Poetry Foundation’s poem of the day on August 27th was “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert Service. The poem begins like this:
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
The poem continues for thirteen more verses then ends with a repetition of the refrain. It struck me as a poem I would have enjoyed reciting with friends on a long bus ride or at camp (rather like the Titanic song “Oh, they built the ship Titanic to sail the ocean blue.”) It seemed an unusual choice for Poetry Foundation to share… until I saw the editor’s note. It stated that this had been Senator John McCain’s favorite poem. The story goes that when he was a prisoner of war in Vietnam, he and another prisoner “typed” this poem back and forth to each other through the walls of their cells using a tap code.
I was fascinated by this story and decided to investigate. I discovered an episode of Poetry in America that focused on the poem, “To Prisoners”, by Gwendolyn Brooks. It was described like this: “This episode brings together a group of interpreters who learned in prison to hear poetry’s “call.” Learn from Senator John McCain, playwright and activist Anna Deavere Smith, poets Reginald Dwayne Betts and Li-Young Lee, and four exonerated prisoners about poetry’s special resonance for those behind bars.” I clicked on it to check it out and was drawn in for the full 25 minute episode. It’s a fascinating look at the poem and how different people interpret it.
Dark gardening
in the vertigo cold.
in the hot paralysis.
Under the wolves and coyotes of particular silences.
Where it is dry.
Where it is dry.
I call for you
cultivation of victory Over
long blows that you want to give and blows you are going to get.click here to read the rest of the poem.
The more I thought about Gwendolyn Brooks and the more I read and considered this poem, the more I thought of her as a sorceress, and her poem, an incantation. “I call for you…” Brooks carefully selected words and images to pour into her crucible and the resulting poem glows with power. It pulses with pain and potential triumph. It speaks to those who suffer in literal prisons, yet also speaks to those who suffer from other less tangible prisons–depression, abuse, etc.
This poem and McCain’s story still move in me, generating thoughts, connections, wonderings. They say that where there are poets, and where there is poetry, you’re never alone. Now that’s powerful magic.
This week Robyn Hood Black is rounding up the old fashioned way at her blog, Life on the Deckle Edge. Stop by to experience the power of poetry!
It’s funny how memories pop up sometimes, emerging in full technicolor detail from the mists of the past. This happened to me just recently. I don’t even remember what I was doing at the time, but suddenly I was thinking about Lydia and the shark tank.
The color, celadon!, is just fabulous and one I probably couldn’t have named, but as soon as I read it, I recognized it. I’m also delighted that the photo is neatly tucked into a magnetic frame that now has a place of honor on my refrigerator, in the midst of some other treasures. Every time I see it, I think of the ocean’s splendor and of poetry connections across the country. Thanks so much, Jone, for ending my first poetry swap experience so beautifully!
Swallows
It then hopped on to a tree and started climbing. Ok, Yes! This might work. I was feeling cautiously optimistic. Until… a few inches up the tree, the bird stopped moving.
“Hey, baby bird, what’s up? Did you take a spill? Where’s your nest?”
Welcome to this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup! This is my first time hosting and I must say, when I signed up, August seemed so far away! Yikes! Holy Speeding Summer, Batman! Regardless, I’m simultaneously delighted to be here and desperately hoping that the link up works. If it does, it’s thanks to Catherine Flynn. (Thank you! Thank you, Catherine!) If it doesn’t…well, it’s my fault, but at least I’ll have something to write about on Tuesday for Slice of Life. On a related note, please attribute any typos in this post to multiple crossed fingers.
Nix the comfort zone 