By Poor William
CLARKSDALE, Mississippi
Pssst! Did you hear…? Wow, those few words are heralded worldwide, albeit in a whisper, and they are breathed staccato in the cradle of the blues.
Madge and Poor William at Po Monkeys. Photo by Delta Bohemian Scott Coopwood
The Mississippi Delta, with its characters silhouetted in black, white, and infinite shades of gray, has no equal in the “grist for writing” category.
Almost everybody here—I love writing about a place called “here,” like every reader should know where I speak of—is “funny as hell” (an oxymoron making no sense in the literal) and filled to the brim with enough information for a bestseller. Folks without nicknames are nigh on nobodies in the Deep South. If having a nickname means one is loved and valued, then self-esteem issues should be few ‘round here. We got nicknames!
It doesn’t matter if you are white, black, rich, poor, or various grades in between, if you live in the Delta you have a story to tell and one likely better than anything Hollywood or Broadway could concoct.
Are our priceless, timeless tales a result of our alluvial soil, our wonderful mix of blacks and whites, the fact that most of us drink like fish, lie like dogs (only for the sake of a grand tale of course), eat like Esau after a week in the desert; or is it due to our balmy, hot-ass, unpredictable weather? Why are we so damn funny, pathetic, patriotic, sentiment-laden, and full of crap all at the same time? Man–means men and women with “coolness”–it’s good to be US!
Now, don’t be telling ya podnas, “Po William needs to speak for his own sorry self!” You would be right, but every now and then he thinks its okay to speak for at least a few of “you guys” (see, no y’all, I spent some time away from here), particularly if he doesn’t mention any of y’all by name.
Speaking of mentioning names–the gist of this Whim—I am rarely afforded that luxury in print. Living in an area where one was born and where family, friends, and discretion always take precedent, it takes a Herculean effort to figure out a fictional workaround to write about the insanely true events occurring in our fair, fecund Nexus of the Ne’er-do-wells.
Hardly a day goes by without some kind of karmic payback for us trying to pry the speck loose from our brothers and sisters eye while we forget the biblically-proportioned log in our own. As soon as any of us, regardless of what side of the proverbial fence we reside on, mention what “they” did, we can restively be assured that our demise draws nigh, for “we” are soon sure to make the same mistakes “they” did. And when we do, we are likely to hear, “Pssst! Did you hear…?”
Someone might ask Poor William why so many of his characters are dark and fallen; he might answer because we are dark and fallen. Humans everywhere and in exponential numbers in the Mississippi Delta deal with and manifest a duality mirroring the epic, supernatural struggle between good and evil, light and dark, and of course, black and white. Literature is about conflict, and without conflict, life and literature seem pasty, unrealistic, and lacking humanity’s often overlooked need for redemption.
Sometimes we have to go through the bad to get to the good, or more correctly, an understanding of the good based on having lived through some of the bad. For instance, a Southern hero or heroine would be less heroic if there were no internal and external obstacles overcome in the process of becoming recognized for valiance.
Even if all Mississippi Deltans cannot be heroes of the sung or unsung variety they can all be inspiration for a character based on some aspect of their lives. Sadly, local writers–those who don’t want to lose the one or two yearly invites they still get to parties–can’t afford to write the unparalleled truth, so they are left with inventing believable characters and unbelievable stories based on the almost unbelievable truth.
Our fictitious characters, every one easily loved or hated, admired or denigrated, are as fine as they come, but they are not worthy to break bread with the real characters, the ones protected by geographic and cultural familiarity. Sigh, I am still glad they are here, right where we all belong. “Pssst! Did you hear?” pw
WE HIGHLY ENCOURAGE COMMENTS!!
As a visitor from a foreign planet – Los Angeles – I come to the Delta for a good solid jolt of surrealism and sanity. Like so many of us outsiders I first came here for the blues. I was attracted to your place by the gut wrenching, soul searing and at times laugh out loud funny – even though funny like a heart attack sometimes – sounds that have informed and enhanced almost all the music I’ve ever loved. And more than just the music. The spirit and sensibility of the blues inspire and inhabit and shape much of what I love that wouldn’t on the face of it seem to have anything at all even to do with the blues or any other sort of music.
Once I got here the first time, the whole place got to me. It latched on and sank into me. The dark rich soil reared up and covered me. The light, so varied and bent and multi-hued showered down from above and enveloped me no less than the rains or the morning mist by the big river. And the people welcomed and fascinated and titillated and excited and educated me.
I’m a big city, a very big city person. I love that where I live people speak over 170 native languages. I love that down the street from my house Mom’s Donuts serves donuts and Chinese food, is staffed by Hondurans and owned by Cambodians.
But man does not live by Honduran, Cambodian, Chinese donuts alone. And the Delta and its people and its landscape and its light and music and smells and its soil and air give me riches and comfort and laughter and food for thought – as well as my stomach – that I just can’t get from any city no matter how big or diverse it is.
I guess I could ramble on for a while about all of this, but mostly I just want to say thank you for being here and for allowing me to be a part of you when I drop in for one of my much needed visits – a tuneup for my soul, so to speak. And if any of you happen to find yourself in Los Angeles and in need of donuts or Chinese food, I know better places for you to go than the one down my street.
Eric, your comments are excellent and though I often spout about the Delta having no equal in the character category, I imagine LA and the far-off lands you have inhabited and labored in possess one or two folks who are worthy of a novel. 🙂
DB READERS: Check out Delta Bohemian Eric Stone, the revered and incredibly gifted author, at http://www.ericstone.com. You will in no way be disappointed! I am reading Eric’s first novel using his protagonist Ray Sharp. Very well written, and full of grit, grime, and plenty of flash–the kind of stuff we love in the Mississippi Delta! Eric Number One!
P.W. Will meet you and all the other Ne’er-Do-Wells at our tent outside of gate # 7 at the BAMA game. Bring “Magical” to this one. Should be full of the latest rumors and inuindo! At least we can watch the other games on the flat screen, drink Glennleven and to hell with “The Elephant”.