THE POETRY OF FAMILY

Claire with her muse

David Orr and his book have been pushed to the back of the shelf. Lethargy is front and center. Heat, Haze and Humidity have settled into my brain. I would be sitting and happily staring into space, but for the summer summons to jump into the gene pool for our annual family reunion.

We come together, a mixed set of ages, experiences and perspectives, tied together by ancient history, common ancestors and shared memories.

Flying from east and west coast into the center where it began and ended for the immigrants and will end in distant days for those who stayed. The much maligned snow capital, tiresome and difficult in winter, gifts us with warm, sunny days and cool evenings.

The poetry of our encounters embraces many forms: the rambling prose poetry of one on one long conversations, short, punchy exchanges that leap---haiku to haiku and the occasional blank verse.

Some of us speak in lower case, others in italics. There is an ease of language, a connection without the need for explanations that eliminates the dictionary and takes us quickly to the heart of the matter or perhaps better said---the matter of heart.

It is a language of mixed metaphors---losses, disappointments, accomplishments, leavings, beginnings, and secrets once whispered that are now openly spoken and enrich the family history.

In many ways it is a universal language---one that all families speak and understand, but since it does have its own idioms and dialect, it becomes the poetry of our family.

A poetry that is comfortable and comforting and a joy to speak.

At the Turquoise Table

After a lifetime of writing poetry, I have finally decided to publish a selection of my poems.  The title is At the Turquoise Table, and it should be available in February.  It represents most of the stages of my life, and each section has several poems that reflect that particular stage. 

Ray and Teresa Hasselbeck - 1927

In the first section, MEAT AND POTATOES, the subject is my family and youth.  Here is a stanza from my poem called GRANDMOTHER:



A picture on the wall,

A lovely face in black and white,

Tortoise shell combs in a trunk

in the attic,

Tears in my father's eyes,

A name—Pauline,

My sister's name, now.

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More to follow!