IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE -- IF I WERE A POET . . .

IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE . . .

IF I WERE A POET . . . .


James R. Fisher, Jr., Ph.D.

© 1995


NOTE FROM AUTHOR:

This was written on one of the many trips made during the 1990s in researching the book “In the Shadow of the Courthouse: Memoir of the 1940s Written as a Novel.” The book was published in 2003. The poem, however, was actually first drafted on my conscience as a small boy sitting on the roof of my Aunt Annie Dean’s apartment house building. Only a half block south of the courthouse on Second Street, it dwarfed my aunt’s building, and that was, indeed, awe-inspiring for a five-year-old.




PREAMBLE:

How can I describe the courthouse? I look at the Clinton County Courthouse as I sit here in my car on Thursday, October 19, 1995, the tower reaching into the sky with its magnificent copper dome, its ubiquitous head forming a four-sided clock, its collar of turrets facing all directions, its burnt orange, rustic muscular body of concrete, marble and indigenous pilings securing it firmly to this hollow ground, Iowa National Guard flags flying at attention below on the lawn, proximate to WWI canons at its north and south shoulders, the second story porches that jet out from these shoulders towards Second Street, and the main knave of the building with columns like powerful oak arms positioned at military rest, while a monument to Veterans of American Wars completes this visual symmetry, placed as it is at the corner of 2nd Street and 6th Avenue North, informing passersby less they forget.

The simplicity of this design and the majesty of its power have always impressed me. It has such an affect and hold on my mind, such a quality of sanctity and substance, of material and spiritual temperance that it is hard to describe why it is so commanding in my memory. I used to walk by it when I was a boy, and think of it as a big brother, or guardian angel, a reference or compass point which would give me a sense of place and space, the assurance that I would never be lost as long as I could see the dome and turret, the flags blowing in the breeze, hear the mighty gong of its bells every half hour. I knew that I was safe, that I was secure.

I have never lost my affection for this edifice. It was like a parent that never wavered, never changed. I am sitting here now, reflecting on the fact that it is forty-four years since I have spent any time with my old friend.

POEM:

If I were a poet, I would give it metaphorical significance, like a giant knight, standing ever at attention to protect my neighborhood from itself and from the dangers outside.

If I were a poet, I would see it as a Greek god, an Adonis, a Zeus, a mighty warrior who never falters from its vigilance.

If I were a poet, I would sing the praise of this frozen music, this enchanting melody which never varies in my head, this quiet dignity, this sculptured perfection, this sensible grace as common as a pair of old shoes.

If I were a poet, I would wonder why we could have such stability, such reasoned continence against the harsh reality of tumultuous change, as it has not varied for me one iota from what it was a half century ago.

If I were a poet, I would remark that the tower and the time and the psychology of its movement is frozen like magic so that wherever I go it is stop time to my mind.

If I were a poet, I would tell the world that it has been so important in making this fumbling, stumbling, bumbling individual called “me,” to always feel a mystical anchor in my roots of being.

If I were a poet, I would exalt its unique character with Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” to dramatize how the earth around may change, but the spirit within remains forever constant.

If I were a poet, I would note that men live and die, but that this structure is immortal because it exists beyond nature.

If I were a poet, I would sit here and wonder as I am now, over the happiness I feel for having the opportunity once again to ponder the regard I hold for it. And finally,

If I were a poet, I would want the world to know of the many lives that this edifice, this sentinel has influenced in the course of my fleeting life. How many young who are now old have been given succor and sustenance, and semblance of order in their lives because they have lived in the shadow of the courthouse.