Edna's Home
On my drive home after my last visit to my mother before she died, I drifted off the interstate at the New York, Massachusetts border and searched for a small town restaurant. I’d consumed my cooler food and I needed good eats and maybe some company. Since New Lebanon and Austerlitz, NY, were on opposite sides of the highway, I knew I’d find a white clapboard house with a Home Cooking sign in the window. I was wrong. But I did discover a commemorative plaque describing Edna St. Vincent Millay’s last home.
After my mother’s memorial service in July, I decided to stop again. Not for food, I knew there wasn’t any, but to see Edna’s place. I felt this connection between my mother and Edna. Both were strong, spirited, outspoken women. This time, with Diane’s mapquest help, I found Edna’s house, but for some unknown reason I couldn’t force myself by all the KEEP-OUT, NO TRESPASSING signs.
After I visited my father in December, I stopped again, and this time I walked right by those stupid signs. I made a little movie of her property, overlaying Edna reading “I Shall Forget You Presently.†The words don’t fit the film, but it was the best of the three audio poems I found.
Unfortunately, the movie is a bigger mishmash than my spinning daisy effort. I should have taken photographs.
I Dreamed I Moved Among The Elysian Fields
I dreamed I moved among the Elysian fields,
In converse with sweet women long since dead;
And out of blossoms which that meadow yields
I wove a garland for your living head.
Danai, that was the vessel for a day
Of golden Jove, I saw, and at her side,
Whom Jove the Bull desired and bore away,
Europa stood, and the Swan’s featherless bride.
All these were mortal women, yet all these
Above the ground had had a god for guest;
Freely I walked beside them and at ease,
Addressing them, by them again addressed,
And marvelled nothing, for remembering you,
Wherefore I was among them well I knew.
I like this Elysian Fields poem. But I didn’t like the video. It gave me the yips. Like she was talking from the grave.
Comment by La Rad — January 29, 2007 @ 12:19 am
I think the words work mighty fine. But for the closing wit of “biologically speaking”, it could be the house talking, remembering the intimacy of her presence, but knowing it will fall to ruin, and both of them be forgotten. That the lines on “nature” fell as you filmed the rustic backyard worked perfectly.
What gives me pause (besides the B&E — or E, anyway — to which we are indebted) is her dry, patrician intonement of her own words. ‘Twould seem she mocks they to whom she speaks … Framed younger and softer, with the possibility of regret, it’d be a different piece.
Comment by adam — January 29, 2007 @ 8:31 am
Adam, I don’t think trespassing is even the E part of B&E. I agree about indebtedness, though. Thank you, Michael. (How could you compare it in any way to the spinning daisies?) Neither poem is really speaking to me, but I like the house a lot.
I think my grandmother knew her. And thinking back on what I remember about my grandmother, I’m guessing Edna’s sense of sexual freedom (though not her sexual preferences) made my grandmother very uncomfortable.
Comment by Jennifer — January 29, 2007 @ 9:21 pm
Diane called it an old crone’s voice, though she was only fifty-eight when she died. Pulled from the web, “In 1944 Millay suffered a nervous breakdown and was unable to write for two years. During this time and later, her husband catered to her so selflessly that he depleted his own reserves of strength and died in 1949 of lung cancer followed by surgery and a stroke. Millay, who with her husband had drunk to excess since the 1930s, evidently grew more dependent on alcohol during her brief, inconsolable widowhood. She died sitting at the foot of her staircase, alone, at Steepletop.”
Jennifer, any other clues as to your grandmother’s connection to her?
Comment by michael — January 30, 2007 @ 6:49 am
Your literary and artistic breadth is astounding, Michael.
I vaguely remember a time when I could enjoy — even write — a deeply thoughtful poem.
Comment by smiling Dan — January 30, 2007 @ 8:51 am
Michael,
I love peeking into people’s lives like this. Thank you for letting us yet again peek into yours. Blogging this piece speaks as much about you as it does Edna.
I was looking at some early blogs and came across this one. I thought you all might like a trip down memory lane. To see the pictures, look for this entry in the archives under June 2003 titled “1968”.
See you all at the blog party,
Jen
_____
1968
Filed under: Uncategorized — Michael @ 7:56 am Edit This
In 1968 I showed my father an article in Car and Driver by Brock Yates. It was that review of the BMW 2002 that prompted him to buy this car, which will be picked up today in Evansville, loaded onto a seventy-six foot tractor trailer, and then dropped off here in Acton later this week. The history of the car could best be written by a Ruthenburg, probably Travis. It lived with them for at least fifteen years.
Matthew has dreams of restoring it and some day driving it to school. His father hopes that when it is drivable, Matthew only drives it to antique auto shows, nearby, in the very early morning hours when there is no other traffic on the road. Lap belt, no air bags, hard dash, etc.
Comment by Jen — January 30, 2007 @ 1:32 pm
I didn’t mean my grandmother knew her well, she could have merely met her once. I guess I’ll ask my sisters.
Comment by Jennifer — January 30, 2007 @ 7:38 pm
That was funny. I check the blog and notice “WARNINGS” in the recent comments, so I click on it. I’m thinking, I can’t believe Michael did ANOTHER one of these really dumb things during a storm. It took me pretty much the whole way through to realize that when you’re having a deja vu all over again maybe it’s because you’ve read it before. Maybe you should check the date.
Comment by Jennifer — January 30, 2007 @ 9:23 pm
Matthew and I had a blast with that car, Jen, and though it didn’t work out in the end as we’d planned, I still have fond memories. Especially towing it from that high tech park past Idylwilde all the way home, with fifteen year old Matt at the wheel of the BMW.
Speaking of unplanned/planned events, how about an update on your new life?
Jennifer, I don’t think you looked at the commenter’s title before you clicking on “Warnings.†For some reason spam is now making it through the blog’s filters.
Comment by michael — January 31, 2007 @ 6:41 am
Sure I looked at it. I thought it looked interesting. I mean, imagine someone feeling so … so inflamed about a blog entry.
Comment by Jennifer — January 31, 2007 @ 10:34 pm