24 September 2026
(19 February 2016) Returning after a week’s pause, we continue with the title poem from our collection, “Ode to a Stump Farm,” with final section of this stanza. We are still “re-membering” that initial visit, and at that time, the remains of my great-grandfather’s cabin were still visible, which brings back another shard of memory, surrounding my father:
Dad touched fire-blackened timber,
remains–
great-grandpa’s cabin–
where he was born blue,
little hope for his
survival.
Parents fought death,
infant mortality,
won future prize–
grandson in the image
of grandfather.
This shard of memory should be easy to understand, referring to the story of my father’s birth in that cabin, and the doctor who had little hope that he would survive. I like to ‘play’ with images, in this case that of the ‘future prize,’ which, on the simplest level, refers to my father, won from death, but I saw more in it than this simple view, for another future prize was . . . me, the firstborn son and firstborn grandson. I’ve always felt a certain connection to my grandfather, perhaps because we lived blocks away from him when growing up, and I got to spend the most time with him, compared to my similar age cousins (the nearest, half a year younger, as he yearly reminds me!) who lived far away. Also, I am similar in size–an inch taller, with the same large frame, and I am the only one of his grandchildren who joined him in his exclusive club, recipients of doctoral degrees. For me, this is one of the joys of poetry, that we can ‘stack’ so many memories into single images, not to mention what each reader brings and remembers. . . . More on Saturday, in the meantime, good reading! Get this collection from your favorite ebook store, or in print from the link provided.
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