Shutterbug’s delight: Doncaster, 2016ish
This poem was written for my father. I hope he likes it. In its own way, this is one of the most personal things I’ve ever posted.
One Shutterbug: Point of View
shutterbug (n) – “an amateur photographer, especially one who is greatly devoted to the hobby” First recorded in 1940 – 1945
Picture the shutterbug.
For certainly, he’ll picture you:
in a group, in a crowd,
singing out loud,
in chapel, in temple,
in church and up steeple,
on dunes, and on hills,
after bicycle spills,
in the piney, reminiscing,
quite possibly, kissing.
Up steeple – St George’s, Doncaster
And the trumpet does sound
from a blue stereo.
Where to begin?
After taking it
on the chin,
a glider disaster,
international plasters,
that first picture:
why, it’s him!
The gift of an uncle:
a “unchi” says,
Johnny, Ionel,
here, take this:
may it give you
great joy, it is more
than a toy: it’s an eye,
a way of looking,
a history book,
for each picture took
tells a story, or three.
from a blue stereo.
A puff of fresh smoke
from a trusty old pipe,
a friend in common,
and indeed, a first
dazzling meeting
with the beauty
with the smile:
they chat
for awhile.
No points for guessing
how these things proceed.
from a blue stereo.
A wedding in white,
two different families,
polite, where next
from here?
There’s no chance
of a beer, a dance,
or some wine, til
after the cake, why,
it’s honeymoon time.
And the hammiest voice
in all Michigan
speaks of a brave steamshovel.
Family times
are the shutterbug’s dream:
like a cat with some cream,
the albums fill quickly
with children crying,
and crawling,
laughing, and bawling:
it’s slide shows, and sodas,
pancakes, and stew,
colac, corn bread, too.
And the hammiest voice
in all Christendom
tells of bunnies: flopsy, and true.
The shutterbug’s collection
grows with those kids
who he packs into a car
10 days each year: going
there, travelling here,
in a brown Meteor
with toys, books galore,
the beauty she reads
as the shutterbug drives,
whilst the youngest melts crayons
on the the back of the car,
and America unfurls,
like a flag filled with stars.
Sorry about the crayons – 1960s
And the hammiest voice
in all Michigan
goes down a Hobbit hole.
Come Appalachians,
come DC, come Boston,
and Nashville! Summon
crowds of great aunties,
and uncles, with photos,
through crick, hill
and churches, and always,
reminiscing, with y’alls,
and kissing.
Come Smokey bears
begging, early morning
petrol stations, with the kids,
and the wife, waiting.
On return, the shutterbug’s
sorting, collating, a bin
by his side, once the vacation
has ended,
but never the journey:
with all America,
waiting, always
still waiting.
And black-red-and-white dances
on an old stereo.
He once crossed an ocean:
the skies, the ship’s motion,
ending with the Lady
his parents saw before him.
Now travelling in mind,
in photos, and time,
he’s weathered the longest.
The last leaf,
or the strongest?
And the tenderest voice
in all Christendom
reads through her Bible,
and sings their old hymns.
With his lady – 1970s
I love you, Daddy.
June 2017
Tagged: America, children’s books, family, Father’s Day, Frank Sinatra, Handel, music, nostalgia, photography, Romania 
