In Memory of...
The Farmer's Mother
There, in that rocking chair his mother
Sat, watching the restless mill
Follow the wind, and hearing sheep
Nibble the corn...She was so still.
Like Whistler's mother at her rest,
She sat sewing a bit of clothes.
"The storm has ruined half the corn,"
She heard, "And more may come. Who knows?"
She watch the marking of the pigs
By notching round their ugly ears;
The kittens steal the separated
Milk--as she had watched for years.
Slowly the dusk came on, and stars,
And lovely was the sound of whistling rye.
The wind was cold. She did not stir.
Beautiful was the night to die.
Like Whistler's mother in repose,
Or a frail Madonna weary and still,
She left the sheep and pigs, and the rattling
Of the tin Chicago mill.
-Benjamin Rosenbaum, Green Nakedness, 1929.
I like the simple shape of this poem. It has a lovely spare quality that suits the subject.
ReplyDeleteIt reminds me very much of a biography I'm reading called "Somewhere Towards the End."