"The Veteran in a New Field" by Winslow Homer‘Postponement’ and Other Poetry by C.B. Anderson The Society September 29, 2020 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 17 Comments Postponement I disappoint some folks of whom I’m fond, But I, in turn, am irritated by The nebulous assurance that beyond This life, in mansions somewhere in the sky, I’ll have another chance to tell them why I found myself unable to respond To constant pleas. A rain gauge cannot lie: The tearfall it confirms would fill a pond. A magic wand’s the least that they would need To make me act the way they think I should. November finds me splitting cords of wood To warm my bones and—later on—to feed A fire. My sympathy’s not guaranteed, And feeling guilty does more harm than good. Turnabout Though many of our neighbors wish us well __And hope we live a life without distress __As we move forward through the wilderness, Some others wish that we would go to hell And there, in brimstone fire, forever dwell. __Intentions vary wildly is our guess, __And therefore we should openly confess That we have wished those others fates as fell. Though this, of course, is not the way to live, __However much our habits drive us there, __It’s difficult at times to breathe fresh air. Imagine being willing to forgive __For nothing but to likewise be forgiven. __Toward such a fair accord should one be driven. Fatherless We gather in the kitchen when it rains, And we defrost some stew-meat for the pot, Decanting amber spirits for our pains. A festive celebration this is not; It’s what we do while waiting for the sky To clear. And when the sun at last comes out, With neither us nor ground completely dry, We head out to the barn to be about Our chores. The livestock need some food and bedding, And there are fresh-laid eggs we must collect. We don’t exactly know where life is heading Or whether all our bearings are correct. While me and Jed pitch hay out in the barn And carry buckets full of tepid water, Our mother finds her needles and her yarn And starts to knit, just like her own had taught her. We traipse back to the house through clinging mud, And as we reach the creaky backdoor steps She yells, “Scrape off that stinkin’ barnyard crud Before you come inside, you goddam schleps!” Our father left us seven years ago, And though our mother done the best she could, We hope we’ll someday manage to outgrow The hurt of Dad’s desertion—knock on wood. C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 17 Responses Joe Tessitore September 29, 2020 First Sally’s poetry, then Susan’s and now yours – can there be a better line-up than this? One technical question, C.B., your use of the word “fell” in line eight of “Turnabout”, would you please explain it? Reply Shola Balogun September 29, 2020 Thank you so much for your observation on the “fell” used in line eight of “Turnaround”. Subconsciously, I replaced the word with “well” when I got to the line. Hopefully I did not miss out on the intrinsic meaning due to my (mis) reading. In all, what we have here again today are great living poems. Reply James A. Tweedie September 29, 2020 “Fell” as an adjective can mean malevolent, sinister, evil, or ill. I have never heard the phrase “to wish them fell,” before, but it is clearly the right word, creatively and effectively used–a word I have used myself to good effect to what I believe was good effect. As always, well done, C.B. I am particularly attracted to “Fatherless” where you reveal an intimate vulnerability that gives us a glimpse into your heart (or, perhaps, a glimpse into the heart of a character that you created?). Either way, thank you for that. The sentiment touched me deeply. Joseph S. Salemi September 29, 2020 Remember Shakespeare’s line about “That fell sergeant, Death…” The word means “frightening, horrible, fiendish, lethal.” It comes from the Late Latin noun FELLO, FELLONIS – an evil person. That’s also where we get the English word “felon.” C.B. Anderson September 29, 2020 Joe, as any dictionary will tell you, “fell” is an adjective that means “of an inhumanly cruel nature.” Reply Julian D. Woodruff September 29, 2020 Mr. Andersan, Thanks for these gems. Great technical control and, esp. in the 3rd, wonderful use of language. In the 2nd, what about a period or colon, rather than a comma, after “… drive us there”?; or am I mistaking the sense? Reply C.B. Anderson September 29, 2020 Julian, If you take the first & third lines of that stanza, you have a dependent clause preceding a declarative sentence. The second line is simply a clause that qualifies the first clause, so I think a comma is sufficient. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 29, 2020 Each one of these poems is a shining gem and an absolute privilege to read on many levels. I fully appreciate the craft of each poem – the form, the rhymes, the rich array of language, together with the smooth flow of words that fit together flawlessly. For me, the craft (no matter how admirable) should never outshine the message, and, for me, the message conveyed in each poem has intrigued, engaged, and touched me. Very well done, indeed. Reply C.B. Anderson September 29, 2020 Thank you for the kind words, Susan. Strangely, I didn’t think these poems were all that good, but perhaps you are the better judge. In any event, I have no standing by which to dispute your opinion. Reply Joseph S. Salemi September 29, 2020 In “Fatherless” Kip Anderson has adroitly placed two dialectical usages that add just the right touch of rusticity to a poem about rural life: “Me and Jed” instead of “Jed and I” (quatrain 4) and “our mother done the best she could” instead of “did the best she could” (last quatrain) Reply C.B. Anderson September 29, 2020 It’s funny (peculiar) that you should say that, Joseph. At the time of writing it just seemed the right thing to do. I was a little bit worried that someone would point out that it was a bit odd that a rural denizen would use a Yiddish word such as “schlep.” Well, the old lady probably had a smart phone tucked away in her knitting basket. Reply Peter Hartley September 30, 2020 CBA – I liked all three of these very much. The last lines of each well sum up the content of each. The dialect expressions, when easily comprehensible (as they are here) can only add more verisimilitude to the scenes they are there to illuminate. Reply C.B. Anderson September 30, 2020 Thanks, Peter. I must admit, though, that most of the good moves I make are accidental. I’ve become used to myself and certain responses to situations have become automatic. Reply David Watt October 1, 2020 C.B., your first two poems flow like easy conversation, and tidily wrap up their case in the final two lines. “Fatherless” is more sentimental in nature, and highlights another side to your poetic skills. Reply BDW October 1, 2020 On the Poetry of CBA by Wilbur Dee Case Remarkable the gain against the cost, the easy prosy feel and lessons lost, not metaphyic’lly done, nor embossed, but rather more or less like thawing frost. Reply C.B. Anderson October 1, 2020 Thanks,… I guess. Reply sally cook October 4, 2020 CB – These are fine poems with the added spice of recollection, which adds an additional and poignant dimension. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.