Immigrants

June 13, 2025

Here are 2 immigrants, Klass Hanstra and Gieske Ijkamp Hanstra, my great-great-grandparents. They are parents to Katherine Hanstra, who married my great-grandfather, Wopke Plantinga. Katherine and Wopke had 11 children, my grandfather being the oldest. My grandfather, George Plantenga, was born 5 months after Katherine & Wopke’s marriage, so they never celebrated his birthday which was Oct.15, 1893. Wopke changed his name to William. Klass and Gieske changed their names to Clarence and Gertrude, here in America. The goal was to sound as “English” as possible, since that was the dominant group in America.

Klass and Gieske were born in Friesland, the Netherlands. Friesland is an area on the NW coast of Holland (Netherlands). They spoke their own language of “Frisian” as well as Dutch. Klass was specifically born in Stiens, Leeuwarderadeel, Friesland, Netherlands, on June 2, 1828. Gieske was born in an area of Friesland called Het Bildt on April 22, 1838. Their marriage was Sept.1, 1864. They arrived in America in 1894, with onley TWO of their 6 children. Only “Pietje” (age 18) and “Tjitske” (age 11) are listed on the passengr list. For “occupations”, father Taeke said “laborer”, mother Gieske said “wife” and their 2 children were “servants”. (I think that meant they would work as domestic servants, which most of the young girls did.) All their 6 children were: 1 boy (Taeke, later “Charles” in America); and 5 girls: Grietje (Margaret), Trijntje (Katherine), Pietje (Nellie), Jantje (Jessie), and Tjitske (Jennie). Their first-born is listed as “Levinloos kind”, meaning “lifeless child”. —- They settled where the Dutch tended to go: Chicago, and later moved south of there to my hometown, Lafayette, Indiana, which is where they are buried. NONE of them worried about their workplace being raided or themselves being handcuffed in front of their children and taken to some cold PRISON or DEPORTED back to HOLLAND!! They also remained poor in America, mostly the men working odd jobs or FARMING and selling vegetables. They were serious Puritan-type people. It’s amazing I have a picture of them.

cfblack, 6-13-2025

Life before the Internet

May 27, 2025

Before the internet

we used telephones,

not in our hands, but on kitchen wall.

We had to take turns, we had to be home,

and all we could do was talk.

I can even remember a “party line”

we shared with other households,

Before making a call, we picked up the phone

to see if our neighbor was on the line.

If they were, we had to wait

until they finished theirs.

It’s hard to even imagine today

the life we had back then.

More contemplation, more time alone,

no random AI listening,

None of that. NONE of that.

More personal time, more privacy,

Unless we were talking on a phone at home,

we were talking face-to-face.

No texting, no zooming, no Instagram or “X”,

no FaceBook, or Snapchat, no TicTok

or Messenger,

no teenagers worried what their friends thought

of their latest video.

No 24/7 bullying,

when we went home, it stopped.

— Last night I mentioned something,

never googled it, or searched.

Today it appeared on FaceBook

while scrolling messages.

Men now have AI girlfriends — they never disagree,

Women have AI boyfriends — “they always listen to me.”

We need face-to-face conversation, holding each other’s hand,

Sharing difficult topics and trying to understand,

I have no patience for texting, and I like my time alone,

So please excuse my slow response and not answering my phone.

cfblack 5-27-25

Road Trip

May 25, 2025

Riding in the back seat of a car to Charleston
Takes me back to 10 years old,
Riding in the backseat of a station wagon
For days on end. No air conditioning,

To California, San Diego, Disneyland, Yosemite,
Northern Redwoods, Grand Canyon, Zion, the Badlands,
Looking for fossils, camping, riding a stage coach or a horse,
sand dunes, walking trails, the Great Lakes, waterfalls,
Canada, Lake Huron, Mexico, a bull fight.
my dad’s yellow raft, with him paddling a river.

My family was adventurous, these were our summers, when my dad escaped the stress of his academic life,
These were our times, family vacations,
Times for us to get away, spend days together.

You think you have a lifetime, then realize it’s over,
and these are the moments you have.
The days you look back on, the times you cherish,
the memories are what last forever.

cfblack, 5-25-25

to work on later

May 20, 2025

I have this thought for a poem I’ll work on later. It is to speak to poets about why I don’t want to read at a poetry reading. Title may be “I don’t want to read.”

I don’t want to read.

LAST DAY

April 28, 2025

Last day.
Printing final exams to be taken in person
at desks made in the 1970s,
Phones and laptops put away,
they suffer withdrawal until test is done.
Some never did assignments,
their grades dropped out of sight,
now ask, “What can I do?”
I ask the same question, what can I do
to spark your interest
to learn,
to read,
to write your own thoughts, in your own voice,
which is SO NEEDED today,
but remains hidden behind AI, ChatGPT,
and copying your friend’s paper.
cfblack, 4-28-25

March lament

March 14, 2025

Treefrogs trill in the trees that enjoyed a sprinkling of rain
from the clouds that last night hid the red moon eclipse,
Pretty black cat joins me on the back porch,
but as I sit, my fingers turn cold as ice from a light breeze blowing;
I return inside, to the warmer air of my daughter’s kitchen,
and await the heat of Summer.
cfblack, 3-14-25, Pi Day

The piano

February 20, 2025

I remember the day you came to us,
Excitement intense and real,
I was the one who mastered you,
who played for hours on end.
Four years learning to play your keys,
to lift my fingers,
prance them along,
to play with emotion and haunting beauty,
There were times I would stop, sit in silence,
cry, tears rolling down my cheeks,
Frustrated, not moving,
staring at the keys,
until my Father called to me,
“Later, take a break,” he said,
“Come back to play it later.”
and I thought, one day, you might be mine,
to play in joy and solitude.
When my mother passed, there was no way
to bring you to the South,
so you went to our oldest daughter’s house
and lived there for awhile,
Until one day, she gave you away, to another family,
their daughter wanted to learn to play,
and so, you went to them.
There was too much symbolism
to bring you here, even if we wanted,
the meaning of you took on other hues,
of shadows and of sorrow,
so once again, I now release
the pain of former years,
Detach myself from physical things,
thick with meaning and memory,
You travel on, away from me
to the home of a total stranger,
while I am left, as a little girl,
with memories that haunt, and linger.
cfblack, 2-7-14, revised 2-19-25

We have to believe

January 10, 2025

We have to believe
our efforts matter,
small changes,
one neighbor to another,
kindness, compassion, sincere love,
while winds blow cold around us,
we keep logs upon the fire.
cfblack, 1-10-25

polar vortex

January 10, 2025

2:30am, it’s cold in the South,
25 degrees outside these walls,
heater broken, won’t shut off,
fan is stuck in “ON” mode,
We fold blankets against the doors
to cover up the cracks,
the ones that will let sunlight in
when morning comes again,
For now I sit, wrapped in red coat
from my mother-in-law,
watch for random snowflakes,
drinking cherry bubbly.
cfblack 1-10-25

Total Strangers

January 1, 2025

As I sit and listen to firecrackers
in our neighborhood,
and wonder how long they will last,
how long dogs will cower under covers
and animals in the park think their life is past,
I think of total strangers —
the ones we met in airports–
The “snowbirds” going back to Florida,
bought a condo, didn’t like it,
headed to Fort Myers,
They smiled freely with dancing eyes,
sharing bits about their lives,
were happy with each other;
Another couple next to them — the woman,
heavy makeup, self-absorbed,
her husband staring at us, then Naylah,
confused, dumbfounded, back and forth,
trying to figure us out;
The lady in a wheelchair, patient and kind,
not really worried about the long line,
said she was “thinking about the end result”
and knew it would all be worth it;
the lady checking our IDs and bags
who barely mouthed her words,
wanting to go home,
she looked for her shift to end;
The woman on a plane, on her phone,
giving orders, making arrangements,
losing patience with whoever it was
on the other end,
her child, excited, next to her,
wanting mommy’s attention;
The young man who fell sound asleep,
mouth open, lost in a dream,
the steward trying to give him a drink
finally giving up;
a baby who cried throughout one flight,
another who played happily;
the Captain who made many announcements
none of us could hear;
I think of them all,
how absurd it was,
all of us 2 miles in the air,
never to meet again;
I hope they met their connecting flights,
got home safely, luggage in hand,
now sit home with family or friends,
as we look to a new year,
and now it seems, fireworks have stopped,
but sirens tell me others have not,
their new year starting with trouble;
so now, I brush teeth and go to bed,
look forward to seeing the sun again,
and waking up, tomorrow.
cfblack, 1-1-25 1am