What did she know
when she hung that picture
about being a cripple
in 1964?
What did she know of that white Maine world?
Horsemill Holler
mother and retarded daughter
school to teach white children
town to love white men
What did she know about shades of brown and tan?
chicken salad lunches
ride to school on buses
swing the shining sickle
cut the ripened grain
What did she know
when she hung that picture
of the handicaps of longings
and the struggle to get home?
Thanks for stopping by my blog today. :) Great poem!
ReplyDeleteThank you, bluesugarpoet. Andrew Wyeth's death has had me thinking about my first exposure to his work,way back when...
ReplyDeleteI know the language is strong, but it's the language of those times.
Karen, this is beautiful. And I cannot imagine that this is the poem you were afraid to post?? No fear, just onward! Can't wait to read more...
ReplyDeleteSkillfully rendered.
ReplyDeleteLove the musings here. The despondency of the "she" in your poem is palpable.
Loved the artwork, of course, and... reference to Horsemill Holler. ;O
Jennifer - thanks for the encouragement. Sticking my toe into poetry, especially, is difficult.
ReplyDeleteKaye - I loved this woman so, and as a child I had no idea of the difficulties of her life.
this has teeth - strong language, yes - well chosen and powerful in context. given, i am a sucker for wyeth - but i think this truly honors the work as beautifully as it tells its own story.
ReplyDeleteTerrific tribute to Andrew Wyeth's passing.
ReplyDeleteI was struck by the language style here. It's grit brings me back to the times as I imagine them and says it well.
Joaquin - after reading your work, I am humbled by your comments. I stared and stared at that painting as a child, wondering what it meant and why, of all things that could have been hung on that classroom wall, this was the one that was there. As an adult, I think I know.
ReplyDeleteGeL - those times were gritty; let's hope we never, ever go back to that!
I saw that picture reproduced recently; it's been haunting me ever since. I think now your poem will. Finely written.
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, Dave. I've been to pics and poems and found it thought-provoking and humorous -- a great combination!
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem, Karen. A fitting tribute to Andrew Wyeth...
ReplyDeleteOh, Karen, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to arrive at your beautiful home here! And to be greeted by this beautiful, poignant Wyeth poem makes me realize how much I've been missing.
ReplyDeleteI loved the contrast between the everyday life, and worlds we can't completely imagine. Especially since I can see you as a little girl, looking at that painting and wondering at motivations and inspiration that hung it there.
This works on every level. I just loved it.
Great stuff, Karen! Thanks for commenting on my blog, and thereby leading me here. I shall very much enjoy following your work!
ReplyDeleteVesper - thank you. A tribute, I hope, to both Wyatt and Miss Haygood.
ReplyDeleteSarah - In a way, you inspired me to write this when you posted your poem and we talked about Wyeth's death. Thanks to you for that. I wanted to invite you to read this when I wrote it, but I didn't want to seem self-promoting. I'm glad you found your way here, and I thank you for your inspiration and the comments.
Rachel - thanks for coming by. I'll see you at your place!
I'm glad I found my way, too, and to know that I helped with the inspiration warms my heart.
ReplyDeleteIf you really have just started writing poetry, then I marvel to think how you'll be in a year's time. :) I was new to poetry when I started my blog, and now it's probably the most pleasurable part of writing for me. I'm so glad you're diving in, Karen! You have beautiful secrets to share.