Hello, Poetry Friend
The first time I came across John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields” was actually in Flanders Field American Cemetery, in Belgium. I was there on a college study abroad trip, and Professor Ann Miller’s brother, Dr. Jim Vardaman, recited this poem. (Poetry recitation must have run in that family.) It was July — too late for red poppies.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
–John McCrae
Fast forward twenty-two years. At a bike race called the Red Poppy Ride, it took me 37 miles out of 42 to find any red poppies. That felt poem-worthy. So I came home and wrote a poem, which I then worked and reworked for years. Finally, when I was revising the manuscript for The Joy of Poetry, I wanted to mention “In Flanders Fields.” Then I had a thought: Maybe I should try my red poppy poem as a rondeau, since it worked so well for McCrae. Once I got my poem in the form, I never fiddled with it again.
When I did my spring Crossroads poetry and painting show this spring with my friend Nan Henke, I told her I wanted to use my red poppy poem. It just so happened she already had a painting titled “Poppies.”
McCrae wrote his poem to memorialize the dead in those crosses, “row on row.” He sure wasn’t thinking about bicycles. But I was on my bicycle that day to distract myself from a great sadness. I needed to find those red poppies like I’d never needed to find anything. And not finding them for so many miles was heart-wrenching.
Now McCrae’s poem is paired with my bike ride. And my bike ride is paired with my poem, which is now paired with Nan’s art. I can’t see red poppies and not smile. Despite how sad I felt the day I finally found them.
Poetry Journal
Read John McCrae’s poem, which got a lot of play during the 100-year anniversaries surrounding World War I.
Jot down what you notice, what you like, what you don’t, what questions you have, and at least one way in which the poem speaks to you.
Read the poem aloud every day for a week. (Until I share the next poem, on Wednesday.) Is a pairing arising?
Write your own poem about “In Flanders Fields” and the new association is has for you. If you like, email me what you write.
Happy poeming!
Megan