Family Members Nurturing a Love of Poetry

Ruth Ann Thrun

The three poems in today’s post all say family members nourished their love of poetry. First, a poet from Wisconsin, where hunting is part of the culture, pays tribute to his sister.

 

Anymore, it’s not about shooting a deer

 She was Ruthie to me.  My big sister, my hero.
She was Miss Thrun to her high school students, 
making “History” relevant, changing young lives.
She showed them how to look at things, how to
analyze and prioritize …her own eyes always quick
not only to instill The Fear of God in them, but also
how to show kindness and love.  To empathize.

She was already gone…  Complications, they said,
of uterine cancer diagnosed too late.  “A blessing,” the
doctor added.  A pulmonary clot during a transfusion.

Sixteen years later, I posthumously accepted, on
Ruthie’s behalf, an Honored Faculty Award under the
halftime lights at a high school homecoming game.
This at UNC’s Lab High School in Greeley, CO.
Her former students then were adults, and her fellow
educators were all retired.  Yet, each spoke as if they’d
just discussed national politics with her …only yesterday.
My eyes welled again from emotions I’d so long buried. 

We brought her back to Wisconsin -- my mother, my
twin sister and I.  Ruthie rests now at Hope Cemetery,
hardly a mile from where I still hunt whitetails.  And, I tell
her again, each fall, how sorry I am that I never told her
how much I really loved her, nor how thankful I was for the
paperback of Robert Frost’s Poems, she gave me that
Christmas when I was 14 …that’s made all the difference.

 ~ Thomas A. Thrun

 

Binod Dawadi, a Nepali poet, credits his love for poetry to his father. He says to his father, "I can't give you anything," while he is giving his father praise. He is also honoring his father by continuing the tradition of reading and writing.

My Father – My Inspiration to Be a Poet 

My father couldn't read above tenth grade level.
He was bullied and hated by friends
So he couldn't get a higher position job.
He worked as a government officer in small post.
In his free time, he read Mahabharata and Ramayana,
Sometimes Gita. He used to spend all his time
reading. He also wrote short stories,
Autobiography and poems.
He told me, You should read more and write more
To you share your knowledge

To the world, and you will obtain more knowledge.
I used to listen him reading and watch him writing.
From my childhood, I knew that reading and writing
can make us great, so I read literature and wrote poems.
These, along with my father's motivation and inspiration
Made me fall in love with poetry,

My father left me and my family
when I was just 11 years old,
But I remember his words and I see him
in a dream for forever,

I can't give you anything, my father,
Sita Ram Dawadi, but today I praise you
and make you immortal through my poetry.
Today you are is inside my soul guiding me
To think and imagine and to be a writer.

~ Binod Dawadi

Dawadi added these words of tribute: “My father was my hero. He taught me good cultures. He always read and wrote in his free time. He also motivated me to read and write. So from his good habits I learned to read and write at home as well as school. So I became a writer. My father physically left us more than 20 years ago, but his spirit is connected to mine and makes me a creative writer with imagination. Thank you so much my father. You will be immortal.”

 

Finally, a poet from Massachusetts pays tribute to her creative aunt:

Marvelous Peggy 

Born forty years premature,
our aunt stacked her poetic meanderings
on cob-webbed shelves in her mind, 

dusting off her masterpieces
at intimate family gatherings, “holy roller” meetings,
(her words, not mine), cherished private readings   

of her remarkable rhyming revelations,
contentious political skewerings,
and late-in-life religious epiphanies. 

Out of her imagination
flowed discerning, humorous, pointed
interpretations of the world and those within it.  

Poetry − her lifeline for unloading heavy burdens,
livening up a party, boisterously airing her views
Oh Democracy, where art thou? she’d cry. 

Intimidated by technology of any variety,
she never actualized sharing opportunities
cyberspace affords fellow writers and poets. 

On her death I uncovered her treasure;
poems scribbled on scraps of paper,
in old notebooks, the back of greeting cards. 

a legacy to be shared with family members,
brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews,
scattered across the country;   

drawing together related strangers
through common literary history and interest,
forever reuniting this Girl Scout with that hitchhiker, 

who was the very picture of her glamorous aunt,
from her literary prowess, to her luxurious fingernails;
sister-cousins, rejoined by the closing of a door. 

~ Elaine Sorrentino

 Here is "Marvelous Peggy" herself:

 

 

These poets retain copyright on their own poems

 

Coming up next: poems that hooked their readers, followed by tributes to poetry mentors, and poets who hooked their readers. Submissions sometimes overlap these categories, of course. Thrum’s poem above would fit into the category of poets who hooked their readers as well as the category of family members nurturing the love of poetry.

 

Bios:

Binod Dawadi, Kathmandu, Nepal, the author of The Power of Words, has a master's degree in English. He has worked on more than 1000 anthologies published in various renowned magazines. His vision is to change society through knowledge, so he wants to provide enlightenment to the people through his writing skills.

Elaine Sorrentino has been published in Minerva Rising, Willawaw Journal, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Ekphrastic Review, Writing in a Women’s Voice, Global Poemic, ONE ART: a journal of poetry, Agape Review, Haiku Universe, Sparks of Calliope, Muddy River Poetry Review, Your Daily Poem,  Panoplyzine, Etched Onyx Magazine, and at wildamorris.blogspot.com.  She was featured on a poetry podcast at Onyx Publications. 

Thomas A. Thrun, retired in Oconomowoc, WI, cites his life-long interest in writing especially to his Wisconsin farming heritage and to Robert Frost’s poetry.  Thrun’s father was an oral teller of farming stories – on the church steps after Sunday services and places like the local feed mill and grocery store -- to anyone who’d listen, with each story, like one of Frost’s poems, usually ending in a simple truth.  Hence, inspiring Thrun’s own narrative, poetic style.  A former weekly newspaper editor in Wisconsin and Washington State, Thrun earned his undergraduate degree in English/Journalism from the University of Wisconsin-Platteville and has been published in a number of state and national anthologies. He now dotes on his own, two young grand boys.

 

Winning November Poems for 2022

 

 

 

Artillery Hell by Capt. James Hope who served at the Battle of Antietam
From the website of the National Park Service

 

This is the second consecutive year in which the poetry challenge was for a “November poem.” You can see last year’s winning poems at https://wildamorris.blogspot.com/2021/11/winning-poems-about-november.html, and click at the bottom of that post to see the prompt poems.). I have been surprised by how few of the poems were primarily about Thanksgiving. Both poets whose poems were used as prompt poems this month - June Nirschl and Elizabeth Harmatys Park agreed to judge the submissions.

The winning poem this year is grimmer than anything submitted last year. but it is beautifully written.

November 1862    

            On the way home from Sharpsburg, MD

I sink as I march through the woods, wish
the ground to swallow me. Musket smoke
still hangs in my nostrils.

            Away from there,

I lift my eyes to pray, air crisp with sweet
pawpaw leaves and syrup-colored maples,

see a tanager in the pines, hear the oriole’s
pure, liquid whistles, rich flute and piccolo,
flutter-drums of passion, beating of wings.

But the buzz around those carcasses
maggot my thoughts. I am running now,

            away from there,

away from cornfields scattered with ears
pressed to the ground, hair silked with blood,
bodies husked in gray and blue;

away from the fields littered with death.
I feel my own reaper close behind
swinging his scythe. My arm severed

to shoulder bone; my limb thrown
among other arms and legs onto piles,
only its ghost remains to taunt me.

But today, I am coming home.

Away from there.

~John C. Mannone

In a note attached to his poem, Mannone said that the Battle of Antietam fought in Sharpsburg, MD [Sept 17, 1862], was the bloodiest one-day battle of the Civil War with 28000 American casualties. He also metntioned that this poem is part of the 2nd place winning set in the 2014 Knoxville Writers’ Guild Poetry Contest. "November 1862" first appeared in Blood and Spades (Horror Writers Association Newsletter, November 2017).

Nirschl chose this poem for first place. She said, “This poem captured the significance of the Battle of Antietam and the effect it had on its survivors. It succeeded in relaying the effect of the war on the individual with a melodic grace. The poem embodies the senses and the poet's ability to relay them.”

Park awarded it an honorable mention, saying, “This poem is so well written it is both beautiful and dreadful at the same time.  It tells a story, is a narrative poem with a lyrical quality.”

 

Park selected a different poem for first place:

Silver Sun on A November Morning

A polished silver disc appeared
through the mist this morning--
sun disguised as a full moon,
a luminous gray circle,
rolling across the sky,
following me as I walked.
I heard him laughing
at those who think he is
moon gone mad because
his face is covered with a silver veil.
Gradually, sun parts fog’s
gossamer and all see
him radiating in his
golden splendor against a blue sky.
Restored to his own appearance,
he smiles his light down—
not much warmth,
but then again,
it is November.

~ Joan Leotta

Park explained her decision: “This poem makes good use of a charming and unique metaphor, the sun as moon.  The sun is often overlooked as the focus of attention in November.  There is that wonderful contrast of fog and gossamer light and the surprising warmth of a November sun."

 

 

The following poem is the only one other than “November 1962” that was selected by both judges.

Pay Attention to the Prophets 

The sun shines through the trees the color of honey.
Leaves dripping, drop down to the ground.
With each step, sweet stickiness cleaves to my soles.
Pink geraniums stand faithful, despite the frost overnight.
As the light softens, the shadow of the sunflower
          lengthens
wears its soul on its face, offering inner sanctum
          to finches.
white pines unveil their brown needles in abundance
ushering in devotion beneath their contemplative silence.
The day folds its hands in ritual, making itself smaller.
The inevitable lurks amid Fall's change.
Cloistered in this moment lies the sacred text
belonging to both heaven and earth.
Geese in their faithful formation beg that I look up, listen.
They ask that I join, pay attention.

~ Angela Hoffman

Park selected this poem as 2^nd place. She said, “This poem has worldly sensual references to sound, touch and color.  With the consistent use of metaphors such as soul, sanctum, ritual and cloistered, it also includes the transcendent.  That is skillfully done in a complex poem where nothing is wasted.”

Nirschl selected it as third place. Her comments: “Without mentioning the month, the poet provides more than enough to illustrate November. Two lines that struck me are: Cloistered in this moment lies the sacred text/belonging to both heaven and earth.”

The next poem was chosen for 2^nd place by Nirschl:

November Swirls

I had grown taller
confused of swell and itch I felt at
the swirl of Judy's red skirt’s pleats.
Too the earth change mauled me after the sugar high
and soaped windows of Samhain
riding to Saint Michael's mass of All Saints' Day obligation.
Choking in the too tight neck button of last year's white shirt
I caught the crimson, yellow, and orange swirl
under the jet stream bow
denuding maple, oak, and sassafras.
I ground sad spice with the stones of mother's sorrow
a special All Souls' Day prayer
for the soul and spirits shattered body of Grandpa Pete.
His fine tenor now she swore sings with choirs of seraphim.
November became an unseen woman, organza dress winking
her long legged strides in shadow and desire.
Whisps and tension lurked in spirals and snowstorms
spicing dark days and depression to Thanksgiving.
Mother's martinet menuing of homemade pies and casseroles
assigning roles to spouse and sons and daughters
directed our theater of the absurd feast.
Wine sipping parents and aunts select this instant to feel gratitude for
my year of missed grades, detention, and ADD moments
railing the ultimate mystery of the universe
"Why do you do what you do?"
Defects of nature and my failure of pluck
eclipsed the mystery of the northwest winds.
Inward November’s last few days focused
on wooden desks with holes for inkwells we never used
our teachers chatter of basketball games
fluttering now red and white decorations to mask
her cold swirl and warm whispers in the forest
vowing reconciliation to my kink and quandary
once we breathe alone.

~ Tyson West

Nirschl said, “The title of this poem is perfect. So much happens in November or because of it, and the poet got it right. After any given amount of time, the events do ‘swirl.’ I felt as if I could have been part of these events.”

Park’s choice for 3^rd Place is “Armistice Day.”

Armistice Day

Somewhere poppies spring
from blood-soaked earth,
rain greens the fields of the dead,
smoke rises from fires unquenched.
We will never forget, people say.

While here on November 11
flowers have been mown to stubble,
graveyards are silent and deserted
and snow covers the path to the gate.
We forget why there’s no mail today.

~ Irene Alderson

Commenting on “Armistice Day,” Park said, “This poem is deceptively simple but it packs a punch.  An unforgettable bloody history is marked by an unforgettable day that is easily forgotten.  That contrast is shocking.”

 

Honorable Mentions

Nirschl selected two poems for honorable mention:

1. “Forever Autumn” by Toastingfork. June’s comments: “The poem addresses the climate crisis directly. The rhyme scheme is subtle and effective.”

2. “November Revelation” by Elaine Sorrentino. June’s comment: “The poem is thoughtful and addresses the poet's own awareness of time's passage.”

 

Thank you to all who submitted poems this month. Congratulations to all the winners! Each poet retains copyright on his or her own poem.

 

For more about Capt. James Hope and his paintings, see https://www.nps.gov/anti/learn/photosmultimedia/hopepaintings.htm.

 

Bios:

Irene Alderson performs regularly with the Bosso Poetry Company, a collective of writers and musicians based in Minneapolis. Her poetry has appeared online, on the Mankato Poetry Walk & Ride, and in her self-published chapbook, Flying Between the Snows. She lives with her husband and a loquacious super senior cat.

Angela Hoffman’s poetry collections include Resurrection Lily (Kelsay Books, 2022) and Olly Olly Oxen Free (forthcoming, Kelsay Books, 2023). She placed third in the WFOP Kay Saunders Memorial Emerging Poet, 2022. Her poetry has appeared in Solitary Plover, Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets’ Museletter and Calendar, Agape Review, Verse-Virtual, Visual Verse, Your Daily Poem, Writing In A Woman’s Voice, Moss Piglet, Amethyst Review, Orchards Poetry Journal, and Lothlorien Poetry Journal. She has written a poem a day since the start of the pandemic. Angela lives in Jefferson, Wisconsin. 

Joan Leotta plays with words on page and stage. She performs tales featuring food, family, nature, and strong women. Her writings are in Synkroniciti, Ekphrastic Review, Pinesong, The Sun, Brass Bell, Verse Visual, anti-heroin chic, Gargoyle, Silver Birch, Ovunquesiamo, Verse Virtual, Poetry in Plain Sight, Red Eft, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Yellow Mama, Crimeucopia, and others. She’s a 2021 Pushcart nominee, received Best of Micro Fiction, 2021 (Haunted Waters), nominee for Best of the Net, 2023, and 2022 runner up in Frost Foundation Poetry Competition. Her second chapbook, Feathers on Stone, is coming in late 2022 from Main Street Rag. 

John C. Mannone has poems in Windhover, North Dakota Quarterly, Poetry South, Baltimore Review, and others. He won the Impressions of Appalachia Creative Arts Contest in poetry (2020), the Carol Oen Memorial Fiction Prize (2020), and the Joy Margrave Award (2015, 2017) for creative nonfiction. He was awarded a Jean Ritchie Fellowship (2017) in Appalachian literature and served as the celebrity judge for the National Federation of State Poetry Societies (2018). His full-length collections are Disabled Monsters (Linnet’s Wings Press, 2015), Flux Lines: The Intersection of Science, Love, and Poetry (Linnet’s Wings Press, 2021), Sacred Flute (Iris Press, 2022), and Song of the Mountains (Middle Creek Publishing, 2023). He edits poetry for Abyss & Apex and other journals. A physics professor at Alice Lloyd College, John lives in southeast Kentucky.

June Nirschl has been a resident of Door County since 2000. She has been fortunate in finding a flourishing community of poets. Her career included teaching high school English and serving as a municipal clerk.

Elizabeth Harmatys Park is a past recipient of the Jade Ring First Poetry Prize awarded by the Wisconsin Writers Association. Her poetry has been published in journals, anthologies, and the Wisconsin Poetry Calendar. Park writes with Authors Echo in Burlington, WI.

Elaine Sorrentino, Communications Director at South Shore Conservatory in Hingham, MA, has been published in Minerva Rising, Willawaw Journal, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Ekphrastic Review, Writing in a Women’s Voice, Global Poemic, ONE ART: a journal of poetry, The Door is a Jar, Agape Review, Haiku Universe, Sparks of Calliope, Muddy River Poetry Review, Your Daily Poem, Etched Onyx Magazine, and at  wildamorris.blogspot.com.  She was recently featured on a poetry podcast at Onyx Publications.

Toastingfork is a reclusive poet favouring anonymity in out-of-date utensils, seeking the shadows while stoking the flames, and tarnishing our daily bread while loading us up with carbs."

Tyson West has published speculative fiction and poetry in free verse, form verse and haiku distilled from his mystical relationship with noxious weeds and magpies in Eastern Washington.  He has no plans to quit his day job in real estate. He is currently the featured USA poet at Muse Pie Press.

 

Check back on December 1 for a new prompt.

 

 

© Wilda Morris