Day heaves darkness out of sight.
The trees remaining on this ordinary
street seem scattered, haphazard.
Disease has claimed so many of them.
They are so much older than us,
probably stronger too, survivors.
They stand in their stolid silence.
The bloom comes later,
but this later needs no help from us:
it blossoms by itself,
in due time. And then the city
will live again in its summer glory.
Our street is quiet in the morning.
A gray cat sleeps on our front steps
until I shoo him away. Barely visible,
birds linger on branches hanging
over our deck. Inside it is quiet,
because the house is large, large
enough for a family, but there are only
two of us here now. It once held a family
of five, but that is another story...
We have been very busy in the manner
of homeowners everywhere preparing
the house to match our vision of home.
We painted the walls of every room.
carpeted the floors, put bright
prints of Monet paintings in the living
room, furnished it with glittering things.
And everyday I remind myself I do not
believe in ghosts. But he shadows me.
Just past sixty, he lumbered over the floors
we covered, looked through windows we scrubbed
spotless, woke up to the same light streaming
across the kitchen. And I remind myself...
A suicide leaves nothing behind, he has -
erased himself. And we have so much left to do.
Monet and Renoir - a dear impressionist fan myself! I think Mihaela and I would agree most heartily on the overall affect of this poem on the reader.... Calm. The first two stanzas painted a picture of serenity for me, perhaps an early Midwestern fall day and early evening. If I remember correctly Dutch Elm disease was scourging through Chicago and points northward during that decade. It was also the year of my marriage. And so these first two stanzas made me wish for a cup of tea perhaps, a serene story told at the family's dining table. But then entered the poem's subject in verse three: The dreaded Ghost! What an interesting twist of feel, absent a moderate transition from serene to ghastly, leaving the reader no choice to believe the ghost was as plain as the nose on the reader's face - and moreso that his presence so overbearing that it is mildly shocking to discover it was there all along.... A quite enjoyable read and time well spent...
It's great when a poet is able to picture routine scenes and scenery in a poetic way and thats what u have done. Then towards the ending we have a ghost surprise which adds to its legendary feel. Kudos. Nice to read u again.
Solid craftsmanship....Pictorially depicted storyline...Constructed with much fluxion...FjR
A vibrant and mysterious energy emanates this poem; and at the same time, it is calm and collected; focusing the speaker's attention at the surroundings, as proof of reality for emotional comfort.
Fears lie embedded in human psyche..... However hard we try to make ourselves feel that we are strong, at times they surface irrationally to the mind. The fear about the ghost that haunts the newly occupied house keeps visiting you, though the house with its comfy setting is quite inviting! The lines....' it once held a family of five/ but that; s another story' gives a hint about some ominous event that happened there! The mysterious air surrounding the house makes the poem more arresting!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hey, daniel, this is now in the a showcase for PH poets (listed in my poems section) on my PH site. but you had sent me the title Moving into the House. do you want me to add Late Winter,1985? still there? still haunted? yikes! bri :) p.s. i like the poem but i don't have time to write more now!