Homespun poetry for family and friends
A little-known Glasgow poet, a duck, a sweet potato and a whole lot of heart come together in this charming “Book Pick.”
Move over, Oprah, Reece, Jenna, and all you other media influencers who offer book recommendations. Make room for another contender and let me present this “Book Pick.”
I’ve just read “Poems and Short Stories” by a little-known author. It came to me as an Advance Reader’s Copy, and should some major publishing company make it available to the masses, its author would surely to be little-known no longer.
Full disclosure: The author is one of my many cousins-in-law, as I married into an extended family that includes about half the county. I may also be biased in reviewing the poetry because one poem is dedicated to “He who once had a duck named Duck.” The poet wrote it after reading one of my recent columns about having a duck, rather than a dog, as a childhood pet.
Some readers may notice an old school, quatrain style approach to several poems. “Duck,” for an example, is written as a ballad with the second and fourth lines offering the rhyme. Readers may also notice a whimsical nature reminiscent of Ogden Nash in several of the lines.
I’m not suggesting this octogenarian writer was in an old school classroom with Nash, yet there seem to be similar elements in the styles.
The author of this little bound collection is Georgia Beth Albany, long-time resident of good ol’ Glasgow. Only two of her entries have been previously published, “Lord God, Reign Over Us” and “Our Heroes,” in a local newspaper.
Her subjects are quite varied. In an ode to a stinkbug, she examines the existence of a “bug that wuzz” that ended with leaving “his endearing scent.”
In “A Sweet Potato Review,” Georgia Beth humorously reveals her unintended involvement in a monthly delivery to her door of a single sweet potato.
Several poems offer inspirations she found in observing nature. Some praise God, and it’s through Him that Georgia finds ultimate inspiration.
Last May, several friends gathered for a luncheon and birthday celebration for Georgia. Her response was a 28-line poem that began with “Ah, to be eighty-eight/In Eighty-Eight Kentucky/Only in the Bluegrass State/Could a person be so lucky” and ended with “I’m thankful for all eighty-eight/Of my years upon this earth/And for each of you who are here today/You brought laughter, joy, and mirth.”
My wife and I recently enjoyed a breakfast with Georgia. While waiting for our order to be delivered to our table, I noticed Georgia fidgeting with wrinkled papers from straws. Her hands gathered strips of the flimsy papers, and she artfully wove them into a creation resembling a flower bloom.
She created art from a rather ordinary source. Perhaps that’s how she composes her poetry. She uses what she notices and shapes her thoughts into lines of pleasant expressions.
Georgia’s book is not intended to be a commercial venture. She only had a few copies printed as an expression of thanks for family. Still, if the right publisher were to take her manuscript, assign and editor and publicist, and produce a large print run—who knows?
