— Summer of 1963 —
Author’s Note:
My inspiration for writing “Ghosts” was drawn from my youth, as represented by the images at the top. Also, strangely enough, from a wonderful novel by Peter Heller entitled “The Dog Stars”. It was reinforced by my awoken curiosity, which found me sampling the top 100 hits of 1963, which was the soundtrack for the summer of my 16th year. This was the summer of my ’57 Chevy Bel Air, of my ‘63 Triumph 650 Bonneville motorcycle, the summer of my first rock and roll band, and my first “girl”. This entire journey back in time was initially prompted by my stumbling upon an old picture of that Chevy.
Looking back at my early teen years, those years when I was waiting for my life to begin, I flashed on my memories of young love. The intensity of that tender pure unrealistic infatuation could perhaps have happened only then, in those times – in that summer of 1963. Before assasinations, collapsing economies, open social unrest, Viet Nam, before AIDS, COVID-19, rampant drugs, criminal presidents – the year of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, the Beach Boys took the world surfing, Annette Funicello playing beach blanket bingo, red Chevy ragtops, Triumph Bonnevilles, OpArt, and President Kennedy challenging us to go to the moon. This was a time, maybe the last time, when teens were truly naive and innocent.
I don’t know why that feels true. Perhaps it’s because we were so naive and so unsure as teens, in that post WWll, white-picket-fence, father-knows-best, american-dream, faux-utopia. We were tentative and waiting, wondering. It’s like love imagined that innocent needed that much room, that much “open” mental space, that much emotional “safety”, that much unbridled belief, for it to take root, and to bloom – even if but for a brief moment in time.
The not knowing anything really for certain, but hoping, with aching faith in the possibility of pure true love, was both thrilling and unsettling. It was a love full of passion and devotion, but scary. We were not completely certain how to navigate such an emotion, not really, so we left it alone, tried to let it unfold lightly, terrified we would lose it. And if it did manifest, it felt so big and beautiful, and unbelievable! It was most often short-lived, owing to our immaturity – but what intoxicating joy, such heady exhileration! Those were the times when the apparitional wings of young love did fly to the moon, and carried us along. Here is “Ghosts”…
Ghosts
carry firm eager bodies
perfumed and cologne’d
around and across the dance floor
pulses racing
electrified — entwined — excited
young groping lust
craving
yet hesitant
swept up in innocent bliss
shadowed near the band shell
beyond the glow of incandescence
throbbing with the big beat
of scorching rock & roll
smoldering for some
longing for more
confusing for most
a pubescent play
beneath a high starry sky
sparking with carnal fantasies
humid as our urgent embraces
hot as our stolen kisses
as forever as our promised love
in that distant
sizzling
teenage midnight…
…sweet ghosts of my youth
haunt from long ago
rob kistner © 2012
unpublished 1st draft © 2007
updated © 2020
— Me in 1963 —
— Like my car in 1963 —
I think I know that place Rob…my poem was a “flashback” also….City Lights and SF …thanks for this Rob..happy trails to you and familuy
Rob, for all the best reasons … this made me cry.
ah but those nights are so fun to remember arent they…smiles…i may miss them sometimes but mostly they fuel my now…
Oh, yes, Robb. I remember those times too. They were only yesterday, weren’t they? I just love the memory of ‘throbbing with the big beat of eternal rock and roll.’ And the closer to the band the better! You captured the feelings of the time SO well.
Sometimes it’s good when our lost ghosts return! Your vivid words, and shadowed near the band shell, all bring back memories of my own! Nicely done!
those sound like nice ghosts to revisit from here… Your lovely write brings the past to the present.
Delicious memories…
I wonder if the drugs back then, like mushroom and grass, you know, naturally occuring substances , or other sentient beings with which we share the planet , depending if you share Tim learies point of view , made people somehow more alive and interesting , compared to the scientifically symthesized machine drugs of today, wheich seem to be churning out ever increasing numbers of machine people, and their music and art only replicates that which has gone before, a dearth of creativity . ?
Perhaps Kutamun, but I was reaching back to a time of deeper innocence, when a taste of secreted beer was as exotic as it got, the girls wrapped their ‘steadies’ class rings in angora so they would fit, and fogged windows at the ‘passion pit’ was a testament to teenage lust…
i have learned to indulge my ghosts….face them head on….they now feel like buddies…:)
Rob, as i was reading this I was thinking of how long it has been since I had such feelings…. Frankly, can barely remember them. Then I came upon your last stanza… OMG! Age creeps up on us and those memories are indeed important. You remember them well….
The young never realise – and would probably be shocked, even dismayed if they did – how three-dimensionally vivid are the carnal memories of their elders!
Dick, John Allen — these memories crept boldly out of the fog of time as I was reading about the Broadway play “Jersey Boys”, which inspired me to go online to seek out and listen to some of the ‘oldies’ from the Four Seasons, which brought me to the top 100 tunes from 1963. I started selecting and sampling a number of these, which carried me right back to that summer of my 16th year, which opened the flood gates of memories… it is amazing what music unlocks…
This is gorgeous; reads almost like a dream…
With regard to my writing this, part of my inspiration came from a wonderful novel by Peter Heller entitled “The Dog Stars”. The remainder of the inspiration came from me sampling the top 100 hits of 1963, which was the soundtrack for the summer of my 16th year, the summer of my ’57 Chevy Bel Aire. Looking back at my early years, those years we’re waiting for our lives to begin, I think now that maybe true sweetness, that tender pure love, can happen only then. I don’t know why that feels true, perhaps it’s because we are so innocent and so unsure, we’re tentative and waiting, wondering. It’s like innocent love needs that much room, that much space to expand. The not knowing anything really for certain, but the hoping, the aching transience: the love does not feel as though it can possibly be real, not really, and so we let it alone, let it unfold lightly, and it does, fully. Those are the times it truly can fly, and carry us with it.
I really like Heller, I will hve to find that one.
Peter has not written too many novels, his this is his best, and a damned good engaging read Lona. Given the increasing spread of the deadly COVID-19, thid book may be unsettling, in that it takes place in a post-apocalyptic world, nearly wiped our by a “super-virus”. Written in 2012, it has a prophetic essence.
I guess we all have ghosts from our youth….love this Rob! 🙂
Beautiful imagery and alliteration of T words and S words. This kind of has the beat of an old bluesy tune.
Truly enjoyed reading this.
Those were the days of longing and youthful fun. I enjoyed this one from long ago. Thanks for joinin in.
You are welcome Grace… 🙂
Oh those hot summer days, nights, and anything in between. Haven’t thought about those times in a long while. Thanks for getting me thinking about them!
Your welcome Lisa… 🙂 I enjoy remembering what I can of my past — most of the time.
This is incredibly moving, Rob! There is so much to remember and cherish as the years go by 🙂
Thank you Sanaa. I have forgotten too much — but occasionally memories stream forward quite whole. It’s totally unpredictable.
You took me down memory lane on this one. We must be about the same age. I love your sizzling poem of red hot love flowing though our veins and the innocents of all that was to come. That is a pretty handsome photo and the 57 Chevy is as hot as your young passion!!
Thanks for the trip, Rob!
You are welcome Dwight. The photo here is not the one of my ‘57 ragtop, but essentially identical, including the fact that it was lowered — but not the wheels. Mind were “baby moons” on chromed stock rims. Mine was in as clean a shape as this one. The actual picture I have of mine is pretty tattered, and is not a digital file — so I found a stand-in photo.
What an exiting era that must have been to grow up in! You’ve captured just what I imagine it would have been like.
I found that picture of my old ‘57 Chevy Ingrid, and it got me thinking, and I called my oldest friend, who is still alive here on planet earth with me. We talked for over an hour. He told me about this site where you can go listen to the oldies. Anyway, the whole thing led me to writing this. Just an old man’s reverie.
I slipped into this poem like it was an old friend, Rob, and enjoyed similar memories. It was different for us in the UK. My early teen years were a little later, I was only seven in 1963, but I remember the first time I heard The Beatles and the Stones, and we watched the moon landing. Nobody much had cars back then, not even my dad, none of my friends did, and it was a rare treat just to ride in my uncle’s car. The lines that resonated most with me were:
‘throbbing with the big beat
of scorching rock & roll
smoldering for some
longing for more
confusing for most’.
I’m glad you enjoyed this Kim! I slip into my “musing-old-man” mode from time to time — trying to be nostalgic, perhaps a bit prophetic, but hopefully not pathetic. Remembering helps mr realize I had a life, and am still alive. 😉
Memory haunts and can cause us to question, but so wonderful when it can bring us joy. I enjoyed this Rob. 🙂
Memories certainly can do both Lona. I survived the bad ones, and I cherish the good ones. 🙂
You evoked the time of your youth so well, Rob, but I imagine in every era people have similar thoughts to your poignant lines–
…sweet ghosts of my youth
haunt from long ago
I hope most do Merril. I feel deeply for those whose memories of youth are not sweet. My memories of early childhood are not, but I was essentially out of the house by my teen years — and things became wonderful.
Right there ~~ with you.
Wrlcome aboard Helen… 🙂
I liked how you looked back and brought alive such specifics of this time. It created a slice of life at that time in the U.S.
This stanza spoke to me,
“humid as our urgent embraces
hot as our stolen kisses
as forever as our promised love
in that distant
sizzling
teenage midnight…”
I can remember feeling this as a teen. It is a time of drama.
Ali
Thr power of all those new feelings and emotions are at such an intensity that they imprint themselves forever on your psyche.
Good times Rob, and you capture them well! JIM
Thank you Jim… 🙂
So lovely to remember the wonderful memories of our youth.
Yes Ayala I’m just happy that I can remember anything whatsoever for those days. They went by full of angst full of confusion full of love full of sex full of wonder making sense out of it probably can only happen looking back. Those were the times my friends we’d thought they never end we sing and dance forever and a day we live the life we choose we fight and never lose those were the days yes those were the days.
Even without your preface, you had me in the moment, Rob.
Vivid memories Ken, for me — of a most critical transitionary time.