two poems by Freya Manfred

~ jama
“Woman Writing” by Bly Pope.

I consider it a rare gift to discover a new-to-me poet, one whose work immediately resonates and whets my appetite for more.

Reading Freya Manfred’s poems for the first time was like taking a rejuvenating breath of fresh air, or drinking a tall glass of cool water on a warm day. She often writes about nature and human relationships; her plain-spoken words, generous spirit and clear-sighted wisdom shifted my perspective. Here are two poems I found especially moving.

“Breakfast” by Amy Werntz (oil on panel).
IMAGINE THIS 
by Freya Manfred

When you’re young, and in good health,
you can imagine living in New York City,
or Nepal, or in a tree beyond the moon,
and who knows who you’ll marry: a millionaire,
a monkey, a sea captain, a clown.

But the best imaginers are the old and wounded,
who swim through ever narrowing choices,
dedicating their hearts to peace, a stray cat,
a bowl of homemade vegetable soup,
or red Mountain Ash berries in the snow.

Imagine this: only one leg and lucky to have it,
a jig-jagged jaunt with a cane along the shore,
leaning on a walker to get from grocery to car,
smoothing down the sidewalk on a magic moving chair,
teaching every child you meet the true story

of this sad, sweet, tragic, Fourth of July world.

~ from Speak, Mother (Red Dragonfly Press, 2015).
“Old Man with Cane” by James Coates.

Imagine this: bemoaning what aging has taken away from you, only to embrace a newfound gratitude for what you still have.

Remember being young and idealistic? All things seemed possible, the sky was the limit, far horizons beckoned. Why not dream big?

Yet in time one learns life is full of ironies: yes, our choices narrow, but having fewer choices brings what is truly important into focus. Small things bring joy and comfort when considered within the rich context of memory and experience. Physical challenges deepen appreciation for what you once took for granted. For all your searching, you’ve finally learned what actually matters.

*

art by Inge Löök.
OLD FRIENDS 
by Freya Manfred

Old friends are a steady spring rain,
or late summer sunshine edging into fall,
or frosted leaves along a snowy path—
a voice for all seasons saying, I know you.
The older I grow, the more I fear I'll lose my old friends,
as if too many years have scrolled by
since the day we sprang forth, seeking each other.
 
Old friend, I knew you before we met.
I saw you at the window of my soul—
I heard you in the steady millstone of my heart
grinding grain for our daily bread.
You are sedimentary, rock-solid cousin earth,
where I stand firmly, astonished by your grace and truth.
And gratitude comes to me and says:
 
"Tell me anything and I will listen.
Ask me anything, and I will answer you."

~ from Loon in Late November Water (Red Dragonfly Press, 2018).

Manfred gets right to the heart of the matter with this poignant poem. Most of us want friends who truly know us and will support us no matter what.

I’m especially grateful for friends I’ve known for over 60 years. We may live 5,000 miles apart and don’t get to see each other very often, but when we do get together we can pick up right where we left off.

Old friends are one of life’s greatest treasures; as the prospect of losing them increases with age, they become even more precious.

*

I hope you will read more of Freya Manfred’s poetry if she’s new to you too. Another reason to love her even more? Now an octogenarian, she’s also the mother of twins! Her sons, Bly and Rowan Pope, are visual artists whose work has graced the covers of many of her books. Bly’s painting appears at the top of this post and he also drew this amazing portrait of Freya in pencil (still can’t believe it’s not a photograph):

“Freya Manfred” by Bly Pope (pencil).

*

Freya Manfred, a longtime Midwesterner who has lived on both coasts, has published ten poetry collections, the most recent of which is When I Was Young and Old (Nodin Press, 2023). She attended Macalester College and Stanford University, and has received a Radcliffe Grant and a National Endowment for the Arts Grant. Her seventh collection, Swimming With A Hundred Year Old Snapping Turtle (Red Dragonfly Press, 2008), won the 2009 Midwest Booksellers Choice Award for Poetry, and her poems have appeared in more than a hundred reviews and magazines and more than fifty anthologies.

Her memoir, Frederick Manfred: A Daughter Remembers (Minnesota Historical Society Press, 1999), was nominated for a Minnesota Book Award and an Iowa Historical Society Award. Her most recent memoir is Raising Twins: A True Life Adventure (Nodin Press, 2015). She conducts highly praised poetry and memoir workshops and readings for grades K-12, colleges, and adults, and lives with her husband, screenwriter Thomas Pope, in Stillwater, Minnesota. For more information about all her books, visit her Official Website.

*

SPEAK, MOTHER
written by Freya Manfred
published by Red Dragonfly Press, 2015
Poetry Collection, 100pp.
*Cover art by Rowan Pope

eBay

LOON IN LATE NOVEMBER WATER
written by Freya Manfred
published by Red Dragonfly Press, 2018
Poetry Collection, 100pp.
*Cover photograph by Bly Pope

Red Dragonfly Press

*

Lovely and talented Patricia Franz is hosting the Roundup at her blog Reverie. Be sure to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up around the blogosphere this week. Happy Weekend!

*Copyright © 2025 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

32 thoughts on “two poems by Freya Manfred”

  1. Thank you for this lovely post, Jama! The art and poems are incredible! I will definitely be looking for more work from Freya Manfred. I just got home from a meetup with some college friends I’ve known for almost 60 years – old friends are the best!

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  4. I can’t believe it’s not a photograph either, Jama. What a lovely poet you’ve just brought to us. I will look for her books, and thank you for all you shared, not just Freya’s words, but yours, too, like “what actually matters.” I lost a best friend this past year. It’s still tough to believe she’s gone. But the happy memories with her will stay!

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    1. So sorry to hear about losing your friend, Linda. Always hard. About not believing someone is actually gone: I found out a couple of months ago a longtime friend (whom I had not seen in many years) had passed away in early 2023. When I finally heard, it was a shock, as all through 2023 and 2024 I assumed she was still alive (she was on FB but not an active poster, so I didn’t sense anything was unusual). Guess I’d better make a point of checking in with friends whose posts I don’t often see.

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  5. These poems hit me like a punch to the gut, Jama, they ring so true.

    As you say, Freya “gets right to the heart of the matter.”

    Many thanks for introducing me to this new-to-me poet.

    What a payback for giving you Brian Doyle a few years ago 😉

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  6. Your blog always gives me the feels, Jama. You find the most amazing art to pair with poetry. I could study “Breakfast” for hours. I am on my way to find Freya. Thank you!

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  8. Wow! I’ve been seeing a man at the exit near my daughter’s house in New Orleans. He paces with a prosthetic leg. I often wonder how he was injured and how he can walk so well on it. Freya’s poem really punches me in the gut. The man with the cane, like the man I see, teaching every child (and me) the true story. Thanks for sharing.

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    1. I think I would wonder the same thing if I saw that man. The stories he could tell! They always say wisdom comes with age, yet another brand of wisdom comes with pain and suffering too, regardless of age.

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      Reply

  9. These poems sing. I will now view my bad knee as an opportunity to sit with myself and appreciate the moment. So, I can’t walk the pups. We’re all happy snuggling on the chaise… Thank you for finding another treasure, Jama Darling. And WOW, I can’t believe the pencil portrait! What crazy talent!

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    1. Sorry to hear about your knee. Now we’re knee pain twins who can live together in that charming cottage from a few weeks ago. The dogs will be good company, and Colin can be our chef and entertainment. I think he cooks Italian . . .

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  11. Jama,

    This post is wonderful. Thank you for the richness of the selected poetry and the artwork. Your pairing of paintings to each poem is amazing. The pencil drawing really amazed me…it’s so photographic. WOW. I do love how the poet refers to aging in a way that I can relate to but it’s not depressing. It’s observational, curious. I absolutely want to read more. Thanks for making that possible!

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    1. Agree — I also like and appreciate how Freya views aging and is able to present it realistically but not in a negative way. I still marvel at that pencil drawing with disbelief.

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  17. Jama, it was nice spending some time hear learning about Freya Manfred and her two sons who are artists. I’ve enjoyed looking at their amazing artwork. Thank you. I have my dear friend’s birthday card ready to send, but I just wrote these true lines on the back of the envelope:

    “Old friend, I knew you before we met.
    I saw you at the window of my soul—”

    Liked by 1 person

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