Summerville

Your cabin still stands at attention,

circled by seedy, tangled grasses.

The gnarled sentry still stands guard.

I touch its thick trunk, and the rough scars

tell me again of blisters you accidentally

gave it and yourself in your fight against the fire.

Old rogue, all its branches are bare

except the one leafing out 

toward the blue-rimmed mountain in the west,

as if to salute some remembered song

that ripens like an apple in its memory.

 

Three horses clumped in the meadow,

brown and black and gray,

warn me off with flattened ears

and rumps well-positioned for the kick,

but the woodpile where we sat

dangling meat on a string

to coax the young minks from their nest

tempts me to sit and remember:

 

     My first ascent to your loft was by ladder

     not by the rope that hung from your heart. 

     Yet what mattered to me was not strength of arms,

     but that we woke at the same moment

     to stand naked beside the diamond window.

     "Something at the pond drinking," you whispered,

     and in the stillness nothing,

     nothing but the breath of our breathing

     and the sound of something wild

     lapping water in the dark.

 

I push hard against the door

and sunlight knifes the stale mice stench,

spilling a white path across the floor.

Through the milky haze I see

a hundred yellow-jacket corpses

in crisp, black lines against the sills.

One is still beating itself against the glass

with little popping sounds.

 

I would have died for you,

but you weaned me from your life

with little shocks, one by one.

A sad whisper escapes my lips.

The aspen will not betray my words

until November winds wrench out my secret:

 

"It was here I loved you best."

Author's Note

Work in progress revised 5/29/08 (I consider everything, brood, change) (maybe)

Reviews

[Vanessa Whiteley]

There are some lovely lines and some evocative imagery in this poem, however, I think it is one of those cases of a little less being more. Useful trimming would make this poem even more powerful. The opening line is arresting and makes the reader want to continue. However, I'm not convinced about the repetition of 'still stands' and I don't think you need the adverb 'accidentally' as common sense implies he did not blister himself on purpose. Moreover, adverbs tend to be frowned on as a no � no to be used only on rare occasions. I would suggest:

Your cabin still stands at attention,
circled by seedy, tangled grasses.
The gnarled sentry remains on guard.
I touch its thick trunk, and the rough scars
tell me again of blisters you gave it
and yourself in your fight against the fire.

I, also, think that I would reconsider the structure. This would be a great place to leave this stanza and

Old rogue, all its branches are bare

makes for a great opening line to the second stanza. While these are beautiful lines:

as if to salute some remembered song
that ripens like an apple in its memory.

The description of the horses is vivid. However, I am less keen on the woodpile while the line 'tempts me to sit and remember' is telling rather than showing. The reader should be able to enter the feelings of the persona without being told what to think. This also applies to the 'what mattered to me' I would be tempted to cut this section and go with

We would wake at the same moment
Stand naked beside the diamond window.
"Something at the pond drinking," you'd whisper,
and in the stillness nothing,
but our breath and the sound
of something wild lapping water in the dark.

You write that this is work in progress so if you do decide to revise please let me know. I'd love to read the next version and I think this will be a very beautiful poem after a little more polishing

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You have created a wonderful sense of place...............and sadness.

[poetaster]

ah, this is beautiful, and i don't say that lightly. the imagery in this piece is so great; it really does evoke the feel of "Summerville", with every sense engaged. i love how you weaved the environment in with your love for the person.
the only suggestions i have are nitpicks:
accidently should be accidentally
and
gainst should be against (unless you want it to be 'gainst)

this is inspiring, truly.
faved.

[Hedra Helix]

seriously, J sent me here and this is wonderful, a day in a bottle shaken up into word components.
so lovely, so whole.
each picture is finely wrought, the creature in the dark drinking from the lake is amazing.
beautiful.

[J]

This was inspiring to read, it truly was. I guess I'm at that place in my writing right now where this is where I want to be, to be able to evoke images and emotion like you have here. This made me feel warm, it made me see warmth, actually. And that... is no mean feat.

Poems like this make me feel blessed in some way to have stumbled upon it.
Thank you.

[mysticgmekeepr]

God that is an extraordinary piece! SO poignant, so tender, so full of all that love is . Theres not a word out of place, nothing missing and no unnecessary excess. Beautiful Toni, just beautiful.

[radian7]

Lovely, beautiful descriptions full of sensory weavings. I am getting the idea that this is a writing involving a person who had not captured the essence of what you are and was short sighted of their perception of many things. The poem does reveal the beauty of you and what you appreciate. Beautifully written, will have to read again and again.

[Shara Faskowitz]

Oh Toni, this is gorgeous, really beautiful. It's very sensual and at the same time honest. It's the kind of writing that comes from the heart and goes out on a limb (in the way it reveals the narrator) that makes for the best poetry, imo. When poems can draw on readers' sense memories, imo, they really stay with the reader. And you do that here over and over: the seedy grass, the blistered trunk, the images of the couple trying to lure minks from their nest, the yellowjackets, the couple breathing together at the window. They all allow the reader to fall into the world the poet creates. That's what good poetry should do, that's what elevates poetry above other kinds of writing.

I absolutely love these lines:

Old rogue, all its branches are bare
except the one leafing out
toward the blue-rimmed mountain in the west,
as if to salute some remembered song
that ripens like an apple in its memory.

Now (because it's so good) a few nitpicks. You go back and forth between memory and the present, which is good, but in a few places the verb tenses confused me. For example, if the horses is a memory and they were "clumped" (great image), shoudn't it be "warned"? The rest of that strophe (tensewise) seems fine, but that one verb threw me. The other thing is a few of your end words, the conjunctions, would work better, I think, if you moved them to the start of the following line. Maybe it's just my perspective, but I think ending lines on strong end words (which you do in most of the poem) makes for stronger imagery overall. It leaves the reader with that strong image before proceeding to the next line. Just my opinion; hope you don't mind my sharing it. :-)

This should be submitted to a poetry journal. It's way too good to languish here!