At Work

[Hawkman]

It didn’t happen often
The chance to see what daddy did:
we were a distraction,
treated rather like the cat,
tolerated with mild amusement
when we played;
told off, when our games dismayed.

Within the hanger it was dark.
Dim yellow light
spilled like sand through doorways,
lay under windows;
little beaches of light
painted on the concrete floor.

There was a lurking presence,
a great white leviathan at bay
and I was left to play;
play with a headset,
in which I only heard the sea,

play with a great bank of switches,
which I was afraid to touch;
what did they do when I wiggled them?
The lights did not come on—
a dull toy for a boy of five.

I stood outside a chain-link fence,
fingers curled around the wire,
hanging on against the prop-wash
which whipped away my breath
in a four-engined hurricane
of grass-flattening sound
that stole my words.

One day he would go away,
far across the sea, in one of these.
Then there would only be a lingering aroma
of warm oil and shaving soap
which, in time, would fade.

[virtuoso]

Nostalgic jaunts into yesteryear seem to be in vogue on the site. I recently enjoyed reading Dieter's poems and essays on his lineage. I like the way you paint the mundane scenes of childhood, and then encapsulated them with a nostalgic imprint. An imprint that only grows the further away we get from our childhood days. Enjoyed your poem.

[AuntShecky]

The portrait of an aloof father who does his own thing seems to evoke the dominant theme of parent/child relationships in an earlier era, quite unlike the parent as "best friend" or the "helicopter" nuturing style of today. There were yellow mini-vans back then? The standard family-type car I recall at that time was the station wagon.

Apart from that vehicle the greater part of your poem concerns the father taking off (literally) in a private prop plane.

The lines in which the speaker depicts what he heard while wearing the headphones-- a sound similar to putting a seashell up to one's ear -- are splendid, but the final verse is the best part of this piece by far.

Auntie

[NikolaiI]

This is one of the Best, Hawk - very well done and thanks! :-)

Though it may not seem important, I feel obliged to point out you have an interesting number of posts - 5,678 :smile5:

[Hawkman]

Virtuoso, Auntie & Nicolai...

Thanks for reading and for your comments. Auntie, yes the 1960s minivan...


Though this one, which is done up as an AA van, is the type that dad used at work.

I've actually cut that verse as it didn't really fit, and I've edited the penultimate verse to make it leaner.

The aged P did own his own plane, a Piper Cherokee, but not until much later. The aeroplane of the poem was a commercial airliner, probably a Lockheed constellation, or a DC 6 maybe. This far on I can't be sure.

Live and be well - H

[Bar22do]

A lovely, genuine poem, Hawk. Like Auntie, I feel the strength of the last stanza, while the one before also provides powerful lines

"... hurricane
of grass-flattening sound
that stole my words."

(even before the boy issued them!)

Best from
Bar

[Hawkman]

Hello Bar. Thanks for reading. Not sure if there was an implied critique in that parentheticized sentence, but if there was, it was sharp and to the point. I have edited that stanza and it is much improved. I confess I'm a bit out of practice in the poetry department.

It's nice to see you around. Do you have any plans to post a poem or two?

Live and be well - H

[Bar22do]

No Hawk, I didn't imply critique at all! On the contrary, I found it added power to your line. Pls add it back.

[Hawkman]

I think it works both ways, but there is an added poignancy to the softness of "words" in comparison with the hard closure of "sound." It's more reflective and leads better into the final stanza. So, your wish is my command and I have changed it back.

Live and be well - H

[Snowqueen]

Hi, there! It's very nice poem with great opening verses. The imagery is just superb. The last two stanzas have a certain melanchlic touch about them which really suits the theme of your poem. For some reason it reminded me of Gervase and the Dinner Party, though there is no especial reference to it.

I like it because it's different from your other poems. Thanks for sharing. :)

[Hawkman]

Hello Snowy,

Thanks for stopping by to cast an eye upon my reminiscent verse. Curious that you should associate this poem with the Gervaise short. Well, they both refer to a cat, and they both mention fathers. The aged P in the short story was somewhat more advanced in age than the father of the poem, who, in fact, would be younger than I am now.

Different? From some, perhaps. Certainly more serious in tone than many, but I think there are a few similarly themed around memories, though none this far back. I'm glad you got so much out of it. Thanks again for reading and enjoying.

Live and be well - H

[DieterM]

I don't know what's going on with me at the moment—guess it's a first bout of the flu all my colleagues were so happy to bring to my workplace until they were too sick… or it's just my Austrian nature of being nostalgic and drawn to all things sad. But your poem rang a bell in me, and that bell still resounds. Very well written, dear H., and I really enjoyed every line!

[Hawkman]

Hi Dieter, and thanks for reading. I still feel compelled to chisel away at it, cutting an extraneous word, here or there... I'm still conflicted over the penultimate verse. Hi ho.

Happy to learn that you connected with it :)

Live and be well - H