Columbus Monthly / October 2011 / The poet of AEP

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The poet of AEP

At my father’s retirement party nearly a decade ago, he was presented with a sweet and funny poem written in his honor.

In 32 lines of rhyming verse, the poet, Carl English, celebrated my dad’s 34 years as an electrical engineer at Consumers Energy, a gas and electricity utility company in Michigan. “We’ll miss your talent for the job, there’s no one who knows more,” he wrote. “ ’Bout ohms, watts or capacitance, your knowledge now folklore.”

English had a fascinating dual role at Consumers. He was both the president of the gas division and the company’s unofficial poet laureate.

Seven years ago, he joined American Electric Power, recruited by his former Consumers colleague Mike Morris, the CEO of AEP.

Since then, English has held several high-level jobs at the Columbus energy giant: president of the utilities division, chief operating officer and vice chairman (his current role). He also has continued to churn out the lyrical tributes.

Sitting in his office at AEP’s downtown headquarters in early September, English holds up a stack of nearly 150 poems he’s written over the past decade or so. Most were done for retirements, but he’s also penned a few for birthdays and significant company anniversaries.

“I’ve got this weird memory for goofy things that happened to people 30 years ago,” he says. “That makes great fodder for writing poems.”

English lights up when he talks about his favorite poem, a snappy, ribald one inspired by a former co-worker’s escapades on Lake Superior. “I almost look at it as the highlight of my career,” he says with a laugh. “That’s how weird I am.”

He continues to keep busy writing poems for friends hitting retirement age at his old company. He hasn’t produced that many for AEP colleagues, many of whom he doesn’t have a long history with, but he will write one for Morris, who will step down as CEO at the end of the year. “I have a lot of things stored up in my memory over the last 25 years,” he says.

English also will retire in December, which raises a question: Will someone write a poem to commemorate the occasion?

He doesn’t seem to expect one, but I hope he’s wrong. My dad is an accomplished man, finishing his career as a vice president, but I think he deserved more acclaim. Unlike journalists, a notoriously awards-happy lot, engineers don’t seem to spend a lot of time slapping each other on the back.

But English’s thoughtful tribute gave my dad something that tops the plaques and certificates gathering dust in my office. I hope the author of that poem receives the same honor.