Sunday, June 21, 2015

A Father's Day Poem by the Editor

Where Are Their Soldiers Now?
Steven Wittenberg Gordon

Here I sit in merry Mead
Looking at Greek art.
Many vases
Many faces
Confront me from each part
Of the room in which I read.
Centaurs that do battle men,
Wing’ed monsters represented
All in etchings
And in sketchings--
Those Greeks should be complimented.
Hail them once, twice, and again!
And yet, among what is unveiled
No scene, not even one,
Of all the stories
And the glories
Shows a father with his son;
Perhaps none was detailed.
Those silly Greeks,
They were undone.
They missed the father
And the son,
Caring only about battles won.
Where are their soldiers now?

Poet’s Notes:  I composed this poem circa 1987 at the Mead Art Gallery at Amherst College where I worked as an attendant while a student there.  The job mainly consisted of earning $5.00 per hour to do your homework (or compose poetry) at a desk near the gallery entrance--a highly coveted work-study job that I was fortunate to have obtained.

My son is now about the age that I was then.  I am not sure if my own father, may his memory be a blessing, ever read the poem--if he did, I do not recall that he ever mentioned it.

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