in the marching streets

8/11/2019 In the Marching Streets

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T H A T R H Y T H M M A N

I N T H E M A R C H I N G S T R E E T S

by

Moses Hershberger


2/8

On a new and sunlit shore (then a new world is in store)Oh when the saints go marching in

When the saints go marching inOh lord I want to be in that number

When the saints go marching in.

______________________________________________________________________________

I wondered for some time now how to start writing this memory I had of

New Orleans, you know, because its something thats important to me. Really,

what Im asking is how I not open this piece so that it taints what follows.

All I can say is to remember what I know and not make it sound

artificial. Thats why theyre called moments and not stories.Remembering.

Hmm. Remembering is--

I figured out one thing. If you want to know how to become a writer, it

really doesnt matter how you go about it. But whichever way you do go about

it, is essential because the way towards the blank page, all depends on who or

what bumps into you and pushes you to write...

Sometimes its people.

Sometimes itsthose who make a dent on your life.

Sometimes its nature.

Sometimes its dogs.

Sometimes its sandwiches.

Sometimes its coffee.

To me, sometimes... its a little bit of everything.Then I remembered


3/8

Hershberger 2

Walking through the city of New Orleans for two days, Ive been feeling

this enjoyment and horror of the improbable normalcy. But that couldnt

happen because that isnt the place for it.I know New Orleans. I have some

there friends that invite me every year and I really try to go when I can. But

this last journey to there, I dont know, it wasnt special. I looked for something

in the faces of people, the streets, the lights and the smell. All I got was the

feeling of removed indignity. Really just burns in your mind, I think.

But after I left my friend Daniels house that dusk afternoon and the day

before my train was set to depart, I decided to have one more walk around the

French Quarter. I really wanted to find out what was different. Why? Because

like any God you believe in, you question the plan they have for you, your

purpose and your doubts.

Starting from St. Louis Street, again, just I walked and wandered down. I

walked and I walked. I knew where I was going, but Id like to think that I

didnt.Not much, except for the Louisiana Supreme Court building and many

wrought iron balconies. Damn. I thought I knew this city. Like, I know her and

she knows me. Maybe its helplessness. You know, like one of those funny

parodies that really challenge your sense of humor or not. Maybe its karma.

But this Paradise Ive it made it out to be,I think since the last time I

was here, I told myself that I would allow this town take me in and spit me out

as born-again writer. It doesnt work like that.


4/8

Hershberger 3

First, you take in the town and you spit it out, and then it does it to you

and you should become converted and changed. Its like what Che said, before

the revolution, Let the world change you and you can change the world.Read

into it however you want, but I try to live by that sentence every day. Because

all these visions and ideas and beads of sweat that I have, drive me to

distraction that comes from either excitement or exhaustion.

Beyond the streets ahead of me, signs of bars, bars, bars, ideal bars and

clubs glowed of all colors in the sunset light. There was a wraith of music and a

mythic haze of madness as I kept walking and observing. Maybe I was out of

my mind that night. I didnt even stop for a drink. I didnt feel like beinglonely.

I guess up to that point, everything around me seem to drown out. Where do I

go? What do I do? And what for? I thought I had found my lifes work.I did,

however, stop for a moment to watch her play again.

My feet began to ache. And I felt like resting my face on my pillow,

watching her tell her drummer,

Aight, Jimmy. Heres yo song again. One. Two.One, two three--

...all was good for the moment.

Her name is Doreen Ketchens. Man, the way she played that clarinet, it

was as if she were some voodoo priestess putting the curse on the people. But

hell no!


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Hershberger 4

She held that note as if she wanted the whole damn city to know theres

another hurricane coming and this is the last sound you are ever going to hear

before you die. I dont mean that to offend, in fact, if I may so, I think that was

rather poetic. But if Im gonna get castrated for it, well, thats how I precisely

thought of it, when I walked from the applauding crowd. Im alreadycrazy and

cockeyed and extremely strange with words and prose.

I believe every good writer must write a love letter to anything that births

them into the world of literature and the arts. There is no awakening without

observation, even if they offend your creed, your race, your gender, your

whatever. If what you see pollutes your dignity, then there it is. It must be this

way because as far as the writers observation goes, it goes like this: God is in

the details and the Devil is an occasional resident. Yes. Its hipster of me to say

all this, and I wished it werent seen as such, but dont bite at the hand that

feeds you. Even though I feel like a bug on the surface of a dining room table,

Im still moving with this exhalation that removes me from that world.

From those who have either lived there or passed by will tell you it can

only be described as the still zesty, reeking and rotten smell of Mardi Gras

asshole sweat. But then others will say its the smell of steaming jambalaya

and freshly baked beignets. Im gonna go with both because life is a little bit

like that. Mardi Gras sweat and warm beignets.


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Hershberger 7

Youre welcome, man. Welike having you here. Anytime.

Alright, man. Ill see you back in Tennessee.

Alright, bruh. Peace.

After the half-assed handshake, I climbed out with my bag sling over me

and watched Daniels car slowly peel out.I was left alone with just me and the

barking and furious noises outside the station.

I wondered, what is that feeling when youre walking away from people

and streets and buildings and coffee shops and smelly bars and bright lights

and Jazz clubs and five star restaurants and on and on and on that they all

move away from you instead of you going the other way? Fuck if I know.

We and they are all specks disappearing and scattering. Its a world that

is doing its good-bye on us all. I agree with KEROUAC:

We lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the

skies. And so on, and zoom.

in the marching streets

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