Sometimes 

I wonder 

If God is trying 

To tell me something. 

 

Or, 

On the contrary, 

If God is telling 

And I’m not trying. 

         

     —Bill Matheny

 

We are human beings 

We kill each other 

That’s what we do 

 

We are created in the image of God 

the god of the Jews, Christians and Muslims 

who commands “Thou shalt not kill” 

who orders the ancient Israelites to kill 

all the Amalekites, every man, woman and child 

because they are an abomination to him 

kill their animals too and take their land 

God promised it through Abraham to you 

 

We fight wars to end all wars 

in the name of God and all that is good 

and holy and righteous and absolutely true 

to defend our vital national interests 

to protect our precious people from evil 

practiced by the heathen and ideologically impure 

 

We kill each other to keep America whole — 

brother against brother, sister against sister 

slave against slave and soak our soil 

with brotherly blood but the union is saved 

 

Turks lock Armenians in boxcars 

Turks, Iraqis and Iranians kill Kurds 

Hitler does genocide on gypsies and Jews 

Bosnians and Yugoslavs do ethnic cleansing 

Tutsis and Hutus too 

Shi’ites kill Sunnis 

Serbs kill the Kosovars 

And the union bombs both to oblivion 

 

Downtown a shirtless and shoeless man 

stands in the sidewalk and yells at me 

“See this ring in my nose? If you look 

at this ring in my nose I’ll kill you!” 

 

I look at it, chuckle and walk around him 

He does not kill me but yells again 

“Come back here you son of a bitch!” 

 

At that instant the Trench Coat Mafia are 

bombing and shooting, killing kids and teachers 

inside a Colorado school 

 

the union mourns 

 

the union agonizes and asks and argues 

about gun-control laws and teaching more 

conflict resolution classes to the kids and 

censoring all their pop-culture and 

getting secular humanism out and 

putting god and prayer back 

into the schools 

 

We are human beings 

created in the image of God 

We created a more perfect union 

We kill each other 

 

We tell the kids to vent their anger 

with words not weapons 

 

We kill each other with words too 

 

          —Bill Matheny

A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s heaven for? 
—Robert Browning 

About a year ago I wrote an obituary for my father. 

I sorted through his letters and personal papers, created a list of his educational and professional accomplishments, and attempted to fashion the mercurial vagabond voyage that was his life into some sort of cohesive linear narrative. 

I tried my best, but tributes never quite capture a subject’s true essence. This is especially the case with Daddy Bill, a great man who eschewed all markers of greatness. He didn’t care a whit about fame, gain, or material success. 

The part of his obit that feels 100% right to me is this: 

Throughout his life, Matheny generously shared his love of nature with others,
inspiring many of his students, friends and family members to develop their own
deep appreciation for the natural world. This is his great and lasting legacy. 

That legacy was underscored for me by the many people who reached out personally to tell me what Bill Matheny had meant to them. There’s no question: the man was beloved. He died without property or prestige, but his reach was wide. He will long be remembered as someone who made a positive difference in the lives of others. 

Unlike my Dad, I’ve always been ambitious and more than a little selfish. I knew better than to expect fame or fortune, but all my life I’ve worked harder than most of my contemporaries, powered by “main character syndrome” and the sincere belief that I was on track to become an historically significant artist. 

I now understand that goal to be unrealistic. 

Mind you, I’m a far better musician than I used to be. My new album will be my best, and I’m not done yet! I'll continue to strive for incremental improvement, greater authenticity, and soul. 

But my talents are limited. At age 56, there simply aren’t enough years left for me to join my jazz heroes on Mount Olympus. Instead, I now hope to live up to my father’s simple example of sharing with, and inspiring, others. 

Like the song says, “the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

 

Health 
Recommit to OMAD, black coffee, and portion control. 
Plant new salad vegetables in the garden. 
Walk every day before the evening meal. 
Curtail alcohol consumption. 
Prioritize memory work. 

Music 
Perform mostly songs from the new album. 
Expand melodic range in both directions. 
Arrange Joni Mitchell material for Holly. 
Write songs for top Indiegogo backers. 
Study Nelson Riddle's orchestration. 
Practice Beleza duo repertoire. 

Business 
Arrange for album design, distribution, promotion, and marketing.
Maintain tourbus with regular servicing, repairs, and upgrades. 
Apply for touring, residency, and commissioning grants. 
Schedule tours and album release events. 
Purchase a backup horn. 
Reduce debt by 25%. 

Personal 
Make an emergency response plan.
Write a blog post every week. 
Invest in home security.
Make time for friends. 
Practice gratitude.
Pace yourself.
Go fishing.

Well my friends, it may take several years before we can return to pre-pandemic levels of activity. But little-by-little we’re getting back to business, ever grateful for the clients, customers, friends and fans who sustain us. This year we: 
 

staged 81 concerts and events

welcomed 75 generous album backers

published 50 memoir blog posts 

gave 23 private lessons

conducted 19 workshops 

collected 12 vintage treasures 

recorded 10 songs

headlined 9 festivals 

bottled 8 jars of homemade hot sauce 

completed 7 new compositions 

played 5 live stream shows 

traversed 4 western states 

received 3 doses of DollyVax 

hosted 2 brilliant visiting artists 

rescued 1 precious puppy

and consumed 2197 hours of television (sigh).

Here’s to a happier, healthier, and more productive 2022.

Onward and upward! 

~Dmitri

To K.

 

Hawks are lazing in the azure sky 

Come walk in the warm sun with me 

 

Goldenrods and Joe-Pye sway with the wind 

Come walk in the autumn fields with me 

 

Only the wood thrush’s flute breaks the solitude 

Come walk in the deep woods with me 

 

Can’t you hear the thunder of the surf 

Come walk by the edge of the sea with me 

 

The moon is full almost but not quite 

Come walk in the cold moonlight with me 

 

Night-sounds, night-smells, night-magic abound 

Come walk in the soft dark with me 

 

The rain is a friend when one is alone 

Come walk in the rain with me 

 

Now the rainbow hangs with a promise 

Come walk to its end with me 

 

See how the steeple sticks the sky 

Come walk to the church with me 

 

One man’s lover is another’s friend 

Come. Take my hand. Walk with me. 

 

          —Bill Matheny

 

(To J.)

Please go away and be my friend, 

This cup of fire let pass from you — 

Because I know it’s not the end 

I’ll only spill a tear or two. 

 

Your laugh, your touch, your kiss I’ll need, 

But these are only part of you — 

Your other gifts to me indeed 

My strength, my will to live, renew. 

 

The on the other hand reproof, 

Of language and “what’s right for me” — 

(Don’t think I’m really that aloof) 

Of these, at least, I’ll soon be free! 

 

So think of love quite seriously 

And to your new affairs attend; 

What’s left for now’s enough for me — 

Please go away and be my friend.

          —Bill Matheny

(To J.)

You send me your poems, 

I’ll send you mine. 

So what if your songs are better? 

I’m lyrical too in my way. 

So what if you never pay attention 

To the time, 

Though time means everything to you. 

So what if I’m always cognizant 

Of the time, 

Though time means nothing to me. 

So what if I’m forever 

Blown and buffeted about by the winds of chance, 

While you’re so secure 

In your comfortable cocoon spun by God himself. 

You know as well as I that 

Security can take a flying leap. 

No matter that you are 

A girl from a different world; 

I’m mister Adaptable Soul 

The one can make the two converge. 

Don’t think for a moment 

That you are my Mother Confessor, 

Even if I do tell you that 

I like to smoke a cigar now and then 

Because it makes me feel the rake. 

You and I together — 

Like a picture hanging, 

Slightly crooked on the wall. 

Like being on the verge 

Of a breakthrough long in coming, 

But never really getting there. 

You and I together — 

Always searching for the rare and unusual, 

Yet both hating this 

Labyrinth of lies called life by some. 

You and I — such little words; 

But little people we are not. 

You send me your poems, 

I’ll send you mine; 

I’ll send a picture too 

If you will send me one of you.

          —Bill Matheny

I would buy a pool 

If I weren’t such a fool 

As to have nowhere 

To put it 

          —Bill Matheny

 

Thank God for the morning 
To drive away the hobgoblins of the soul 
That haunt and terrorize through the night. 

Thank God for the morning 
To cleanse away the dregs of the mind 
That corrupt and blaspheme all one’s sight. 

Thank God for the morning 
To pull away the spikes from the temple, 
That defile and weaken human might. 

Thank God for the morning — 
Now to look through the glass not darkly, 
Now to find the labyrinth gone; 
Now the new light dissipates the pain, 
And now the sunrise sets things right.

          —Bill Matheny