Did you Miss Me?

Did you miss me? I've been gone for a week to Arden, North Carolina where my youngest niece got married...She lives in Cut Bank, Montana as does her now-husband.  My sister lives in Washington state ane as his family is HUGE (ours is not) and her older sister is doing a post-doc at Chapel Hill, the wedding was on his family's orchard/organic truck farm.

Just prior to my driving down, I made the quilt top which is on the altar, a faithful rendition of their wedding announcement and something which turned out to be a recurring theme.   This was brought down just to have the family sign as a wall hanging, but she needed something to cover the "altar' so I brought it out for that. 

I worked hard....we prepared for 250, but only about 125 came.  We did the food ourselves which was quite interesting--making pasties for 250 people in a commercial kitchen....and dealing with all the hiccups which not having a caterer causes.....and just getting the grounds ready....oh yes, and my sister did the flowers as well...and I helped with logistics, bringing down tons of fabrics to use on the tables...Her wedding was at 5:00 pm, outside, down on the banks of the French Broad River.  They left in a canoe...wedding dress and all.

Beth is a published poet and lover of words.  Katie, the 19th century British Lit. prof read  Litany by Billy Collins for her "Toast." You can find it on line, here
but here it is only to make it easier for you.


You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

Katie read it to bring in some humor.  Afterwards, she mentioned to me that she didn't think that anyone "got it."

I have read this before....I think either Katie or another friend, Lori Gravely, introduced me to it.  I love the language...and I m always given pause.  What did Collins really mean?  Was it as one of the commentators on the Poem Hunter site says "This poem isn't about love at all - he's making fun of the overuse of objects as symbols. It's basically showing how symbolism isn't symbolic when over done, not how he loves someone." (Shannon Swanson)  a "litany of metaphors?

I wonder...perhaps it is as the reader is to interpret it.  Perhaps it is merely something to make us think.  Perhaps it is just as he describes it...in this case, a cigar is sometimes just a cigar.
Probably I'm just being to direct, and too representational again...
 

Yes, that's me on the right, my sister Mary in the center, and the blushing bride on the left...So...did you miss me?

September

When I was in second grade in Bronson, Michigan, I had a teacher who had us all memorize poetry.

We would first write out the poems, printing carefully (I always got poor grades on this one as I am left handed and I wrote straight across, smearing the soft lead marks with my hand). Then, we would work for a couple of days to memorize them.

One by one, we would go up to her desk...or the chalk board, I don't remember which, and recite the poem.

I think it probably helped us in speaking before our peers, as well as improving our memorization skills. At the very least, we all were exposed to some poetry.

Every year at this time, one of the poems comes to mind.... It is "September", by Helen Hunt Jackson.

"The goldenrod is yellow,
The corn is turning brown,

The trees in apple orchards,
With fruit are bending down. "

I think she would read us the remainder of the poem, but all we had to do is memorize the first stanza....at least that's how I remember it.

The rest of the poem is here

Mrs. Zimmer was ancient...or so it seemed to me at the time. She wore glasses and was white haired. She was at least 72 because we were the last class she taught. Michigan had instituted a mandatory retirement age that year and 72 was the cut off. While she taught that year, she took what I am sure was a well deserved retirement.

She was strict and was old fashioned by even the standards of 1967. I often got into trouble for talking. No surprise to people who know me.

I think of all the students she must have taught. I wonder if any remember her, or the poetry as I do.

I also think of the changes she saw. When she began teaching, married women couldn't teach. Once a woman got married she had to leave her post as she was to turn her attention to her family. The thinking was also that she no longer had to support herself, and that another person more deserving (read a single woman or a man who needed to support a family) needed to take her place.

How the world has changed. I don't remember my daughter ever memorizing poetry. I know she has read very little.

Certainly, she doesn't look at the landscape and see the goldenrod in my garden (yes, I'm behind on the weeding, no matter how pretty it is), or the Asian pears which are now ripe and think of the poetry.

To her, September means something different. It is being back to school, running cross country, and remembering 9/11/2001. September, and our lives, will never be the same.