If, like me, your last attempt to answer your dad’s question, “What’s so great about poetry anyway?” ended in monosyllables and nondescript grunts, maybe it’s time to show rather than tell. Here are five different poems for five different types of dads for those dedicated Father’s Day gift-givers that might shed some light onto what exactly is so great about poetry, while showing him some timely appreciation along the way.
A poem for dads everywhere:
If your dad feels discouraged from connecting with poetry, a poem that reflects on fatherhood from the perspective of his child can at least be considered timely. Or, maybe he’ll relate to it and find that exciting. Either way, this poem is a solid start into poetry for any father. For those who believe in fate or just serendipity, Sunday seems to be a great day to celebrate dad no matter the season.
“Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
A poem for dads whose kids went to liberal arts colleges:
If your dad sent his kids off to school only for them to come back preaching about why the communist model is ideal yet unattainable, this poem is certainly one that can shed some light on the experience his kid was having in their first semester.
An excerpt from “Daddy” by Sylvia Plath
If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.
A poem for dads who listened to the Ben Folds Live album every time they picked up their kids from school:
If your dad enjoys routine but appreciates life’s little complexities, Joe Brainard’s genre-bending, repetitive and digestible lines of insight into politics, society, and personal identity will be profound but accessible. Brainard’s discussion of these topics is characterized by their simultaneously hilarious and acute observations, reminiscent of Folds’ music.
An excerpt from “I Remember” by Joe Brainard
I remember finding myself in situations I all of a sudden feel (remember) I've been in before: a "repeat" life flash.
I remember those times of not knowing if you feel really happy or really sad. (Wet eyes and a high heart.)
I remember, in crowds--total isolation!
I remember, at parties--naked!
I remember body realizations about how fragile we (life) really are (is).
I remember trying to figure things out--(life)--trying to get it all down to something basic--and ending up with nothing. Except a dizzy head.
I remember how much rock and roll music can hurt. It can be so free and sexy when you are not.
A poem for dads who like to bring the family on early morning hikes during vacation:
If your dad appreciates the great outdoors and making the most of free time, Walt Whitman’s crooning about the ocean symbolizing the passage of time is something he can identify with and will leave him placing an Amazon order for Whitman’s collection, “Leaves of Grass.”
An excerpt from “As I Ebb’d with the Ocean of Life” by Walt Whitman
As I ebb’d with the ocean of life,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk’d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok,
Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant,
Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways,
I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward,
Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems,
Was seiz’d by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot,
The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the land of the globe.
Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those slender windrows, Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten,
Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the tide,
Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me,
Paumanok there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses,
These you presented to me you fish-shaped island,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk’d with that electric self seeking types.
A poem for dads who likes to tell stories that start with, “Well, when I was your age…”:
If your dad takes significant pride in a childhood marked by days spent running free, this poem will bring a jovial sense of nostalgia. Warning: it might result in a year of him saying, “You know what I’d love for Father’s Day next year? A boat.”
An excerpt from “Child On The Marsh” by Andrew Hudgins
I worked the river’s slick banks, grabbling
in mud holes underneath tree roots.
You’d think it would be dangerous,
but I never came up with a cooter
or cottonmouth hung on my fingertips.
Occasionally, though, I leapt upright,
my fingers hooked through the red gills
of a mudcat. And then I thrilled
the thrill my father felt when he
burst home from fishing, drunk, and yelled,
well before dawn, “Wake up! Come here!”
He tossed some fatwood on the fire
and flames raged, spat, and flickered. He held
a four-foot mudcat. “I caught it!”
he yelled. “I caught this monster!” At first,
dream-dazed, I thought it was something
he’d saved us from. By firelight, the fish
gleamed wickedly. But Father laughed
and hugged me hard, pressing my head
against his coat, which stank, and glittered
where dried scales caught the light.
Now, these recommendations are not meant to force what isn’t meant to be; sometimes, dads and poetry just don’t mix. But there’s little else that says “I love you, Dad” like letting him know that you’re reminded of him when you’re reading. Love is just marrying together all those things which you hold dear, and any father can appreciate being thought of, even if they’d rather have a boat to show for it.
Written by Apple Gilmore
Apple Gilmore is a student at Smith College studying literature and the environment. Her work has been featured in Emulate Magazine, The Acanthus, Riot, and more. She is on the editorial board of Emulate Magazine and interns with Bull City Press. Aside from poetry, her favorite things to write are heavily decorated letters to her pen pals.