| Author: | Stanley Barlow | ISBN: | 9781477172735 |
| Publisher: | Xlibris US | Publication: | December 15, 2000 |
| Imprint: | Xlibris US | Language: | English |
| Author: | Stanley Barlow |
| ISBN: | 9781477172735 |
| Publisher: | Xlibris US |
| Publication: | December 15, 2000 |
| Imprint: | Xlibris US |
| Language: | English |
The author says of this collection:
My poems are my life on paper, in snapshots of course. I try to recapture the emotions of remembered scenes and to render them with a moderately subdued passion. Actually, I have long withheld some of these poems, fearing they are a little too personal, but with age comes loss of inhibition, perhaps a discreet loss. I hold hands with the child in me, youth, . . . all the mes, none of which vanishes from whatever I am. Not that I am proud of all of them, but I may be more accepting of them now than I sometimes was.
Barlow looks back on careers as WWII celestial navigator in the Air Force (in service, 1943-6), Presbyterian minister (1950-), and educator. Now, an emeritus professor of philosophy (College of Staten Island) City University of New York (retired in 1995), he was a professor of religion at Columbia University, 1966-72, and also served as a dean of summer session at the University of Minnesota, 1964-66, and Columbia, 1966-71, as Associate Dean of Faculty, at Staten Island Community College, a predecessor to the College of Staten Island, 1972-76. Earlier, he served as a campus minister, in Eugene Oregon (1954-60) and in Pittsburgh, Pa. (1960-62), and still earlier, as parish minister in New York, Tennessee, and Alabama. In 1950-51, he taught English literature at East Tennessee State University, in his hometown.
He has written poems since boyhood. Here he has selected over seventy. The themes include love and marriage, parenting, ones own childhood, and life in community.
Here are a few excerpts:--
About an eleven month old son: "He salutes me and gives me a smile like /eternal blessing and a handful of straw /he has pulled from the broom."
About the lonely child living in the midst of remote relatives and preoccupied neighbors: "Crowded /by circles of kin /neighbors /fieriest stars /the nearest /distant ones
/more inviting /Distant all . . ."
In the title poem, which he actually composed while swimming, shortly before a birthday in his sixties, he sees the water stretching out like a magic carpet, yet cant free himself from the thought of all he has not done, the books he has not read and of course the cruelty of times passing; he ends the poem saying, in rhythm with his strokes:: ". . . miles like inches the carpet /flies it flies /into years old how many now."
As his ninety-one year old mother lay dying twelve hundred miles away, he woke from a dream and captured it in this poem: "Lady wrapt in ink blue /coat in soft lamplight
/kerchief about your head /all set to leave /us silent poised /silhouetted /on the edge of the chaise longue /that reaches back to the beginning
/of time . . . ."
An elegaic example is a little poem in memory of the environmntalist, Margaret Mee:
"Forest seraph /pleading for it /for Amazonias orchids /for blossoms that open at night /pleading as for a child /about to be taken"
Among the poems about love is this one, from a fairly early date:
"A portrait /come alive /to my Beau of Bath /Awkward as sixteen
/both of us /innocent as five /I fell into her eyes /certain I was received
the moment never dies".
In the fourth grouping of poems, which the author calls Orbit, we find this one about the meaning of baseball: the title alludes to Protagoras saying, Man is the measure of all things: "Reach into the air /and stop with your hand /a white sphere /like the moon /See it again rocketing /from your undulant salute /up the blue and glint of the sky /arching against outfield /green and the dust that edges /diamond and scurrying feet /Take a well-formed proposition /of once growing wood /Extending yourself /you hit the ball /Running you celebrate".
Barlow, known to his friends also as a humorist, includes some humor, though it is often mixed with a bit of pathos,
The author says of this collection:
My poems are my life on paper, in snapshots of course. I try to recapture the emotions of remembered scenes and to render them with a moderately subdued passion. Actually, I have long withheld some of these poems, fearing they are a little too personal, but with age comes loss of inhibition, perhaps a discreet loss. I hold hands with the child in me, youth, . . . all the mes, none of which vanishes from whatever I am. Not that I am proud of all of them, but I may be more accepting of them now than I sometimes was.
Barlow looks back on careers as WWII celestial navigator in the Air Force (in service, 1943-6), Presbyterian minister (1950-), and educator. Now, an emeritus professor of philosophy (College of Staten Island) City University of New York (retired in 1995), he was a professor of religion at Columbia University, 1966-72, and also served as a dean of summer session at the University of Minnesota, 1964-66, and Columbia, 1966-71, as Associate Dean of Faculty, at Staten Island Community College, a predecessor to the College of Staten Island, 1972-76. Earlier, he served as a campus minister, in Eugene Oregon (1954-60) and in Pittsburgh, Pa. (1960-62), and still earlier, as parish minister in New York, Tennessee, and Alabama. In 1950-51, he taught English literature at East Tennessee State University, in his hometown.
He has written poems since boyhood. Here he has selected over seventy. The themes include love and marriage, parenting, ones own childhood, and life in community.
Here are a few excerpts:--
About an eleven month old son: "He salutes me and gives me a smile like /eternal blessing and a handful of straw /he has pulled from the broom."
About the lonely child living in the midst of remote relatives and preoccupied neighbors: "Crowded /by circles of kin /neighbors /fieriest stars /the nearest /distant ones
/more inviting /Distant all . . ."
In the title poem, which he actually composed while swimming, shortly before a birthday in his sixties, he sees the water stretching out like a magic carpet, yet cant free himself from the thought of all he has not done, the books he has not read and of course the cruelty of times passing; he ends the poem saying, in rhythm with his strokes:: ". . . miles like inches the carpet /flies it flies /into years old how many now."
As his ninety-one year old mother lay dying twelve hundred miles away, he woke from a dream and captured it in this poem: "Lady wrapt in ink blue /coat in soft lamplight
/kerchief about your head /all set to leave /us silent poised /silhouetted /on the edge of the chaise longue /that reaches back to the beginning
/of time . . . ."
An elegaic example is a little poem in memory of the environmntalist, Margaret Mee:
"Forest seraph /pleading for it /for Amazonias orchids /for blossoms that open at night /pleading as for a child /about to be taken"
Among the poems about love is this one, from a fairly early date:
"A portrait /come alive /to my Beau of Bath /Awkward as sixteen
/both of us /innocent as five /I fell into her eyes /certain I was received
the moment never dies".
In the fourth grouping of poems, which the author calls Orbit, we find this one about the meaning of baseball: the title alludes to Protagoras saying, Man is the measure of all things: "Reach into the air /and stop with your hand /a white sphere /like the moon /See it again rocketing /from your undulant salute /up the blue and glint of the sky /arching against outfield /green and the dust that edges /diamond and scurrying feet /Take a well-formed proposition /of once growing wood /Extending yourself /you hit the ball /Running you celebrate".
Barlow, known to his friends also as a humorist, includes some humor, though it is often mixed with a bit of pathos,
