some poems by edna

[supercheesegirl]

i was typing up some things i like for janel, since she's starting a poetry section with her 8th graders next week, and i thought, gosh, i should include some Edna St. Vincent Millay, because apparently NO ONE'S EVER HEARD OF HER, JORN. so then i thought, maybe i'll post this in my journal, too, so that ANYONE WHO HAS NEVER READ HER can do so and feel educated and bask in her goodness.

so here, for your reading pleasure, are several poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay.




First Fig

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!



(sonnet)

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,--so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.



Grown-Up

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?



The Unexplorer

There was a road ran past our house
Too lovely to explore.
I asked my mother once--she said
That if you followed where it led
It brought you to the milk-man’s door.
(That’s why I have not traveled more.)


(sonnet)

I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body’s weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn with pity,--let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.


(sonnet)

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there sits a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Comments

[tisana.livejournal.com]

Actually, I have heard of her (I'm just not able to tell you much of her poems), and that first one has been my motto for years.

[supercheesegirl.livejournal.com]

well, the post is mostly for sleepyworm's benefit, since he's the big dip who swears he never heard her name before even after i carried around her biography and talked about how great it was for two whole weeks last year. but i'm glad to know that you know and like her. :)

[sleepyworm.livejournal.com]

someone's exaggerating a bit!!! I did come up with her name during the celebrities game, did I not? I just needed the first name to prompt the faint memory. But it's true that I'd never heard of her until you started talking about her.

[supercheesegirl.livejournal.com]

i think i had to tell you who she was. we got to the "first name begins with E" part, and even when i said Edna i think you only sort of came up with her last name. anyway, did you like the poems?

[sleepyworm.livejournal.com]

I came up with the St. Vincent Millay part on my own, though. It just took like 10 seconds after Edna came out; I had to seriously dig way deep into my memory, and that takes time. You didn't give me any of the St. Vincent Millay section of her name.

And her poems were ok, I guess. Not something I'd go ape over, though.

[amedia.livejournal.com]

I had heard of her, but I hadn't read all of these. I *love* this bit:

I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Very philosophical; the act of negation still names the thing negated. :-)

[supercheesegirl.livejournal.com]

oh, you crazy philosopher. :) i just love it because it perfectly describes exactly what we do; I think everyone must have somebody they remember and miss that way. these are definitely my favorites of her sonnets. and i am not generally a sonnet fan. :)