covertress: Hobo Evolution

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Hobo Evolution

"The hobo has two watches you can't buy in Tiffanys. On one wrist the sun, on the other wrist the moon, both bands are made of sky." -- Jack Kerouac, The Vanishing American Hobo

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“Always try to find work, even if it is temporary, and always seek out jobs nobody wants. By doing so you not only help a business along, but insure employment should you return to that town again.”

-- Annual Convention Congress of the Hoboes of America, August 8 1894

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Tramps and hobos are commonly lumped together, but in their own sight they are sharply differentiated. A hobo or bo is simply a migratory laborer; he may take some longish holidays, but soon or late he returns to work. A tramp never works if it can be avoided; he simply travels. Lower than either is the bum, who neither works nor travels, save when impelled to motion by the police. -- Wikipedia

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Modern Hobos [1985]

Modern hobos demonstrate camping, cooking, catching a train and looking for work.

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A Knapsack Full Of Blues

Tobacco dust and cornbread crust,
Some Mountain Dew.
Frying pan, fresh road-kill, Spam
For evening stew.
Is he king of the road or a new Tom Joad?
In the red-eyed dawn as he lifts his load
With the breeze at his back
And a knapsack full of blues.

He's hit the towns where the air is brown
Over chimney stacks.
Built fires of Pine, drunk short-dog wine,
Read Kerouac.
Guess that son-of-a-gun was born to run
Thru fields of gold in the morning sun
With the breeze at his back
And a knapsack full of blues.

He won't shirk his fair share of work
Shows a certain style.
And he knows the score, he avoids the law
Keeps a low profile.
But the Siren song whispers 'Don't stay long
The highway waits, it's where you belong
With the breeze at your back
And a knapsack full of blues'.

He's seen the moon - a bright balloon
Above desert sand.
Heard silence fall like a widow's pall
On a lonely land.
Ragged and dusty, he's a bard in mufti
He's a troubadour like Woody Guthrie
With the breeze at his back
And a knapsack full of blues.

He left a wife in another life
Even had a kid.
They can't say why he walked away
Just know he did.
At close of day he may feel regret
But he chose the way, now his course is set
With the breeze at his back
And a knapsack full of blues.

You roll the dice and you pay the price
Or learn to duck.
He enjoys the chance to tilt his lance
At Lady Luck.
He could rail at fate but he carries the weight
The road is a drug and the cravings' great
for the breeze at your back
And a knapsack full of blues.

Late at night you can feel the bite
Of his slide guitar.
Like a sling-blade knife shaving shards of life
From his repetoire.
And each song throbs like a living thing
There's a time to sob - there's a time to sing
'Cause you can't predict what each day may bring
With the breeze at your back
And a knapsack full of blues.
(c) Laurie Neill. Via Celtic-Beltane