Brokeback Mountain review by Rosie

Brokeback Mountain

I’m a poet, and I know it, so here I go-et …

From a tent off the track
of a typical trail,
on a treacherous, black
night of mountainous gale …

Came a noise.

All the trees exchanged glances
and, arching their brows,
gave a point with their branches
and mouthed silent “Wow!”s.

Then pretending that under the wind’s force they bent,
they all leaned in closer to hear in the tent …

With their twigs to their ears,
and their ears to the side,
of the tent they could hear
the two voices inside.

But the voices were not
what they thought
they would hear -
something sounded just off
when they heard
them both clear …

“What is this – could it be?”
said the first nosey tree.
“Is it me, or do I hear a he and a he?”

“Goodness me …”, nervously,
said another old tree.
As they all stood back up, feeling most awkwardly.

(See, a he and a he,
to a you and a me,
might be common to see
as a bird and a bee.

But a he and a he
was (figuratively)
still a queer thing to see
in nineteen sixty-three.

(Especially to an old nosey-faced tree.)

So they wandered and wondered
and talked on and on
and pondered a hundred
ways they could be wrong.

“Maybe they were just wrestling!”
“Maybe she has a cold!”
“Maybe we’re not addressing our ears getting old!”

‘Til the dawn brought truth for them all to behold.

When …

From a tent off the track
of a typical trail,
after treacherous, black
night of mountainous gale …

Came two boys.

Well, the years came and went.
And so with them, the tent.
And each time it returned the trees knew what it meant.

For they’d learned every year, the more time that they spent
watching over those boys, what exactly they meant
to each other, by seeing their eyes so content
every time they arrived and so sad when they went.

And the trees, too, had come to await the ascents
of their new favorite campers, with great reverence.
All the tall ones would stand on their roots and commence
to call out every time a car came through the fence.

Now, occasionally, one of these nosey trees
would get visits from campers with young families.
And those chances to chit-chat with children they’d seize
as a chance to retell all their favorite stories.

Which is what (thankfully,
for both you and for me)
is what happened one summer to one lucky tree,
when a young boy came camping with his family.

A boy whose young eyes were still able to see
the face in the bark of a cozy, old tree.
And whose young ears could still hear with sheer clarity,
all the tales to be told by a nosey, old tree.

A young boy his friends knew as ‘Little Ang Lee’.
(There’s some s*#t you won’t find on your IMDB!)

Fast forward to here now, when we’re all alive
(presuming you’re born before two-thousand-five).
Ang Lee’s all grown up now, that tree’s long since fell,
but with Lee’s help that tree’s still got one tale to tell …

The tale of that summer
some forty years back,
when ol’ fate made a date
between Ennis and Jack.

(harp music, harp music, wavy flashback …)

The first was a rancher,
the second a clown.
The clown, a romancer,
the rancher, a frown.

But they both started slow,
‘fore they let things erupt,
Feeling each other out (before each other up).

A joke here, a tap there,
a drunken admission …
A poke here, a lap there,
a new nap position …

‘Til the both of them knew there was no turning back,
when the world became new there for Ennis and Jack.

They had found in that tent the great love of their lives.
The kind sent to make sense of their sensual drives.
The kind dreams of are dreamt ‘til the day it arrives.

But …

The kind, too, to be kept from the town and their wives.

So as days passed,
and weeks passed,
and years passed them by,
they’d go back
and hope that
no one asked them why.

Why they only went fishing together, alone?
Why they never caught anything there to bring home?
Why they always stayed gone longer than they had said?
Why they wanted to try that new thing in the bed?

And when asked, they’d evade it
as much as they could:
‘Oh, their pal was just shy.’
‘Ah, the fishing’s no good.’

Did their wives become wise to the lies of their guys?
Did the guys feel the eyes seeing through their disguise?
Did they realize in time just how fast the time flies?
Or else, waste it and hasten their chance’s demise?

Well whatever you’ve guessed
I won’t tell you the rest
here, I’ll leave it to Lee who
can tell it the best.

Blending glowing affection
with knowing direction,
Lee respects and protects
his old tree friend’s reflection.

“Yeah, but what,” you might say,
“did the cast take away
from the tale with their failure
to act truly gay?”

“Were they over the top, like some cartoonish queens?
“Were they too quick to stop in the heat of love scenes?”

No and NO to those questions (in order) I’d vote.
In fact, both made impressions as actors of note.

In the end it’s a credit to both of their skill
that you’ll find yourself caring as much as you will –
perhaps, even struggling to choke back a fountain
of tears for the years they left here, Brokeback Mountain.

8 out of 10 Jackasses
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