The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

Spirit of the 60s

For me the spirit of the 60's was usually rum, 
and plenty of it.  Far more reliable than drugs.
Leaving school, finding a job, learning a trade. 

My teachers lied to me. 

'You'll look back on your schooldays
as the happiest days of your life.'

"Great,"  I said.  "So it's all downhill now."
'That's not what we meant', they argued.
"Probably not.  But it's what you said."

But there was restlessness in the air,
a feeling of change and opportunity,
and it wasn't just hormones and joss sticks, 
Free Love, and 'putting it to the man'.

I always suspected the revolution was doomed, 
my mind was more attuned to an apocalypse.
Tie-dyed shirts and beads were still a uniform.
The storm-troopers of peace and love
were as reassuring as The Hitler Youth.
Different creed but the same blind faith.

The times they are a changing,
but aren't they always?
Some of us live in a time warp,
comfortably sanitised by passing years,
remembering in slogans or song titles.

Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity,
which is why The Masters of War decentralised 
and run it as a franchise these days.

At the end of the 60's I was on The Island, 
watching Hendrix caper like a madman...
 
Up on Devastation Hill, behind the arena,
Like a line from Donovan's Try For The Sun ,
I huddled under my blanket with a wasted chick,
helped her cook up a shot in a smoke-blackened spoon, 
helped her spike-up when her hands shook too much
to find a usable vein amongst the tracks.
At least the needle was sharp.
I've always felt a bit bad about that,
although it seemed the right thing at the time.

I didn't want what she offered as gratitude,
which puzzled her no end.
But I held the dusty stranger as she nodded off
and Jimi rampaged All Along The Watchtower.
Later I shared my last sandwich with her
and that felt more like me.

It's one two three what are we fighting for?
And fifty years later I still ask the same question.

Gyppo

I don't remember much of the 60s - too young - but this was an enjoyable read nonetheless. 

I do remember being told the school days would be the best of my life. I assume that twaddle originates from the poor sods who left school at 14 and then went into a life of drudgery. 

Up on Devastation Hill, behind the arena,
Like a line from Donovan's Try For The Sun ,
I huddled under my blanket with a wasted chick,
helped her cook up a shot in a smoke-blackened spoon, 
helped her spike-up when her hands shook too much
to find a usable vein amongst the tracks.
At least the needle was sharp.
I've always felt a bit bad about that,
although it seemed the right thing at the time.

I didn't want what she offered as gratitude,
which puzzled her no end.
But I held the dusty stranger as she nodded off
and Jimi rampaged All Along The Watchtower.
Later I shared my last sandwich with her
and that felt more like me.

Hi Gyppo,

I established my little family and was a hippie art school student in that order during the 60s. Probably a good thing---kept me from the drug scene among other things. 

The above excerpt, for me, is a stand-alone poem, specific and revelatory. I especially like it.
 

Love it Gyppo, great topic and presented with the ideological subjectivity the topic demands.  Love so many passages in this.
It recalls for me not only the times, but the poems I wrote then, and later about then.  Your experience was different from mine, but I think that is part of the mystic of the '60's -- each had our own experiences, our own frame of reference, and each drew our own conclusions.  Amazing, really, how parallel the recollections are.

All the people we used to know
They're an illusion to me now
Some are mathematicians
Some are carpenters' wives
Don't know how it all got started
I don't know what they're doin' with their lives
But me, I'm still on the road
Headin' for another joint
We always did feel the same
We just saw it from a different point
Of view

How's that for a sixties thing -- quoting a Dylan song.    

Thanks for posting this Gyp.

T

Thanks, Folks.

TOM:  Tangled up in blue?

INDAR:  I can see how it would stand alone.  I often find myself doing this with others' work, a verse or two jumping out to stand clear of the rest.

I knew too many people who took drugs back then, but I never fancied allowing some damn chemical to decide if I was happy or not.  My default setting was always to resist peer pressure.  Contrary by nature   My brain was wild enough anyway.  An imagination like mine didn't need an external stimulus.

Alcohol was different.  I liked the taste but enjoyed wild binges rather than regular steady consumption.  I was fascinated by the little blue demons I saw after a surfeit of brandy.  Rum never had that effect.

But at 28 I looked into the abyss, saw it grinning back at me, and told it to go to hell.

I'm not wired for moderation or 'tapering off' so I quit cold.  I promised dire retribution for anyone who might think it was 'fun' to add something to my fruit juice or lemonade.  They believed me.  They knew me.

Coming up for forty years dry and my imagination and faculties are still working fine, unlike some of my friends from back then.

I drink non-alcoholic beer at family gatherings and strangers, seeing me having fun, sometimes assume I'm 'a bit merry'.  I feel no need to correct this assumption.  

It was the right choice for me.

Gyppo

Me? I'm a sugar junkie   I indulge that defect of character on occasion