THE PROSPECTOR, poem by Stanley H. Barkan, USA

27 Ottobre 2024

Scritto da immagine.poesia.over-blog.it e da Overblog

THE PROSPECTOR

My son, who has just turned 54,

is now—in addition to being a

baseball player & coach, tennis player,

player of the guitar, violin, and bass,

a gardener with a green thumb,

as well as a knowing how to smoke

steak & chicken, and can even play

a good hand of gin rummy, all while being CTO & Co-Founder of Catchpoint—a prospector.

He loves to go out mining for Herkimer diamonds. When he returns home with a bag full of gems and stones with the crystals still inside, his joy has no bounds.

As I approach my 88th, just a month plus

after my son’s 54th, I realize that I was just 34 when he was born.

And I think about what age my son was when his children—Mattie, Jeremy, Justin—were born. It’s good to be a young father, able to vigorously join them in their young life activities.

The line from me, his father, and his grandfather Joseph, and great-grandfather Max, goes all the

way back to Aaron, brother of Moses, and his surviving sons, Eleazer & Ithamar

(from which one we descend we cannot tell). That’s a long-line journey, quite a legacy

as a Kohayn.

And so, I think about prospecting and realize that I, too, am a prospector—as a poet & editor, a miner of the best words in the best order.

My son’s sons & daughter are finer gems than any diamonds my son has mined.

And my son & daughter and five grandchildren are more precious jewels than any poems

I’ve written or books I’ve published.

I do not counsel my son to do no more prospecting for Herkimers,

just to continue to treasure the living gems of his children, to be young and vigorous enough

to join them in their joyful active lives.

Happy 54th, Scotte,

Dad

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