FIVE OF MY FATHER’S FAVOURITE POEMS
THOMAS JOSEPH JAMES GUTHRIE – 12th May 1921 – 6th April 2009
He was a writer, a reader, a poet and did some of these as ‘party pieces’. He was a charming man who loved music of all kinds - an entertainer who played the mouth organ very well (he would say he played the piano only ‘adequately’), he sang with passion, he recited poetry (often crying as he did so) and he and my Mom danced beautifully together. He was a sportsman too, a swimmer, diver, lifesaver, physical education instructor, and a gymnast, and he introduced me to yoga in 1966, something we did together weekly until two years before he died. He influenced me in so many ways, and taught me so many things, and I miss him still. Reading these poems is a great comfort to me. Yesterday I listened to Nelson Eddy and Jeannette McDonald and Mario Lanza singing, and I swear I could feel him in the room with me.
MY SON MY SON
MY SON, MY SON, YOU’RE EVERYTIHNG TO ME,
MY SON, MY SON, YOU’RE ALL I’D HOPED YOU’D BE,
MY SON, MY SON, MY ONLY PRIDE AND JOY,
GOD BLESS, AND KEEP YOU SAFE,
MY OWN, MY PRECIOUS BOY.
FOR ALL THE PAIN AND HEARTACHE
LIFE HAS BROUGHT YOU,
ONE PRECOIIUS GIFT, HAS MADE IT ALL WORTHWHILE,
FOR HEAVEN BLESSED, AND WITH GREAT JOY, RWARDED ME,
FOR I AN LOOK AND SEE,
MY OWN, BELOVED SON.
MY SON, MY SON, JUST DO THE BEST YOU CAN,
THEN IN MY HEART I’M SUR EYOU’LL FACE LIFE LIKE A MAN.
MY PRIDE AND JOY,
MY LIFE, MY BOY,
MY SON, MY SON.
BLUEBIRD OF HAPPINESS
The poet with is pen, the peasant with his plough,
It makes no difference who you are, it’s all the same somehow.
The king upon his throne, the jester at his feet,4
The artist, the actor, the man on the street
It’s a life of smiles and a life of tears,
A life of hope and a life of fears,
A blinding torrent of rain, and a brilliant burst of sun,
A biting, tearing pain and bubbling sparkling fun.
And no matter what you have, don’t envy those you meet,
It’s all the same, it’s in the game, the bitter and the sweet.
And if things don’t look so cheerful, just show a little fight,
With every bit of darkness, there’s a little bit of light.
And with every bit of hatred, there’s a little bit of love,
And with every cloudy morning, there’s a midnight moon above.
(listen to Jan Peerce’s version – this was one of my Dad’s ‘party pieces’.)
TREES
I think that I shall ever see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by people like me,
But only God can make a tree.
ODE TO PRESENT
This moment as smooth as a board, and fresh,
This our, this day as clean as an untouched glass
Not a single spider web from the past:
We touch the moment with our fingers,
We cut it to size
We direct its blooming.
It’s living, it’s alive
It rings nothing from yesterday that can’t be redeemed,
Nothing from the lost past.
This is our creation, it’s growing this very instant,
Kicking up sand or eating out of our hand.
Catch it, don’t let it slip away!
Keep it from vanishing into drams or words!
Grab it, pin it down, make it obey!
Make it a road or bell, a machine or kiss,
A book or caress.
Slice into its sweet scent of wood,
Make yourself a chair from it, then weave yourself a seat.
Try it out – or better, try a ladder.
Yes a ladder:
Rise out of the moment step by step,
Feet firmly planted on the wood of the moment.
Up and up but not too much –
Just high enough to patch the holes in the roof.
Not too far, you don’t want to reach heaven.
Climb up to the apples but ot as faqr as the clouds
(let them cruise the sky, drifting towards the past.)
You are your own moment,
Your own apple; pluck it from your apple tree.
Hold it up in your hand;
It shines like a star.
Stroke it, sink your teeth into it –
Now off you go whistling on your way.
The day will come when with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving at your own door.
And each will smile at the other’s welcome.
Saying: “Sit here!” “Eat.”
You will love again,
The stranger who was yourself.
Give bread, Give back your heart, to itself.
To the stranger who has loved you all your life,
Whom you ignore for another,
Who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
The photographs, the desperate notes.
Peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit, feast on your life ……
Derrick Woolcott
Desiderata
Les Crane
Desiderata. Desiderata. Desiderata.
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender,
Be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others -
Even the dull and ignorant, they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons - they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter,
For always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career -
However humble, it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is.
Many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially do not feign affection, neither be cynical about love.
For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
It is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the council of the years,
Gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune,
But do not distress yourself with imaginings -
Many fears are borne of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe.
No less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
Keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be careful. Strive to be happy.
Songwriters: Jonathan Douglas / Soren Rasted / M Ehrmanns