God of My Heart

Oh, God of my heart,
Give me strength and the power to live,
Lend me love and kindness others to give,
And with Thy children so far apart,
Bless them today, Oh God of my heart.
(Late 1920s )

This was penciled as is next to the poem Rapheal. It is a little prayer, a simple expression of mom’s faith, asking for strength, love and kindness, so that she may be able to give these to others, and asking God’s blessing on all children who were “so far apart.”

Bondage

Whirling, swirling
Into the lives of men,
Brick on brick, plaster on steal
Girded and crowded and held—
Bonded are we!
God of my heart
Give me strength to fight
to the freedom somewhere,
Give me strength to withstand
This clutching and jolting,

to breathe without choking,
This murky stifling air.
(1920s)

This poem was typed without any corrections on 61/2” by 81/2” notepad paper, which makes me think it was written while she was a student in the early 1920s, either in Denver or St. Paul/Minneapolis, where there must have been much construction going on. In a revision entered into her composition book in ink and dated 1928, she changed the last three lines to: Give me breath to withstand/This clutching and jostling/Give me Light! Either way, I imagine the poem originally reflected a moment when she missed the clean country air and open skies of the prairie back home. The image of the suffocating steel-girded, polluted urban industrial city is presented carefully and then, centered in the middle of this image, a prayer to God for strength to endure. The line “Give me strength to fight to the freedom somewhere” is ambiguous, for it is not clear to me what freedom she’s referring to (Woman’s rights? Suffragettes? Child labor?) or where exactly she wants to carry out her fight. Since mom was always keenly interested in social issues and saved newspaper clippings regarding subjects of interest to her, I can imagine her thoughts here being aimed at social injustices and her request to God to give her the continued strength to carry on the fight against them. Not knowing the exact date of this writing, we can only guess at the historical context. But the theme clearly echoes an attitude mom held all her life: fight, with God’s help, to improve social conditions.

Builders

To help someone?
Is that our aim in life?
To help another find his peace

and brave his daily strive?
To find the kinks which others make,
And smooth the paths which they must take,
And just help along with a singing song—
Could that my mission be?
Perhaps ‘tis so…
To walk beside a Builder,

yet not the Builder be.
Tis thus, then I shall gladly go.
(1927)

Mom wrote this in her college composition book at Loretta Heights. It shows the young adult’s searching for clues to there own identity and direction. Here she weighs the purpose of her life as being that of a helper, perhaps even help by cheering up “with a singing song.” I’m guessing the word” Builder,” since it is capitalized, refers to God, the Creator and Maker, and her wish is to “walk beside” him in her journey through life. As Leretta Heights College is in Denver, I'm sure she sought inspiration and guidance about her future through the natural beauties surrounding her in the mountains of Colorado, as well as through prayer and her trust in the "Builder" of all things, including mountain streams, waterfalls and our own pathway to the future.

Friendship

Oh, Friendship is a funny thing!
You never know “for sure.”
It keeps you always wondering!
This doubting, fearing, hoping
and worring to endure.
But still, my friends, I’ll never give up,
Though sleep awake I must.
I’ll listen til the wonderings stop,
Or till they turn to dust.
Pensive One
(1927)

This was written in November 1927 in mom’s college composition book while she was at Loretta Heights in Colorado. She signed it “Pensive One.” It reveals her understanding of the mixed feelings we often have about our friends and ourselves in friendship, our doubts and fears and anxious, sleepless nights. I can imagine she was struggling with meeting new people, students from around the country, for the first time, and like many college students struggling to determine how to establish intimacy and trust with people she was meeting in college. I like the last two lines, “I’ll listen till the wonderings stop, Or till they turn to dust.” This reveals her deep commitment to stay with others until she is satisfied she understands them or can no longer go any further with them. It is her sense of determination applied here to interpersonal relationships and gives a glimpse into her core value of long-term commitment to others.

You Are So Many Miles Away

You are so many miles away,
And yet so close, My Dear.
I cannot quite just understand,
That you really are not here.
I do not try to understand,
I am much too glad, you see,
That things are now just as they are,
and wish that they could always be!
(1928)

This poem was dated May 28, 1928. I don’t know if this is a love poem written to dad during their long distance courtship when he was in Boston and she still back in Minnesota. I don’t think it could be. They met on a blind date, but I think it was a year later in 1929.They weren’t married until June 16, 1930, two years after this poem was written. The poem may, therefore, have been written to a family member, probably one of her sisters, or could just be mom playing with the sentiments and words of love. Regardless, this is an expression of real love. Mom has shifted in these eight lines from a level of wishing things were other than they are to accepting, even embracing them, at a higher, deeper level, as they really are….true love that knows no boundaries, no distance, no miles, no time. This is a statement of a transcendent, mature love, which, at age 25, is pretty remarkable.

Little Knife

“I’m a powerful thing,” said the Little Knife.
“How is that?” asked the Oak’s jealous wife.
“While others must sing and dance for their life,
I just cut and cut,” said the Little Knife.
“You silly thing!” sang the tree so tall.
“How could powerful be such a thing so small?
You’re not strong or big like me,
Nor up in the winds and always free.
You can’t wave your arms or bend your knees.
You can’t dance with the wind whenever you please!
What a powerful thing, indeed!” laughed the tall tree’s wife.
“You’ll know when I cut!” warned the Little knife.
So with one sharp blade did he cut and he saw,
‘Til the oak tree’s trunk was as thin as a straw.
Then down came the oak with a dreadful crash,
Her arms and her knees broken in a flash,
And she learned for herself, did the Oak’s jealous wife,
What a powerful thing is the Little Knife.
(1928)

Mom’s skill with words and rhyme and her creative, playful mind are very evident here. This rich imagination allowed her to make fresh connections and associations to ordinary things around her (a knife, a tree) and to make poetry out of her ordinary life. I think this is why she was able, even content and happy, to be so home-bound all her life. She didn’t need outside stimulation to stay interested in living, to stay alive, to keep from getting bored and depressed. She never stagnated because her mind, each day she awoke, worked creatively with the things around her…the pots and pans, the children, the news, the sights and sounds outside, the school and play activities her children brought home and shared with her. She lived totally connected to her world and, through her children, connected to the outside world. She didn’t need a driver’s license and a wardrobe to go places, outside friends and clubs and hobbies to keep her interested. She didn’t want them because she didn’t need them.

Mom was self-contained, caught up with raising children and managing the household in her early years, but still living out a vivid inner life and exclusive family life. Even for the 25 years she lived as a widow after dad’s passing away, she lived with family and through family, experiencing what we experienced, sharing what we shared, enjoying what we enjoyed, struggling with what we struggled with. If we kept distant from her or tried to be independent in any way around her, she tried to respect that, but invariably worked her way into our lives.

For me when I lived with her after my divorce, it was always a balancing act to keep my independence from her and my connection to her. “Do you need a new jacket?” she asked one winter evening, as I was leaving to teach a class. I was 50 then! “How was your day today?” she always asked, for as long as I can remember. She was always listening for the door to open, always there to greet me when I came in. And always suggesting a warm cup of tea or cocoa, even though, by 90, she couldn’t really get all this organized, so I had to warm the water, get out the cups and tea bags and sit down for a visit about my day. She was there, connecting, being part of, organizing her day around a cup of tea and her son coming home. It would be easy to misinterpret this straightforward love and interest as being overly mothering, but one reading of this poem alone reminds us that mom possessed a level of connectedness and insight that far surpassed our own and saw in the little things far beyond what we were able to see.

Alone

Alone, alone—
He is always alone, it seems to me.
A friendly nook with others he cannot see.
Alone was he destined always to be?
Perhaps a friendly hand,
Just touched in passing now,
Might hold a cheering thought,
And give the friendship sought.
And then perhaps no more
Alone would he wish to be…
I wonder!
(Spring 1928)

This poem was in mom’s composition book as is. Several things strike me about it. Mom was twenty five at the time, a young adult for whom, from a developmental standpoint, intimacy is a major concern. Young adults who fail to connect with others suffer loneliness and feelings of isolation. This poem shows mom’s empathy and compassion for this state, her natural feeling for the importance of connection with others, achieved perhaps even by just “a friendly hand, just touched in passing, that might just hold a cheering thought and give the friendship sought.” It was her nature to be sensitive to others’ feelings, to be cheerful toward them, not let them feel alone. Each day I knew her, woke her up, shared her space (home, nook), she was this way—reaching out with a touch, a smile, a friendly word, an encouragement, a cheerful spirit.

Another theme in this poem that is characteristic of mom is the thoughtful, wondering, questioning tone—“Was he destined always to be?” “It seems to me.” Perhaps a friendly hand” “I wonder!” These are the phrases of an inquiring, thinking, wondering, concerned, problem-solving mind. They suggest not just mom’s high IQ but her incredibly high EQ (emotional intelligence), her interpersonal sensitivity, intuition and capacity to connect to others’ feelings.