Street Jazz

I can't sing much right now but Henry knows why and always will,

My dear, beloved large Ark landowner of a compatriot,

Pippin the Dog will never forget your essence, complete with the smell of Shadow, your gentle touch
and understanding ways of wisdom. Neither will I.

I still have no idea of why it took so long for me to understand "large Ark landowner" but finally, I got it.

Way back, when test tube babies were the new thing and we were enjoying drinks and smokes at a party as now unremembered, I, so concerned about people losing their identity to a test tube full of stuff, and wringing my hands, while Henry reveling in the joy of the moment said,
"Hey, Woodall, if you see a good-looking test tube, fuck it."

Then all was well as everyone laughed-HDG had that talent- and I laid aside for the evening my concern of humanity losing its identity to stuff in a test tube. One more day was brightened by the wit, talent, calm of the Mayor of DogDish, Arkansas.

Cheers always my good friend who stepped forward to brighten many a day for us.
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"Henry Griffith loved freedom, loved being free, and was unapologetically supportive of the rights of poor, elderly, disabled, immigrant, and politically vulnerable or unpopular people. He was not afraid to be free, and his courage inspired and strengthened others."
by Wendell Griffen,
Little Rock, AR

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"Thank you, Mr. Drake.

Henry most decidedly deserves a song and more--he rates a symphony, an operetta, a smash enduring Broadway musical and a cantata. His obituary is a masterful, evocative and poetic summation, full of the love he inspired. Linda and Dick contributed an opus each, both beautifully written and heartfelt. Henry would be proud.

I have a different perspective on Henry. His parents lived across the street from my family as I grew up. Both of them exuded intense adoration and fierce pride at every mention of his name. He took such tender care of his mom until she passed on at near 100, made it possible for her to stay in her home and no doubt literally kept her going with his love, attention, good stories and great jokes.

As a child, his legend loomed larger than Paul Bunyan to me. There was always a new story about Henry and his doings, and I was always hungry to hear it: Off at college. Writing poetry--damned good poetry. A bazillion beloved pets, even a monkey. Buying an old schoolhouse. Living in New Orleans. Building a home in the backwoods. The dark time when his draft status was a looming unknown. And, on the rare and glorious occasion, he would make a cameo appearance. Brilliant, unassuming, gentle to the core. Damned if he didn't fit the physical requirements of a legend as well.

The first time I recall a true personal interaction with Henry I was probably 6 or maybe 7. Our house had a fairly steep uphill driveway ending in a small carport. Rae Ann Spillers and I were playing jump rope and had tied one end to the carport support. Here came Henry across the street, up the hill. As I remember, he just smiled, gestured toward the tied end, untied it and started turning that end for us. Seemed like the most natural thing in the world to him, but to us--this giant grown-up had just joined us as a peer. No condescension, no fanfare. He was right there with us in every sense. I can close my eyes and see him ducking and scrunching up to fit between the too-short rope turned by little people when it came his turn to jump. And I remember how he laughed. And how he made us laugh. We were giddy with the novelty, the honor... and awed by the goodness and openness of his heart.

I got that same rush of emotions (and often laughed just as much) when I read one of his letters in the paper or was lucky enough to run into him at a party or meeting.

I'm still honored, awed and will laugh (eventually without tears) when I think of him.

The one and only Henry Griffith will never really leave the building as long as I live and breathe. My utter sympathy for his one and only wonderful Carolyn in her loss."
Beth Presley

Good Night, Sweet Prince

I met Henry Dale Griffith very early in our lives in the very early 60's at the U of A just after he had published his first book of poems, And. He was a pimply, alienated, self conscious young man then, not unlike myself, and I still remember some of his early poems to this day:

Death is a deadly absence,
I sit watching empty chairs,
Death is a living presence,
I sit watching empty chairs.

Or this:
Say God will show his face to me,
And someday let a gentle love
Come take my soul and leave me nothing,

Or:
Once,
When she wore the night
(But no eternity!)
I thought I loved her.

But when I undressed her
I found she had no flesh
And there was nothing to naked death
That I could love.

Or:
Quiet as doubt all day, and still
As stones, I thought down noon to night
Awed as strawberries by sunlight
Grazing like horses on the hill.

And, of course, there are many more.

Henry, our dear friend, has "folded up his bones in a box" for now, but take one of his little books down from a neglected shelf and you will find him there quite alive, continuously sending us the compact image-notes from heaven (and hell) that poets are so good at, still challenging our imaginations, our feelings, our sense of "what it means to be alive, to be human." We should all be so lucky to leave three little books of poems at our own passing to mark and illuminate the places, people, and experiences that we passed on our earthly journey. We miss you already, Henry. Godspeed on your last passage. Remember, all journeys have a destination, and I'll be damn mad if you're not there when I get there!

J. S. Graves

CELEBRATION OF LIFE CEREMONY

For Henry D. Griffith

Friday June 5, 6:00 PM

West Fork Community Center,

West Fork Ark.

Carolyn tells me Henry requested "no neckties."

Come share your antedotes or a short story of your experience with Henry.

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