[Tim Murphy]

Dear Colleagues, you may have noticed that Richard Wilbur will be our guest lariat starting February 4 or so. I have traditionally welcomed my guests by initiating a thread at Mastery. Let's start with the title poem of Dick's latest collection, published to coincide with his 80th birthday in 2000. I have used initial dashes to indicate indentation.

Mayflies

In somber forest, when the sun was low,
I saw from unseen pools a mist of flies
— — In their quadrillions rise
And animate a ragged patch of glow
With sudden glittering—as when a crowd
— — — Of stars appear
Through a brief gap in black and driven cloud,
One arc of their great round-dance showing clear.

It was no muddled swarm I witnessed, for
In entrechats each fluttering insect there
— — Rose two steep yards in air,
Then slowly floated down to climb once more,
So that they all composed a manifold
— — — And figured scene,
And seemed the weavers of some cloth of gold,
Or the fine pistons of some bright machine.

Watching these lifelong dancers of a day
As night closed in, I felt myself alone
— — In a life too much my own,
More mortal in my separateness than they—
Unless, I thought, I had been called to be
— — — Not fly or star
But one whose task is joyfully to see
How fair the fiats of the caller are.

[Richard Wakefield]

Tim:
This was one of those rare poems that reminds me why I keep reading and reading despite the frequent disappointment of mediocre verse, my own included. It took hold of me from the first reading and does so anew with each subsequent reading, getting better and better. Thanks for posting it.
RPW (no, not THAT RPW!)

[Tim Murphy]

I may have told this story here, but the first time we heard Mayflies, Richard brought it down, pencilled on tablet, from his loft at Key West, and read it aloud. As usual, he was somewhat nervous and bashful. And no sooner had he finished it than he said he was uncomfortable with "fiats" in the last line. "Is it too obscure?" Thought maybe it should be "dictates." Charlee said "Hell no," and Alan cried "Fiat lux!" Charlee and the EfH saved the day.

[Kevin Corbett]

Tim-

I don't have time to respond to the poem (this one isn't in the "Complete Poems", is it?), but I can help you with the indentations--just put [color= wite] (I've intentionally mispelled it so the text will show up here) [/color] around the dashes or periods and they won't show up.

[Robert J. Clawson]

Mayflies

In somber forest, when the sun was low,
I saw from unseen pools a mist of flies
— — In their quadrillions rise

"Quadrillions" is a gorgeous sound, but it takes huge poetic license.

And animate a ragged patch of glow
With sudden glittering—as when a crowd
— — — Of stars appear
Through a brief gap in black and driven cloud,


This could only be the Milky Way, and I'm not sure that it comes close (visibly) to "quadrillions." "Crowd" drives it, so it appears that the image is rime-driven.


One arc of their great round-dance showing clear.

It was no muddled swarm I witnessed, for
In entrechats each fluttering insect there
— — Rose two steep yards in air,
Then slowly floated down to climb once more,
So that they all composed a manifold
— — — And figured scene,
And seemed the weavers of some cloth of gold,
Or the fine pistons of some bright machine.


I'm deeply into mayflies, and I find this splendid.


Watching these lifelong dancers of a day
As night closed in, I felt myself alone
— — In a life too much my own,
More mortal in my separateness than they—
Unless, I thought, I had been called to be
— — — Not fly or star


Shouldn't this be "Not fly nor star"?


But one whose task is joyfully to see
How fair the fiats of the caller are.


Utterly Shameless O'Clawson, the Gnatpicker





[This message has been edited by Robert J. Clawson (edited January 26, 2003).]

[ross hamilton hill]

For Robert Clawson
The Milky Way when seen from a clear of pollution vantagepoint is literally like a stain of milk in parts, there are so many stars it appears like clouds, even a carpet of white, it is patchy but I think those in the Northern Hemisphere forget or don't know what it's like. As for the poem, it is a marvel of the craft. For me quite slow and stately, perhaps too much so, but still wonderfully composed. I think the last line also fails, if 'fiat' was singualr perhaps, but for me 'how fair the fiats' immediately conjurs up a traffic jam in Genova.

[RCL]

fiat lux!!

[Lang Elliott]

yes ... let there be light!

p.s. I've been informed that it's a no-no to bring forth an old, closed post, as I have clearly done. My apology to all who have been annoyed! Fiat lux!

[Alder Ellis]

Hi Lang,

welcome, & it’s true, the bringing up of old threads is frowned upon: I was waiting for someone to jump on you for that.

But, for the life of me, I can’t remember why it is frowned upon. I’m getting old & my memory was never that good anyway, but I dimly recall that there was a rather plausible reason once cited for this policy. I can’t come up with it, & am left wondering, why is this a problem? The critical forums (Musing on Mastery, Discerning Eye, Distinguished Guest), as well as General Talk, have deep archives of wonderfully interesting threads dating back to the last millennium or thereabouts. Why are these off-limits for revival? I can’t remember.

And your comments on the midges are a wonderful addition to the thread; I daresay Wilbur himself would relish them. As for “fiats”— see Rhina’s post, #16 in the thread, & Alicia Stallings: “quadrillions and fiats MAKE the poem” (#14). And especially Tim’s post #3, which has stuck in my mind since I first read it (some things I do remember): Wilbur himself was worried that “fiats” was too obscure, and Alan Sullivan (an Eratosphere legend, now deceased) reassured him with “fiat lux!” (& cf. Ralph, #30). The pluralization of “fiat” is like a privileging of particulars: the one-size-fits-all creation of light is broken down into the particular things that are lighted, each one calling forth its own light. If this might get confused with Italian cars, well, it’s a poetical risk worth taking.

Anyway, for my part, I provisionally thank you for reviving this old thread, pending my being reminded of why this is a bad thing to do.

[Bruce McBirney]

Tim--

Thanks for posting "Mayflies," which is one of my favorite Wilbur poems (along with "For C." and "A Barred Owl" from the same book--unlike everyone else, Wilbur seems to get better and better with age).

And what a great story about the ending! Alan, even with all your other fine editing work here, and for Tim, and I'm sure elsewhere, it must be a highlight to have helped dissuade such a great master from second-guessing himself and tinkering with perfection!

Best regards.

--Bruce