Granddad was a farmer poet. Most
of his scant work has been lost to time and neglect, but his claim to poetic
fame was good natured lampoons he wrote aimed at friends, neighbors, and (if
he was feeling really brave) family members. This was, of course, before
social media, in a long ago time when community gatherings at the local church
or Grange hall required some live entertainment. When the assemblage learned that
Lee Wood was about to recite an original work, many would slide down in their
seats expectantly—until they learned the identity of the unfortunate target.
His performances complete with meter and rhyme always brought the house down
and usually resulted in an encore request. The aftermath was often some good
natured kidding or occasionally a ‘grudge’ held by the victim for a few weeks
until a new target was acquired and all was forgiven.
Granddad also loved to recite
poems by other authors. One of his favorite poets was Robert Service. That is
probably why I still enjoy “The Cremation
of Sam McGee”. I can remember standing in the barnyard watching him sit on
an overturned bucket, milking the cows by hand, reciting poems from memory like
the following.
They strolled through the
moonlight together.
The heavens were blossomed with
stars.
They paused for a moment in
silence,
As he stooped to lower the bars.
She cast her soft eyes upon him,
But spoke not a loving vow.
For he was a rustic laddie
And she was a jersey cow.
[I know there
are other versions, but this is how he recited it to me.]
So did I learn to write poetry or
inherit a magical gene from my grandfather? I guess we’ll just have to wait for
the book.
©2014 William L. Steen
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