[Carol Taylor]

Chambers

Never crossed my mind that you'd be unhappy,
feeling short-changed over the hand life dealt you,
needing more grace, more than what God allotted.
I only wanted

that you'd always think of your girl with pleasure,
keeping one small chamber no grief inhabits
hidden, a sound-proof space only we could enter
sometimes together;

random hours you'd spend in my quiet presence,
not as star-crossed lovers--no melodrama--
just a refuge, knowing you seldom need one.
But I was asking

life for more gifts, more than what God allotted,
keeping unasked promises, willful, waiting,
holding one small chamber no love inhabits
ready for letting.


Carol Taylor, Texas

[Richard Wilbur]

This poem is done in a quiet speaking voice, a voice dramatically muted and sad; it has the drift and ellipsis of rueful musing, and the feminine line endings facilitate the flow of that musing. The recapitulation which begins in line 12 lets us know that the speaker has projected her own neediness on the addressee, and this is powerful in effect but still quiet in tone. “keeping unasked promises, willful, waiting” is a brilliant line which the reader must pause and unfold. And the near-rhyme of “waiting” and “letting” concludes the poem without disrupting the tone.

~Richard Wilbur

[Chris Childers]

In this poem, Carol handles the sapphic meter less strictly than well, which is a compliment. It is an appropriate choice, too -- the idea here is very Greek, that "needing more than what God allotted," both the speaker and the addressee, the latter by leaving, the former by waiting, have ruined their lives; at least, I assume that the addressee is no more happy now than he was when he & the speaker were together, though the speaker is too self-absorbed to tell us that for sure. Indeed, the first three lines may be merely projection. (I read the end, BTW, that the speaker is holding her chamber "ready for letting" but never lets it, & that is where she oversteps.)

Besides the line Mr. Wilbur singles out for praise, I am very fond of the dislocation of "sometimes together," & how this straining of syntax expands the possibilities of meaning.

Incidentally, Carol, in S3 l2 were you thinking of the lines from For C., "For them, above the darkling clubhouse lawn, / Bright Perseids flash and crumble..."? I thought of it at any rate. A very fine poem.

Chris

[Kevin Andrew Murphy]

The theme of this piece, the chambers within the heart, the soul, immediately put me in mind of Millay's "Bluebeard":

THIS door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed.... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see.... Look yet again--
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.

The interesting thing here is not how Carol used the same theme, but how it was used differently. Millay had a sanctum sanctorum, a private heart of hearts, into which another intrudes; Carol has shown a space to share, to be together, yet in the end, it is left just as barren and empty, if not more so, being put up to "let," like a room in a boarding house, useless without someone else to be inside it.

The quiet speaking voice Carol uses is also deceptively subtle, and a much harder trick of characterization to pull off than Bluebeard's affronted indignation, which while entertaining to read, is more than a bit one-note. Not that drama-queens having a scene aren't actually like that, being fair to Millay, but the nuanced character of Carol's character, and the slowly dawning realizations both about her significant other and herself, are shaded as subtly but definitely as a master watercolor. It's the difference between a rant and an interior monologue; the first is revealing a secret to another, the second is revealing it and admitting it to the self.

[Tim Murphy]

As we all know, the pain of a woman in a difficult and deteriorating romance is Carol's great theme, and it has been unfolding on this board, particularly the last two years. Were this a contest (it's not), were I the judge (I'm not), this would be the winner. From my discussion of the poems with Dick, I think that backed into a corner he would say the same.

A remarkable thing about this time round is I included no poet upon whom Dick commented two years ago, i.e., no Hayes, Beaton, Watkins, Anthony, etc. In baseball that is called "a deep bench."

[Elle Bruno]

This poem contains such a lovely voice -sad and resigned. It feels like the woman's thoughts would never be expressed out loud, only lived with -a premise that her life rests on. I like so much that both parties want too much in opposite ways -little blame here, only resignation. Beautiful mood Carol. Dee

[Bill Dyes]

Beautiful, beautiful work Carole. I have come to this late and it's hard to know what to say or think what it must have cost.

Bill

[Janet Kenny]

Carol,
I always admire your poems about discreet but deep grief. The form is just right because it escapes the usual regular beat and has a built in lament. Subtle and lovely.

Janet

[Carol Taylor]

I am very much gratified by the reading of my poem by Richard Wilbur, Tim, Chris, Kevin, Dee, Bill and Janet.

Mr. Parnassus, this was my first attempt at sapphic strophes, and I didn't know if I dared offer it to you. I'd have been grateful for your comments even if you'd hated the poem, but am doubly appreciative and relieved to know it works as intended. Thank you for your astute comments on all our poems, and for participating as Guest Lariat. Eratosphere is honored and proud.

Tim, thank you for choosing my poem and for your kind comments, which I'm sure are exaggerated but which I prize all the same.

Thanks to all of you for your comments and close reading.

Carol

[Daniel Haar]

Carol,

Losing love can be one of the most troubling events to a human being. Reading this certainly calls up some less than pleasant memories I have -- though that may not be fun it is good to deal with all of life's unpleasantness. But your poem, with its grace, wit, and directness, transforms blind pain into understanding, which is powerful.

Daniel