Creative Expressions/Poetry

George Harrison
by David Platzer

George Harrison would be
sixty-two today
the "Beatle baby"
sixty-two,
not old,
yet he's already free,
maybe on another cycle already.
George,
the thin one,
the handsome one,
the quiet one,
the spiritual one,
all those journalistic labels,
the Far Eastern man
who showed us the sitar
and let us know about
Ravi Shankar.
George whose life
was a quest
not for more fortune
and fame,
not even for the perfect song,
but for spiritual awakening.
I thought of George
who loved Dylan,
George whose "Something"
Sinatra called the Beatles' best song
("Thanks Frank!" Paul McCartney said)
I was waiting for the bus,
snow flakes flying through the cold Paris air,
the Ganges seemed nowhere near,
the Mersey neither.
Dark horse, you came out ahead,
you made the best post-Beatles solo album,
you escaped the lights.
Then I remembered it was his birthday,
the third he'll never know,
George who let go
with the same grace as
one of his guitar leads.
The Beatles who
made the world young,
Paul and Ringo in their sixties,
John and George in eternity.
They brought
the cultural revolution
from the ghettoes of the hip
to the masses and the suburbs.
All things must pass,
all things must pass away.
Dawn rises over the Ganges
where George sails with Krishna,
the Cavern Club and the Hollwood Bowl
so far.
Hare Krishna!
Hare Rama!

Copyright: David Platzer
95 avenue de la République
94300 Vincennes
France
platzerd@yahoo.fr
0033 1 43 743085
0033 6 63 79 71 87

My Mother's Last Moments, by David Platzer
My Father's Vigil, by David Platzer
Uncle Kenny, Home in Heaven, by David Platzer
George Harrison, by David Platzer

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