The Girl In The Hat

The Girl In The Hat The Girl In The Hat The Girl In The Hat

By Charles N. Guthrie

This Poem is Featured in "My Jump From Heaven" His Latest Book of Poems

 

Pattie Smith in a hat

The Girl In The Hat


The spinning cola bottle stopped

in a circle of classmates.

The bottle’s lips pointed

at her surprised face.

She was on her knees

and the spinner made a joke, 

then refused to give a kiss  

and her heart broke.

Again the bottle spun, 

her disappointment hidden;

inside crying she ran home;

passed her mother in the kitchen.

Then alone in her bedroom

she sobbed her way to sleep.

While she slept a witch

kissed her on the cheek;

and conjured up an incantation

that on her image put a hex

every eye on her reflection

would see a perfect face.


When I saw her picture in a magazine
wearing that straw hat I shut my eyes

and to myself turned the page

pretending she wasn't seen.

I knew I'd never be closer than a magazine. 

Oh, I tried very hard to forget her face.

But, upon my wall her picture hung,

that wall inside my head---  

Oh, you know the one, the one

with a thousand pretty faces a guy remembers

but about which nothing’s said.


The incantation didn’t happen over night.

The next morning she still thought

her face was an awful fright.

There was a long and coming wait

for a guy named Mapplethorpe

to give her the big break.

Then with a camera’s click,

her face moved across the nation;

over night it splashed

over hell and all creation.

But, good looks can be a prison
from which there is no escape;

and once again she cried

not because she wanted love--

now she wanted to be understood!

She mocked her perfect face,

posing crazed, embracing radical politics,

and wrote love songs that amazed.

But she couldn’t break the witch’s hex

that made her image perfect.

When she became old her face

turned from flower petal grace

to one of monstrous elegance;

and still the world was amazed.


I’m not the only guy who didn’t realize

the girl in the hat would haunt his life.

On that wall inside my head

she would hang around forever perfect

just as the witch had said.

I’ve not the guts to tell fantasies I’ve dreamt;

but, I know you are not perfect like your pictures Patti Smith.

But, we'll take you as you am good enough to eat.

Your lovely elegance in the coming of the night;

the rhythm of your voice rubs my hungry heart's delight,

until its cage and lock begins to rattle out of sight,

a hurricane a coming that roars inside my lungs,

and my body's throbbing, pounding final fury comes.

I've just one thing left to ask, Patti Smith.

What are you Patti Smith?

       What are you Patti Smith?

Are you from planet earth, from Hell or Heaven;

or a girl from Pennsylvania's German Town

that got her picture taken?



  

About Patti Smith - 

The Poem's Inspiration


Patricia Lee Smith is an American singer-song writer, musician, author and poet. She is renowned in fusing rock and poetry in her work. Her most widely known song is "Because The Night,"  which was co-written with Bruce Springsteen. It reached number 13 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1978. She placed 47th in Rolling Stone Magazine's list of 100 Greatest Artists which was published in December's 2010 Edition.


     

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ABOUT AUTHOR OF POEM 

     

Charles N. Guthrie’s poems often embrace famous people as well as non-famous such as this poem about the revered Patti Smith, or a poem about an old girlfriend entitled Bigfoot, who after breaking up left her large tennis shoes with him and because of sentimentality he could not bring himself to throw her shoes away.  Linda Opie’s Eyes, written as an Ode, is about a La Jolla High School crush the author had on the to be actress and movie star.  Elegy to Hank, is about the iconic Loyola Marymount basket ball player Hank Gathers who heroically died on the basket ball court.  The Ghost of Judy Mae Hess, who played Princess Summer-Fall-Winter-Spring in the Howdy Doody Show---   whose firing in 1953, broke the hearts of little boys and girls in the United States and created consequences for Richard Nixon and John Dean when the little boys and girls grewup in the 60s and 70s.  A poem entitled Pete Wilson, about his statute which stands alone on a downtown San Diego street extolls the virtues of a good and decent man (with some humor).  The River Ouse, is a poem about Virginia Woolf’s insanity and suicide.  Old Joe’s Dirt, a rhyme about “the road to Stalingrad,” the Russian People, Joseph Stalin, Winston Churchill, Charles De Gaulle, and Dwight D. Eisenhower coming together in a poem about World War II.  Hey Freud Holster Your Cigar, a humorous rhyme —   sometimes a poem is just a poem.


Guthrie grew up in West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and California.  His two uncles one a pastor in the Lutheran church, the other a Minister in the Presbyterian— Guthrie’s father  at different times played the church organ in both churches, resulting in the author’s attendance at all church services.  Often his family moved in West Virginia where he attended McKinley Junior High School, St. Albans Junior High School, and Dupont High School.   In Ohio he went to John Glenn High School (New Concord High School); and when 15 he moved to La Jolla, California, graduating from La Jolla High School.  After seven years on the San Diego Police Department with commendations for armed robbery arrests he left police work as an acting sergeant to finish law school.  He holds B.S. and M.S. Degrees in Criminal Justice Administration from San Diego State University and a Juris Doctorate from Thomas Jefferson Law School.  His Masters Thesis on domestic violence written at San Diego State University was used to fashion the present day California Penal Code's domestic violence laws.  At Thomas Jefferson Law School he received AM JUR awards for studies in Torts and Remedies.  He writes books, and practices law in San Diego, California.          


Here is a poem entitled The Studebaker:

It's about getting lost in a West Virginia graveyard, south of St. Albans, close to the Kanawha River.   

               

I came among the congregation

to stand and pray on the cemetery lawn.

I was a child, come to pay homage

to ancestors that had come and gone.

The loved that walked before I was born;

but, they were still in the conversation.

Songs were sung and prayers read.

Sacrificed flowers placed on graves.

With a sore neck from a bowed head

and bored with songs and prayers,

I walked away into the graves.

Got lost and became afraid.

When I found my way back

my family had completely left.

My family’s dead flowers sprawled

over the cemetery graves.

The Studebaker that brought me

would stop then it would blow its horn.

Someone called my name

into the stretching shadows of the gone.

.   .   .   . 

If you want to see how Studebaker ends, purchase My Jump From Heaven.