Crying for the archaeologist

By James Arthur Holt

Come look for me, slowly,

show me,
show me,
show me, slowly,
that time means nothing now.

I’m buried under rubble of the same old wars,
lost in the seconds that upset our lives,

I’m tired
of looking for the same old ships,

I make all the wrong moves,
by moving too quickly.

Come look for me, slowly,
but find me.


On Sept. 30, 1974, I read my poetry at Le Hibou coffee house in Ottawa, accompanied by my friend, bassist Steve Murphy. This was one of the poems we performed, written that fall. And, yes, I was on stage wearing this robe (pictured above) …. It was the 70’s.



2 responses to “Crying for the archaeologist

  1. This is such a wonderful poem. I’ve never had the chance to perform any of my poems onstage before. 🙂 Also, that’s nifty robe! I love it.

  2. Rigel, thanks. If you have a chance to perform your poetry – do it. My grandmother told me – poetry should always be read out loud – still one of the best reflections on poetry and why it’s special.
    I am so proud, obviously, for having actually performed my poetry on stage ….one, it was at one of Canada’s oldest coffee houses …. two, it was with a bassist (very BEAT generation, but still cool) … three, 48 hours earlier the stage was where Canadian jazz flute player Paul Horn performed … actually, there’s too many reasons to list … bottom line … just do it.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s