I have been thinking about the fact that the three of the poets I have made part of my morning reading are from my parent’s generation. As is Paul Fussell whose memoirs I am reading.
Here are pics and birth years of people in my family and people whom I have been reading.
David Jenkins b 1922
Paul Fussell b 1924
Dorothy Hatch b 1924
Eloise Reveal b 1925
Clyde Hatch b 1925
Mary Jenkins b 1926
Jon Jenkins b 1927
Anne Sexton b 1928, whose poetry and letters I am currently reading
Adrienne Rich b 1929, whose poetry I am also currently reading
Paul Jenkins b 1929
John Updike b 1932, author whose books I have read over the years and whose poetry I am currently reading.
These people are listed from oldest to youngest. I think of them as roughly in the same generation. I suppose Updike is a bit too young to be included. Of this group, only my Mom and her sister, Eloise are still alive.
I am struck by the many experiences of American life represented here.
When Paul Fussell exclaims in his memoirs with disgust at the then Vice-president, Richard Nixon, I am reminded that my father later voted for Nixon for president because he was too wary of that dang Roman Catholic, Kennedy.
Both Fussell and Sexton come from very wealthy families, Fussell in California, Sexton in New England. Both of these people break out of the insularity of their background and have very helpful criticisms of their and consequently our time.
I have a funeral to attend today. Eileen’s cousin and contemporary Harry Hatch (link to obit FWIW) died a week ago Tuesday. He was roughly Eileen’s and my age. She seemed a tad shook by this death as is understandable. I was surprised that she assumed I wouldn’t go to the funeral with her. I assumed I would and am planning on it. I told her that not all husband are like the Mad Man Don Draper (whom I am coming to despise the more we watch this silly series).
So I need to get some practice in this morning before we drive to Muskegon. Maybe I’ll write more about my parent’s generation later.
But now I gotta skate.