Dust Bowl Okie Poet, Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel passed away last night at the age of 88. “At the end, two loving staff at the rest home were reading some of her poems. When the last poem was read, they looked up and she had passed.” There will be a Rosary and Mass at St. Rita's Catholic Church in Tulare on Friday, April 20th, 10:00 a.m., burial at the Tulare District Cemetery.
ASKING FAVORS
Will one of you go
pretty please with
sugar on top
in my absence
a total stranger will do
salute the water tower
in my full name
Call out boldly
challenge that proud crow
who claims the grass
beneath it as its own
and I will be forever in
your gracious debt
Do rant and rave and
shake your fists at demon trucks
which shatter the quiet
of the Pancake House
As a further favor to me
let the iris blue of Sycamore Street
turn your head
as it turned mine years ago.
Above all things just anyone
walk the rose fence foursquare
around Tulare District Cemetery
if the sky is clear east
of St. John’s Church
yell my best regards to the Sierra
- WEM
5/8/07
Hi Chris,
Thanks for checkin'-in.
There are a couple of other poems that Wilma inspired, though I can't locate them in my brain...I can't even find A Prince Albert Wind somewhere on my desk which has two or three scribbled pieces still tucked inside she wrote for me to read at Down An Old Road's showing at the NCPG...2003? I did find the COS program for your documentary's premiere in Visalia.
When I posted "Asking Favors" from Prince Albert, I had the collection out and remember trying to choose between it and a poem I'd written. "McClure's Grocery," posted to the Chapbook In-Progress category on January 15, 2006 is about as close to Wilma's style and sensibilities as I've ever gotten. In my new chapbook, April Bullfrogs, the poem "Hazards of Flight" [posted here December 16, 2006] refers to the promise I never kept but made to her at COS to take her up the Yokohl and Dry Creek in the spring to see the wildflowers one last time. Your word “canny” perhaps best describes the brilliance of her poetry, a legacy to us all.
I’ll try to locate the missing poems and post them here below. In the meantime, here’s two poems by Wilma published in Dry Crik Review, Spring 1993 that I don’t believe are published elsewhere.
THE FLOWER LOVER
The visitors had been talking
about baseball, but somehow
Uncle Bart switched off to the
subject of flowers
jumped right in with “Folks
if you really want to see a sight
take that Yokohl Valley Drive
why the roadsides and low spots
are alive with monkeyflowers
little yellow monkey faces
and beds of buttercups
and if you take that drive to
Woodlake
the lupine will knock you out
shimmery shiny blue alive
and poppies just popping gold.
It’s a calling card from the Almighty
I tell you from my heart.”
And his son tried to shut him up
“Dad, not everyone is as crazy
as you over California wildflowers.”
COUSIN WYATT’S MEMORY
As far as we remember
he never used the word
COLOR
in his long working years
too set in shades of dust
and sweat
if he looked up he saw
a hawk outlined in black.
It shocked everyone
when he told us
in the local rest home.
“That wild mustard
them fields of solid yellow
I ate ‘em with my eyes
before I scythed ‘em down
to cook at home
when I had a cook
my Lula
and I could still see yellow.”
For those interested in more about Wilma McDaniel, copy and paste the following into your web browser:
http://www.wilmaelizabethmcdaniel.com
