CONVERSATION Number Three
Is That Why Babies Smile?
Remembering, the best or worst of human abilities,
Allows any embellishments or exaggerations
That suit the fancy of the rememberer.
Sutter Buttes must always be remembered as springtime mountains,
not hills, which is what they really are, but mountains
And always in a day with drifting clouds and warm.
You remember cows and pigs and chickens
Without their shit and smell and bother
And babies with no trace of fever or crying
And snow through a window piling deeper
Than the wagon hitches on Shaker road
And lilacs open full and fragrant...
And my Father sober and smiling and warm
Before the time of cancer and death
And Oregon in June with cherries and green apples
And apricots sweet and golden and warm
And Singapore’s people clean and kind
And Margaret and my children.
The Feather River north of the bridge to Marysville
And ducks on Ellis Lake on the Fourth of July;
The Chinese temple at the end of D Street
And school children waiting to get onto the yellow bus
And the time just before dark on an Arkansas road
And ancient oaks in the fields around Live Oak.
Remembering my Father’s laugh is as good
As any sound of falling water or birds singing.
The waterfall near Portland with ferns and trees,
And Mount Hood reflected in Lost Lake,
And the sunrise from Mount Kinabalu,
And the pitcher plants growing in the rain forest.
What about all those students you taught
Over the years in Yuba City, Singapore, Rockville,
Mclean, Braithwaite, New Lebanon and San Diego?
All their laughter... and amazement and wonder
At the beauty of poetry and plays and stories
They were discovering in their delicious youth.
Seeing David in Charlottsville was good
And the memory of it is comforting.
Thinking of Nancy working with Louisiana people
in summer is something that warms my heart.
Watching Margaret cook and set the table
For the four of us... a crisp image in my memory bank.
When the brain cells grow dim and cold and lifeless,
Is it like having the power go out in a storm
And the computer screen go blank and dead?
Is there a tiny battery somewhere in there
That preserves at least a bit of the beauty
For some later reincarnation? Is that why babies smile?
Is That Why Babies Smile?
Remembering, the best or worst of human abilities,
Allows any embellishments or exaggerations
That suit the fancy of the rememberer.
Sutter Buttes must always be remembered as springtime mountains,
not hills, which is what they really are, but mountains
And always in a day with drifting clouds and warm.
You remember cows and pigs and chickens
Without their shit and smell and bother
And babies with no trace of fever or crying
And snow through a window piling deeper
Than the wagon hitches on Shaker road
And lilacs open full and fragrant...
And my Father sober and smiling and warm
Before the time of cancer and death
And Oregon in June with cherries and green apples
And apricots sweet and golden and warm
And Singapore’s people clean and kind
And Margaret and my children.
The Feather River north of the bridge to Marysville
And ducks on Ellis Lake on the Fourth of July;
The Chinese temple at the end of D Street
And school children waiting to get onto the yellow bus
And the time just before dark on an Arkansas road
And ancient oaks in the fields around Live Oak.
Remembering my Father’s laugh is as good
As any sound of falling water or birds singing.
The waterfall near Portland with ferns and trees,
And Mount Hood reflected in Lost Lake,
And the sunrise from Mount Kinabalu,
And the pitcher plants growing in the rain forest.
What about all those students you taught
Over the years in Yuba City, Singapore, Rockville,
Mclean, Braithwaite, New Lebanon and San Diego?
All their laughter... and amazement and wonder
At the beauty of poetry and plays and stories
They were discovering in their delicious youth.
Seeing David in Charlottsville was good
And the memory of it is comforting.
Thinking of Nancy working with Louisiana people
in summer is something that warms my heart.
Watching Margaret cook and set the table
For the four of us... a crisp image in my memory bank.
When the brain cells grow dim and cold and lifeless,
Is it like having the power go out in a storm
And the computer screen go blank and dead?
Is there a tiny battery somewhere in there
That preserves at least a bit of the beauty
For some later reincarnation? Is that why babies smile?
2 comments:
Awesome piece......the cry of all humanity to remember and be remembered. Thank you my friend for daring to visit the places so many of us fear to go, our frailty in the face of reality, our attempts at some lasting remembrance of our passing through this life. Did we make a difference? I sincerely hope so. Our immortality may rest in the passing remark we made to others that meant far more to them than we remember.
J, Pretty good poem, better then pretty good. Of course I relate and, like they say, feel it (you). The poem zowed me like the book, Water For Elephants, and I don't know the meaning of zowed!! Anyway, it's stuff like this that adds to why this guy smiles... almost a tear. G
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