Poems My Mother Sang To Me

The Arrow and the Song
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air
It fell to earth
I knew not where
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathe a song into the air
It fell to earth
I knew not where
For, who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of a song?

Long, long afterwards
In an oak
I found the arrow still unbroke
And the song from beginning til end
I found it again in the heart of a friend.


My mother used to recite poems to her children, and sing songs to them. She was a dressmaker, and while she was making patterns using newspapers or cutting cloth, or pedalling on her antique (even then) Singer sewing machine, she would hum or whistle or sing the songs of her childhood. Or youth. She also recited poetry. The above was my favorite. Even at a very early age, I definitely could feel the sentiment in the poem. Now I realize that because of this habit of hers, I was sold to poetry as early as five or even younger. Her other favorite was 'The Children's Hour' (by Longfellow, too), though this other one's meaning escaped the young me and I am sure I pictured it in a very weird way then.

A mother humming, singing 'The Cuban Love Song' or ' The Indian Love Song' or 'Harbor Lights' or sometimes 'Clementine' or that other song which went this way

In a quiet village
Many miles away
There I had a sweetheart
Known as my dear little maid

There we had a quarrel
And we drifted apart
....
.....
She broke my dear little heart.

Why are you cruel my darling
Why did you cast
Cast me aside?
Think of the days when you loved me
When you were my promised bride.

Many years have passed by
Since I saw her last
......


I know I can google the complete song, but it certainly feels good typing the words and realizing you still remember most of it. Then there was this other song with the line '... dressed in gingham, too...' but I just can't recall the title nor the other lines right now. Oh, it's starting to come back now. 'It was there, not here, but there, I knew.. that you loved, not hate, but loved me true. You were sixteen, not fifteen, but sixteen, my village queen, not a king but a queen. Heere's the title. Down by the old millstream !!!

Heartbreaking to know they don't emphasize poetry in schools, anymore. Surely not the classics. Free verse, maybe. But who can memorize free verse? What six-year-old child can come to the front of the class and recite in singsong while making motions, moving his arms, pointing at his heart, making his eyes sorrowful, to recite free verse? What child can remember? And remember to this day?

My mother did not accomplish much in terms of education in school. She never tutored me in english nor in math. But her poetry and her songs still echo in my heart.