Post by job on Apr 23, 2008 0:31:36 GMT -5
Here are two versions of a poem I've been ball-peening my brain on - I'm all for collective wisdom and if anyone's interested I'd love to hear comments about which and what of which works here...
Large portions of both are in italics, but I can't seem to discover how to put things so in this format...
Thanks,
JOB
***********************
VERSION I:
A History of June
I
You had just come in from swimming in the sea,
Your hair wet, eyes stung swollen with brine.
Summer fashioned a tightly clinging blouse
And skirt that girded you in greeting us –
An ill-fit to the building breasts and hips
Like waves maturing within you to shape
The future of your coastline. This month,
You kept saying, This month a man will come
To take me for a ride in his automobile.
This month I will go on my first picnic
Unaccompanied. This month is the month
I will meet and understand a college boy.
II
With quiet ardor, you met the opened door
Your older brother Julius and his friend –
Received a month home from college. Thresholds crossed
Your eyes, the passages a girl must face
In transit, what becomes a woman’s,
Outlasting girlhood’s last moments alive,
Her china dolls and tea-things boxed up and sold;
Her last breath of book-pressed flowers, her diary’s
Final fearless entry – Goodbye girlhood,
Goodbye, my friends, those who kept me safe and sound
From thunder, the gardener, impurity.
Farewell, this month of June. I turn sixteen.
III
The conch’s ocean roar was for Julius
The lure of snorkel dives. He set his days
By sextant’s quadrant, leaving you and I
To find the lure of each other’s surfaces
Those days of drying skin in warm June’s breeze,
Of high sun and large water playing light
Through the boathouse door, dark and opening deep:
Funny I figured it more romantic
Than the moldy dry-rot of nets, broken tackle
And dead fish. I’m not bitter, but it’s funny –
To have a first kiss from a boy taste of salt.
IV
That month, you bought a diary, leather-bound and new
No clasp to forbid strangers’ eyes, lipstick-red,
A piece of ribbon lace to keep your place
Between entries. Later you told me this
In unsolicited fulfillment of
An unsolicited promise to write me,
A child’s first adventure in adultery.
The true meaning of false words escaped you
Beyond a kiss. How dirty I feel some days;
On others, I’m exhilarated by
The thought that brother’s friend Janus,
A total stranger, is my first lover.
V
A year would pass varying my degrees
Of blame, guilt and my new bachelor’s knowledge.
You were admitted, autumn of that same year,
For depression and anorexia.
Julius was unable to visit you
Until winter ate up all his studies.
Then, at Christmas he visited briefly,
Bringing presents and nothing of the past,
Avoiding the topics that were thin ice
For your ghostly skin and bones. Was there snow?
You’d ask. And now on the boathouse this year?
Harbor boats and ice shacks set like corpses?
VI
With the weight of it all, you fell through
To days of silence, and a white Christmas
Would crater your eyes, eating away at you;
Epiphany almost took what was left.
It was deep in January that time
Proved nearly fatal; I did not see you
Nor Julius again. He concluded
His college days in seminary. Julius
Is going to be a priest, you wrote me.
And you’re going into medicine.
There’s fine symmetry for you, body and soul.
Between you, maybe you’ll find a cure for mine.
VII
Julius would just sit by your bed, pray
Or watch snow fill the sill, stiles and hills beyond.
If you were well enough to hold pen and thoughts
You were brought your diary. You wrote me again,
Then in medical school, a last time
Telling me your problems. If I die of this,
Someday, I want you to find out how.
A heart’s often faint for living past winter.
If I survive, just say no and look away.
Either way, between June and June, well or ill,
I reckon these, my days fairly well spent.
VERSION II:
The History of June
I
You had just come in after swimming the sea,
Hair wet, eyes swollen with sting of brine.
The tight cling of your blouse and skirt ill-fit
The swelling awkwardness of puberty,
The first mature budding of breasts and hips
That like waves were building in you to shape
The future of your coastline. This month,
You kept saying, this month a man will come
To take me for a ride in his automobile.
This month I will go on my first picnic
Unaccompanied. This month is the month
I will meet and understand a college boy.
II
With a quiet ardor, you met at the door
Your older brother Julius and his friend –
Home a month from college. I saw thresholds
In your eyes, passages a girl must cross
On the way to becoming a woman
Filled with lasting last moments: china dolls
And second-hand tea-things boxed up and sold;
Last breaths of book-pressed flowers, a diary’s
Final fearless entry – Goodbye girlhood,
Goodbye, my friends, those who kept me safe and sound
From thunder, the gardener, impurity.
Farewell, this month of June, I turn sixteen.
III
The roar of the conch was for Julius
The lore of ocean dives. He set his days
By sextant and quadrant, leaving you and I
To find the lure of each other’s surfaces
Those days of drying skin in a warm June breeze,
Of high sun and large water playing light
Through the deep boathouse door, dark and opening:
Funny I figured it more romantic
Than the moldy dry-rot of nets, broken tackle
And dead fish. I’m not bitter, but it’s funny –
To have a first kiss from a boy taste of salt.
IV
That month, you bought a new diary, leather-bound,
Lipstick-red , no clasp to forbid strangers’ eyes,
A piece of ribbon lace to keep your place
Between entries. This you told me later
In unsolicited fulfillment of
An unsolicited promise to write me,
Your first adventure in adultery.
The true meaning of false words escaped you
Beyond a kiss. I feel so dirty some days;
Others, I am exhilarated by
The thought that my brother’s friend Janus is
A total stranger and my first lover.
V
A year later, with varying degrees
Of blame and guilt, I took my bachelor’s.
You were admitted, autumn of that same year,
For depression and anorexia.
Julius was unable to visit you
Until winter ate up all his studies.
Then, at Christmas he visited briefly,
Bringing presents and nothing of the past,
Avoiding the topics that were thin ice
For your ghostly skin and bones. Was there snow?
You’d ask him. Snow on the boathouse, this year?
Hulls cracked, rigging frozen, harbor iced over?
VI
With the weight of it all, you fell through
Into days of silence. A white Christmas
Cratered your eyes, eating away at you;
Epiphany almost took what was left.
It was deep in January that time
Proved nearly fatal; I did not see you
Nor Julius again. He concluded
His college days in seminary. Julius
Is going to be a priest, you wrote me.
And you’re going into medicine.
There’s fine symmetry for you, body and soul.
Between you both, maybe you’ll find a cure for mine.
VII
Julius would just sit by your bed, pray
And watch snow fill the sill, stiles and hills beyond.
If you were well enough to hold pen and thoughts
You were brought your diary. Once you wrote me,
Then in medical school, a last time
Telling me your problems. If I die of this,
Someday, I want you to find out how.
Hearts are often faint for living past winter.
If I survive, just say no and look away.
Either way, between that June and this,
I’d have to say my life was pretty well spent.
Large portions of both are in italics, but I can't seem to discover how to put things so in this format...
Thanks,
JOB
***********************
VERSION I:
A History of June
I
You had just come in from swimming in the sea,
Your hair wet, eyes stung swollen with brine.
Summer fashioned a tightly clinging blouse
And skirt that girded you in greeting us –
An ill-fit to the building breasts and hips
Like waves maturing within you to shape
The future of your coastline. This month,
You kept saying, This month a man will come
To take me for a ride in his automobile.
This month I will go on my first picnic
Unaccompanied. This month is the month
I will meet and understand a college boy.
II
With quiet ardor, you met the opened door
Your older brother Julius and his friend –
Received a month home from college. Thresholds crossed
Your eyes, the passages a girl must face
In transit, what becomes a woman’s,
Outlasting girlhood’s last moments alive,
Her china dolls and tea-things boxed up and sold;
Her last breath of book-pressed flowers, her diary’s
Final fearless entry – Goodbye girlhood,
Goodbye, my friends, those who kept me safe and sound
From thunder, the gardener, impurity.
Farewell, this month of June. I turn sixteen.
III
The conch’s ocean roar was for Julius
The lure of snorkel dives. He set his days
By sextant’s quadrant, leaving you and I
To find the lure of each other’s surfaces
Those days of drying skin in warm June’s breeze,
Of high sun and large water playing light
Through the boathouse door, dark and opening deep:
Funny I figured it more romantic
Than the moldy dry-rot of nets, broken tackle
And dead fish. I’m not bitter, but it’s funny –
To have a first kiss from a boy taste of salt.
IV
That month, you bought a diary, leather-bound and new
No clasp to forbid strangers’ eyes, lipstick-red,
A piece of ribbon lace to keep your place
Between entries. Later you told me this
In unsolicited fulfillment of
An unsolicited promise to write me,
A child’s first adventure in adultery.
The true meaning of false words escaped you
Beyond a kiss. How dirty I feel some days;
On others, I’m exhilarated by
The thought that brother’s friend Janus,
A total stranger, is my first lover.
V
A year would pass varying my degrees
Of blame, guilt and my new bachelor’s knowledge.
You were admitted, autumn of that same year,
For depression and anorexia.
Julius was unable to visit you
Until winter ate up all his studies.
Then, at Christmas he visited briefly,
Bringing presents and nothing of the past,
Avoiding the topics that were thin ice
For your ghostly skin and bones. Was there snow?
You’d ask. And now on the boathouse this year?
Harbor boats and ice shacks set like corpses?
VI
With the weight of it all, you fell through
To days of silence, and a white Christmas
Would crater your eyes, eating away at you;
Epiphany almost took what was left.
It was deep in January that time
Proved nearly fatal; I did not see you
Nor Julius again. He concluded
His college days in seminary. Julius
Is going to be a priest, you wrote me.
And you’re going into medicine.
There’s fine symmetry for you, body and soul.
Between you, maybe you’ll find a cure for mine.
VII
Julius would just sit by your bed, pray
Or watch snow fill the sill, stiles and hills beyond.
If you were well enough to hold pen and thoughts
You were brought your diary. You wrote me again,
Then in medical school, a last time
Telling me your problems. If I die of this,
Someday, I want you to find out how.
A heart’s often faint for living past winter.
If I survive, just say no and look away.
Either way, between June and June, well or ill,
I reckon these, my days fairly well spent.
VERSION II:
The History of June
I
You had just come in after swimming the sea,
Hair wet, eyes swollen with sting of brine.
The tight cling of your blouse and skirt ill-fit
The swelling awkwardness of puberty,
The first mature budding of breasts and hips
That like waves were building in you to shape
The future of your coastline. This month,
You kept saying, this month a man will come
To take me for a ride in his automobile.
This month I will go on my first picnic
Unaccompanied. This month is the month
I will meet and understand a college boy.
II
With a quiet ardor, you met at the door
Your older brother Julius and his friend –
Home a month from college. I saw thresholds
In your eyes, passages a girl must cross
On the way to becoming a woman
Filled with lasting last moments: china dolls
And second-hand tea-things boxed up and sold;
Last breaths of book-pressed flowers, a diary’s
Final fearless entry – Goodbye girlhood,
Goodbye, my friends, those who kept me safe and sound
From thunder, the gardener, impurity.
Farewell, this month of June, I turn sixteen.
III
The roar of the conch was for Julius
The lore of ocean dives. He set his days
By sextant and quadrant, leaving you and I
To find the lure of each other’s surfaces
Those days of drying skin in a warm June breeze,
Of high sun and large water playing light
Through the deep boathouse door, dark and opening:
Funny I figured it more romantic
Than the moldy dry-rot of nets, broken tackle
And dead fish. I’m not bitter, but it’s funny –
To have a first kiss from a boy taste of salt.
IV
That month, you bought a new diary, leather-bound,
Lipstick-red , no clasp to forbid strangers’ eyes,
A piece of ribbon lace to keep your place
Between entries. This you told me later
In unsolicited fulfillment of
An unsolicited promise to write me,
Your first adventure in adultery.
The true meaning of false words escaped you
Beyond a kiss. I feel so dirty some days;
Others, I am exhilarated by
The thought that my brother’s friend Janus is
A total stranger and my first lover.
V
A year later, with varying degrees
Of blame and guilt, I took my bachelor’s.
You were admitted, autumn of that same year,
For depression and anorexia.
Julius was unable to visit you
Until winter ate up all his studies.
Then, at Christmas he visited briefly,
Bringing presents and nothing of the past,
Avoiding the topics that were thin ice
For your ghostly skin and bones. Was there snow?
You’d ask him. Snow on the boathouse, this year?
Hulls cracked, rigging frozen, harbor iced over?
VI
With the weight of it all, you fell through
Into days of silence. A white Christmas
Cratered your eyes, eating away at you;
Epiphany almost took what was left.
It was deep in January that time
Proved nearly fatal; I did not see you
Nor Julius again. He concluded
His college days in seminary. Julius
Is going to be a priest, you wrote me.
And you’re going into medicine.
There’s fine symmetry for you, body and soul.
Between you both, maybe you’ll find a cure for mine.
VII
Julius would just sit by your bed, pray
And watch snow fill the sill, stiles and hills beyond.
If you were well enough to hold pen and thoughts
You were brought your diary. Once you wrote me,
Then in medical school, a last time
Telling me your problems. If I die of this,
Someday, I want you to find out how.
Hearts are often faint for living past winter.
If I survive, just say no and look away.
Either way, between that June and this,
I’d have to say my life was pretty well spent.
You're more than welcome -- it was a delight.