My Grandma the Poet (Essay/Poetry) (repost with New Foreword)

A Younger Tim Kavi with His Grandma

New Foreword:

Today would be my maternal grandmother's 113th birthday.

I am reposting the following blog entry (an edited version) about her as a tribute.

(Originally posted here in 2008 & 2012).

I cannot tell you how much she means to me.

She was my earliest poetic influence

and taught me so much...

Happy Birthday Grandma!!

My Grandma the Poet

I never forgot her

her love was the most patient teacher

any grandson could have

and I often told her I loved her so

from as far back as I remember..

I have memories like this:

grandma would say Timmie

and was happy to see some of my first poems

scrawled in crayon

or pencil

so grandma and me would write poems at the same time

when I was little

and she was so big in my little eyes

her gentle ways taught me more about the

goddess than just about anybody

I know

I think grandma was a goddess

she would write poems by the hours

on sheets of typing and notebook paper college ruled

and writing tablets

all handwritten in very large letters

I was high enough to peek over the arm of the chair

to watch what she was doing

if I was good and asked real nice

grandma would read me some

out loud

she had a way with words

these were lyrics and fine ballads

born in 1900 on a homestead she was a country girl

grandpa was a sharecropper, migrant worker

later, a factory worker

they seemed poor

but rich in so many ways

but we were so happy

grandma liked reading romance magazines

in that rocking chair

songs of home, heart, romance

and her and grandpa were married for more than 50 years

you know grandma taught me

a lot

and every once in awhile

when I write a poem now

I think grandma sees it

I hold it up to her just like I used to and you know what?

she grins

and that still makes me pretty damned happy.

here's an excerpt from one of

grandma's poems:

Tomorrow's End

by Lura Newland 

My wonderful kids

How I love you so

I must know if there is a place

For me, or a home to go.

I won't need many extras

Just a bed at nite

A place to love my grandchildren

And my poetry to write.

Could I have a chair by a window

With the sun shining in

That would make me so happy

As my eyes grow dim.

I'd be all settled in comfort

Shielded from the cold

What a glorious feeling to know

Then I am growing old...

This Poet's Note: grandmothers can be terribly important. As you can tell, mine was extremely important to me. The poet "gene" certainly runs in my family...my grandma, my mother, and other family members write prose that inspires and moves me across all time.~~TK