About Nathan DeGraaf
Hometown
Tampa, FL by way of St. Louis, MO
School
University of South Florida
At a Glance
Nathan DeGraaf graduated fucking years ago with a BA in Creative Writing from the University of South Florida, which he still lives near because college chicks are the best.
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By Nathan DeGraafThe Snippets Archive
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At Least It's Summer
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Hot Chicks Will Mess You Up
My Favorite Ten Lines
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It's Not Like he was Gonna Write Beethoven's Fifth
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Your Money is Lying to You
Gasparilla: I'm a Shitty Photographer
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A Five Tool Rat
I'd Make a Lousy Dad
Missouri is a Bitch
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The Snippets Met Jeff
Posted June 27th, 2007 by Nathan DeGraaf
Me: How's it going?
Jeff: Slowly but surely to hell.
Me: Nice to meet you. I'm Nate.
Jeff: Jeff. Nice to meet you, Boss.
Jeff: You ever wonder 'bout the end of the world?
Me: Some dude told me it'll end with a whimper and not a bang. That's about all I think about it.
Jeff: Nothing good ends with a whimper.
Me: Yeah. I guess.
Jeff: The end of the world wouldn't be good.
Me: True.
Jeff: So that dude made sense. Who said that?
Me: TS Eliot.
Jeff: He live around here?
Me: He don't live anywhere. He's dead.
Jeff: How'd you know him?
Me: I didn't.
Jeff: When did he tell you that?
Me: I read it in a book a few years ago.
Jeff: You told me he told you that.
Me: It's the same thing.
Jeff: I'm sure it is? In Big Fat Liar Land.
Me: Calm down.
Jeff: Sinner.
Jeff: I read books sometimes.
Me: Uh huh.
Jeff: You read books?
Me: Uh huh.
Jeff: What'd that TS guy write?
Me: Poetry.
Jeff: That's for pussies.
Jeff: I never read no poetry.
Me: Not even in school?
Jeff: In high school, we had to write a paper about that guy who went by a house on snowy night. That sucked.
Me: That was Frost.
Jeff: No dude. I'm pretty sure it was snow.
Me: How long you lived here?
Jeff: Three months.
Me: Where you from?
Jeff: Ohio.
Me: Why'd you move away?
Jeff: You from here?
Me: No.
Jeff: Why'd you move away?
Me: Fair enough.
Me: There's some cool poetry out there.
Jeff: Like what?
Me: There's this one about the Midwest, by Lew Welch. It's pretty cool.
Jeff: You know it?
Me: I know the beginning.
Jeff: You wanta tell me it?
Me: No.
Jeff: Why not?
Me: You don't care.
Jeff: Come on. I'll buy you a beer.
Me: Deal.
Me: It took me five years before I could meet the Midwestern day with anything approaching dignity. The land is too flat, ugly and barren. It pounds men down past humbleness. They stoop at thirty-five, possibly cringing from the great and terrible sky. In a land like this, there can be no God but Yahweh.
Jeff: Okay, dude. That was worth a beer. Who's your baseball team?
Me: Cardinals.
Jeff: Indians.
Me: Cool.
Jeff: Slowly but surely to hell.
Me: Nice to meet you. I'm Nate.
Jeff: Jeff. Nice to meet you, Boss.
Jeff: You ever wonder 'bout the end of the world?
Me: Some dude told me it'll end with a whimper and not a bang. That's about all I think about it.
Jeff: Nothing good ends with a whimper.
Me: Yeah. I guess.
Jeff: The end of the world wouldn't be good.
Me: True.
Jeff: So that dude made sense. Who said that?
Me: TS Eliot.
Jeff: He live around here?
Me: He don't live anywhere. He's dead.
Jeff: How'd you know him?
Me: I didn't.
Jeff: When did he tell you that?
Me: I read it in a book a few years ago.
Jeff: You told me he told you that.
Me: It's the same thing.
Jeff: I'm sure it is? In Big Fat Liar Land.
Me: Calm down.
Jeff: Sinner.
Jeff: I read books sometimes.
Me: Uh huh.
Jeff: You read books?
Me: Uh huh.
Jeff: What'd that TS guy write?
Me: Poetry.
Jeff: That's for pussies.
Jeff: I never read no poetry.
Me: Not even in school?
Jeff: In high school, we had to write a paper about that guy who went by a house on snowy night. That sucked.
Me: That was Frost.
Jeff: No dude. I'm pretty sure it was snow.
Me: How long you lived here?
Jeff: Three months.
Me: Where you from?
Jeff: Ohio.
Me: Why'd you move away?
Jeff: You from here?
Me: No.
Jeff: Why'd you move away?
Me: Fair enough.
Me: There's some cool poetry out there.
Jeff: Like what?
Me: There's this one about the Midwest, by Lew Welch. It's pretty cool.
Jeff: You know it?
Me: I know the beginning.
Jeff: You wanta tell me it?
Me: No.
Jeff: Why not?
Me: You don't care.
Jeff: Come on. I'll buy you a beer.
Me: Deal.
Me: It took me five years before I could meet the Midwestern day with anything approaching dignity. The land is too flat, ugly and barren. It pounds men down past humbleness. They stoop at thirty-five, possibly cringing from the great and terrible sky. In a land like this, there can be no God but Yahweh.
Jeff: Okay, dude. That was worth a beer. Who's your baseball team?
Me: Cardinals.
Jeff: Indians.
Me: Cool.
Labels: snippets
1 Comments
CHICAGO POEM
by Lew Welch
I lived here nearly 5 years before I could
meet the middle western day with anything approaching
Dignity. It's a place that lets you
understand why the Bible is the way it is:
Proud people cannot live here.
The land's too flat. Ugly, sullent and big it
pounds men down past humbleness. They
Stoop at 35 possibly crining from the heavy and
terrible sky. In country like this there
Can be no God but Jahweh.
In the mills and refineries of its south side Chicago
passes its natural gas in flames
Bouncing like bunsens from stacks a hundred feet high.
The stench stabs at your eyeballs.
The whole sky green and yellow backdrop for the skeleton
steel of a bombed-out town.
Remember the movies in grammar school? The goggled men
doing strong things in
Showers of steel-spark? The dark screen cracking light
and the furnace door opening with a
Blast of orange like a sunset? Or an orange?
It was photographed by a fairy, thrilled as a girl, or
a Nazi who wished there were people
Behind that door (hence the remote beauty), but Sievers,
whose old man spent most of his life in there,
Remembers a "nigger in a red T-shirt pissing into black sand."
It was 5 years until I could afford to recognise the ferocity.
Friends helped me. Then I put some
Love into my house. Finally I found some quiet lakes
and a farm where they let me shoot pheasant.
Standing in the boat one night I watched the lake go absolutely flat. Smaller than raindrops, and only
Here and there, the feeding rings of fish were visible 100 yards away - and the Blue Gill caught that afternoon
Lifted from its northern lake like a tropical! Jewel in its ear
Belly gold so bright you'd swear he had a
Light in there. His colour faded with his life. A small green fish...
All things considered, it's a gentle and undemanding
planet, even here. Far gentler
Here than any of a dozen other places. The trouble is
always and only with what we build on top of it.
There's nobody else to blame. You can't fix it and you
can't make it go away. It does no good appealing
To some ill-invented Thunderer
Brooding over some unimaginable crag.
It's ours. Right down to the last small hinge it
all depends for its existence
Only and utterly upon our sufferance.
Driving back I saw Chicago rising in its gases and I
knew again that never will the
Man be made to stand against this pitiless, unparallel
monstrosity. It
Snuffles on the beach of its Great Lake like a
blind, red, rhinoceros.
It's already running us down.
You can't fix it. You can't make it go away.
I don't know what you're going to do about it.
But I know what I'm going to do about it. I'm just
going to walk away from it. Maybe
A small part of it will die if I'm not around.
feeding it anymore.
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