A recurring subject for many poets are those people who play, or who have played, a significant role in their lives. We are drawn to these people. They loom large when considering influence and impact. They may be close family members, friends, work colleagues. We know them so well. They almost dare us to capture something of them in words. Our significant others loom large in our lives.
Across the years I have written about my father in several poems. This is the latest. This time memories of my father came calling while I was 36,000 feet in the air...
No Denim For Dad
It suddenly dawned on me
During a flight from Singapore to Saigon...
During a flight from Singapore to Saigon...
-My father never wore denim
At any point
Across his entire life.
Unlike the man seated in the window seat next to me
Adorned in double denim and a pair of garish Crocs.
And as we sit sky high, enduring inaudible messages from the flight deck.
I ponder what my father would have thought about my smart watch, my smart phone,
Or any other smart gadgetry taking hold of our lives.
After all, he wore the same
vintage Lavina wrist watch
all his adult life.
It served him well.
I cannot imagine him listening to Bing Crosby crooning
Through a pair of noise cancelling headphones
While cruising above the clouds at 36000 feet.
Furthermore, I cannot imagine my father travelling to Vietnam, or any other exotic locale
Certainly not in denim...
Or any other smart gadgetry taking hold of our lives.
After all, he wore the same
vintage Lavina wrist watch
all his adult life.
It served him well.
I cannot imagine him listening to Bing Crosby crooning
Through a pair of noise cancelling headphones
While cruising above the clouds at 36000 feet.
Furthermore, I cannot imagine my father travelling to Vietnam, or any other exotic locale
Certainly not in denim...
Upon his return from the war
He expressed no wish to travel
And little curiosity for what lay beyond the horizon
He held no desire to leave his home state.
Planting both feet on the ground.
How much time did he save not being on a passenger list,
Avoiding airports?
-All that downtime
spent nursing coffee and muffins,
enduring inevitable delays
staring into space.
Content to be,
Content to be, home.
Alan j Wright
It is yet again, Poetry Friday and this week our host is Rose Capelli. From her home in Pennsylvania, Rose is eagerly anticipating the arrival of spring. She shares some poems with spring in their step. Visit Rose to discover the joys of an emerging spring season.
Alan, this is a telling poem about your dad. That was an interesting thought you had about him that he never wore denim. I love the photo you shared in 2/3 of a three-piece suit. I couldn't help but wonder if on this trip you were having some thoughts about the wisdom of your dad's contentment in staying home.
ReplyDeleteNo doubt my father's reluctance to travel figured in my thoughts as I travelled. It is something that frequently visits me. Following WW2 he was, like many others who served, very attached to his locality, his land of origin. it was quite understandable given their experiences. They craved safety and certainty in their lives. As someone who has travelled extensively, the contrast is ever striking. Thank you, Denise, for your considered response to my poem. I often find myself pondering experiences I know my father never had during his lifetime, as you can surmise from my poem.
DeleteIt's interesting what we ponder when we have time on our hands - the downtime AND the up time! Your poem is rich with sensory details ("garish Crocs", "inaudible messages from the flight deck"...) that makes us feel like we're off to Siagon, too. (I wish!) My dad never wore denim either. A suit to work and suit pants and a dress shirt for weekends and retirement. Thanks for remembering your dad, Alan, and jogging a memory of mine. I miss him. :)
ReplyDeleteOur pondering possesses a mercurial quality at times, Bridget. Interesting how many Dads of earlier generations resisted denim. I'm pleased my recalling of memories concerning my dad, evoked memories for you too.
DeleteThank you for sharing this memory of your dad, Alan. I agree with Bridget that the telling details throughout your poem create a great visual. I especially liked your ending with it's well placed repetition - "Content to be,
ReplyDeleteContent to be, home."
It pleases me to know the imagery in my poem shone through, Rose. I'm also glad you found something you appreciated in the ending.
DeleteI love the musing, Alan, especially of all the gadgetry we now have & seem to adore when a wristwatch served so well all the years for your dad. I am old enough to remember when finally denim became "it" in the sixties, & permission was given for us to wear it to class. My father was killed in WWII, a pilot lost in Leyte Gulf, but my stepfather was all over the world in the Army Corps of Engineers. He never, ever wanted to go anywhere again, as you aptly wrote about your own dad, "Planting both feet on the ground." Thank you for the musings from on high, going to see the world, maybe in denim?
ReplyDeleteYou are quite perceptive, Linda. The contrast between my father's trusty watch and the plethora of gadgetry that has invaded our lives could not be more striking. I have little doubt that many veterans held little interest in travel following their war experience. I understand why that was so, as I'm sure you do too. You mentioned getting denim approval -I recall needing something similar from my parents. I'm still a denim jeans devotee -even when I travel.
DeleteWhat a treasure trove of memories was opened for you at 36,000 feet!
ReplyDeleteThank you Mary Lee. Inspiration knows no boundaries, it seems. It can reach you while soaring at a great height.
DeleteYes, "planting both feet on the ground" describes how my family felt about travel. I agree with Mary Lee, there was a treasure trove of memories here, Alan. Anastasia
ReplyDeleteIt seems this approach to living is relatively more common than we realize, Anastasia. The memories are also treasured, no doubt about it.
DeleteI love your narrative memories, Alan. I think about my grandparents in a similar way - they worked so hard to get here (US), they didn't think of traveling away from it. My grandma wore a dress everyday of her life. And stockings! And her focus was her store, her kitchen, and her children. And bits of her remain inside me.
ReplyDeleteYour brief picture of your grandparents is stunningly revealing and paints a picture of a devoted parent. These memories live on within you, it is quite obvious. Thank you for these special words.
DeleteAlan, your poem says so much about your father and about the many who had travel (and often unspeakable experiences) forced on them through their military service. One can understand the desire to plant one's feet firmly on the ground at home.
ReplyDeleteThank you Karen. You clearly understand the motivations my father adopted. My dad's post war life was rather complicated health wise, but he always strived to do the very best by his family. It was hardly surprising he made the choices he did with regard to travel.
DeleteI love "planting both feet on the ground" and that snappy photo of your dad. My husband just had a Seiko watch his father bought shortly after my husband was born and is now wearing it. Such a great feeling of connection to his dad, who passed in 2021. Thanks for introducing us to your father and how you connect to him through poems :>)
ReplyDelete