Staring at bonfire
by windchime (Member) - published: March 7, 2008
Word Count: 336 Word Bytes: 2699 Viewed: 475 times
Category - Poetry
© Copyright by windchime

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Prologue:

It was a time when girls
at fourteen
would despise their mothers
for being pregnant again
& giving them
one more infant to raise
on watered-down milk...
A time when last-born meant
nameless, almost,
when the twenty known saints
had already stuck
to older children...
A time for dying in childbirth
bloodless at last

I

And who would do that, name
an eldest girl-child "Lila"
soft as perfume
delicate as rosy devotion book angel
& then leave her to brood
over crude and rude siblings
each coarse as raw jute...
She would shiver thin shoulders
as she rocked infants absently
one after another yearly arrival
while it was forbidden to stop
conceiving
gestating
delivering them...

Lila needed gardens
bluebells in sun & violets in shade
and she would have befriended fairies
singing
dancing
on those broader leaves which
covered frogs at twilight
them never far from lavender...
Lila would have danced herself
lithe stage ballerina
if only...

For music there was a radio
at the rich
where mama did laundry
in galvanized tubs
& Lila hummed notes
silk-spun them
into lullabyes.

II

Large jar with water and lilac
branches from May first
and mama the young bride saw these
in that moment
they wrenched her baby from her
red & frail
she murmured a French "lilas"
smiled then went to sleep
with her new daughter's name
still in her mouth...

III

Grown into almost womanhood
the girl dropped the "s"
& pronounced herself an English Lila
now
thought this name
moved on the tongue
like lace on breasts
alluring
poetic
desired

IV

When Lila's father
consumed & consummated
broke
her fine pelvic bones she dragged
herself to the river prone
on her elbows
like an ambush
this night of rain
& found water deep enough

V

Her floating body glowed
right across morning & mama
threw violets in the shallow
crying

Epilogue

Melodie liked the mellow
of her shortened "Melo"
& mama gray-haired now
told her princess stories
of an older sister
she never knew...

------
Of all known institutions, I attend only two: church, in my heart, and school, in yours. Both are subject to demolition. - Lucie Adams, 2007
It is only for poetry to know how many stanzas fit into one caress. - Lucie Adams, 2008

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Comments

The following comments are for "Staring at bonfire"
by windchime

POEWHIT
Poem starts out great then the punch of the tragic situation sends one reeling.

( Posted by: poewhit [Member] On: March 8, 2008 )

you know
I have read this four times today… you know what else? I will read it another four, then five, then six… you know, I will be coming back to this poem a lot. I will haunt this poem, and in turn be haunted by it for a long, long, long time yet… indefinitely in fact…

for me there’s familiarity to “when the twenty known saints/ had already stuck/ to older children...” and to the world to which that statement belongs, so much so, I feel as if Lila were my sister, so that I can picture her with the same fondness, affection and awe as if she had rocked me…

and you draw her so well, Lucie, nothing surplus, everything salient. I get the feeling she is a newly emergent thing, closer to a new WAY of being, more angelic/ spirit than human… particularly felt as her blossoming womanhood is “alluring/ poetic/ desired” as opposed to her mother’s “conceiving
gestating/ delivering…” everything about her is bright with potential and you make her live with a language befitting those Princess stories…

then in to this comes a breaking of fine pelvic bones and… and then there were violets in another kind of shade and the sadness is absolute… although I notice even in death her body glowed across the morning, as if finally given the freedom her grace demanded… if that makes sense…?

thought of Millais’ Ophelia, briefly- the slight similarity in the names that did it-… but that painting’s so static, and to me this is more real and more fluid. more beautiful and more harrowing…

wonderful work. poet par excellence, you.

( Posted by: AuldMiseryGuts [Member] On: March 8, 2008 )

Staring at bonfire
Windchime...can anyone say anymore about this beautiful poem you wrote, this sad delicate beautiful poem, than Shannon just said? I loved it. Robert.

( Posted by: robnjop [Member] On: March 8, 2008 )

Best one yet Lucie!
Oh Lucie...this has got to be my favorite of all your poems!!

It's absolutely haunting in its beauty...I heard beautiful..soulful music in my head as I read it. Miss ya.

Love ya,
Bea

( Posted by: Beatrice Boyle [Member] On: March 9, 2008 )

A Dream...
I agree with desvelado, it relays as a dream...a totally excellent read! you never cease to amaze me...which is why I must ask that you read; The Paradigm...and then read your private message from me...I love your writing and I look up to you, while your comments are often true...I look forward to them.

me saying keep it up will only confirm that you will!

( Posted by: LMJ [Member] On: March 11, 2008 )

Thanking 6 people
Again I am tugged at by concerns which significantly decrease any time I might have to spend here, so forgive my belated reply to you...

Francisco, I intended a dreamlike quality to this, whereas dreams serve up reality's intra-psychic residue, and I'm happy that you picked up on that. I think poetry is probably the best vehicle for going to places one doesn't want to go to. Thanks for not only commenting here, but responding. I was hoping for responsiveness.

Poewhit, thank you! When readers go to the extremity of a reaction, in the presence of a poem of mine, I see it as successfully having stirred something in their souls. I have adopted an affectionate stance with narrative poetry of late, and wondered if this might be rewritten as prose poem...

Shannon, she lived in the wrong century, and that's all, except she had one clear insight into how little her life was worth, in contrast to how much it could have been, given her innate assets. Thank you for your poetic response to this, and it's an important response considering your respected poetic clout around here, and thank you for being permissive, if I may call it that, for allowing this poem to just be.

Robert, your comment tells me that my poem evoked something in you. Happy to see that this happened. Thank you.

Bea, Many before me and since me have given voice to such voiceless women, and made money with stories, novels, trilogies, movies, what have you. This kind of a tale doesn't usually find its maximum impact in poetry but I thought I'd give it a try and I'm very happy that you like it.

LaShea, thank you for just being here! You reading me is an extra bonus. I saw your PM and I will reply, but I am just so taken with everything around me. Give me some more time, okay?

Many thanks!
Lucie

( Posted by: windchime [Member] On: March 12, 2008 )

Conditional release..
You have written a novel in the space of 336 words. There is great dispair captured in those first lines -- it does not fade in a day, a week, a month, or ever that Lila is a born keeper, the beast of burden. The scene of Lila humming lullabys during the drudgery of doing laundry; I have lived in similar situations where music was a fantastic escape. I've seen many times that same thing where people who have every right to be miserable are still hopeful enough to find pleasure in a simple melody.

The scenery shift to the woman who is Lila, dropping the 's' seems so symbolic, though not really defiant -- I guess more like a right of passage.

I wonder, was her father watching through a window as she first saw herself as a beautiful and attractive woman? And I wonder, what was his rage all about? I am reminded of a lifelong jealousy that he carries until it boils over. Was it rape? A "crime of passion"? or something more sinister. At that point it probably does not matter, as Lila still has the final scene in a story her mother retells.

My tired eyes were slow as I read this and I think it a good thing, it really sunk in.

BW

( Posted by: BWOz [Member] On: March 12, 2008 )

Brian
Yes there was rape, and the aftermath of this rape was so fundamentally incompatible with Lila continuing to live, that she had to die. I chose death by drowning for this character following a very Freudian "I can't breathe, I can't breed" intra-psychic journey.

I'm glad that you picked up on the music: I wanted it in the poem only as an outline of beauty, a sketchy beauty, not quite there yet.

Yes, she had a rite of passage as a woman, and that's why her killing herself was possible, because her death was not her first rite of passage.

Thank you for making time for me here and leaving such a thoughtful comment

Lucie

( Posted by: windchime [Member] On: March 13, 2008 )

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