PHIL OCHS ON THE ISLAND

  OF BARREN MOUNTAINS

  

The compact disc is spinning in the dash

Of the Grand Am we rented for our tour.

Your voice becomes the spirit of these shores,

Surrounding us in waves that roll and crash

About the crags whereon your face is splashed

In cubist planes and cracks--a technique old

Of landscape painters such as Thomas Cole,

Who dramatized that elemental smash.

 

Your songs are like the mountains and the plains

Of this exploited land that we consume.

Yes, even now the verses of your pain

Are as prophetical as when they sprang

To life from your twice-strangled vocal chords,

Declaring the defeat of hate and war.