My ancestors, the people who would stand in the sun for hours. The people who would build temples. Who would create beautiful paintings. The people who worshipped the gods. Who killed people as sacrifices The people who read the stars. Who farmed for food. The people who loved math and science.
I do so hope everyone is enjoying this fine Sunday! My family may not be sports fanatics, but the Super Bowl is always a welcomed excuse for us to make an absurdly large amount of food. That being said, I have been adding to and revising my poem between basting and coating and boiling and (unfortunately) burning food. Here it is in its present entirety:
My people: For all those who toiled away under the hot, blistering sun; For those whose homes laid along the subtle slopes of Etna. For those whose lives became plant, then wait, then grow, then pick, then eat, then sell; For those who defined menial as grand. For those who never looked back, but never quite forgot: I thank-you.
My people: For those who made the effort to scurry off to Church, To bask in hope and dreams, adorned in tie and suit; For those who hoisted a semblance of a beloved martyr, Who carried Alfio through gravel streets until their knees were raw. For those who strained and bled and fought - For those who were able to see the trumpery of a sequacious life: I thank-you.
My people: For those who suffered, and saw, and fled; For those who found and worked and lived, For those who strolled the narrow hallways of a mill; Ever inhaling particles of cloth, and dust, and melancholy. For those who dreamed, and saw, and built: I thank-you.
My people: the hardest of workers, the receivers of unfounded hate Nicola Sacco, Bartolomeo Vanzetti - lost, but not forgotten; Grandmothers with 'mangiare!' on their tongues, Children chewing fresh basil as they laughed and played - Men whose only free-time was on Labor Day. I thank-you.
My people: For those who cooked and laughed and cried; For those who hated, who loved, who lived, For those who ever early woke, who ever squandered not Who ever ignored the depredations of age, the sullenness of old Who ever noticed the simplicity in complexity, And who ever dismissed the complexity in simplicity: I thank-you.
Despite what many may think, I adore critique: please post any corrections, comments, questions. For those unfamiliar with basic Italian, mangiare most closely is translated as ‘eat.’
Nick, in one of your comments you said you can not utilize creativity. Well on a personal feild I say that comment was false in every possible way. You put so much creativity I can see all you said in this poem. I have no bad comments on your work. -Marly
Nick, I love yours, and Marly I love what you have for yours so far. Mine is hand written and it is somewhere at the bottom of my bookbag. I will look for it and maybe post it tonight.
My Ancestor Poem (My mom's point of view) Life was difficult because there were 7 children in one house and everybody Slept in one room because the house only had two rooms and also they’re grandmother lived there.
Since adolescence I participated in many community activities like in the church, sport clubs, interacting with different cubs in distant communities.
Walking to school was an arduous task because were our house was located was called “el campo” known as the farmlands I had to walk 3 kilometers to reach my school and that didn’t stop me from getting good grades.
The only form of transportation that we had, had been horses and donkeys, unfortunately we had a donkey and a stubborn one too.
Later I moved into the city to pursue the career of a secretary but I couldn’t finish it because I got married and became pregnant. I had my first born child at age 25.
(Argenis speaking) Now that I look back at all that my mom has done I can see how easy my life is and how much I complain about how hard I think it is but if I was in her shoes I would have lasted a week doing all that she did because I’m from the city and not from the farm lands. I thank my ancestors that settled in the country known as the Dominican Republic, the country that I was born.
Ancestors Ancestors… the ones who make history. From the dark nights, to the top sights, From traveling and unraveling. Ancestors… the ones who make memories. If you could see your ancestors All standing in a row. There are some you wouldn't care to know. Our ancestors, our forefathers, members of our family tree Our evolution, our education, our history The struggles and victories, invention and creation The building of cities, faith, and civilization Ancestors… And those who died in days long lost But whose deeds did never fade. If you could see your ancestors, Would they be proud of you.
Argenis: I like the poem. I extracted the text and made some extremely minor revisions. I am not in the business of changing your wording or punctuation, nor am I in the business of altering the emotions in which you worked to convey. See if you like the changes, and maybe apply a few of them. -Nick
My Ancestor Poem (My mom's point of view) Life was difficult because there were 7 children in one house and everybody slept in one room because the house only had two rooms and also they’re grandmother lived there. Since adolescence I participated in many community activities like in church, sport clubs, and interacting with different clubs in distant communities.
Walking to school was an arduous task because where our house was located was called “el campo,” known as the farmlands. I had to walk 3 kilometers to reach my school, but that didn’t stop me from getting good grades. The only form of transportation we had were horses and donkeys. Unfortunately, we didn't have a hose and so we were stuck with a stubborn donkey.
Later I moved into the city to pursue the career of a secretary, but I couldn’t finish because I got married and became pregnant. I had my first born child at the age of 25.
(Argenis speaking) Now that I look back at all that my mom has done, I can see how easy my life is and how much I complain about how hard I think everything is. But if I was in her shoes I probably wouldn't have lasted a week doing all that she did because I’m from the city and not from the farm lands. I thank my ancestors that settled in the country known as the Dominican Republic, the country that I was born in.
-By the by: I love the poem, and find that the research you did on your mother's background really enhanced the overall feel of the piece. The only problem is that this is more of a story than a poem. Maybe adding some literary devices, like similes and metaphors, would serve to give it a more poetic feel. Great job!-
Hey how does this sound?
ReplyDeleteMy ancestors, the people who would stand in the sun for hours.
The people who would build temples.
Who would create beautiful paintings.
The people who worshipped the gods.
Who killed people as sacrifices
The people who read the stars.
Who farmed for food.
The people who loved math and science.
nice start Marlyssa!
ReplyDeleteThank you. *Blush*
ReplyDeleteGreetings all,
ReplyDeleteI do so hope everyone is enjoying this fine Sunday! My family may not be sports fanatics, but the Super Bowl is always a welcomed excuse for us to make an absurdly large amount of food. That being said, I have been adding to and revising my poem between basting and coating and boiling and (unfortunately) burning food. Here it is in its present entirety:
My people: For all those who toiled away under the hot, blistering sun;
For those whose homes laid along the subtle slopes of Etna.
For those whose lives became plant, then wait, then grow, then pick, then eat, then sell;
For those who defined menial as grand.
For those who never looked back, but never quite forgot:
I thank-you.
My people: For those who made the effort to scurry off to Church,
To bask in hope and dreams, adorned in tie and suit;
For those who hoisted a semblance of a beloved martyr,
Who carried Alfio through gravel streets until their knees were raw.
For those who strained and bled and fought -
For those who were able to see the trumpery of a sequacious life:
I thank-you.
My people: For those who suffered, and saw, and fled;
For those who found and worked and lived,
For those who strolled the narrow hallways of a mill;
Ever inhaling particles of cloth, and dust, and melancholy.
For those who dreamed, and saw, and built:
I thank-you.
My people: the hardest of workers, the receivers of unfounded hate
Nicola Sacco, Bartolomeo Vanzetti - lost, but not forgotten;
Grandmothers with 'mangiare!' on their tongues,
Children chewing fresh basil as they laughed and played -
Men whose only free-time was on Labor Day.
I thank-you.
My people: For those who cooked and laughed and cried;
For those who hated, who loved, who lived,
For those who ever early woke, who ever squandered not
Who ever ignored the depredations of age, the sullenness of old
Who ever noticed the simplicity in complexity,
And who ever dismissed the complexity in simplicity:
I thank-you.
Despite what many may think, I adore critique: please post any corrections, comments, questions. For those unfamiliar with basic Italian, mangiare most closely is translated as ‘eat.’
Nick, in one of your comments you said you can not utilize creativity. Well on a personal feild I say that comment was false in every possible way. You put so much creativity I can see all you said in this poem. I have no bad comments on your work.
ReplyDelete-Marly
sorry, i wrote mine by hand and i passed it in today so i forgot some parts as to what i wrote.
ReplyDeleteNick, I love yours, and Marly I love what you have for yours so far. Mine is hand written and it is somewhere at the bottom of my bookbag. I will look for it and maybe post it tonight.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteMy Ancestor Poem
ReplyDelete(My mom's point of view)
Life was difficult because there were 7 children in one house and everybody Slept in one room because the house only had two rooms and also they’re grandmother lived there.
Since adolescence I participated in many community activities like in the church, sport clubs, interacting with different cubs in distant communities.
Walking to school was an arduous task because were our house was located was called “el campo” known as the farmlands I had to walk 3 kilometers to reach my school and that didn’t stop me from getting good grades.
The only form of transportation that we had, had been horses and donkeys, unfortunately we had a donkey and a stubborn one too.
Later I moved into the city to pursue the career of a secretary but I couldn’t finish it because I got married and became pregnant. I had my first born child at age 25.
(Argenis speaking) Now that I look back at all that my mom has done I can see how easy my life is and how much I complain about how hard I think it is but if I was in her shoes I would have lasted a week doing all that she did because I’m from the city and not from the farm lands. I thank my ancestors that settled in the country known as the Dominican Republic, the country that I was born.
Ancestors
ReplyDeleteAncestors… the ones who make history.
From the dark nights, to the top sights,
From traveling and unraveling.
Ancestors… the ones who make memories.
If you could see your ancestors
All standing in a row.
There are some you wouldn't care to know.
Our ancestors, our forefathers, members of our family tree
Our evolution, our education, our history
The struggles and victories, invention and creation
The building of cities, faith, and civilization
Ancestors…
And those who died in days long lost
But whose deeds did never fade.
If you could see your ancestors,
Would they be proud of you.
Argenis:
ReplyDeleteI like the poem. I extracted the text and made some extremely minor revisions. I am not in the business of changing your wording or punctuation, nor am I in the business of altering the emotions in which you worked to convey. See if you like the changes, and maybe apply a few of them.
-Nick
My Ancestor Poem
(My mom's point of view)
Life was difficult because there were 7 children in one house and everybody slept in one room because the house only had two rooms and also they’re grandmother lived there.
Since adolescence I participated in many community activities like in church, sport clubs, and interacting with different clubs in distant communities.
Walking to school was an arduous task because where our house was located was called “el campo,” known as the farmlands. I had to walk 3 kilometers to reach my school, but that didn’t stop me from getting good grades.
The only form of transportation we had were horses and donkeys. Unfortunately, we didn't have a hose and so we were stuck with a stubborn donkey.
Later I moved into the city to pursue the career of a secretary, but I couldn’t finish because I got married and became pregnant. I had my first born child at the age of 25.
(Argenis speaking) Now that I look back at all that my mom has done, I can see how easy my life is and how much I complain about how hard I think everything is. But if I was in her shoes I probably wouldn't have lasted a week doing all that she did because I’m from the city and not from the farm lands. I thank my ancestors that settled in the country known as the Dominican Republic, the country that I was born in.
-By the by: I love the poem, and find that the research you did on your mother's background really enhanced the overall feel of the piece. The only problem is that this is more of a story than a poem. Maybe adding some literary devices, like similes and metaphors, would serve to give it a more poetic feel. Great job!-