[Lance Levens]

Continuing the ruined poem exercise from Snodgrass's De/Compositions, I chose this piece from the section on structures and closings.)


She has finished and sealed the letter
At last, which he so richly has deserved,
With characters venemous and hatefully curved,
And nothing could be better.

But even as she gave it,
Saying to the blue-capped functioneer of doom,
"Into his hands," she hoped the leering groom
Might somewhere lose and leave it.

Then all the blood
Forsook her face. She was too pale for tears,
Observing the ruin of her younger years.
She went and stood

Under her father's vaunting oak
Who kept his peace in wind and sun, and glistened
Stoical in the rain; to whom she listened
If he spoke.

And now the agitation of the rain
Rasped his sere leaves, and he talked low and gentle
Reproaching the wan daughter by the lintel;
Ceasing and beginning again.

Away went the messenger's bicycle,
His serpent's track went up the hill forever,
And all the time she stood there hot as fever
And cold as any icicle.


Parting Forever (the de/composed version)

At last she has signed and sealed the letter
Which by bad misbehavior he had earned,
In which her anger and resentment burned
And this makes her feel better.

But even as she gave it,
Telling the messenger in his cap of blue,
"Deliver this in person," she hoped, too,
The boy would lose and leave it.

Then all the blood
Drained from her cheeks. She felt too faint to weep,
Knowing the loss she had suffered was so deep.
She went and stood

Under a neighbor's great, strong oak
That kept quiet through wind and sun and gleamed
Wet in the rain. She listened till it seemed
To her it spoke.

And now the soft pattering of the rain
Shook its dry leaves; it murmured soft and low
To comfort the young woman there below
Soothing her again.

The messenger went up the hill,
His twisting track seemed to go on forever;
Meanwhile, she stood there hot as any fever
But also in a chill.

[Roger Slater]

This may not be drawing many comments because some might think the unruined poem isn't all that great.

[Lance Levens]

I see what you mean, Roger. I'll try another.

Thanks
Lance

[Williamb]

Ransom seems to have fallen somewhat out of favor. You don't hear too much about him. I recently read his Selected Poems, and I like him well enough.

I do think the bicycle/icicle rhyme is terribly contrived.

In The Poetry of John Ransom, by Miller Williams, there is a section in the back where we get to see a gazillion different versions of the same poem, the whole revision process Ransom went through. Apparently, he was something of a perfectionist, hence the small output of work despite a long life.

Just what is Snodgrass up to? Re-writes of other poets' work? Seems stupid to me.

[Janice D. Soderling]

There are several poems by John Crowe Ransom that I am supremely envious of.

Piazza piece http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179120

Janet Waking http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177013

Vision by Sweetwater http://www.english.ucla.edu/faculty/...water_292.html

Bells for John Whiteside's Daughter http://fiftybooksproject.blogspot.se...ughter-by.html

If I could write four poems like that in my lifetime, that would be enough.

And another I can't think of the name of. About the ghosts of his dead sisters. Who can help me out with the title?

(Make that five poems.)

[Williamb]

Janice, is the poem called "Hilda" by any chance? I've been rummaging in my Selected Poems and it seems to be an elegaic poem, two sonnets.

On second reading, I see it must be the poem you are referring to.

[Janice D. Soderling]

Thank you, William, for looking. No it is not "Hilda". It is a poem about his two (three?) dead older sisters who cared for him when he was a little boy and now they are ghosts and come to him and he cares for them. It is a haunting poem. You can just feel the presence of the sisters and the old man's thoughts.

Not everything he has written withstands the tooth of time, but so what. It only takes a few to establish that he was truly "a poet".

Maybe Lance will know if you can't find it. Thx for trying.

[Lance Levens]

Williamb,

The intent is to catch a glimpse of what makes a good poem. By looking at options he could have chosen, you come to understand why his choices were felicitous.

The icicle rhyme: notice the decomp version omits it. Snodgrass says the
rhyme's uniqueness give the poem a stronger closure than without.

Notice also in line one. The rewrite divides the verb's action into two parts.
The original by using "fish" makes the line more succinct.

Janice

I've looked but I can't find anything like what you're describing. I won't give up, though.

Carry on.

Lance

[John Riley]

Janice,

Probably not but are you confusing it with this poem by Stanley Kunitz?

***

My Sisters
by Stanley Kunitz

Who whispered, souls have shapes?
So has the wind, I say.
But I don't know,
I only feel things blow.

I had two sisters once
with long black hair
who walked apart from me
and wrote the history of tears.
Their story's faded with their names,
but the candlelight they carried,
like dancers in a dream,
still flickers on their gowns
as they bend over me
to comfort my night-fears.

Let nothing grieve you,
Sarah and Sophia.
Shush, shush my dears,
now and forever.

[Janice D. Soderling]

Yes, John. I was. That's it. I was slowly coming to the conclusion that I was barking up the wrong poet.

That's the one and apologies to Mr. Kunitz. But for me it does have a JCR atmosphere. Like Sweetwater. Not mimicking in any way but the depth of it, the way it hurts and the reader doesn't know why. This reader anyway.

Thank you so much. Isn't it lovely!