Ill-Fated, Part I (For Thomas Hardy)
Let the celebration of
Thomas Hardy continue! You already know that Hardy was a fatalist with
an attachment to the supernatural. Did you know that his second wife
(39 years his junior!) felt humiliation over the poems he continued to
write for and about his dead first wife (neglected in life, beloved in
death, yada, yada, yada)?
With a definite flair for the dramatic, Hardy subjected his characters to merciless punishment, but his empathy for these characters is what lends his work its light. In his poems, love does indeed conquer all, no matter how many bodies it leaves in its wake.
Ill-Fated, Part I was inspired by the poetry of Thomas Hardy.
Ill-Fated, Part I (For Thomas Hardy)
By Annmarie Lockhart
Upon an eve in the summer wood
Where wandered you and I,
There grew a tree to some great height
And we came to it by and by.
The crickets chirped in the hot June air
But no animals did we see.
The moon sat high in the velvet sky
And shone silvery on the tree.
You held my hand and led me along
Tripping happily at your side.
All the walk I chattered and talked
But silent you kept your stride.
We reached the tree and you turned to me
Pressed me to its trunk.
You slurred your words, nearly waking the birds
So I asked if you were drunk.
More clearly than when you spoke it first
You said again my name,
“Nora, my love, I brought you here
To kiss by this tree befamed.”
“Ned, my love, this tree next to me?
What fame of it be sung?”
And you told me of the branch above
And the dozen men it swung:
“This tree is known as the hanging tree
For many here have hung.”
Looking up at the strong straight branch,
The back of my neck, it stung.
A kiss, commune, ‘tween you and me
Then sanctified the night.
Your fingers twined all through my hair
Binding me close and tight.
Gently, gently, your cheek met mine
And you murmured to me true,
“My love, from beginning to end of time,
My heart belongs to you.”
You slid along my neck a kiss
And you whispered in my ear,
“Wait for me, love, for soon I’ll come.”
And your lips then mine revered.
Your hands roamed from my hair to my throat,
Caressing my moonlight skin.
Round my neck clasped your fingers tight,
As a tear traced down your chin.
Your eyes held mine while tighter still
Your hands they did constrict,
All the while I thought it odd
No pain should this inflict.
It took no time, a few mere moments,
For me to breathe no more.
You held me, lifeless, in your arms
Then laid me on forest floor.
You sat and talked to me in the dark,
An hour so serene,
And then you stood and turned round back
The path we had just been.
Every night from then to now
Through the wood you come,
Living groom at the conjugal tomb
Of his spectral bride succumbed.
Perched atop the tall, tall tree
Above spirits hovering hung,
I bide my time, ghost in your shrine,
Til life from you be wrung.
With a definite flair for the dramatic, Hardy subjected his characters to merciless punishment, but his empathy for these characters is what lends his work its light. In his poems, love does indeed conquer all, no matter how many bodies it leaves in its wake.
Ill-Fated, Part I was inspired by the poetry of Thomas Hardy.
Ill-Fated, Part I (For Thomas Hardy)
By Annmarie Lockhart
Upon an eve in the summer wood
Where wandered you and I,
There grew a tree to some great height
And we came to it by and by.
The crickets chirped in the hot June air
But no animals did we see.
The moon sat high in the velvet sky
And shone silvery on the tree.
You held my hand and led me along
Tripping happily at your side.
All the walk I chattered and talked
But silent you kept your stride.
We reached the tree and you turned to me
Pressed me to its trunk.
You slurred your words, nearly waking the birds
So I asked if you were drunk.
More clearly than when you spoke it first
You said again my name,
“Nora, my love, I brought you here
To kiss by this tree befamed.”
“Ned, my love, this tree next to me?
What fame of it be sung?”
And you told me of the branch above
And the dozen men it swung:
“This tree is known as the hanging tree
For many here have hung.”
Looking up at the strong straight branch,
The back of my neck, it stung.
A kiss, commune, ‘tween you and me
Then sanctified the night.
Your fingers twined all through my hair
Binding me close and tight.
Gently, gently, your cheek met mine
And you murmured to me true,
“My love, from beginning to end of time,
My heart belongs to you.”
You slid along my neck a kiss
And you whispered in my ear,
“Wait for me, love, for soon I’ll come.”
And your lips then mine revered.
Your hands roamed from my hair to my throat,
Caressing my moonlight skin.
Round my neck clasped your fingers tight,
As a tear traced down your chin.
Your eyes held mine while tighter still
Your hands they did constrict,
All the while I thought it odd
No pain should this inflict.
It took no time, a few mere moments,
For me to breathe no more.
You held me, lifeless, in your arms
Then laid me on forest floor.
You sat and talked to me in the dark,
An hour so serene,
And then you stood and turned round back
The path we had just been.
Every night from then to now
Through the wood you come,
Living groom at the conjugal tomb
Of his spectral bride succumbed.
Perched atop the tall, tall tree
Above spirits hovering hung,
I bide my time, ghost in your shrine,
Til life from you be wrung.
Posted by Annmarie at 6/3/2009 11:28 PM 
Categories: today's words, vox poetica originals
Tags: Thomas Hardy Annmarie Lockhart
Categories: today's words, vox poetica originals
Tags: Thomas Hardy Annmarie Lockhart
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