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About Greg Hack

Writer of verses in 5-7-5 haiku meter. I hope this is my epitaph: A guy with passion / Heart on sleeve, in awe of life / And he never changed

“9-11, 11 years later” haiku

Black hole of sorrow
3,000 empty spaces
Vacuum of waste, loss

So what do we choose
To fill that space? For that choice
Is what’s left to us

And ones from a year ago, the 10th anniversary, and the day after, are here.

“Just be glad you don’t have to see my birthday suit” haiku

B-Day haiku #1

9-9-55
Easy to remember — wait
Whose birthday is that?

Happy birthday to …
Me! 57 today
So glad to be here

Gifts beyond counting
Treasures invaluable
Glimpses of heaven

Wisdom comes with age
That’s how the saying goes, so
I must not be old

B-Day haiku #2

Indian summer
Hot morning, ’round 2 a.m.
I entered this world

Indian summer
Somehow the sun feels warmer
Colors radiate

Indian summer
Greens, browns, russet, ochre, straw
Palette all its own

Indian summer
Squint into the light, hoping
To catch one more glimpse

Indian summers
How many do I have left?
Savor each with me

http://youtu.be/-ihRCm5sh-s

Haiku for a country music day

Written Sept. 8, 2011

Jimmie Rodgers, Sept. 8, 1897 – May 26, 1933
Patsy Cline, Sept. 8, 1932 – March 5, 1963

Patsy Cline sang ’em
Just right every time, a voice
That never gets old

“Country-politan”
Arrangements didn’t help her
Still, her vocals shined

Honky-tonk, heartaches,
Come hither, her voice conveyed
So effortlessly

Didn’t need music
She could sing it all by ear
And with perfect pitch

But most of all she
Could cut through a song’s layers
And lay its heart bare

“I Fall to Pieces”
“Why Can’t He Be You?” “Heartaches”
“Crazy” — crazy good

With just the right pause
She brought down revelation
Singing “She’s Got You”

Last gig? KCK!
Then a plane crash took her life
Falling star heartbreak

So tonight let’s go
Walking after midnight, say
“Sweet dreams, Patsy Cline”

Before Patsy Cline
Before danged near everyone
Was Jimmie Rodgers

Jimmie Rodgers lived
32 years, enough to
Start country music

“The Singing Brakeman”
True troubador hit the road
When he turned 13

His dad made him quit
Reeled him back in, got him jobs
Working the railroad

Jimmie stayed restless
Lessons from guitar hobos
Added to his licks

He played when he could
Mixing music with the rails
Americana

Tuberculosis
Got him off the rails, gave him
More time for music

Played and toured a lot
Did all right with weekly show
Early radio

And then through town came
The Victor Talking Machine
Company — Records!

New technology
Jimmie cut two songs and made
$100

Then came “Blue Yodel”
Sold half a million copies
Made him some real bucks

TB took his breath
Made it harder to record
Got him in the end

But he left his mark
On scores of country singers
Though he died so young

Hear that train whistle?
Jimmie Rodgers heard it too
And made his magic

Patsy, she’s got me
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWCUh6tf7PA

Jimmie, waiting for a train

Sept. 7 haiku

Buddy Holly, Sept. 7, 1936 – Feb. 3, 1959
Keith Moon, Aug. 23, 1946 – Sept. 7, 1978
Warren Zevon, Jan. 24, 1947 – Sept. 7, 2003
Chrissie Hynde, Sept. 7, 1951

“I play Buddy Holly every night before I go on. That keeps me honest.”
— Bruce Springsteen

September 7th
2 born, 2 died, rock rolls on
Much joy, some sorrow

Buddy Holly put
Lubbock on rock ’n’ roll’s map
Pioneering place

First saw Elvis there,
’55, opened for him
Before year was out

Never wasted time
Burned like a comet’s swift mark
Three albums, two years

“Peggy Sue,” “Rave On,”
“Not Fade Away,” “True Love Ways”
Let’s say, “Well … All Right!”

Like that comet he
Fell from the sky, but song’s wrong
Music didn’t die

Yes, a few came first
Little Richard, Elvis, Chuck
On rock ’n’ roll’s trail

But Buddy’s the link
From them to so many: Stones,
Beatles, Dylan, Bruce

Through those big glasses
He saw the future, refused
To wait, made it now

Tonight we’ll rave on
Some of us do every day
Refuse to wait too
http://youtu.be/vnN1PUxml18
Speaking of ravers
Tormenter and tormented
Keith Moon died this date

A great drummer who
Blew up drum kits — and toilets
He loved to raise hell

Gene Krupa, Hal Blaine
Inspired him, but Moon was
Thunder and lightning

Stories of excess
Were legend, but what demons,
What pain lurked beneath?

Moon had a great run
But no one could keep the man
From self-destruction

Night before death saw
“The Buddy Holly Story,”
Dined with Beatle Paul

Now Moon rests in peace
God knows there wasn’t any
When he was alive

Warren Zevon lived,
Wrote, sang, played, did everything
Way out on the edge

Werewolves, mad gunners
Larger than life characters
Filled songs to the brim
http://youtu.be/S5puAN1PGQw
But underneath it,
Drinking couldn’t quench the pain,
Empty-handed heart

For all his sadness,
Though, his songs made connections,
Shared true emotions

Friends sobered him up
Music saved him, till cancer
Ripped his lungs out, Jim

He left on “The Wind”
We promised to keep him in
Our hearts for a while
http://youtu.be/1KjRLq4uF4A
The real rockin’ deal
Lives in many, like Chrissie;
Hynde’s no pretender

Artist, journalist
Her talents many but she
Just wanted to rock

And she exploded
Just like a Keith Moon drum kit
When she got her chance

She sang “I’m special”
With a Jagger-like swagger
And damn she was right

Band mates came and went,
Lived and died, but she always
Kept the beat going

Tangled with Limbaugh
Passion for animal rights
Rebel with causes

61 today
Still plays when the spirit moves
Rock on, Chrissie Hynde

Hai(5)ku

Sept. 6, 1995 — Cal Ripken’s breaks Lou Gehrig’s record

Some motivation
To leave it all on the field
And come back for more

Some recreation
In hard work — and afterward
When a job’s well done

Some inspiration
To go on no matter what
Iron Man Ripken

Rhapsodic haiku

Freddie Mercury (Farrokh Bulsara): Sept. 5, 1946 — Nov. 24, 1991

When he took the stage
The world leaned forward, then cheered
Mercury rising

http://youtu.be/lDckgX3oU_w
http://youtu.be/MfYcKNqQoJo
http://youtu.be/IGUdjHUVd18
http://youtu.be/E5RFOii3efs
http://youtu.be/vdcDswc97Bo

Sept. 3, 1777, haiku

3rd of September
Stars and Stripes fly in battle
The first time ever

William Maxwell’s men
At Cooch’s Bridge, Delaware
Engage the British

Colonist force lost
Then regrouped with Washington
In unity, strength

The flag flew again
Ultimately, victory
For hope and freedom

“I Say a Little Prayer” haiku

Hal David, May 25, 1921 — Sept. 1, 2012

Goodbye, Hal David
Burt Bacharach’s lyricist
For so many hits

Goodbye, Hal David
Classics transcended genres
Pop, country, show tunes

Goodbye, Hal David
Helped Dionne Warwick, Tom Jones,
Dusty, Aretha

Goodbye, Hal David
Knew the way to San Jose,
What the world needs now

Goodbye, Hal David
Anyone who had a heart
Loved your classic songs

Goodbye, Hal David
91 years you helped sail
This sea of heartbreak

Goodbye, Hal David
You’ll live on. Always something
There to remind me

http://youtu.be/dbbFgdHEEKM

Haiku for loved ones gone

I wrote these a year ago today, Sept. 1. Mostly for my Mom and Dad, but for anyone you’re missing, too.

We don’t think we could
Love them more; somehow we do
After they are gone

Yet they’re never gone,
Not really; their souls echo
Louder than the flesh

In our flesh they live
In our memories never die
And help us go on

How do they still know
What we need? And how did they
Leave their best behind?

It’s all a mystery
But of all the mysteries, this
Is one of the best

Haiku for two born Aug. 31, 1945

George and Violet
Take a bow; your boy done good
You moondancin’ fools

Violet sang, danced
George was an electrician,
Killer record stash

Mahalia and Ray
Jelly Roll, Solomon Burke
Woody Guthrie, Bird

Hank Williams Sr.
Jimmie Rodgers, Lead Belly
And Muddy Waters

Your boy Van listened
Soaked it all up, spun that stuff
Into his own gold

Gave him a guitar
Like so many parents do
He learned the sax too

Played on street corners
In Belfast, then hotel clubs
Five sets for sailors

For 20 minutes
Jammed “G-L-O-R-I-A”
Must’ve been magic

And it never stopped
“Astral Weeks,” “Moondance” made him
Known around the world

Jackie Wilson said,
“I’m in heaven when you smile”
And we smiled along

“Domino,” “Wild Night”
And it wasn’t just the hits
Van followed his muse

“Beautiful Vision”
And “Inarticulate Speech”
Wave upon “Wavelength”

Like too few others
Van calls a mystical soul
Whenever he plays

Maybe that’s why he’s
Still so good, so right, so Van
Happy birthday, man

That very same day,
In ’45, Tel Aviv,
Itzhak Perlman’s born

The boy who one day
Would take and play Yehudi’s
Stradivarius

But first polio
Weakened his legs, but never
His spirit to play

Ed Sullivan gave
Him his break in ’58
— Like Elvis, Beatles

His music pulled back
The Iron Curtain — Moscow,
Warsaw, Budapest

Played for presidents
Wrote the “Schlinder’s List” soundtrack
Rock star, with a bow

Van the Man, Perlman
Share a birthday, the passion
Hear it, pass it on