Mister Poetry
for John Ciardi (1916-1986)
What toughened him wasn't being caught
between the Boston Irish & Italian toughs,
that his parents were immigrants, that his mother
couldn't read. Not that his father was dead
when John was three. Rather his mother's
anger-grief beaten with a strap across his back.
The police said: 'The freshest kid in Medford.'
'
His older sisters scraped together
cash enough for college. Then came the war:
20 missions as an aerial gunner over Japan.
He taught at Harvard, translated Dante's work.
Gave the Commedia to a generation.
Thirty books of poetry, a trove of children's verse.
Guardian at the gate: Saturday Review.
[Read 600 poems a month, take 2.
Then fend off snarly letters from those denied]
Beat poets made him dyspeptic & he worried
women would make poetry too 'sissified.'
What he admired: a light approach to seriousness,
a muscular voice, 'incongruities' & passion.
Loyalty, paramount & humor. There’s nothing
wrong with sobriety in moderation.
In '65, I heard him read. Basso profundo.
Inspired! So young, I hadn’t heard of Dante yet.
