how poetry became a dazzling mix of folk wisdom and pure mathematics

by Ron Whitehead

Photo of Ron Whitehead (by Jinn)

I come from a long line of farmers, coal miners, and strong women, of musicians and singers and storytellers, of folks who work hard, who love their families, who love life, folks who value the music the power the poetry of words.

Daddy was a coal miner for 46 years, from age 16 to 62. He worked his way up to having the top union job at his coal mine. He was respected by his fellow union workers and by the company men, including the superintendent of the mine, who was his friend. Daddy had many friends.

A few months after Daddy retired he had a massive heart attack. The doctor said he lost half his heart and wouldn't make it through the night.

The next morning he gave him three days, at the most.

Daddy died 17 years later, of congestive heart failure.

Daddy never complained about his health. He had to reduce his work load. He and Mama sold the farm and moved to the outskirts of Beaver Dam.

Daddy was a fierce yet gentle man. I've never known a stronger harder working man. In so many ways he was a role model. For years I worked jobs I despised, jobs I worked my ass off at to the best, to somehow show Daddy, to prove to him that I was as much a man as he was.

Although Daddy dropped out of school in 10th grade, he believed in the power of words. He loved to read. He read westerns, crime novels, folk novels. He subscribed to magazines, including Reader's Digest, which included Word Power. Every month, when the new issue arrived, after dinner, which we called supper, Daddy yelled, "Ronnie, come in here." And he'd call out the 10 words in Word Power and I had to spell and give the definition of each word. It warmed my heart to do that with Daddy, and that he wanted to do that with me. The power of words brought us together. We loved the sound and meaning of words.

I had the deepest respect for Daddy. Despite all our differences and disagreements, which we finally settled, I have always loved him dearly.

I worked at the mines 3 times, but I never once wanted to be a coal miner. More than anything, I have always wanted to be a poet, a writer and spend my life listening to the sound and understanding the meaning of words.

All my life I have been an avid reader. For years I filled spiral notebooks with words and their definitions. Every time I read a word I didn't understand I wrote it in my notebook. On Sundays I wrote down the definitions of the new words I had discovered in my readings. Then I read all the words and definitions, to increase my vocabulary. I love the sounds and meanings of words.

1962. School was out for Christmas break. I was 12.

A little before dark, snow started falling.
It snowed all night.

Brad and I slept in the unfinished attic. No heat, no air conditioning. Through the night I listened to winter's wind whistling through the cracks in our attic walls. I listened to winter's wind weaving songs accompanied by the cedar and pine trees surrounding and protecting our home.

Before daybreak I heard Mama and Daddy downstairs.
Daddy loading the furnace with coal then going out the
back door headed to the barn to feed the animals. Mama
in the kitchen cooking breakfast. She was singing, quietly,
"Oh Christmas Tree." I smelled bacon and biscuits and
gravy and coffee. Yes I was already drinking coffee.
Started when I was 6.

I woke Brad up. Brad was a sound sleeper. I said, "Hey,
Brad, wake up. Let's go see how much snow we got. Hey, get
up. We've got to go milk the cows, chop the ice on the
pond, and bring the coal in. Come on, Mama's cooking
breakfast. I'm going down."

Brad and I had breakfast with Mama and Daddy. As
always Mama's cooking was delicious. We ate every
crumb. Brad licked his plate.

Daddy left for work at the mines.

After Brad and I finished our morning chores I got my
.410 shotgun and went hunting.

It had snowed over a foot during the night and giant
flakes were still falling. The snow wasn't letting up.

I walked and walked and walked. I was in awe of the
beauty, all the beauty that surrounded me. I lost track
of time.

I found myself in a field surrounded by woods. All
around me the wind whispered through the limbs
the branches of the barren trees. The wind whispered
through the fur of the evergreen trees. A lone crow
cawed in the distance, searching its way home.

It was then I realized that I was hearing a sound
louder than any other, a loud but gentle and soft
sound, the sound of falling snowflakes.

That sound, that moment, comes back to me often,
including now, transporting me to a time and a
place long gone, but a time and a place that will
live eternally in my heart's memory.

I love nature. I love Mama and Daddy, my family. I love the sound and meaning of words.

—Ron Whitehead, U.S. National Lifetime Beat Poet Laureate

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