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Rev. Joey N. Welsh: For Fathers Day

Another Angle. For Father's Day: a poet's gratitude for fatherly guidance was first published 18 June 2006 in the Hart County News-Herald.
To see other articles by this author, enter "Rev. Joey N. Welsh," or "Another Angle," in the searchbox. The next earlier Another Angle: The enduring power of Words

by The Rev. Joey N. Welsh

I always have enjoyed the work of American poet Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979). Very much a perfectionist, Bishop never allowed a large volume of work to be printed. Four years after her death Bishop's Complete Poems, 1927-1979, was published. It is a slim volume, because she never allowed anyone to see a poem unless she was completely satisfied with it and proud of it.



Had major challenges to overcome in early lifeShe had some major challenges to overcome in early life. Her father died when Elizabeth was an infant, and her mother suffered a profound mental collapse, after which she was institutionalized. Little Elizabeth spent her childhood living with her grandparents in Nova Scotia. She later looked back on those Nova Scotia days with great affection, idealizing them in some of her poems. She respected her grandfather, who acted both as a strong and guiding father and a caring, loving dad to her.

Began writing poetry before entering Vassar

She began writing poetry before she entered Vassar College in 1929, and while she was in college she and other students (including Mary McCarthy, who was to become a prominent writer) founded a literary journal. The librarian at Vassar had introduced her to poet Marianne Moore; Bishop and Moore maintained a friendship and exchanged voluminous correspondence until Moore's death in 1972. Bishop befriended Ezra Pound, visiting him often while he was confined in St. Elizabeth's Mental Hospital in Washington, D. C., and she wrote a poem about those experiences, "Visits to St. Elizabeth's" (1950).

Bishop's awards include the Pulitzer Prize

Bishop taught at several universities over the years, including Harvard, New York University, and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Her awards included the Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award, and the National Book Critics Circle Award. She is the only American to be awarded the International Neustadt Award for Literature. When author Flannery O'Connor died in 1964, Bishop wrote the obituary printed in The New York Review of Books, and she was a contributor to The New Yorker.

Always cherished the memories of childhood

Despite her experiences as a literary celebrity and a friend of some icons of 20th century poetry, she always cherished the memories of her childhood days in Nova Scotia. She adored her remembrances of the fatherly guidance she received from her grandfather. She knew the difference between those men who are merely biological fathers and those who are true and nurturing dads. And she celebrated the things she learned as a child, including the virtues of good manners.

A poem worthy of reflective thought on Father's Day

Here is Elizabeth Bishop's poem of tribute from horse and buggy days, a work worthy of some reflective thought on this Father's Day. This gentle and sweet poem makes me wish that more fathers (and substitute dads) dispensed guidance on civility and manners in our own day and that their advice truly was heeded.

MANNERS
(For a Child of 1918)

My grandfather said to me
as we sat on the wagon seat,
"Be sure to remember to always
speak to everyone you meet."

We met a stranger on foot.
My grandfather's whip tapped his hat.
"Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day."
And I said it and bowed where I sat.

Then we overtook a boy we knew
with his big pet crow on his shoulder.
"Always offer everyone a ride;
don't forget that when you get older,"

my grandfather said. So Willy
climbed up with us, but the crow
gave a "Caw!" and flew off. I was worried.
How would he know where to go?

But he flew a little way at a time
from fence post to fence post, ahead;
and when Willy whistled he answered.
"A fine bird," my grandfather said,

"and he's well brought up. See, he answers
nicely when he's spoken to.
Man or beast, that's good manners.
Be sure that you both always do."

When automobiles went by,
the dust hid the people's faces,
but we shouted "Good day! Good day!
Fine day!" at the top of our voices.
When we came to Hustler Hill,
he said that the mare was tired,
so we all got down and walked,
as our good manners required.
E-mail: joey_n_welsh@hotmail.com

Visits to St. Elizabeth's
by Elizabeth Bishop [1950]
This is the house of Bedlam.

This is the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a wristwatch
telling the time
of the talkative man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the honored man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the roadstead all of board
reached by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the old, brave man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

These are the years and the walls of the ward,
the winds and clouds of the sea of board
sailed by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the cranky man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
beyond the sailor
winding his watch
that tells the time
of the cruel man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a world of books gone flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
of the batty sailor
that winds his watch
that tells the time
of the busy man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is there, is flat,
for the widowed Jew in the newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
waltzing the length of a weaving board
by the silent sailor
that hears his watch
that ticks the time
of the tedious man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to feel if the world is there and flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances joyfully down the ward
into the parting seas of board
past the staring sailor
that shakes his watch
that tells the time
of the poet, the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the soldier home from the war.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is round or flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances carefully down the ward,
walking the plank of a coffin board
with the crazy sailor
that shows his watch
that tells the time
of the wretched man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

From The Complete Poems 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop, published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc.


This story was posted on 2010-06-20 06:07:09
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