the Premier League in 2012. I started with some criteria:

A. I wanted a team that wasn’t (to my knowledge) a household name in America. I learned later my team was VERY popular and hated! So, no Manchester United or Liverpool off the top. They are both American owned. My team is Russian Billionaire owned, it turns out, and very well supported globally.

B. They had to have a winning tradition (yep...no losers for me)

C. No red teams (my Knicks, Cowboys, Yankees, Duke Blue Devils are all blue)

D. Need to be in the southern or southeastern part of England (where my mom’s side of the family are from)

E. Must have a crazy intense fan base (I knew a little about hooliganism...Unfortunately my team had a past history with that ugly aspect in the 1980’s and more than I knew at the time.)

So with that criteria in place I narrowed it down to five teams...I have forgotten all five sadly, but three of them were Chelsea, Tottenham Hotspur (who I fortunately didn’t pick), and Queen’s Park Rangers (who were relegated shortly thereafter). Look up relegation and what it means, if you are mildly bored. I did initially!

I wrote them down and had my 5-year-old son, Rowan, pick them one at a time out of my sweat-stained Yankees hat!

Then on that glorious and beautiful day in January 2012, with his last pick, Rowan picked the mighty Chelsea Blues out of that hat!

It was all over from that point forward...I watched “real” football obsessively from that moment on. I had 5 cable channels devoted to football and European sports, and I learned the chants and songs sung from the terraces at Stamford Bridge (Chelsea’s sacred fortress). I learned the rules by reading all I could (offsides was a struggle to understand), and the points system for the many leagues and tiers associated with global football. I will say, however, that the only way to really learn about football, is to watch a lot of football. I studied the history of Chelsea FC and became educated about the legends and current superstars associated with the club...countless Facebook and YouTube clips of Chelsea’s greatest moments.

This amazing trip I’ve been on, ever since that sick and near-death day in January 2012, has given me so many great moments...Ironically in the first year of my fandom, Chelsea raised the Champions League trophy (look it up) and became the first London based club to ever win it. It’s the quintessential competition to win...It’s like winning 5 Super Bowls at once!

There is so much more that I want to say about this, or about the major moment’s I’ve had watching football with my closest Chelsea loving mate, Andrew Barlow, my 4 Chelsea FC related tattoos, my Chelsea FC adorned office, but blogs are supposed to be short, I know. I’ll close by saying that no matter how old you think you are, you are never too old to change your mind-set about something and, yes, people won’t understand it, and people like “the old me” will make fun of you, but so what?! Your internal passion about something you love intuitively will always be greater than their fear of things they don’t understand!

Next week....Meeting Herbie Hancock in a gas station! Stay riveted!

#chelseafans

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