Rain in a Dry Season
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About the Book
In RAIN IN A DRY SEASON, poet Bill Holchak presents a life-time’s vivid impressions of the world as he has seen it in his 77 years. Some of the works are in the classical rhyming meter style; others are unfettered free verse. The first third of the book, titled “The Lady I Loved”, is a tender tribute which tells of his 56 years of love for his late wife, Joyce Hollyfield Holchak, who died in 2003. He tells of their first date, when a miscalculation forced him to write a $2 check, and of the magical moment when he coined a special name for her.
On the corner jukebox
Harry James was playing
A tune called “Cherry”.
I asked if I could call her that,
And she smiled and said, “Okay”.
He tells of his proposal of marriage in “THE STATUE PLACE”.
There was a place behind her dorm
That had two statues, and one night
The moon was the brightest
It had ever been, before or since.
That was the wonderful night
I asked Cherry to marry me.
There were tears in her eyes,
As she snuggled close
Against my chest
And whispered “Yes”.
Ever after, we called it
“The Statue Place”.
The final poem in this section promised that they would be together for all time in heaven. It was titled “I WILL FIND YOU THERE”, and won first place in the Denver-based National Writers Association’s 1993 Poetry Contest. The poems in the second portion of the book, titled “The World We Live In”, deal with subjects as far-ranging as his first-ever sighting of a Blue Jay on Escondido Creek in his native South Texas to the esoteric sounds of a master jazz trumpeter in a dinghy, half-empty club in Manhattan.
The tiny room, the empty chairs,
The half-filled bar, the vacant stares;
The stage so small, and dimly-lit;
A place his universe can fit.
Brilliance cascades
From the bell of his horn,
Like a shower of stars
On the darkest morn,
That heralds a world
As yet unborn.
“THE GREAT MUSEUM” makes the case that many homes have objects as meaningful in the lives of the inhabitants as those found in the most acclaimed museums of the world’s largest cities.
The war-time letters that sound alarm;
The darkness of the deepening storm;
The sturdy Bible with pages worn,
Out of which a faith was born.
The funeral notices, worn and gray,
With memories of a winter’s day,
That summons back a mournful tune,
Sung for one who died too soon.
The treasures of life are all found here,
Exhibits of hope and joy and fear;
Marking the time by month and year.
This is the great museum.
His “AMERICAN MACHO” compares the delusional musings of General Custer before the Battle of Little Big Horn in 1876 to those of President Bush in 2003 when he said of the Iraqi insurgents, “Bring ‘em on!”
Now stirs the pulse within my veins,
The horse beneath me gently strains
Against the bit, he would be off.
And still we await the final scout,
To ascertain what he found out.
We wait no longer! Sound the charge!
As into history we ride
With God and fortune at our side.
Attack! Attack!
We turn not back.
This is the only true command,
Of any REAL American.
Attack! Attack! Attack!
The poem, “LOSERS” pays tribute to those who struggle nobly in arenas large and small against great odds, and are deemed by most of the world to be “losers”. It concludes,
In every land, in many lives,
Countless such struggles
Are waged every day.
The experts arrogate to themselves
The right to keep score,
And they daily announce
Who won and who lost.
But only a
About the Author
BILL HOLCHAK has lived in his native Texas all his life except for a hitch in the Navy during the Korean War. A graduate of the University of Texas at Austin, he edited small-town newspapers, then with his family moved to San Antonio where he worked in advertising and public relations and in County government for 36 years before retiring in 1991. He is the author of three published novels, but this is his first book of poetry. His poem, “I WILL FIND YOU THERE”, won first place in the Denver-based National Writers Association’s 1993 Poetry Contest. He is shown holding a photograph of his beloved wife of 53 years, Joyce Hollyfield Holchak, who died of cancer in 2003. The first third of this book consists of poetry Bill wrote for her.