April 10

I once told a friend, who was deeply into Edna St. Vincent Millay, that I didn't "get" Millay. And my friend laughed in disbelief. What's not to get? What's not to love about Millay? Like so many things, one assumes after a quick read, or a quick listen, as to what one's opinion is. And I gave Millay another chance.

Millay does love, spring and death truly well. And she intertwines the three in wonderful ways. Millay is not too dramatic, slightly cynical, but deeply feeling about all three subjects. This month is poetry month. This month is Spring. And so, a poem.

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot upon my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like and idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Comments

[Kim]

Ohhh... I LOVE Edna!!! I have oodles of her sonnets memorized. I think she was positively brilliant. Love her. Love her. Love her.

[Candy]

Hmmm... you lost me at the brains eaten by maggots part, but got me back at the idiot, babbling and strewing flowers. What can I say? I am a sucker for the silver lining.

[Champagne Fluffyduck]

I love Millay but sometimes think that Prozac wasn't invented soon enough!