This poem, narrated by Pádraig Ó Tuama on Poetry Unbound has lingered with me. It took me back to winter mornings when my dad would get up early in the morning to light the fire in the wood stove before we woke. Robert Hayden’s evocative use of adjectives – blueblack, cracked hands– paint vivid images. And yes, as Pádraig reflects, what did we know when we were children.
Those Winter Sundays
Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
Poetry Unbound is an enriching listen. Hearing poetry read aloud brings it to life in so many ways. Each episode features Pádraig reading a poem, offering reflections, and then reading it again – deepening its resonance.
I’m heartened to hear that poetry is increasing in popularity, often attributed to accessibility on social media and the comfort it offered during the pandemic, as well as connecting us to contemporary moments.
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Thanks for being here. I delight in sharing my thoughts, such as these, in a newsletter, typically every few months. And now and then, ideas show up our Facebook page. Always love to hear from you via email. Would love to hear about poems that resonate with you.
