Monday, 23 August 2010

The Old Poetry Bus comes round again.

It doesn't half make mondays come round quickly!! This week, with the celebrations and various social activities, I am late and have had little time to prepare anything. So please don't read this as a definitive poem - just an idea that crossed my mind. At least I have got to the bus stop before it is too late.

My Father's Book.

Palgrave on the breakfast table,
left there from the night before.
The spine cracked and worn away;
the pages tissue-thin and
edged with gold.

The pencilled notes you wrote
against your favourite poems -
The Battle of Blenheim,
Grey's Elegy and
Ode to Autumn -
Keats was ever a favourite.

I can hear your frail voice
reading them aloud
although thirty-eight years have passed
since I heard it.

I put the book away
on the shelf, but keep
your voice in my head.

20 comments:

Erratic Thoughts said...

Ahh!Nice...
I loved the sentiments you have captured in this poem.It's a perfect morning picture with the images of the past!:)

Titus said...

Weaver, that's beautiful and very moving. Powerful idea to cross your mind.

jinksy said...

A serious start to your day, then...worth a first class ticket on any bus. :)

Doctor FTSE said...

Lovely! I wonder how many wannabee poets know what "Palgrave" is?

Gwei Mui said...

Mmm those last lines are wonderful
"I put the book away
on the shelf, but keep
your voice in my head."

Dave King said...

I read the poem before the warning not to read it as a definitive poem. So I suppose it was an illicit joy. Whatever, I thought it tasty. I'd like to read it again when it's definitive!

Heather said...

Very moving Pat - what treasured memories that book evokes for you. Your poem is beautiful, and none the worse for being written in a hurry.

Poet in Residence said...

What a lovely sensitive and moving poem. I wouldn't tinker with it.

willow said...

What a treasure. I understand, now, where your love of poetry comes from. Beautiful piece.

MorningAJ said...

We never forget our dads do we? In my case it was fiction that he read, not poetry. But the same applies. He's the reason I love to read.
Your poem is lovely.

Bovey Belle said...

How beautiful and evocative. Thank you for sharing something so personal.

George said...

A lovely tribute to your father, Pat -- thoughtful and beautifully written.

Cloudia said...

very nice.




Aloha from Waikiki :)

Comfort Spiral

Leilani Lee said...

Weaver -- write up on the groundhog would be at
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Groundhog

I don't know enough about the animals in the UK to know if you have a comparable beastie there.

Totalfeckineejit said...

Beautiful poem Weaver.Love those last three lines.

Tell no one but I don't know what/ who Palgrave is,I'm so embarrassed, I'm off to look it up!

chiccoreal said...

Definitely full of beautiful memories of a loved one. So heartfelt as to make me illicit tears and well up full of love and joy. (Where's me wellies?). To have such memories is akin to heaven on earth.


"Palgrave on the breakfast table"
"The Battle of Blenheim
Grey's Elegy and
Ode to Autumn -
Keats was ever a favourite"

I am going to reread these works for the first time thinking of your father! This is truly a legacy! Wonderful meme!

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thank you for the comments - much appreciated.

Derrick said...

Wonderful and poignant that such memories are evoked by the book, Weaver. A lovely treasure to hold.

Delaine said...

WHATE YOU WROTE WAS SO PURE.I DO NOT REMEMBER MY FATHER'S VOICE
BUT I DO REMEMBER HIS WINK.WE WERE BLESSED TO HAVE GOOD HONORABLE FATHER'S TO TO DIRECT OUR FIRST STEPS AND TO GIVE US THE STRENGHT TO BE THE WOMEN WE ARE TODAY.
WINKS
AS I WATCHED MY FATHER SITTING IN HIS CHAIR
WE WINK AT EACH OTHER AND MY EYES FILL WITH TEARS
AS A CHILD I REMEMBER LOOKING UP TO HIM
THERE WAS STRENGTH IN HIS BARRING
STRONG ARMS TOLD OF DAYS OF HARD LABOR
A LARGE MAN HIS BULK CONVEYED HIS MIGHT
DESPITE HIS SIZE HE WAS ALWAYS SO GENTLE
HE WOULD LAUGH SO LOUD AND HE’D WINK AT ME
IT WAS OUR SPECIAL SIGN AND IT ALWAYS MADE ME GIGGLE
THE YEARS HAVE FLOWN BY I’M NO LONGER A CHILD,
THEY HAVE TAKEN THEIR TOLL ON THE MAN I ADORED
NOW HIS SHIRT SLEEVES HANG NEARLY EMPTY
SWAY IS GONE LEAVING A LARGE EMPTY FRAME
WHAT IS LEFT OF HIS HAIR WISPS LIKE A HALO.
ALWAYS IN PAIN HE IS NOW CONFINED TO HIS CHAIR.
YET ONE THING ABOUT HIM SEEMS NEVER TO CHANGE
HIS DARK BROWN EYES ARE ALWAYS THE SAME.
WHEN I WALK INTO HIS ROOM THEY LIGHT UP AND SPARKLE
THE LOVE IN HIS EYES MADE ME FEEL SO VERY SPECIAL.
MY HEART KNOWS OUR FINAL GOOD BYE DRAWS NEAR. EACH TIME WE PART HE GIVES ME THAT WINK,
A WINK AND A TWINKLE TELLS OF HIS LOVE
LOVES MEMORY IS HELD IN THE WINK OF AN EYE

NOV 23RD 1905 TO APRIL 1979
MY DAD’S LOVE GAVE ME A FEELING OF WELL BEING, WE HAD SO MANY QUIET TALKS HE GAVE ME A SECURITY, AS I ENTERED THE WORLD I KNEW I HAD VALUE AND THAT I
WAS WORTHY OF BEING TREATED RIGHT

Argent said...

A lovely simply, but artfully told memory.