What a knockout poem, Peter. Thanks for posting it. Among Gwen Harwood's few American fans, I'd never seen Stephen's poem before. Here's a link to the latest Able Muse where Stephen was featured poet:
http://www.ablemuse.com/v8/index.html I envy Stephen his immense, intricate nonce stanzas, his ability to develop, sustain and meditate on a great theme. Magnificent poet.
There are, to be sure, degrees of quietude. By unquiet, unseemly despair, I'd have in mind Sylvia Plath's poem "Daddy," and reams of others by Lowell, Sexton, Plath and their ilk. I much prefer the brooding melancholy of Edgar.
Speaking of Peter, here's his killer featured sonnet linked elsewhere here from Rattle, where the melancholia only appears in the last seven syllables. What a poem.
GABRIELLA
My little niece rakes leaves, then runs full tilt
into the pile, busting them up all over—
with joy and guilt, and joy sprung from that guilt,
she kicks and clouts about until they cover
the grass again. A two-year-old Godzilla
on the front lawn, reveling in a power
so new and physical. A last patch fills her
arms and she flings a red and golden shower—
of words. For that is how she talked as well,
with wonder at our comprehending her,
a welter, like the spray of leaves that fell
from her throw, and caught the sun as tongues of fire.
Inspiration on the shaggy wind
of autumn—soon to be swept up and binned.