Meet the Poets: Al Rocheleau

Al Rocheleau

Al Rocheleau

On this final day of National Poetry Month, I’m pleased to close “Meet the Poets” with a tribute from my friend Al Rocheleau. I couldn’t help but be struck by the fact that all the featured poems were memorials to someone loved and lost, something I had not planned on, but I appreciated this look inside the poets’ hearts. Such tributes can be difficult to write; at least I have found this to be the case with my only two attempts.

It has been said that poems are “among the most compelling expressions of emotions.” That certainly applies to the offerings from the five poets in this series, and I hope you have enjoyed their words, and their memories, as much as I have.

* * *

Al Rocheleau’s poems have appeared in over 40 magazines in the United States, Canada, the U.K., France, Austria, and Poland. For many years he hosted popular online workshops and served as Poetry Editor and Senior Columnist at Amazing Instant Novelist, a writers’ site sponsored by America Online. In 2004, Al received the Thomas Burnett Swann Award from the Gwendolyn Brooks Writers Association. He has lectured at Emerson College, the University of Massachusetts, and for many writer’s groups, including the Florida Writers Association. In 2010 his poetry manual, On Writing Poetry: For Poets Made As Well As Born, was published by Shantih Press and is available from Amazon.com. In 2012, Al developed and launched “The Twelve Chairs” seminar program, offering a 180-hour course in poetry writing for poets of all levels. He is a member of the Florida State Poets Association and resides in Orlando, Florida.

“My father-in-law, George Daignault, died from final stage Parkinson’s disease in early February. I had known the man for thirty-six years; he was a good friend, and it was my privilege to be his primary caregiver the last five months of his life. He had spent that life as a truck driver. He was a good man, good family man. When I elected to write something for him, I found it difficult to proceed. I finally settled on the ballad, a simple form (not simple to write, however) that could be turned into a song. In the middle of the night, two days before his funeral, it came together. I had written many elegies before, but none like this, none this close to me. I am thankful that the ballad form was around to frame George’s times, and his time with us. I asked a friend to finish the music and to sing it at his service; he did.”

* * *

George, A Ballad

You drove the drifting snow along,
you drove in days of heat,
you separated right from wrong
with pedals at your feet.

7 b George portrait closeup

George Daignault

The trucker’s life’s a simple one,
you go from A to B,
you try to make it back again,
again, to family.

“Goodbye Annette, goodbye my Gette,
and goodbye Annmarie,
I tried my best to be the man
you’d look up to, and see.”

Your baritone could fill a room
with confidence and quips,
yet melt to squeak of sentiment
as tears slid by your lips.

Calendars can fly away
their pages with a breeze,
but memory calls the living back
and brings us to our knees.

“Goodbye Annette, goodbye my Gette,
and goodbye Annmarie,
I tried my best to be the man
you’d look up to, and see.”

Working man, your day is done,
deliveries are through;
rest yourself within His arms
as we deliver you.

“Goodbye Annette, goodbye my Gette,
and goodbye Annmarie,
I tried my best to be the man
you’d look up to, and see.”

 

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