A. Rose Hill

A. Rose Hill resides in Sheridan. Aside from being a staunch supporter of WyoPoets, poetry in general, and other writing groups through the years, her profile shows us several sources of   her inspiration. Rose has given us many memories at our workshops. The poem that she shares illustrates how her dedication reminds us that poetry can be found and made anywhere.
 
In country school, I wanted to be a mother and a writer. In high school I wrote for the school newspaper and as a freshman at Sheridan College I edited the school newsletter printed on a hectograph. (Can anyone other than Rose describe a hectograph?)   In the early '70's I joined Range Writers, and I attended the organizational meeting of Wyoming Writers, Inc. at Sheridan College. Since 1974 I have attended every Wyoming Writers Inc. conference except Sundance in 1992 while the family awaited the birth of our first grandchild.
 
My husband and I have three adopted children, one of whom is deceased, and six grandchildren. One of my earliest published poems was "Wyoming Sounds" in a 1975 Sheridan College publication Scabbard. After one of Barbara Smith's workshops, I wrote poems from my memories and during our son's terminal illness.
 
I am most proud of poems which appeared in Leaning into the Wind and Woven on the Wind (Houghton Mifflin, 1997, 2001) and another titled "Deep Purple" on the strength of which the Amy Kitchener Foundation named me 2012 Wyoming Senior Poet Laureate.
 
I participate in a monthly Third Thursday poetry group which has met since 2006 and a round robin group begun by Clarence Socwell in the mid-nineties. In addition to poetry I also write a column for my church newsletter, as church historian, and write an occasional column for the local newspaper's Seniors Page. My article about Sheridan appears on the Smithsonian magazine's Web page "Your Kind of Town."
 
My form of choice is free verse. My poetic philosophy is to communicate in as few words as possible a poetic idea. I cannot say I have a writing ritual. I write late at night when the household traffic has slowed. It often comes down to meeting a deadline. I am a writer and that means I continually think about writing.
 
 
Grandma Tol' Me Long Ago
 
Grandma tol' me long ago,
she tol' me many times
if dinner burnt 'n black
break out that tuna can 'n
smile, honey, smile
'cause cryin' won't help.
 
Grandma tol' me long ago,
she tol' me more than once
yo' car got two flat tires
roll up yo' sleeves 'n
smile, honey, smile
'cause cryin' won't help.
 
Grandma tol' me long ago,
she tol' me every day
coal bin show up empty,
go chop some wood 'n
smile, honey, smile
'cause cryin' won't help.
 
Grandma tol' me long ago,
she tol' me not to scold
Junior trackin' in the mud;
hand 'im up a mop 'n pail 'n
smile, honey, smile
'cause cryin' won't help.
 
Grandma tol' me long ago,
she tol' me through her tears
words done broke yo' heart,
in pain so bad, can hardly
smile, honey, smile,
then's when cryin' might help.
 
© 2008 A. Rose Hill
Previously published in Western Nebraska Community College’s, Emerging Voices, 2009
 
 
This poem came out of our poetry class assignment on writing blues poems. I once asked my grandmother how she could laugh about things that were so serious. She said, "If I weren't laughing, I'd be crying." That memory triggered this poem.

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