Posts Tagged ‘Marnie Heyn’

“We were very tired, we were very merry”: Happy birthday to Edna St. Vincent Millay!

Saturday, February 22nd, 2020
Share

 

Today is the 128th birthday of poet Edna St. Vincent Millay But this year, I am the one who received the birthday present, courtesy a friend. She is still, I think, one of America’s most underrated poets.

The gift is connected with a story: before I left Ann Arbor for the charms of London, a longtime university friend, the poet Marnie Heyn, gave me a Greek drachma for safekeeping on my travels, with the owl of Minerva on it – a wish for wisdom for the years ahead. I needed it – and all the drachmas I could find. The drachma was kept in my wallet … and so stolen with it from my home in Islington during a break-in.

A few months ago, when Marnie asked me to sign her copy of Evolution of Desire: A Life of René GirardI sent a drachma back to her, with the same owl. She said she was sending me a shekel in return – but it was much more than that.

To my surprise, she sent me a very early edition of A Few Figs from Thistles, the poet’s first 1920 collection, published by Frank Shay. It was the poet’s second collection of poems, famous for establishing her as the very essence of cool in the jazz baby era. I adored her in my misspent youth, and memorized her poems.

Here’s why I was puzzled, however: the copyright page simply lists a 1922 date, implying that this is a first edition. But a little digging around suggested that the 39-page edition I have, basically chapbook size, is actually an expanded edition. Goodness, how many pages could the earlier edition have been? World Cat doesn’t tell me.

Happy birthday to her.

Are you jealous yet? Don’t be! You, too, can celebrate the poet’s birthday. A quick visit to abebooks.com and even Amazon shows that some of these editions are going for a few dollars. So you, too, can own a small chunk of American literary history. And memorize a few poems, too, while you’re at it.

Anyway, below the most famous poem of the collection, in three stanzas of six lines each, couplets, rich with rhymes and assonance and recurring lines, in an unusual pattern of AA BB CC, AA DD EE, AA FF GG. Enjoy. Below that, you can listen to her reading the same poem in her plummy voice. And go here if you want to see her shoes, or here for a letter begging her publisher for cash, and here and here for previous posts.

Happy birthday, Edna!

Recuerdo

We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, “Good morrow, mother!” to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, “God bless you!” for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

A villanelle on self-pity and a few words hurled at heaven

Wednesday, August 17th, 2016
Share

heynA villanelle, for those of you who don’t know the lovely form with its remarkable incantatory power, is a 19-line poem with a rhyme-and-refrain scheme that runs as follows: A1bA2 abA1 abA2 abA1 abA2 abA1A2 where letters (“a” and “b”) indicate the two rhyme sounds, upper case indicates a refrain (“A”), and superscript numerals (1 and 2) indicate Refrain 1 and Refrain 2.

Got that? Think Elizabeth Bishop‘s “One Art” or Theodore Roethke‘s “The Waking.”

The history of the villanelle, from the Italian villanella, a rustic song, goes back to the 16th century. The French poet Théodore de Banville compared the interweaving refrain lines to “a braid of silver and gold threads, crossed with a third thread the color of a rose.” The complex form was fixed with Jean Passerat‘s “J’ay perdu ma Tourterelle” in 1606.

Here’s one more to add to the repertoire: “Self-pity” by a poet from the calm shores of Lake Michigan, Marnie Heynwho has just published a collection of poems, Hades Lades, with The Writers’ Bloc Press. (She takes liberties, as many poets do – clearly Passerat didn’t have the last word. Though she keeps to 19 lines and interwoven refrains, she combines terza rima with the villanelle.)

And below that, a more recent poem Marnie has written, about five years ago, dedicated to Humble Moi. I ran another dedicated to myself, titled “Gravitas,” by Patrick Hunt last March. As I noted then, it’s one of the pleasant byproducts of having poets for friends.

What both Marnie’s poems have in common, oddly, are the inclusion of buses. I wonder why … though I expect Marnie is a longtime fan of public transit.

Self-pity

I’m rigid on the bus at all the halts.
I set my jaw against sincere persuasion,
And that is not the gravest of my faults.

I overdress at any provocation.
My smile will never soothe a single sting.
I set my jaw against sincere persuasion.

I can’t subtract. Above all things,
I dearly love to win an argument.
My smile will never soothe a single sting.

My correspondents don’t get what I’ve sent.
I’m validated by the times I pine.
I dearly love to win an argument.

I decline my rightful turn in line
And trample on some hapless stranger’s feet.
I’m validated by the times I pine.

I lead in polka dancing, miss the beat,
And trample on some hapless stranger’s feet.
I’m rigid on the bus at all the halts,
And that is not the gravest of my faults.

 

hurling words at heaven

for Cynthia

you know I feel the creator’s presence the way I feel
the lateral coziness of that odd woman’s thigh, there
on the Trailways bus between one city in a state where
I know no one, and a city in another state where I know
no one, but I will manage well enough, and I am in
no danger, and going somewhere I want to be, there
beyond loneliness,
…….and so I know you will understand
that this bright, windy day I will not mirror Moses or
echo Jeremiah, rather that I will toss easy catches,
underhand, with flourishes, telegraphing every move,
soft, slow lobs right at the sweet spot where the stroke
can’t miss,
…….and ask, please, shine a light on the monster,
toss a banana peel under the heel of that stalker, whisper
a homecoming recall into every throbbing ear, and just
let Sinai be, let it be, while you show your countenance
to the gentle, the patient, the weary, this year, even in
Jerusalem

 

Postscript on 8/20: We have some nice pick-up from our friends at one of our favorite blogs, 3QuarksDaily, here.