I found this poet through an interview on Poets United : Life of a Poet. Salem Lorot’s interview was so candid, I just had to go check out his work. This is his blog, he’s posted a lot of poems there, and I only chose one that spoke to me. Maybe you might find more that interest you. Here is Meditations of a Father.
Son, when I admonished you to curve a path for yourself
To create wonderful vistas of a world unexplored—
Was my voice harsh?
When I urged you to grow up to be a man of great learning
Learned in poetry, science, law, theology, philosophy, geology
Did I intimidate you, son?
Did you not grab the earnestness of my plea?
Son, when I walk around and see you dull
Caged by the stifling thoughts of here and now
Do you think me happy
When I know that your mind can soar the skies
Wrestling with the ideas of man and the earth?
Am I too harsh to you, Son,
When in my unguarded moments of anger
I tell you that your dreams are too great
To be traded with the present sorrows and want?
When I lead you into the night
And point to you the majesty of the skies
Do you mistake me for a senile old man?
When I show you which stars shine brightest
Prodding you to take those stars to your sleep
Do I test your patience, son?
When I wake you up at dawn
So that we can watch the sunrise
Do you see me as a mean father?
Do you doubt my sanity when I weep
Just by witnessing the birth of a new day?
Son, when I speak a lot about the flowers,
The stars, the moon, the oceans, the butterflies,
The rocky mountains, the sand dunes
Do you sometimes secretly wish
I would just stop and talk ‘normally’?
Son, am I harsh, when I let you in into the greatest secrets of the universe?
Do I bore you, Son?
Poetry Week Thoughts
This poem reminds me of my mother when I was growing up and now. No matter what age I am, I always find myself seeking my mum out to see what she thinks of a certain situation. If it’s too disturbing, I ask her, “Why would this happen, why would they do that?” Of course she might not know why, but I feel I have to ask that question because she’s my mother. And the reason why I’ll ask her these questions even now is because she was always the person who knew the most when I was growing up. She’d have the answer when I asked the questions. Strange isn’t it.
Having that perspective of my own mother, I wonder just as Salem does in this poem; if I was to get my own child, would I be able to become this person to him/her? This assuring person with all the answers, would I fill that position easily or would I end up a bore, a nag, or seem annoying? Which makes me wonder now, did my mother have the same questions when she had me and I started asking her questions?
This poem is very thought provoking isn’t it? I love that it makes me wonder, as Salem does in his thoughts.