Jeremy Dae Paden was born in Italy and raised in Latin America. He teaches Spanish at Transylvania University, He is published in Calíope, a critical journal of poetry of Spain and the Americas during the Renaissance and Baroque periods. He is also a member of the Affrilachian Poets and a collaborator in Rose Tree Writers.
Though Jeremy and I have only met in person once, we have somehow found a writing connection, as well as a parenting connection, that bring me tremendous joy. I don’t know anyone else who, upon hearing that I was dyeing absorbant crystals red and brown with wine and coffee for my child’s science project, would have asked if I would send him some more detail so he might work it into a poem.
Jeremy isn’t a poet when he has time to be one. He is one when he wakes and when he sleeps, every day. I can imagine standing behind him in the grocery store and hearing him practicing words about the spiritual ebb and flow of the human psyche as he ponders the nature of standing in lines.
I am grateful to learn from his world view, and I look forward to sharing his 8-part Essay on Childhood: This World Is Not My Home. You may read some of Dr. Paden’s poetry online via the following links, and I hope you will!
You can read more about the 2012 Essays on Childhood writers here.
John of thebeautifuldue.
Writer Michael Powelson introduced me to thebeautifuldue — the gospel according to john.
(Michael shared an essay last year with the Essay on Childhood project: http://michaelpowelson.wordpress.com/2011/05/11/the-best-medicine-2/)
I loved reading this poem the first time and have re-read it several times since. It is a combination by the poet of “several male sources.” While it could be the experience of just one man’s childhood influence, it pulls together pieces of various lives to tell the story that may very well speak many men.
I encourage writers for this year’s project to consider unusual ways you might tell your story using creative nonfiction or even poetry if that feels right. It needs to be your story, but some truths are more clear with non-linear narrative or even prose poems.
Enjoy (and read more than once) weak but strong….
weak but strong….
‘Your shoulders are shit, Sport. Probably all those dips.’
Doctor Welch first called me ‘sport’ when I was thirteen.
I had wanted to put on a little muscle, maybe go out for
football or wrestling, so Mom took me in for a physical.
Any excuse to see Peter Welch M.D. was okay by her.
She’d had a grand crush on the man ever since Dad left.
I discovered later that was the main reason for Dad’s adios.
Peter Welch had played football at SMU before med school.
Mom would always emphasize he played ‘tight end’ and giggle.
I love the woman but she’s never had both oars in the water.
‘But you said bodyweight exercises were the way to
avoid injury. What about primum non nocere? No harm?’
I felt compelled to remind the physician of his sworn
oath, a veiled attempt to justify my chosen vows of
faithfully beginning and ending each day for ten years
with chin ups and dips, the latter my forte. They were
my lauds and vigils, repetitive ups and downs, blood-flushed
prayers that Dad might come to his senses and run home.
As a senior in college I performed 6 sets of 25 reps twice a day.
That Christmas I learned my father had died back east, alone.
‘Hippocrates, Schmockrates. Your greatest strength is also
your greatest weakness, Sport. That’s the oath to swear by.’