I can hear the ghosts of Savannah Their voices whisper on the breeze In this Georgia twilight I am on a quest A quest for inner peace, a little self-discovery a whole lot of enlightenment
I grab my blanket, my basket and head off to my destination I know where I am going although I have never been here before It takes me a few minutes to find the spot And I arrive a little out of breath and slightly exhilerated
It is there, where I knew that it would be The headstone that marks the grave Of Conrad Aiken I stand there for a moment, deep in thought Mesmerized by that stone With a few words written that sums up a life His life yes, but it does not sum up the person The man
I spread the blanket out and then I sit down I empty the basket of its contents I take out a plate of cheese and crackers Covered with plastic wrap and a bottle of chilled champagne and two glasses I pop the cork and pour
If Conrad Aiken were here drinking champagne and eating cheese and crackers We would have a rollicking good conversation Not about his poetry But about the psychology, the philosophy of man About a poet hardly anyone reads or even remembers
Who inspired you? Did the traumatic event in your childhood shape who you became? Tell me you secrets as I drink a toast to you
The glasses are empty The bottle is empty I am pleasantly drunk I lay down on the blanket, counting the twinkling stars I wonder what time they lock the gates My quest for self-discovery long forgotten as I fall asleep with Conrad Aiken On this August night....