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Open Poetry #44
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Coming Back From the Front
| Open Poetry #44 |
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Coming Back From the Front |
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Marc-Andre Senior Member
since 2008-12-07
Posts 501 |
That morn he’d listened to, in discontent , A fat soprano’s Carthage queen lament, And while the freaks rehearsed once more their show He bandied with some peddlers of snake oil The stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, La reine de Montparnasse and Jean Cocteau. At last he would be home, back from the war; But one last act before they’d come ashore, The mummer’s murder scene of de LaSalle. Soon after noon he reached his destination, Beheld again the sugar cane plantation, The bank astir with quite a bacchanal. Without delay, he walked toward the house Where lived the one he came back to espouse But there was merely greeted by a starling. He held the necklace of freshwater pearl Ripped from the neck of some dead German girl And taken home to his awaiting darling. The air was redolent of spiced mirepoix; There from the stove of Mrs. Delacroix Were wafting flavors, bay leaves and cayenne. The absence of one to be seen or heard Along with sweetest scents of lemon curd Recalled such desert places in Ardennes. He could not wait to see again his date He got back on the dirt road to the fete He’d seen that morning by the Mississippi. He made a brief stop at the general store Where bourbon bottles used to be galore And there he was accosted by a chippie. She was a rather unattractive squab Who wore a cloche atop her chin length bob, Her jargon he would fail to understand; “I’ll help you find a bottle of good hooch But first let’s to my room nearby to smooch” She offered as she took hold of his hand. “And with some barney-mugging and champagne You’ll soon forget about your Mary Jane” She whispered in his ears in soothing voice. “A packet of Sweet Corporal, a coke” The young nymphet asked from the hoary folk; As they went out, she said “my name is Royce.” But then a Cadillac coupe stopped by Its driver wearing suit and Windsor tie; Said Royce, “He is my boyfriend, I must go.” “Yet do join us this evening on the strand The bee’s knees, as you‘ll see, that old jug band.” But then, alone again he felt quite low. He reached the strand as slaughter of the hog Began before a crowd of kids agog; There women made boudin and men head cheese. As they perfumed their meat with some white sage Kazoo and washboard players climbed on stage And it was then he came upon Louise Who with her friends was sniffing some cocaine. He asked about her cousin Mary Jane “You’ll find her there, in yon Magnolia lane.” And then he knew life had become inane In this new world there would remain but pain: The tombstone bore the name of “Mary Jane.” |
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| © Copyright 2009 Marc-Andre Germain - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Yo Marc-Andre, This is a good story well told. It has a good kicker at the end. Bobby |
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Marc-Andre Senior Member
since 2008-12-07
Posts 501 |
Thanks for reading, Bobby. This one is a piece of "setting" research,[Cajun]Louisiana during the Roaring Twenties. That's five decades before I was born, in a state I have never been to, about an ethnic group's culture that isn't exactly mine either. Also, I am trying to present that setting through, as much as possible, the five senses: sight, sound, smell, taste and touch. This is what I'm mostly working on lately. I'd love to know what worked and what didn't. Mark |
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ethome Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858New Brunswick Canada |
I have to tell you, when, a poem or arrangement of verses hold me to the page from beginning to end then I have to offer the author (you) praise for a well constructed artfully crafted work. Was there ever a murder at DeLasalle Catholic school I can't remember? Sad, some of those stories of return to change where things will never be the same. Excellent work! Eric |
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Marc-Andre Senior Member
since 2008-12-07
Posts 501 |
Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment, Eric. Actually, I was referring to the mutiny that killed Sieur de LaSalle, the explorer. I am unaware of the alluded murder(s)at a namesake Catholic school, but I will sure look into it, that would be another relevant topic to explore, I think. Have a marvelous day! Mark |
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Balladeer
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-05
Posts 25505Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA |
Interesting, Marc! Can you tell me where I may find clues that indicate the subject matter of the mutiny? I thought it to be an excellent story but was a little surprised when you gave that reference. Believe me, I am perfectly capable of missing clues to meanings!  With the exception of a few minor things I would personally change, I think you did an excellent job here with this one. Ballads and/or poems that tell good stories are special to me. |
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Marc-Andre Senior Member
since 2008-12-07
Posts 501 |
Thanks for reading and commenting, Balladeer  The Sieur de LaSalle is the French Explorer who named the basin of the Mississippi "Louisiana" and his journeys forecast the movement of Acadians to this part of New France, the ancestors of Cajun culture. The mutiny in itself isn't that important to the poem. What I'm basically attempting here is to "dislocate" the returning soldier in time. The performances of his fellow travelers are distasteful to the returning soldier. The Carthage Queen is of course Dido, who burned herself after being left by Aeneas; the freak show is actually "rehearsed"; the peddlers refer to medicine shows, a sort of moving circus peddling questionable medicine; and the mummers perform a historical pantomime that, as the rest, shouldn't be of much interest to the protagonist. He is returning to a historical/cultural background to which he can probably no longer identify with. Once he lands, he finds himself in the midst of the Prohibition Era and the Roaring Twenties. The only tangible attachment left, his lover, is dead.How clearly I have communicated the unsettling changes with not-so-reassuring constants, I am not so sure... and I'd like to know. Does that make any sense to you? I have personally lived in several countries, and I've got to say that nowhere have I felt more at lost/unsettled/even homesick in my life than in my own birth place, after an absence of ten years. Hope that answers your questions. And now that you've awaken my curiosity, what do you feel should be changed? Mark |
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