THE RAGGED PEOPLE

“I am just a poor boy though my story’s seldom told, I have squandered my resistance, for a pocket full of mumbles such are promises.” Sometimes story pairs itself perfectly with melody and you get a song that never wears thin. Sometimes it will take you and leave you where without the song you would not have found your way. ‘The Boxer’ is a moving lament, written by Paul Simon, recorded in 1969, or was it 1970? You get the message. Bad decisions can be like flat tires, only flat on one side, or the world is a difficult place and in spite of hard work and best intentions, you can deepen your own distress. 

Of necessity, song writers strip everything down to bare bones. They must frame a story in two or three short verses, a bridge and a chorus. Melody holds it together but the audience has to flesh it out from within their own experience. The listener supplies the untold part so it becomes more than just clever word play. Early this morning, waking up in the dark, Simon’s words came to me from some long-lost bittersweet.

In 1970 I was in graduate school. I don’t remember why but my niece came to visit for a long weekend. She was at that terrible, pre-teen stage, presumptions, intolerant and rude. My music (Simon & Garfunkel) was not what she wanted to hear. Her cryptic comment was, “Where have you been all your life?” In that same vein, with a little more humor and not so much venom, I would chide the person who doesn’t move to Paul Simon’s ‘The Boxer’, “Where have you been the past 50 years?”  In 2001, in the last few months before he passed, my dad spent most of his time trapped inside his own mind, not knowing who was holding his hand or even that someone was there. I would give his hand a gentle squeeze and he might return one of his own. That day he squeezed first, turned his head my way and in a clear but troubled voice; “I’m just a poor boy and someone's after me. Please, can you help me?” I said I would help but that window closed again and he was unavailable.
        Some parts of your story are expendable and you let them go. Some of it you hold onto and some of it winnows away, unawares. Then, ready or not, a lost recall can blow up like an umbrella in a gale. For 30 years my favorite part of the song had been the part, “Lying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go, looking for the places only they would know.” I’ve always had this identity thing with the "Ragged People". Then I got the message again, "I am just a poor boy." I think we're all Poor Boys but the song writer accommodates everyone, leaving space for whatever makes you feel better. "All lies and jest; still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest."