Today is the first Friday of the month, so we have an Inklings Challenge. Catherine asked us to use a prompt from Audrey Gidman’s June list:
“Read “Digging” by Seamus Heaney. Think about something that has been handed down to you—from a parent, a grandparent, an elder in your life—that feels alive in you now. Think of how it is the same and think of how it has transformed in you. Notice how, for Heaney, it’s gardening and writing—two kinds of digging, but still the digging continues through the generations. Write a poem that digs into what was handed down to you and examines what you carry now.”
This summer I have been doing a good deal of babysitting for my grandchildren. This has been both a privilege and a challenge. I have a lullaby that was passed down to me that I sang to my children and continue to sing to my grandchildren (even to Leo who cringes every time).
Singing
Inspired by Seamus Heaney
My grandson asks for a lullaby
while he covers his head, hiding
beneath the blankets.
When my mother sang an operatic alto,
in a foreign language she’d never spoken,
I hid from her joy, let her vibrato shiver
my heart under a pillow.
I didn’t want to know opera
like her father taught her,
but she took me anyway,
read the plot before curtain call.
I made my body small
in the plush red theatre seat.
Now, I see her face in mine.
My voice cracks on the high notes.
My smile wrinkles into soft blush.
Singing was the last thing to go.
Here, I sit perched on the edge of the bed
leaning into a seven year old boy
claiming his independence
while wishing
for a song to cling to.
Margaret Simon, draft
Check out other Inklings poems below:
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Mary Lee @Another Year of Reading
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Reflections on the Teche 
This is so lovely, Margaret. Our family has a set of lullabies that I have sung to my children, nieces, and now grandchildren that bring me joy every time I sing them. I love that you chose something intangible to write about. So many possibilities with this prompt!
Oh, that line…”singing was the last thing to go.” It’s lovely and terribly sad but also hopeful. What a beautiful thing that you are close enough to your grands to sing lullabies and that they ask for them. What joy that must be…it’s such a picture of love from this poem.
Love the connections to three generations, Margaret. A beautiful tribute to your mother’s memory.
Oh, the things we’d do differently if we could go back! But we can’t, and so you sing, I sew, Catherine bakes, Heidi sees, and Linda understands she had a place all along.
There’s a poem in your response.
A lullaby is such a tender to thing to pass on, to inherit. Beautiful, Margaret.
Lovely, Margaret! Those grands will remember you singing to them — and miss it — whether they want it now or not. xo
What song is it, Margaret? This prompt has brought out such rich responses! Singing is a beautiful gift to pass down.
It’s a lullaby called “Tell Me Why”.
Tell me why the stars do shine.
Tell me why the ivy twines.
Tell me why the sky’s so blue.
That’s when I tell you just why I love you.
Because God made the stars to shine.
Because God made the ivy twine.
Because God made the sky so blue.
Because God made you.
That’s why I love you.
I know that song! Haven’t thought about it for a long time. Thanks for the reminder 🙂
That last stanza captures so much!
Margaret, beautiful and feels so true to the way I’ve experienced rejecting and embracing memories from the past. Also, what I do now passing traditions and memories along to my grandchildren:) Love… Now, I see her face in mine. My voice cracks on the high notes. My smile wrinkles into soft blush. Singing was the last thing to go. Happy 4th!
My mother used to sing
not sing
off key
a song of. her own invention
to sooth the babes
while she rocked them to sleep.
We used to laugh
and shake our heads.
But now
mom’s gone
and we sing her funny song
to our own grandchildren
and smile
at the memories
of love.
Thanks for this sweet poem. I need to remember when my grandchildren get embarrassed that one day they will long to hear my voice again, as I do for my mother.
Margaret, this was so lovely. I read it several times, and the imagery and sentiment got more vivid each time. How blessed your little one is to have you share your voice with him. He will remember it and one day sing to his own thinking of you 🙂 Happy 4th.
Beautiful post/poem, Margaret – you Inklings always delight. We have a couple of lullabies passed down through the generations, too. So special!
Your song-poem pulls at our heart strings, so much tenderness there, warmth, comfort, and wholeness, lovely, thanks Margaret!
Oh, I’m glad you shared the song, Margaret. I remember it being sung, too, and as you wrote so lovingly, music is the last thing to go. I love how you intertwined your own singing with the music from your mother.
Margaret, this is so lovely and has a different feel than much of your work–more immediate, somehow, despite being mostly about a long-ago past. It’s amazing to me that it can be so affecting without your ever revealing what the lullaby is, or the opera it came from. Gorgeous:
When my mother sang an operatic alto,in a foreign language she’d never spoken,I hid from her joy, let her vibrato shiver my heart under a pillow
Margaret, thank you for sharing your family’s musical traditions. I never went to an opera although I wanted to. I can imagine the hideaway choice that Leo made. Did you tell him about your musical listening action under the pillow? Your poem with this line, “Singing was the last thing to go”, was a sad image. May your thoughts bring you about singing make you feel the nearness of God.
Wonderful, Margaret! I love how you chose an action rather than a thing. Your grandson will remember fondly (even though he cringes now), just as you have conjured your memory for this challenge.