In My Grandfather's Voice: Found Poetry

A few weeks ago, I saw a comment on Twitter from Mary J. Johnson, The Primary Source Librarian:



I visited the Library of Congress Primary Source Set that Mary had recommended, then did some background research.

By definition, a "found poem" is a composition made by combining fragments of such printed material as newspapers, signs, or menus, and rearranging them into the form of a poem. Found poetry is fancifully described as the literary equivalent of a collage. In its purest form, found poetry uses only the original text, without alterations or deletions.

There are a number of lesson plans available online that focus on creating found poetry, including

• Creating Found Poetry from Picture Books
• Student Challenge: Create a New York Times 'Found Poem'
• Recasting Language Through Found Poetry
• Enhancing a Poetry Unit with American Memory (LOC)

My own foray into found poetry was inspired by some papers I found in my late father's office. Dad's parents, my grandparents, were Italian immigrants. They worked hard, found their version of the American Dream, and proudly became U.S. citizens.

Just prior to the outbreak of WWI, my grandfather had to return to Italy to settle an estate. Unable to leave the country once war was declared, Grandpa was given a choice: enlist in the Italian army, or be shot as a spy! He opted for the former, and served his time, while Grandma managed the family and their businesses. While far from home and loved ones, he kept a journal.

At some point, a photocopy of this document came into my father's possession, along with a translation of a few of the entries from their original Italian. On these pages, I see my grandfather's beautiful script and hear the loneliness and longing in his words.

Here are a selection of "found poems" in my grandfather's voice:

I. Malachin

Last night
at the usual hour
we had a roll call
of the 13th squad
and everybody was present
except for one soldier,
Malachin.
He is a country boy
and he likes to drink wine.
This evening
he is still missing
and nobody knows
where he is
or if anything happened to him.
The Commandant of the platoon
ordered us
to look for him
for some time
and at 11 pm
he was declared a deserter.
Pity for him.

II. Mail Call

The mail came this morning,
but for me, nothing.
I write almost every day,
but for me always nothing.
Word goes around
that in a few days
we have to advance,
and we hope
that God will keep us
in good health and safe,
so we can be together and
I think about my loved ones a lot...a lot.

III. Cold

The icy air really
cuts your face
and freezes your feet.
Just in a few minutes,
your feet
are not just frozen
but like marble.
The night is beautiful,
with so many stars,
a night for lovers!
The stars shine so
brilliantly
in the sky.
If a poet were here,
he would write
some beautiful
poetic words.
I look at my watch
and the time is 2 am.
We have to stay up
for another 3 hours
with this
tremendous cold air
and we feel
the nervousness
of the time.

IV. Battle

We hear the sound
of battle
gunfire,
machine gun fire
and even the air
smells of
gun powder.
We also hear soldiers calling for help
and, to top it all off,
is the feeling
of insecurity,
the end of this
messy and gory raid.
The potent
machine gun light
sweeps across the land
and everything is dead silent.
But this time
the light has a
companion
from the other side,
and it seems that
it is a duel
between the
two giant lights.
Our light is
searching
and the enemy light
tries to confuse us.
After a while,
the lights from both sides
go off.
No winners.



"Grandpa's Journal" by dmcordell