Remembrance of Songs Past

The easiest way into my past

Must be those first few guitar notes

At the beginning of “You’ve Got a Friend”

By James Taylor. I heard it so often

In 1971 that it evokes

The rhythms of that year with no coaxing:

I heard it driving to Calaveras

With Karen Okikawa who asked

Me to be “just a friend” when all my friends

Were men. I couldn’t tell whether the raisins

She slipped between my lips as I drove

Were just gifts of friendship or tokens

Of something else. I heard it protruding

From dormitory windows fueling youthful

Ideals like an anthem in our spring;

Vietnam locked safely within the confines

Of our televisions. I heard it swirling

With the aroma of marijuana

Smoke curling past towels stuffed under dorm doors.

I heard it in the comfort of Negro

Spirituals and the smug hum of confidence

Of a generation still entranced

By the simple cadence of the fifties.

And I heard it in the company

Of my best three friends, on eof whose ashes

Are now scattered along the Klamath

Where he worked that summer for the redwoods;

The others doing well, but scattered

Just the same, far from the campus

Where we first heard James Taylor tell us:

“Just call out my name and I’ll come running.”

I suppose you can still hear him sing

It on so-called “oldies” radio

But when I hear it on my stereo,

I listen for the sound of my voice

Blending fresh harmonies into the chorus