[lit-ideas] Tuesday Poem

 

            Merlin & Delmore at the Pub


 

            That was the night Merlin

            Bumped into Delmore Schwartz;

            Rather the reverse, to be precise.

            Delmore was drunk and Merlin

            Was lost in thought, which was not

            A good thing at Harvard in those days -

            Well, not at Harvard but near enough.

 

            Delmore was not actually cruel,

            Quite kind and gentle if you hit

            Him at just the right time,

            Or were hit, as was Merlin's case.

            They went to the nearest Pub

            So Delmore could be sure Merlin

            Was fortified against the night.

 

            "Quite kind, quite kind.  Appreciate . . ."

            Merlin mumbled into his beer.

            "I haven't seen you around here."

            Delmore began expectantly.

            "That's true." Merlin admitted.

            "I've just arrived, but for the life

            Of me I can't recall my purpose."

 

            "Well, sir, that is difficult for us all."

            Delmore needed but this cue.

            "I am much the same as you . . . 

            Perhaps not quite.  I had one,

            Or so I thought: to be the greatest

            Poet of our age, but it all seems

            Dry at present."  Delmore drank reflectively.

 

            "So you are that Delmore Schwartz."

            Merlin exclaimed, and Delmore laughed.

            "Are there so many?"  "Well, no.

            Perhaps not, probably not.  

            I just forgot about your poetry 

            Till you made the connection."

            "Which might now be broken,"

 

            Delmore said, shaking his head.

            "As to that, you should know

            That's based on a misconception.

            It needn't depend upon externals."

            "Are you a critic then?" Delmore

            Raised his eye brows and his glass.

            "Well, no.  Well, perhaps.

 

            I have a certain knowledge 

            Of a different sort, the sort

            That defies the world to overwhelm me

            And can teach you how if you like."

            Delmore was stunned and couldn't

            Speak.  "That sounds presumptuous 

            I know.  You will think me medieval

 

            Or speaking nonsense from 

            My beer."  Merlin warmed 

            To the criticism implied.   "But I don't

            Have your depression and at many

            Times your age have quite as much

            Ambition though of a different sort.

            "Forgive me, sir."  Delmore smiled.

 

            "I didn't catch your name."

            "It is merely Merlin, which needn't            

            Mean anything to you."  "Ah, but it does!

            It is all clear to me now.  I am

            In a dream and you are here

            From King Arthur's Court to

            Chastise me as a draft evader."

 

            "Rot, sir!"  Merlin sputtered.

            "You would have made a lousy knight

            If the truth were known.  I want 

            To speak about your poetry."

            "Ah," Delmore sighed.  "I see."

            "I doubt you do.  Will you

            Listen to me if I am your hallucination?"

 

            "Perhaps not tomorrow, but here I am

            With a full glass and no obligations."

            "Which is to the point," Merlin

            Pointed with his glass.  "Your obligations

            Are all askew.  You write as in

            A mirror seeking your words

            From the adulation of those you don't respect,."

            

            Merlin with steady gaze said,  "You cannot

            Write to the assumed conclusions 

            Of your peers."  "But that's what

            A literary reputation is all about."

            "Then there's been a degeneration 

            Since poets took out their lyres

            And sang their songs beside a fire,

            

            And soldiers there (We were often at war)

            Were delighted and that was all

            The adulation they craved,

            Or perhaps they sought to be

            Warriors like the rest and learned

            To string and shoot a bow.  There was

            No one who was a poet and nothing else.

 

            "Nor am I!  I've taught

            A thousand students how to write."

            "And begrudged them all your time.

            You must be honest in your dreams."

            "Well what if I did?  I should

            Have time to write as others

            Less qualified than I have had."

 

            "But aren't you on sabbatical?"

            "Yes, yes, I know.  I don't know what's wrong."

            "But I do.  You cannot write

            From empty time.  You must fill it from

            Movement along side friends, students

            And your work.  You have what you need

            But resent its imposition."

 

            "I've had enough of you, old man!"

            Delmore slammed his beer down

            On the table.  A bar maid turned.

            The bartender stopped the wash cloth

            On the bar.  Merlin smiled and raised 

            His hands, showing them empty."

            "What does your anger do?

 

            He whispered intently.  "It keeps

            Me from hearing you!"  Delmore replied.

            "There's truth to that if not

            In your perception of your goal."

            "What do you know of my goal?"

            "Ah me.  Are you so drunk?  Did you

            Not intend to be the greatest bard?"

 

            "No!  You have that wrong.  "It is

            To have a perfect love, both beauty

            And understanding, a family to provide

            The solid base from which to write."

            "A swordless Lancelot then, with

            Guenevere betrothed to Perry Miller."

            "So you know.  Then you must see

            

            Why I'm despondent.  "For a time!

            An Unrequited love can be the source

            Of much fine poetry, and when

            You're written out, you'll find

            The pain gone too.  Why do you dwell

            On such defeats?  They have no

            Power to touch your soul

 

            Unless you empower them."

            "You don't understand," Delmore moaned,

            Dropping his head upon the table.

            "Better than you," Merlin circled

            His empty glass till the barmaid came

            With another, viewing Delmore

            With a frown.  Merlin slid

 

            Some money in her direction

            With a smile.  She hurried off.

            "I have no power to let them go,"

            He moaned.  "But you could.

            You must build the strength as in

            All things.  Give up your jealousy

            And retribution.  Seek the pure gold

            

            Of poetry and those other things

            Will appear beside you as you go.

            Look out a bit from your depression.

            There is sun each day or nearly so,

            And if you go out in it to see,

            They will be there waiting."

            "Waiting" was all he could recall.

 

Lawrence

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