{"id":959,"date":"2006-03-25T15:39:20","date_gmt":"2006-03-25T20:39:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/?p=959"},"modified":"2006-03-25T22:50:37","modified_gmt":"2006-03-26T03:50:37","slug":"joyce-donald-and-jane","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/2006\/03\/25\/joyce-donald-and-jane\/","title":{"rendered":"Joyce, Donald and Jane"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"joyce_donald.jpg\"<\/a>
\n(click)
\nJoyce Perseroff and Donald Hall<\/p>\n

After sushi, Diane and I stopped by The Concord Poetry Center <\/a> to hear : “Jane Kenyon <\/a>: Join us to commemorate the life and work of this beloved New England poet with her husband, the poet Donald Hall, and Joyce Peseroff, poet and editor of Simply Lasting: Writers on Jane Kenyon.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

We arrived forty-five minutes early and I grabbed two front row seats in the old auditorium. I know, who gets anywhere that early for anything, much less a poetry reading? But, I didn’t know the size of the venue – I assumed more of a bookstore-like setting, and I hate distant seats.<\/p>\n

Diane \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcs followed Donald Hall since her Wellesley days, and I know of him only because of his books written about his dying wife. He married Jane when she was twenty-four and he forty-three, and she died of leukemia at forty-eight in 1995. <\/p>\n

Anyway, they read many of our favorite Kenyon poems; Joyce’s words so clear you could see them, but Donald (for me) reading too quickly. However, I was most fond of the banter between the two friends, and Donald’s loving anecdotes about his talented wife – their writing together, sharing of finished (never in process) poems, and their reactions when simultaneous acceptance for one, rejection for the other, letters arrived. <\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Twilight while Haying <\/b>\twhich I’ve posted before:<\/p>\n

Yes, long shadows go out
\nfrom the bales; and yes, the soul
\nmust part from the body:
\nwhat else could it do?<\/p>\n

The men sprawl near the baler,
\ntoo tired to leave the field.
\nThey talk and smoke,
\nand the tips of their cigarettes
\nblaze like small roses
\nin the night air. (It arrived
\nand settled among them
\nbefore they were aware.)<\/p>\n

The moon comes
\nto count the bales,
\nand the dispossessed–
\nWhip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will
\n–sings from the dusty stubble.<\/p>\n

These things happen. . .the soul’s bliss
\nand suffering are bound together
\nlike the grasses. . .<\/p>\n

The last, sweet exhalations
\nof timothy and vetch
\ngo out with the song of the bird;
\nthe ravaged field
\ngrows wet with dew.<\/p>\n

Otherwise<\/b>\t<\/p>\n

I got out of bed
\non two strong legs.
\nIt might have been
\notherwise. I ate
\ncereal, sweet
\nmilk, ripe, flawless
\npeach. It might
\nhave been otherwise.
\nI took the dog uphill
\nto the birch wood.
\nAll morning I did
\nthe work I love.<\/p>\n

At noon I lay down
\nwith my mate. It might
\nhave been otherwise.
\nWe ate dinner together
\nat a table with silver
\ncandlesticks. It might
\nhave been otherwise.
\nI slept in a bed
\nin a room with paintings
\non the walls, and
\nplanned another day
\njust like this day.
\nBut one day, I know,
\nit will be otherwise.<\/p>\n

Having it Out with Melancholy<\/b>\t<\/p>\n

If many remedies are prescribed for an illness, you may be certain that the illness has no cure.<\/p>\n

A. P. CHEKHOV The Cherry Orchard<\/p>\n

1 FROM THE NURSERY<\/p>\n

When I was born, you waited
\nbehind a pile of linen in the nursery,
\nand when we were alone, you lay down
\non top of me, pressing
\nthe bile of desolation into every pore.<\/p>\n

And from that day on
\neverything under the sun and moon
\nmade me sad — even the yellow
\nwooden beads that slid and spun
\nalong a spindle on my crib.<\/p>\n

You taught me to exist without gratitude.
\nYou ruined my manners toward God:
\n“We’re here simply to wait for death;
\nthe pleasures of earth are overrated.”<\/p>\n

I only appeared to belong to my mother,
\nto live among blocks and cotton undershirts
\nwith snaps; among red tin lunch boxes
\nand report cards in ugly brown slipcases.
\nI was already yours — the anti-urge,
\nthe mutilator of souls.<\/p>\n

2 BOTTLES<\/p>\n

Elavil, Ludiomil, Doxepin,
\nNorpramin, Prozac, Lithium, Xanax,
\nWellbutrin, Parnate, Nardil, Zoloft.
\nThe coated ones smell sweet or have
\nno smell; the powdery ones smell
\nlike the chemistry lab at school
\nthat made me hold my breath.<\/p>\n

3 SUGGESTION FROM A FRIEND<\/p>\n

You wouldn’t be so depressed
\nif you really believed in God.<\/p>\n

4 OFTEN<\/p>\n

Often I go to bed as soon after dinner
\nas seems adult
\n(I mean I try to wait for dark)
\nin order to push away
\nfrom the massive pain in sleep’s
\nfrail wicker coracle.<\/p>\n

5 ONCE THERE WAS LIGHT<\/p>\n

Once, in my early thirties, I saw
\nthat I was a speck of light in the great
\nriver of light that undulates through time.<\/p>\n

I was floating with the whole
\nhuman family. We were all colors — those
\nwho are living now, those who have died,
\nthose who are not yet born. For a few<\/p>\n

moments I floated, completely calm,
\nand I no longer hated having to exist.<\/p>\n

Like a crow who smells hot blood
\nyou came flying to pull me out
\nof the glowing stream.
\n“I’ll hold you up. I never let my dear
\nones drown!” After that, I wept for days.<\/p>\n

6 IN AND OUT<\/p>\n

The dog searches until he finds me
\nupstairs, lies down with a clatter
\nof elbows, puts his head on my foot.<\/p>\n

Sometimes the sound of his breathing
\nsaves my life — in and out, in
\nand out; a pause, a long sigh. . . . <\/p>\n

7 PARDON<\/p>\n

A piece of burned meat
\nwears my clothes, speaks
\nin my voice, dispatches obligations
\nhaltingly, or not at all.
\nIt is tired of trying
\nto be stouthearted, tired
\nbeyond measure.<\/p>\n

We move on to the monoamine
\noxidase inhibitors. Day and night
\nI feel as if I had drunk six cups
\nof coffee, but the pain stops
\nabruptly. With the wonder
\nand bitterness of someone pardoned
\nfor a crime she did not commit
\nI come back to marriage and friends,
\nto pink fringed hollyhocks; come back
\nto my desk, books, and chair.<\/p>\n

8 CREDO<\/p>\n

Pharmaceutical wonders are at work
\nbut I believe only in this moment
\nof well-being. Unholy ghost,
\nyou are certain to come again.<\/p>\n

Coarse, mean, you’ll put your feet
\non the coffee table, lean back,
\nand turn me into someone who can’t
\ntake the trouble to speak; someone
\nwho can’t sleep, or who does nothing
\nbut sleep; can’t read, or call
\nfor an appointment for help.<\/p>\n

There is nothing I can do
\nagainst your coming.
\nWhen I awake, I am still with thee.<\/p>\n

9 WOOD THRUSH<\/p>\n

High on Nardil and June light
\nI wake at four,
\nwaiting greedily for the first
\nnote of the wood thrush. Easeful air
\npresses through the screen
\nwith the wild, complex song
\nof the bird, and I am overcome<\/p>\n

by ordinary contentment.
\nWhat hurt me so terribly
\nall my life until this moment?
\nHow I love the small, swiftly
\nbeating heart of the bird
\nsinging in the great maples;
\nits bright, unequivocal eye.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

(click) Joyce Perseroff and Donald Hall After sushi, Diane and I stopped by The Concord Poetry Center to hear : “Jane Kenyon : Join us to commemorate the life and work of this beloved New England poet with her husband, … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-959","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-other"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/959","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=959"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/959\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=959"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=959"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mainecourse.com\/mt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=959"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}