Poetry

Assorted Poetry & Sage Reflections

Nothing Gold can Stay by Robert Frost

Posted by on Jun 4, 2017 in All Blog Posts, Poetry | 0 comments


Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold, 
Her hardest hue to hold. 
Her early leaf’s a flower; 
But only so an hour. 
Then leaf subsides to leaf. 
So Eden sank to grief, 
So dawn goes down to day. 
Nothing gold can stay.
Read More

Love is a Star Spangled Banner

Posted by on Apr 24, 2016 in All Blog Posts, Media, Poetry, Vintage Style | 0 comments

Love is a Star Spangled Banner

 

Francis Scott Key was an American poet and lawyer who wrote the Star Spangled Banner. Check out videos below.

Francis-Scott Key 1948, 3 Cent Stamp

Francis-Scott Key 1948 Three Cent Stamp

My father’s love was like a high flying flag. So often these days I wonder what he’d have to say about things like our money system (he was a prominent banker) and the current presidential election. Would he vote for Donald Trump? The internet was just getting started when Morris passed away in 1999. The internet is what makes a Trump possible.

WW2 Flag from Mose's Ship

WW2 Flag from Mose’s Ship

The flag from Morris’s battleship is framed and in my brother’s home office.

I lived near my parents most of my adult years up to the point where Mose passed away in 1999. In my teens and twenties I had few concerns about world happenings or the stability of America. In my rather elite all-girl’s high school, Marlborough, the emphasis in the 1970s was as much about pop psychology as any significance of comparative religion, the history of the modern West, the Founding Fathers and American values in American history.
I learned to take great notes at Marlborough, but on the whole, my parent’s high school education and opportunities were superior to mine. That is until the war came.

I remember reading “Working Girls” in high school, a book to enlighten about the daily struggles of prostitutes. I read Malcolm X too for a social studies elective.  The most interesting science I found was beneath the surface of the school. It was the bond of brotherly institutions built by men like Walt Disney whose granddaughter was in my class. Notable, when a group of girls got caught shoplifting at Disneyland in my 8th grade, all of the offenders were expelled at the end of the year. That is except for one girl. One of the shoplifters wasn’t punished at all. She remained in my class and we graduated together. I always admired her beautiful long blond hair, short skirts and Mercedes coupe.

I have a fuller context for my liberal arts high school education now from this journey through my father’s love letters.

How I’d love to hear Morris’s thoughts today about our country. No doubt if he were alive today I’d find him where he so often was on a weekend afternoon, in front of a TV ball game and not wanting to be disturbed until the game was over. Our relational approaches were long standing habits, mine even more distanced than his. Like a flag flying high, I always knew in my heart that I was fully blessed with one man’s protection and love. But the battles of evil and ignorance were mine to fight alone in a tall New England tradition of purification through trial and error.

Below is short history lesson and a song I dedicate to my dad and to all Americans.

Read More

WW2 Inoculation Cartoon and Poem

Posted by on Nov 5, 2015 in 1940s Life, All Blog Posts, Media, Medicine, Navy, Poetry, South Pacific, WW2 | 0 comments

In 1943 Morris was a freshman at Bowdoin College. Once enlisted in the U.S. Navy they gave him inoculations. It’s in a letter. Here’s a poem from the ship’s magazine. I don’t think this piece is about inoculation. It does demonstrate the idea of creating and treating sickness. Big sigh ahhh.

WW2 Inoculation Cartoon

WW2 Inoculation Cartoon & Poem

Read More

“Generation” by P.K. Page

Posted by on Jul 2, 2015 in 1940s Life, All Blog Posts, Bowdoin College, Media, Poetry | 0 comments

I sit in the hotel lobby in San Fransisco. Ella Fitzgerald is singing “Blue Skies”.  Like tarot cards I pull a poem from seventy-two years ago, July 1943.  Morris was in summer school at Bowdoin. He wrote Arline often then. No mail delays. I pull up the table of contents in Poetry Magazine 1943.  I’m drawn to read the last on its list “Generation” by P.K. Page. Last lines hit me first “crash helmets of permanent beliefs”. I study the poem. It’s a lot truth, how it was. I love the line “freed from the muddle of sex by the never-mentioned method”. That sure was handed down- the never mentioning part anyway. I reflect on the poem. Art Garfunkel is playing and sings “let your honesty shine”.

Read More

Reading My Poems from WWII

Posted by on Jul 2, 2015 in All Blog Posts, Poetry, WW2, WW2 Letters, WWII Letter | 0 comments

Poetry Magazine  1970 issue published “Reading my WWII Letters” by William Meredith. The poem is large scale in few lines. Takes me back to the feeling of opening a whole new world the first time I read one of my father’s letters.

Reading My Poems from WWII in Poetry Magazine

Reading My Poems from WWII in Poetry Magazine

 

Read More

The Mending Wall

Posted by on Jul 1, 2014 in All Blog Posts, Poetry, Vintage Style | 0 comments

Selecting photos for Arline’s 90th Birthday “This is Your life” movie
I found this snapshot of me, my brothers, and our dog, Thor.
In 1967 our family dog, Thor, was poisoned and killed by a neighbor.
My father didn’t fence our yard. Thor wandered to other homes near ours.
Reflecting, I thought “Good Fences make Good Neighbors”.  It’s a line is from a poem by Robert Frost.

Densmore Family Photo 1960s

1960s Martha and Thor

Robert Frost was a contemporary of Poet and Oxford scholar
Robert Peter Tristram Coffin. Professor R.P.T.C. was
Morris’s english teacher at Bowdoin College in 1943.

“The Mending Wall” by Robert Frost

SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
He is all pine and I am apple-orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down!” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

Read More