Sherry Chandler » Sam L. Martin
Sam L. Martin
We have passed half-time in National Poetry Month and I am ready, after Theodore O’Hara, for a quick feint back into the 21st century.
I first met Sam Martin at the Appalachian Writers Association conference two years ago, where he appeared in a full beard and we had a lively discussion over “The Red Wheelbarrow.” Then last year at Hindman we spent a week in the poetry workshop together, studying with George Ella Lyon and Leatha Kendrick. We had a chance to get to know one another a bit and exchange work. The beard was gone but the lively wit and intelligence was still evident. Since then, I think we’ve agreed to form a mutual admiration society.
You’ve read his work on these “pages” before. The poem below first appeared in Appalachian Heritage (Spring 2004). I love the birds that stay the winter. I didn’t realize how important those birds were for me until I visited a place where the birds do not stay.
Preparation
Near the end we return to our birthplace,
enduring Eden where we plucked the fruit
that eased us from these low mountains to feast
on other forbidden delicacies.
Neon lights do not disgrace our hollow,
only a dim bulb that lets us feel more
than we see. An oak crashes at midnight
and interrupts our shallow sleep. Cardinals
search for precious seeds under last night’s snow.
Wine-colored rocks and scattered feathers show
our struggle to be normal and holy.
We say, “When your time comes, you go. That’s that!”
We will end where we began, at our Place:
dirt, trees, creeks, and birds that stay the winter.
— Sam L. Martin
Reproduced with permission of the author.
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4 Comments
1. Kate Fox replies at 18th April 2006, 12:41 pm :
I thought this poem was beautifully wrought–truly a sonnet to life.
2. Jack Cook replies at 29th April 2006, 4:32 pm :
I often tease Sam Martin that he is a bit of a Luddite and he acknowledges that he is. We always loved our hills and silent spaces more than hustle and bustle, but we were drawn outside them by the world’s siren song. Now, Sam has returned to those roots and tries to lead a life and sing a song of a time that seemed simpler, but really wasn’t. He is no dim bulb. The feelings his light reveals are real and profound. They create a yearning in me for that time when I was perhaps just a swinger of birches with no promises to keep. His poem keeps me warm with thoughts of home.
3. sherry replies at 4th May 2006, 7:13 am :
Jack – made a flying trip to Morehead last night and as we passed the I-64 exit to S*** L***, it occurred to me to wonder whether some one who claims to be a Luddite could ever be such a Luddite as he claims. How many people now know what the term even means? Though I guess rejecting technology is not quite the same as rejecting learning. It just seems like it sometimes in this age when the IT guy is king.
4. Jack Cook replies at 4th May 2006, 2:57 pm :
Sherry - You make an excellent point. I admit to liking the good life that technology can provide, but I often wonder if we haven’t lost sight of what is really necessary. Computers and cell phones have made my professional life more efficient and my personal life better as regards talking to my children and arranging my life. Still, they intrude into my life. I have to safeguard my email and my phones with blocks and filters. I spend altogether too much time on trivialities and wrong numbers. There is a difference between an antique, old stuff that retains function, use, and beauty and a bygone, old stuff that once had a use that now is lost in the mist of time. I wonder if we are creating bygones at an increasing rate, technological gadgetry that adds little to our quality of life, has little utilitarian value, and will soon be consigned to the dustbin of history. I guess that Sam and I, each in our own way, try to filter the good from the trivial in an increasingly complicated world. Sometimes I just turn it all off and take a nap.
Best regards.
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