Poetry Month, day 29
For This Is (Almost) The End at "imaginary garden with real toads" we are asked to write about that moment just before something ends. Which I did – but then I had to go on a little further to answer a question that arose.
Away With …
Strange, enchanted beings
of the forest, of the dream,
I know you didn't mean
to break my tender heart,
you simply didn't comprehend
that such a thing could be.
You'd been there all my childhood
in the light around the flowers,
the music of the bees.
It wasn't possible
that no-one else could see or hear
your shimmering, your song.
Playtimes full of laughter,
dancing dizzy, falling down –
how was I to know
they could not last forever?
That only for the very young
your frolics are, and gifts.
But why do I remember
what the others all forget?
You circled me and smiled,
that final afternoon.
I didn't know it was goodbye,
but you knew, didn't you?
And one, perhaps, felt pity
for the awkward, dreamy girl
too shy with other kids,
so blew some fairy dust
and whispered, "Meet us in your dreams."
But dreams are not a life.
A charming poem, Rosemary. How wonderful that the person you address in the poem pervades everything:
ReplyDelete'You'd been there all my childhood
in the light around the flowers,
the music of the bees'.
The final stanza is heartbreaking.
Thanks, Kim, for finding it charming! (And also for being the occasion of a quick tweak. I just changed a pronoun in the last verse, to make it clearer I'm addressing a group.)
DeleteA whimsical poem light as fairy dust and weighty as the sadness in departure of a friend
ReplyDeletemuch love...
Your comment is a poem in itself!
DeleteWhimsical yes, but very observant -- fairy tales are connected with childhood, a literal translation of the notion that in our human childhood the fairy tales were inked more starkly, as myth. We leave childhood and lose the golden ball of fairy tales back there--puberty hammers it flat and then hangs it over the waist like a coin--but there are ways to carry those buckets of cold clear water forward. As you sing. The last stanza is so strong, though I thought the last line was unnecessary. Great stuff, Rosemary.
ReplyDeleteThanks,, Brendan, I knew you would "get it".
DeleteI think I do need some kind of last line there, to complete the pattern of stresses that repeats from verse to verse. Also, I wanted the ambiguity – which is the "life" she regrets not partaking of?
An endearing poem to me. How I loved “the enchanted beings” when I was a child. But we grow up and “dreams are not a life” :-(
ReplyDeleteBe careful of that fairy dust! :)
DeleteOh gosh. That final line makes me think of my mother pouring cold buckets on whatever fanciful parade I was having at any given moment. I think sensitive folk need dreams and fancies to survive in the outside world.
ReplyDeleteOh good, I wanted that last line to come crashing down abruptly like that.
DeleteDreams are not a life, but some of them stick in memory as clearly as past events, which already lived may as well be dreams too.
ReplyDeleteTrue.
DeleteI found the last line, and all the rest, to be very powerful and effective.
ReplyDeleteThank you, I'm glad you did.
DeleteIt seems as we grow, there are many endings unexpected. Still we say, I didn't know (it was the end, I would never see you again.) We are told life is a balance, between good and bad. But the bad, sad things seem to stand out in memory. I guess because they can be so painful.
ReplyDeleteOh... dreams are not life... and the fact that there is always one who knows more about the break-up than the other.
ReplyDeleteDelightful!
ReplyDeleteThe last line took me back wondering where all those dreams went
ReplyDeleteI can imagine that shimmering lovely world of childhood. Sad when the wee folk depart. But good that we remember them always.
ReplyDeleteOh this brings back memories of taking flower blooms and dancing them around the front porch, singing my own songs. I'm glad I never grew up. My hollyhock flowers still dance. But that last line - how sad for those sensitive children who grow up to be sensitive adults. I am glad my mother often joined me on that porch in her few spare moments away from work. That last line - most effective. The poem mos def needs that last line to bring it all together.
ReplyDeleteLovely to have such memories of your mother.
DeleteA bittersweet tale you skillfully weave, Rosemary! I like the last stanza, especially!
ReplyDeleteI like this, Rosemary. I think some call it progress, I call it "undoing God's work." Do you remember the Oldie song, "Pink Taxi"? It also was called by the chorus line, "Put up a parking lot." That for sure is many parts of our crowded world now.
ReplyDelete..
I know it by the chorus name. Yes, we are busy removing the habitats of many life forms essential to the wellbeing of the planet.
Delete"... dreams are not a life." Powerful!
ReplyDelete