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The House on 58th Street

for my father Salvatore J. Salemi (1913-2008)

The house on 58th Street stood right by
A cemetery—Calvary by name.
Looking out our windows we could see
A high stone wall, hand-fashioned of huge rocks
(And to a child’s mind only giants could
Have raised them up to stand there, eight feet tall,
Jealously enclosing holy ground).
The third-floor bedroom window gave a view
Over the wall: a spread of granite slabs,
Marble headstones, statuary, urns
And mausoleums—each a little house
With bronze doors, Doric columns, iron grilles.

A guest once came to visit, spent the night
In that bedroom where you could look out
On Calvary and all its bric-a-brac
Of monuments and funerary stonework.
Next morning, down at breakfast, he remarked:

I saw a mourner praying at a grave—
A woman knelt before it, motionless.
She stayed there for the whole night, and she was
There at 6 A.M. when I got up.
What piety! What reverence for the dead!

My mother coughed and smiled. My father laughed
And spoke to the guest as gently as he could:

That is a statue of a praying angel
Facing the gravestone, not a living lady.
It’s life-sized, and at twilight she appears
To be a kneeling mourner. Many times
We have all fancied what you thought you saw.

We lived at 58th Street for three years
And I can still recall each room and corner,
The patterns of linoleum, the scent
Of roses in the garden—basil, thyme,
And freshly spaded earth. A cherry tree
As dark and old as Calvary itself
Shaded that garden like the Savior’s hand
Raised in a blessing over what we did.
From the cemetery, on occasion,
The smell of new-dug ground would drift to us,
As if the place had gardeners at work.

Three short years. For that brief span of time
I was the closest that I ever was
To my poor father. After we had moved
The pitfalls and the quicksand of distrust,
The twisting knife of Oedipal contempt,
And all of boyhood’s sick ignominy
Kept me aloof, apart—a spiteful imp
Who knew no father, nor acknowledged one.
Is that the way with all of us? I wondered,
For when he visited grandfather’s grave
In Calvary, my father wept, and spoke
His sobbing, piercing grief in old Sicilian,
As if six decades vanished in a flash.

Life is a Via Dolorosa, etched
Like shadowed twistings in a mezzotint,
Where light and dark are interwoven streaks,
And every blessing has its tearful station.
My father was the blessing on my life,
I was the darkness—cold, implacable,
Savage in unfilial neglect.
And I still hear from Calvary the words
My son, my son—have you forsaken me?
Come to my arms, and be with me again.

.

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Joseph S. Salemi has published five books of poetry, and his poems, translations and scholarly articles have appeared in over one hundred publications world-wide.  He is the editor of the literary magazine TRINACRIA and writes for Expansive Poetry On-line. He teaches in the Department of Humanities at New York University and in the Department of Classical Languages at Hunter College.

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26 Responses

  1. Paul Freeman

    I think that’s the most personal poem of yours I’ve read, Joseph. Its vividness and emotional reaction in the reader comes from its honesty.

    I think no matter how good our relationships are with anyone, we still have regrets once they’ve gone. Likewise, I’d like to think that those who’ve gone before would forgive the shortcomings of those left behind.

    Thanks for the read. Perfect in its acknowledgement of imperfections for Father’s Day.

    Reply
    • Paul Martin Freeman

      A fine and sensitive comment on a very moving poem. A much needed reminder that there is a level where people of good will may sometimes meet deeper than politics.

      Reply
  2. Joe Tessitore

    My words cannot do justice to the depth of beauty here conveyed.

    Reply
  3. Roy Eugene Peterson

    A perfectly appropriate brooding and melancholy personal story for Father’s Day disclosing a depth of feelings.

    Reply
  4. James Sale

    An extremely well wrought poem, Joe. And seeing you there as a toddler I am reminded of that quotation from Charles Lamb: ‘Lawyers, I suppose, were children once’. Why, even the formidable, fierce and trenchant critic, Joseph Salemi, was a child once! As was Salvatore, his own father (It’s Father’s Day in the UK BTW). When we consider that we have to wonder how we got from there or then to here and now? The arms of compassion stretch out endlessly … a beautiful and resonant piece.

    Reply
  5. Paddy Raghunathan

    A heartfelt poem for Father’s Day.

    Best regards,

    Paddy

    Reply
  6. Jeff Eardley

    This is a wonderful and very special poem for Father’s Day. Thank you for sharing your memories.

    Reply
    • Julian D. Woodruff

      This is one of the best pieces to appear on this site, Joseph. I think especially memorable is the beginning of the coda, “Life is a Via Dolorosa … every blessing has its tearful station.” I wish I could honor my parents with lines of this caliber.
      Your poem brings to my mind Schuetz’s “Fili mi Absolon”; versions of this masterpiece must be available on YouTube and Spotify, for anyone interested.

      Reply
  7. Brian A Yapko

    I have read this poem three times now, Joe, not because I find it elusive but because there is so much about this poem to love. This is confessional story-telling of a very high, almost Augustinian order. There is pride here which accepts being humbled by the passage of time. There is deep love and regret. There is insight. There is a raw and painful honesty which shines through the symbols references within the poem. I feel I could write quite a bit about this piece, but I want to make sure I bring up the following points:

    First: the religious language of the poem centered in Christ and His Passion, with specific references to Calvary, that highly symbolic cherry tree (interesting that cherries bleed) and the Via Dolorosa. There may be more guilt than is fair in contemplating the idea that the speaker has crucified his father, but it is a very human and sensitive expression of remorse.

    Second: The cemetery, which is so carefully composed as to be almost a character in the piece. Yes, death and life figure into your poem, but it’s more than that. There is an irony here is that although there are several references to the living watching the occurrences in the cemetery, one almost gets the feeling that it is the living who are being watched by an audience of the dead — particularly that mourning woman that can so easily be mistaken for either a live person or an angel or even a Marian apparition (which would tie in nicely with your Passion imagery.) Perhaps I go a bit beyond your intent, but I am also reminded of the symbolism in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, in which the statuary symbolizes the fact that our actions are indeed judged.

    Third: You do a very interesting thing stylistically when you berate yourself for not treating your father as kindly as you now wish you could have. You abandon (temporarily) the religious imagery and invoke the quicksand, the imp, the Oedipal contempt. “Oedipal” is particularly interesting to me because it both invoke a non-Christian pagan world of inadvertent depravity, and it suggests the speaker’s highly educated classically trained background (“cold and implacable.”) This is then contrasted sharply with the man who speaks in traditional, humble Sicilian and who warmly beckons “come to my arms.”

    I’m quite certain there is more to say. In the meantime, I must say this: I consider this my favorite of your many marvelous works. It is beautiful, it is haunting, it’s use of symbolism is powerful, it is honest and it is deeply human. Your father in heaven must surely be pleased by this most excellent Father’s Day offering.

    Reply
    • R MMoore

      Thank you Brian A Yapko for the your kindness.
      And thank you, Joseph Salemi, because you made me remember my own losses and at the same time you made me again realize that my Faith gives me hope: loved ones are not gone, but only in another mode of existence, by the Grace of God.
      RMMoore

      Reply
  8. Cynthia Erlandson

    The imagery is exquisite, especially of the cemetery at the beginning, the Via Dolorosa at the end, and the cherry tree that “Shaded the garden like the Savior’s hand.” The story of the guest who thought the statue was alive was moving and startling; and the image of the father weeping over his own father’s grave was emotionally wrenching, as was the overall impression the poem makes. And the biblical near-echo in “My son — my son, have you forsaken me?” is extremely powerful.

    Reply
  9. C.B. Anderson

    Holy shit, Joe! You’ve hammered in the final nail. What wrecks we are compared to our fathers, my own a WWII vet. How inadequate we are to teach our sons, much less our daughters.

    Reply
  10. Margaret Coats

    As I began to read this poem, I started to think it might be the finest I have read here. I wondered whether the portion yet to come would measure up to the earlier part. It is better.

    Joseph, this calls forth multiple visions. From the very beginning you speak of sensory sight and imagined sight (the child’s view of the wall as built by giants). The house, itself a holy ground of memory, leads to the holy ground of the cemetery (seen at different moments of further vision), where there are more little houses. The cemetery, shaded by the cherry tree which is likened to Our Savior’s hand in blessing, leads on to the supremely holy Calvary of Christ. The poem is a passageway of blessing and blight, leading up to that final questioning complaint and welcoming call.

    You do your father great honor.

    Reply
  11. Monika Cooper

    It is deep. The personal memory palace. I just read C. B. Anderson’s “Bathtub Madonna” poem and it goes well with this one: the grave, the garden, the linoleum, the mezzotint.

    Let perpetual light shine upon him.

    Reply
  12. Joseph S. Salemi

    My deepest thanks to all who have spoken so kindly above, and added their very thoughtful comments and analysis. I have been away from the computer for more than a day now; otherwise I would have thanked each person individually.

    Sometimes readers see more deeply into a poem than the poet ever dreamed possible. I am glad for that.

    Reply
  13. Louis Groarke

    Lovely poem; dignified language; you communicate deep sentiment, without sentimentality …. very nicely, carefully done…

    Reply
  15. Shaun C. Duncan

    This is a remarkable piece of work that packs a real emotional punch without recourse to mawkish sentimentality, gathering its power from a wealth of incidental detail until we come to the final two stanzas which are devastating in their impact. It also feels deeply personal whilst speaking to universal human truths regarding family, loss and regret, avoiding the kind of trite navel-gazing which has sadly come to characterize the genre. Surely this is one of the finest poems written by anyone in this century.

    Reply
  16. Joseph S. Salemi

    To Louis, Lisa, and Shaun — I appreciate your generous words. My deepest thanks.

    Reply
  17. Yael

    This is probably the best Father’s Day poem I’ve ever had the privilege to read, bravo!
    First, the photo is adorable.
    Then I love the juxtaposition of the house and garden description of the living with the houses and grounds for the dead, who have gone on to shed their earthly house. The name Calvary and the anecdote of the visitor mistaking the statue for a live human being sets the stage perfectly for the description of the inter-generational relationship break which then follows. Satan’s deep cold pool of murderous wrath which lurks in the basement of every human family relationship sucks out the love and life by causing the young to objectify their elders and to forget that they are only human beings too.
    The last stanza perfectly puts the entire narrative into perspective against the cosmic back drop of the great controversy between Christ and Satan, life and death. It blew my mind and made me cry.

    Reply
    • Joseph S. Salemi

      Thank, you, Yael. So much of the poem is non-fictive that I marvel at how unrepresentative it is of my usual work. We really did live on 58th Street in Woodside, our house was directly across from Calvary Cemetery, the incident with the house guest actually occurred, we did have a very old cherry tree in the garden, the smell of turned earth did come across from the cemetery on occasion, and sadly enough, I was alienated from my father for many years.

      I am honored that the poem moved you.

      Reply
  18. Sally Cook

    Joe –
    I am just now beginning to understand what my father wanted of me, and to see his plight with any sympathy. I see this in your poem and recognize a similar impossible longing. The photograph is touching.

    Reply
    • Joseph S. Salemi

      Sally, I know from what you have told me that your father Donald could be very difficult and unresponsive. You were not to blame. In my case, I was totally at fault in the troubled relationship with my dad. But at this point in our lives, we can both see the situations with clearer vision.

      I went to the Eric Firestone Gallery in Manhattan today to see your exhibit. What a magnificent collection of paintings!

      Reply
  19. Joshua C. Frank

    It’s well-done enough that, try as I might, I can’t write much of a comment about it for fear that I’ll burst into tears about my own father, who died about two years ago.

    Reply
    • Joseph S. Salemi

      Thank you, Joshua. I will say a prayer for your father’s soul.

      Reply
      • Joshua C. Frank

        Thank you, Joseph. I greatly appreciate that.

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