The Boxes of Dr. Spasmodious

Lyrics: Robert Hunter
Music: [none]

A New Year poem by Robert Hunter, written I believe to be read over the air at a Grateful Dead NYE concert broadcast from Kaiser Auditorium in 1986. The version below is from Robert Hunter's journal on 1 January 2005 in which he says "My New Year's Poem of 20 mere years ago". He subsequently continued to update the last two lines vary to rhyme with the year.

Dr. Spasmodious sat at his desk,
the end of the year drawn nigh,
haunted, harried, full of gloom,
watching the seconds die.

The maid behind him sloshed her mop
in a bucket of silvery suds;
unborn children watched through a crack
in the floor of the attic above.

We were together, you and I,
with other children yet to be born,
between the ages, if not in life,
one to the other, eternally sworn.

You, frail and fair as a lily,
held my hand by light of the moon,
pale beams brightly spilling
on boxes all over the room -

boxes heavy with dust of the dead,
time and decay - all but one:
tied with a shining bit of thread
fine as a baby's hair and red.

"Tell me your prophecy, Maid of the Mop,"
said the Doctor downstairs below,
"What's simple to you is subtle to me.
What sort of year will this coming year be?"

She shook a spark from her long red hair
which flew like a star to his tree
"Spring will be damp and Summer dry
and Autumn come presently . . ."

So saying, she bound her flowing hair
with a ribbon of scarlet twine,
returned to mopping the floor away
until nothing remained but shine.

Down we came with cautious tread
you, I, and all of the others -
bearing the box tied with a thread
fine as a baby's hair and red.

The maid once more unloosed her hair,
gray now as clouds when laden with rain.
You she chose, took by the hand,
allowed, out of all, to remain.

The rest she kissed both sides of the cheek
as the chimes of the New Year dinned,
one by one sent each through the door
to dissolve in the rain and wind.

Dr. Spasmodious watched from his chair
on the point of a tear but refrained.
He smiled instead, held out his arms
to you who were spared from the rain.

"Welcome my child to life again,
to the kingdom of hope and pain.
Ring in the New, Two Thousand and Five
May grace prevail and we survive!"

[in a version published in the Grateful Dead Almanac, Volume 4 Number 1 in Fall 1996 (the "After Many A Summer Issue"):
Welcome my child to hope and fear
Laughter, sorrow and numbered years
Which one by one must ever arrive
May grace prevail and we survive

Two thousand and six, ring in the year
Deliver us peace and freedom from fear

Let two thousand and seven arrive
May grace prevail and we survive

Bring love in the midst of dark and hate
New Year's Day two thousand and eight

Two thousand eleven, New Year's Eve
Live in love and learn to believe

The Boxes Of Doctor Spasmodious: a year's end fantasy

Fat, tattered, full of gloom
With the very tale of his calendar year
Doctor Spasmodious drank his beer
And thought on his coming doom

The maid behind him sloshed and slopped
In a desert bucket swilling her mop
We the children watched through a crack
In the floor of the attic in darkness above

We were together, you and I
You, I and all of the others
Above and beyond us the children in blue
Sent a comet to light up our bleak attic room

Four blue-eyed gypsies came knocking at midnight
Each with a mug tucked into his sack
Greeting them gladly, Doctor Spasmodious
Poured his beer out, foamy and black

While they spoke, he trimmed his tree
Like a French whore perfumed with Chablis
Behind him the maid continued to mop
With a swilling slosh of bang in the bucket
The plague of a desperate year to drown

While telling Spasmodious all that had passed
And much which they claimed to foresee
The gypsies put their hand to the glass
Drunk the house empty and went on their way

You, I and all of the others
Saw one another by comet's blue light
You were as fair and frail as a lily
As I saw your face for the first time that night

The warm steady beam of the moon enhanced
The light of the comet which lit up the attic
Boxes were strewn all over the room

Boxes on boxes each in a state of dusty decay
Except for one which was latched with a thread
Fine as a baby's hair in red
A spread of mistletoe tied to the thread
Completed the lock which secured the box

You, I and all of the others
Watched the doctor and maid below
The gypsies were gone
And the fire did glow

Doctor Spasmodious turned to the maid
Who dropped the mop and let down her hair
Tell me my choice as maid of the mop said he
With a smile of cinder and ash
Which curled around the Christmas tree
And fixed itself to the top like a star

Wrapped a long thought, I know not, maid of the mop
What is simple to you is subtle to me

She shook a spark from her long red hair
Which knocked his star from atop the tree
I will tell since your year is run
Though to know may be misery
Here they be, no choice

Arise or linger, wash or gather the [slum]
Eat, drink or forbear
Watch if you choose over the moment
Lie down or not to rest and repair
Beyond these you have small space to fit your strength to any avail

Tell me of which you, maid of the mop
Since you made so clear the pitiful nature of choice
How may I employ this

To rest and rise as flesh requires
To feast as flesh demands
To watch enough to pay your hour
Of this the virtue suffices to say
The [vain's] enough

Tell please, maid of the mop
Of what stuff wisdom consists
Also inform me if God provides
For the full respects to exist

Nothing more, she said with a sigh
As she gathered [?]
Returned to sloshing her [?] mop
Before the old year's [?]

On command of the children in blue
You, I, all of the others
One by one fell from the attic
Where all the Doctor's boxes were hid

Each by each we carried the boxes
Laid them each at the foot of the tree
In each discovered a favourite toy
Something wished for long ago

But the box with the mistletoe
Sealed with a thread
[?] in truth forgotten
Only the children knew or why

Doctor Spasmodious watched from his chair
Near the full blown heat of the fire
Come and sing to me children he said
One last tune before I retire

Ring around the welcome year
In spite of all calamity
Cheer here nineteen hundred and eighty five
May grace prevail and we survive