My Father's Voice Made Poetry Mine

by adewpearl

For Daddy

My memory resonates with his voice -
the bass so deep when he sang to me,
but if I were given only one choice,
I'd listen again to the poetry.

My father grew up in another time,
in an age when boys were made to recite,
and so he had memorized classic rhymes,
said over and over until just right.

I doubt he believed when he was a boy
he'd still be reciting them as a man,
but, oh, how incalculable the joy
he gave to me when he spoke them again.

With Whittier's "Snowbound" he hypnotized,
his tongue wrapped around each delicious word.
With color and cadence he dramatized -
a bravura performance that only I heard.

What "mute and ominous prophecy" meant
was beyond the ken of a little child,
but I understood fully his tone of portent
and hung on each word, completely beguiled.

When I didn't know meanings, I felt the sound,
each syllable lovelier than the last.
By the beauty of words I sat spellbound -
by the power of words I was transfixed.

I read "Orphant Annie" again today
and heard crystal clear how my dad would shout
the words that serve as the poem's refrain,
"and the goblins will get you if you don't watch out!"

It's now twenty years since my father died -
at least twenty more since he spoke those lines,
but I'll never forget how I listened, wide-eyed,
when my father's deep voice first made poetry mine.

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My father was a construction worker who may or may not have graduated from high school, but he was one of the smartest men I ever met. He would have been 99 this year, so he really did live in another age, and in that age schoolchildren had to memorize and recite very lengthy and grown-up poems.
I'm sure they must have been drilled into the children because my dad was over 50 years old when he recited those poems to me without missing a beat. He had a rich, deep, radio-announcer kind of voice, so that his recitations thrilled me. I was his only audience.
Just as he did not realize when he was a schoolboy that the poems would stick with him for life, I'm sure he did not realize his practice of entertaining me with these poems would so influence my life. My father raised me after my mom died, so I have many reasons to cherish his memory, but this is one of the best reasons I can think of.
If you are not familiar with the two poems I mention - John Greenleaf Whittier's "Snowbound" is from 1866 and James Whitcomb Riley's "Little Orphant Annie" is from 1885. Do yourself a favor and read them. : -) One more note, because a couple of eagle-eyed and kind reviewers have pointed out that Orphant is misspelled, I should share this story. When Riley first published the poem, the type was set wrong. The poem quickly became a smash hit. He decided not to correct the spelling in later editions because why mess with success? So the t really is supposed to be on the end of orphan. :-)

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A remembrance of my dad and poetry.

My Father's Voice Made Poetry Mine

by adewpearl

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