[Marion Shore]

THE HOARDER

My children think I have too many cats.
I don't agree, but I know what it means:
they think I'm getting senile, breeding bats
in this old belfry. Children don’t know beans.
Wait till they're old and see their crepey skin
like washed unironed taffeta, their veins
a railway map of Europe, while they spin
unheard-of nightmares in diminished brains.
Before your body is a nuisance more
than a delight, before you'd welcome death
sooner than one more catheter, before
June weather chills you with December's breath
and your unlovely skin needs warmer furs,
my dears, you'll love what sits on you and purrs.


We are drawn in at once by the homey, plain-talking voice of the narrator, as she* declares "my children think I have too many cats." She goes on to describe their perception of her as turning into the cliché of the crazy cat lady – “breeding bats in this old belfry” – concluding the stanza with the marvelous (and inarguable) statement "Children don't know beans." So far, in a few short lines, a vivid portrait of the narrator, living alone (except for the cats, of course!) in the empty nest, viewing her children's perception of her with a mixture of exasperation and detached amusement.

In stanza two, her mood becomes darker - "wait till they're old "– painting a vivid portrait of the deterioration – both physical and mental – of the onset of old age. The ordinary, everyday imagery she uses to describe this deterioration – "crepey skin/like washed unironed taffeta" "veins a railway map of Europe" which "spin unheard-of nightmares in diminished brains" -- is powerful and compelling.

Interestingly, in the third stanza, in contrast to the the second, the narrator uses the second person, addressing her thoughts directly to her children -- "Before your body is…" followed by a bleak, unsparing catalog of the inevitable, sharpened by the stark contrasts used to describe the vicissitudes of aging: the June weather that chills with December's breath, the unlovely skin that needs warmer furs… All building up to that final line, that so eloquently expresses, with its mingling of irony and poignancy and tenderness, the fear of aging, of loneliness, and the fundamental need to love and be loved.


*My feeling that this is a woman is so strong, that it feels unnatural to me to refer to the narrator in a gender-neutral way.

[Simon Hunt]

This one seems pretty good to me, my new favorite. But my socks are still definitely on, since I haven't yet seen the combination of feeling and music that makes me love sonnets.

A couple thoughts about this one:

Line 4 seems weak to me in that it conveys two unreconstructed cliches, those about bats and beans.

The catheter line is metrically tricksy, and I'm not sure I see what's gained by it.

I get that the poem voltas its way from third person to second person, but would direct address throughout be more logical? If so, it would be easy to do: "You children..." etc.

Strong finish! I'm a cat person...

[David Anthony]

I love this one: perfect match of form and content.

[R.A. Briggs]

I like this one the speaker is giving a persuasive and interesting argument for her conclusion. (Being old is lonely business; my cats are a comfort because they love me and don't judge me; therefore, I am justified in keeping all the cats.) Not formally valid, but what real argument is?

I agree with Simon that some particulars of phrasing could be ironed out--particularly the bats and the beans, both of which which seem more about the rhyme than the sense. But there's a genuine dramatic/emotional point here, an unpopular perspective on a familiar situation. And that's the central difference between a poem and a giant box of nothing wrapped up in rhyme and meter.

I also love the taffeta in L6.

[David Anthony]

I myself like the bats in the belfry: ironic self-awareness and excellent use of enjambment. And children don't know beans is not to me a cliche but rather excellent deployment of everyday language to powerful effect.

[Elise Hempel]

So far, I like this one the best too. An obviously accomplished sonneteer. But I totally agree with Simon's second sentence.

[Susan McLean]

I like this one. The weakest part, I would say, are the clichés about the bats and the beans. But even a cliché can have its uses, since this establishes an ordinary, colloquial voice (most people use clichés constantly in their speech). The veins as road maps and "crepey" skin I have heard before (although at least here it is "railway maps"). The fear of catheters and the June that feels like December seem more original to me. I particularly like the indirectness of speaking of a cat as "what sits on you and purrs." I know several cat lovers who fear being labeled a "cat lady" because of the term's associations with extreme cases of people who have large numbers of cats that they cannot look after properly. The question of "how many is too many?" weighs on them.

Susan

[David Danoff]

FWIW--this poem, more than any of the others, gave me a feeling of trust in the writer. There was an easy authority in the voice, and after just the first line or two, I felt like I could relax and enjoy the ride, without waiting anxiously for some awkwardness of meter or language to throw me.

With several of the poems, that was definitely not the case (clumsiness, foolishness, awkwardness abounding). And even in the other poems I liked, there was a sense of having to pause and adjust my approach at certain points, a need to accommodate myself to the poem. I liked them more as I gradually learned how to read them, but there were stumbles along the way. Whereas this one reached out and took me by the hand, and led me cleanly through on a first reading.

Not something I can really articulate more precisely, but I think "trust" is often a key part of our experience (and enjoyment) of certain poems, and it's something we don't really talk about. If you "trust" an author, for whatever intangible reasons, they can get away with a lot. (While if you don't, they can't.)

[Christy Reno]

I agree with several of the things that have already been said.

Regarding the difference in opinion about the "Children don't know beans," whoever said similar phrasing has been used in the U.S., yes. It gives the narrator a voice, but I don't think we need the forced rhyme to justify it. As far as the "breeding bats" I like the enjambment, especially with the "breed...bats" stressed, but the alliteration doesn't quite work for me given the cliché of what follows. It runs fairly smoothly after that. I feel like the images are appropriate to the audience although slightly exaggerated.

I agree with Tracey's comments about animal hoarding.

Also my vote is that it is a sonnet. I feel like there's a shift in L8 and L13.

I was bothered by the shift to "Before...," but I can get over it.

I can see what Nemo is saying, but I still think this is the strongest contender of the first 5 sonnets (all the ones I've read so far)--Eratosphere Bake-off or not.

[Janice D. Soderling]

Oh, I love this one. It is the first that really, really grabbed me and won't let go.

I love the clever "Children don't know beans" which isn't a cliché as used here; it is colloquial diction and as such right on the mark. And "beans" coming after "breeding bats in this old belfry" shows that the poet knows exactly what she (assumed she) is doing. (b, b, b, b yet never seeming a strained attempt at alliteration.)

I love this as well:

see their crepey skin
like washed unironed taffeta, their veins
a railway map of Europe,

It happens, but not often, that I am so rapturous over a poem online or in the many journals and books that I peruse daily.

I think this one might well have won the Nemerov (which by the way is open now featuring a well-known judge).

This is certainly worthy inclusion in any sonnet anthology.

Brava! Bravissima!