Abstract
The author, a research poet, research professor, and Mennonite, through poetry reflects on her inherited faith and the inherent tension between the need/desire to publish empirical research of others and empirical research of oneself. The memory of the childhood insult Peckernite frames her poetic stance.
Peckernite 1 Poet
Peckernite Poet Poetaster Poetess Poking around poetry
Modern Mennonite
I am writing a poem about being Mennonite. Curious, I type into Goggle, What is the meaning of the word Mennonite? There in Wikipedia rests my entire heritage. On closer reading while seemingly accurate some nuances of heritage, the need to save things… used birthday candles, people, the world, all tinged with guilt that the saving should be conducted more humbly, is not something the Internet can describe. I am relieved. There is something left for me to pass to my children.
On Meeting Me (a Mennonite)
Upon asking and hearing she hugs me close and says, “My neighbors when I was growing up were Mennonite.” Awkward pause. Then, “Do you quilt”?
You Can Run but You Can’t Hide
Who said this first? To me it may have been a Mennonite parent calling out warning as their daughter dashed out the door covering askew, stocking seams crooked hairpins loose. I see it is Boxer Joe. Does this phrase, with such a violent origin, belong in a Menno poem? Parents’faith inherited or rejected dogging and nipping at your heels.
Mennonite Scholar at a State School
I recall after the offer came, when asked you said, “I can only think of a handful of major Mennonite scholars who are at a secular institute and contribute to Mennonite literature. Having received an academic offer at one Mennonite University and four secular the question was pivotal. Two paths . . . I chose the secular one. . . just doesn’t have a ring to it. I promised myself I would be different. I could be in the World but, not of the World. Finally, a decade late, I am a full professor. I can do what I wish? I promise myself now I will write of my people . . . of me. Yet I find I am no longer thought to be one of my people. I should really write with ink on paper. Splashes on inked words have much more effect than on a keyboard.
How Do You Say, “I’m Mennonite.”?
I tell it quickly, upfront. A badge of honor I say. . . but, perhaps more like pulling of a bandage quickly. My brother, one no longer, never told anyone hoping despite ancient pedigree, and Mennonite family name he would slip by unnoticed. My sister’s married name proclaims it to all who have any sense of it, YODER.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the Qualitative Writing course of Fall 2011 for their profound acceptance and insightful critique of a scared/scarred, Mennonite Poet/Poetaster first forays into what I term Peckernite Poetry.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.