Just some poems

Published on October 4, 2004 By Sally jacobs In

I became obsessed with writing at a very early age. I always had my head in a book, and I would get lost in the books I read. I loved it with a passion, and I still do to this day. Poetry never really did anything for me, and I didn't really have a great talent for it. I have kept a diary religiously since my school days. I have two kinds of diary. One I gave up on a while ago, and one I still write. The one I gave up on was my picture diary. It was a book, and I had stuck, pictures, photographs and all sorts, on pages and then wrote about them. Reading back I am slightly embarrassed at how innocent and idealistic I was. I thought I could change the world, how wrong was I. Anyway the point of this, I found two poems stuck in there, that I really liked. As I said poems never really did anything for me, but there was something about these two. I don't know what. When you leave school you have these books that people sign. Teachers, school friends. My English teachers message to me was, 'I think you can become a great poet one day, you have the mind for it.' Ha...shows how much she knew! Though something about that makes me smile, even now. No one ever had faith in my writing, not even me, but she always did. Anyway, waffle, here are the poems...enjoy

Mid - Term Break

I sat all morning in the college sick bay

Counting bells knelling classes to a close.

At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying-

He had always taken funerals in his stride-

And big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram

When I came in, and I was embarrased

By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble";

Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,

Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.

At ten o'clock, the ambulance arrived

With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room.Snowdrops

And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him

For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,

He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.

No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year

- Seamus Heany

Poem at Thirty-Nine

How I miss my father.
I wish he had not been
so tired
when I was
born.

Writing deposit slips and checks
I think of him.
He taught me how.
This is the form,
he must have said:
the way it is done.
I learned to see
bits of paper
as a way
to escape
the life he knew
and even in high school
had a savings
account.

He taught me
that telling the truth
did not always mean
a beating;
though many of my truths
must have grieved him
before the end.

How I miss my father!
He cooked like a person
dancing
in a yoga meditation
and craved the voluptuous
sharing
of good food.

Now I look and cook just like him:
my brain light;
tossing this and that
into the pot;
seasoning none of my life
the same way twice; happy to feed
whoever strays my way.

He would have grown
to admire
the woman I’ve become:
cooking, writing, chopping wood,
staring into the fire.

- Alice Walker

Comments

mignuna

on Oct 05, 2004

these are great choices, sal, i enjoyed reading them both. i haven't heard of either of the authors, but i loved the one by alice walker, i'm going to see what else of hers i can find.

thanks for sharing these - i can see why you liked them.

mumsy/mig XX

DylanZimmerman

on Oct 05, 2004

Oh Sal i loved the Seamus Heany poem, I remember reading it a long time ago. I love how clever and subtle it is. And the last line is so poignant--"A four foot box, a foot for every year." It has such a heavy rhythm, and such impact, it really makes you feel the immense loss, and the tragedy of losing a child. The imagery is so wonderful too- "wearing a poppy bruise." I love how it implies sleep and innocence and death all at once. Sorry I'm rambling, but this poem is so beautiful, I'm so glad you posted it!!

I'd never read any Alice Walker before but her poem spoke to me in a funny way..like Mig said i will have to go find some more of her stuff...

Anyways thanks again for posting these, and thanks for commenting on my blog. Hope you're well (how are things with the boy?)

Dyl xx

Sally jacobs

on Oct 05, 2004

i loved the one by alice walker, i'm going to see what else of hers i can find.

She's done alot more....wrote a few novels I think too. She is very talented, and she writes a great variety of things. I thought you would like that Mig, you two have a similar style

I love how clever and subtle it is. And the last line is so poignant--"A four foot box, a foot for every year." It has such a heavy rhythm, and such impact, it really makes you feel the immense loss, and the tragedy of losing a child. The imagery is so wonderful too- "wearing a poppy bruise." I love how it implies sleep and innocence and death all at once. Sorry I'm rambling, but this poem is so beautiful, I'm so glad you posted it!!

OMG! In my diary where I found this poem, I had wrote notes about it, and I pretty much wrote all the things you said there. The last line makes that poem. I love things with a shock element. That they carry you along, and then all of a sudden bam, and it hits you. It's alot like life!

Thanks for the comments chicks xxx

The Crusaders

on Oct 09, 2004

Whoa....those poems are a bit too relative for me right now.....

I have just been to "I am going to die" and thought I'd have a quick look here at your poems.....

(You are an amazing writer Sally...your teacher was right all along)

Sally jacobs

on Oct 10, 2004

You are an amazing writer Sally...your teacher was right all along

I don't know about that...but thanks

. I'll go and check that thread out now. I think Andy left

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