Thanks to Palma's gentle hint, I revised the last stanza. I probably
should have spent more time working on it. I could have ended it by
bringing "hiding" up into the second stanza and making it a two stanza
poem. I briefly thought of that at the time, but that isn't the way it
ends.
One of the pleasant aspects of never publishing is never having to
assemble a group of poems and discover that they all need to be
rewritten. There is a danger in that as well. The other day I read
Lowell's 3 stanza "Beyond the Alps" from his /Life Studies /and then in
an appendix of the Bidart and Wanter /Collected Poems /read the earlier
7 stanza Magazine version. I liked the earlier version much better. I
wondered if the bipolar Lowell had written the earlier version in his
manic mode and then later for /Life Studies /revised it in his depressed
mode.
Time Rift
The lights dim. I seat her
At our table. I am younger
Then, smiling, full of music –
Singing softly so only she
Can hear – smiling and she
Smiles too, catching her breath
As she does. Beauty is thrown
Down and we take it up. Which
Ever way we turn the light’s
Brighten. Then comes the drum,
Cymbals, sax and trumpet. Then
Keys thunder and outside rain
Begins to fall. We step out
In night-air crisp and wet
Hiding tears she shed on a
Night I’ll never see again –
Nor smile – nor hear her
Catching her breath as all
About us thunders in my ears –
Leaving me singing songs
She’ll never hear.
