Cirque d'Hiver
Across the floor flits the mechanical toy,fit for a king of several centuries back.A little circus horse with real white hair.His eyes are glossy black.He bears a little dancer on his back.She stands upon her toes and turns and turns.A slanting spray of artificial rosesis stitched across her skirt and tinsel bodice.Above her head she posesanother spray of artificial roses.His mane and tail are straight from Chirico.He has a formal, melancholy soul.He feels her pink toes dangle toward his backalong the little polethat pierces both her body and her souland goes through his, and reappears below,under his belly, as a big tin key.He canters three steps, then he makes a bow,canters again, bows on one knee,canters, then clicks and stops, and looks at me.The dancer, by this time, has turned her back.He is the more intelligent by far.Facing each other rather desperately―his eye is like a star―we stare and say, "Well, we have come this far."
I think the poem's rhythm quite suits living toys.
2 comments:
I know what you mean about the frustration involved in attempting to make indents in documents. What works with typewriters doesn't perform the same way on word processors - at least not any I've seen.
Cirque d'Hiver is a lovely poem. Once again it was necessary for me to look up the poet since her name was unfamiliar to me. Bishop had a pretty miserable beginning to her life that could have continued but for her spirit and skill. I don't like to parse poetry as it seems whatever you write about some complex, albeit short, poem tends to say less about the piece than it does about the interpeter.
But I did come across an interesting overview of her life and work in The New Criterion called Elizabeth Bishop unfinished. I hope in the long run she found happiness. She certainly saw a lot of the world.
It's true. Typewriters are the ultimate WYSIWYG technology. That helps a lot for poetry. There are tools that allow you to control spacing in online writing but they're not available everywhere.
No, Bishop's early life was not one to be envied, starting with the fact that she lost both parents to either young death or mental illness. It's good that she survived to gift the world with her writing. Some great poems have a meaning that's easy to parse from the surface, but I think more are somewhat ambiguous.
I like to think she found happiness. She seems to have been a good friend.
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