Former Indiana poet laureate and the author of the state poem, Arthur Mapes, is set to be honored with a historical marker in his hometown of Kendallville over the weekend.
The Indiana State Poem, simply titled ‘Indiana,’ by Arthur Mapes creates a beautiful visual of the state’s geography; from wooded hillsides to the Wabash River.
Angela Mapes-Turner is his granddaughter. She says his humble beginnings offer an optimistic story to her and those she shares it with.
“When I share his story with students, they find it inspiring that someone who maybe had a job similar to what one of their parents had or grandparents, could achieve such a high honor in the arts.”
Mapes lived across from Bixler Lake Park and, during his youth, hunted for small game inside the woods there. He made his living as a machinist, but wrote poetry in his free time as a self-taught author.
In 1986, 'Indiana' was adopted by the official state poem by the Indiana General assembly and Mapes was named Indiana Poet Laureate in 1977. Before he passed away in 1986, he released a collection of poems titled 'Indiana Memories,' which Mapes-Turner says is now very difficult to find copies of.
Mapes-Turner has been collecting her grandfather's works and stories about his life on a website she runs.
On Saturday, a historical marker will be placed at the Bixler Lake Park Nature Area trailhead, a spot Mapes was able to see from the last home he lived in in Kendallville. Six of Mapes’ 10 children will be at the dedication.
The marker was sponsored by Flint & Walling’s, where Mapes worked for 30 years. The ceremony will be held at 11 a.m. on Saturday at the Bixler Lake Park Nature Area trailhead, near Sherman Street and Indiana Avenue.
INDIANA by Arthur Mapes
God crowned her hills with beauty,
Gave her lakes and winding streams,
Then He edged them all with woodlands
As the setting for our dreams.
Lovely are her moonlit rivers,
Shadowed by the sycamores,
Where the fragrant winds of Summer
Play along the willowed shores.
I must roam those wooded hillsides,
I must heed the native call,
For a pagan voice within me
Seems to answer to it all.
I must walk where squirrels scamper
Down a rustic old rail fence,
Where a choir of birds is singing
In the woodland . . . green and dense.
I must learn more of my homeland
For it's paradise to me,
There's no haven quite as peaceful,
There's no place I'd rather be.
Indiana . . . is a garden
Where the seeds of peace have grown,
Where each tree, and vine, and flower
Has a beauty . . . all its own.
Lovely are the fields and meadows,
That reach out to hills that rise
Where the dreamy Wabash River
Wanders on . . . through paradise.
