Pale Fire
Canto 1:
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff- and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
And from the inside too, I’d duplicate
Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate:
Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass
Hang all the furniture above the grass,
And how delightful when a fall snow
Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so
As to make chair and bed exactly stand
Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
Retake the falling snow: each drifting flake
Shapeless and slow, unsteady and opaque,
A dull dark white against the day’s pale white
And abstract larches in the neutral light.
And then the gradual and dual blue
As night unites the viewer and the view,
And in the morning, diamonds of frost
Express amazement: Whose spurred feet have crossed
From left to right the blank page of the road?
Reading from left to right in winter’s code:
A dot, an arrow pointing back; repeat:
Dot, arrow pointing back… A pheasant’s feet!
Torquated beauty, sublimated grouse,
Finding your China right behind my house.
Was he in Sherlock Holmes, the fellow whose
Tracks pointed back when he reversed his shoes?
All colors made me happy: even gray.
My eyes were such that literally they
Took photographs. Whenever I’d permit,
Or, with a silent shiver, order it,
Whatever in my field of vision dwelt-
An indoor scene, hickory leaves, the svelte-
Stilettos of a frozen stillicide-
Was printed on my eyelids’ nether side
Where is would tarry for an hour or two,
And while this lasted all that I had to do
Was close my eyes to reproduce the leaves,
Or indoor scene, or trophies of the eaves.
I cannot understand why from the lake
I could make out our front porch when I’d take
Lake Road to school, whilst now, although no tree
Has intervened, I look but fail to see
Even the roof. Maybe at some quirk in space
He caused a fold or furrow to displace
The fragile vista, the frame house between
Goldsworth and Wordsmith on its square of green.
I had a favorite young shagbark there
With ample dark jade leaves and a black, spare,
Vermiculated trunk. The setting sun
Bronzed the black bark, around which, like undone
Garlands, the shadows of the foliage fell.
It is now stout and rough; it has done well.
White butterflies turn lavender as they
Pass through its shade where gently seems to sway
The phantom of my little daughter’s swing.
The house itself is much the same. One wing
We’ve had revamped. There’s a solarium. There’s
A picture window flanked with fancy chairs.
TV’s huge paperclip now shines instead
Of stiff vane so often visited
By the naïve, the gauzy mockingbird
Retelling all programs she had heard;
Switching from chippo-chippo to a clear
To-wee, to-wee; then rasping out: come here,
Come here, come herrr’; flirting her tail aloft,
Or gracefully indulging in a soft
Upward hop-flop, and instantly (to-wee!)
Returning to her perch- the new TV.
I was an infant when my parents died.
They both were ornithologists. I’ve tried
So often to evoke them that today
I have a thousand parents. Sadly they
Dissolve in their own virtues and recede,
But certain words, chance words I hear or read,
Such as “bad heart” always to him refer,
And “cancer of the pancreas” to her.
A preterist: one who collects cold nests.
Here was my bedroom, now reserved for guests.
Here, tucked away by the Canadian maid,
I listened to the buzz downstairs and prayed
For everybody to be always well,
Uncles and aunts, the maid, her niece Adèle
Who’d seen the Pope, people in the books, and God.
I was brought up by dear bizarre Aunt Maud,
A poet and a painter with taste
For realistic objects interlaced
With grotesque growths and images of doom.
She lived to hear the next babe cry. Her room
We’ve kept intact. Its trivia create
A still life in her style: the paperweight
Of convex glass enclosing a lagoon,
The verse book open at the Index (Moon,
Moonrise, Moor, Moral), the forlorn guitar,
The human skull; and from the local Star
A curio: Red Sox Beat Yanks 5-4
On Chapman’s Homer, thumbtacked to the door.
My God died young. Theoloatry I found
Degrading, and its premises, unsound.
No free man needs a God; but was I free?
How fully I felt nature glued to me
And how my childish palate loved the taste
Half-fish, half-honey, of that golden paste!
My picture book was at an early age
The painted parchment papering our cage:
Mauve rings around the moon; blood-orange sun;
Twinned Iris; and that rare phenomenon
The iridule- when, beautiful and strange,
In a bright sky above a mountain range
One opal cloudlet in an oval form
Reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm
Which in a distant valley has been staged-
For we are most artistically caged.
And there’s the wall of sound: the nightly wall
Raised by a trillion crickets in the fall.
Impenetrable! Halfway up the hill
I’d pause in thrall of their delirious trill.
That’s Dr. Sutton’s light. That’s the Great Bear.
A thousand years ago five minutes were
Equal to forty ounces of fine sand.
Outstare the stars. Infinite foretime and
Infinite aftertime: about your head
They close like giant wings, and you are dead.
The regular vulgarian, I daresay,
Is happier: he sees the Milky Way
Only when making water. Then as now
I walked at my own risk: whipped by the bough,
Tripped by the stump. Asthmatic, lame and fat,
I never bounced a ball or swung a bat.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By feigned remoteness in the windowpane.
I had a brain, five senses (one unique),
But otherwise I was a cloutish freak.
In sleeping dreams I played with other chaps
But really envied nothing- save perhaps
The miracle of a lemniscates left
Upon wet sand by nonchalantly deft
Bicycle tires.
A thread of subtle pain,
Tugged at by the playful death, released again,
But always present, ran through me. One day,
When I’d just turned eleven, as I lay
Prone on the floor and watched a clockwork toy-
A tin wheelbarrow pushed by a tin boy-
Bypass chair legs and stray beneath the bed,
There was a sudden sunburst in my head.
And then black night. That blackness was sublime.
I felt distributed through space and time:
One foot upon a mountaintop, one had
Under the pebbles of a panting strand,
One ear in Italy, one eye in Spain,
In caves, my blood, and in the stars, my brain.
There were dull throbs in my Triassic; green
Optical spots in Upper Pleistocene,
An icy shiver down my Age of Stone,
And all tomorrows in my funnybone.
During one winter every afternoon
I’d sink into that momentary swoon.
And then it ceased. Its memory grew dim.
My health improved. I even learned to swim.
But like some little lad forced by a wench
With his pure tongue her abject thirst to quench,
I was corrupted, terrified, allured,
And though old doctor Colt pronounced me cured
Of what, he said, were mainly growing pains,
The wonder lingers and the shame remains.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*A note on the commentary, while reading this poem, I felt as if John Shade was writing about me! Each line was like an insight into my life, I wonder if I might have known him, or if he was, in fact, stalking me throughout the last 24 years?
Commentary:
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I remember this one time, I had just graduated from high school and I was running late to go to lunch with all my friends at Izzie’s Pizza. I was running so late because my two best friends and I were heading to the beach after lunch to spend the night, and I couldn’t figure out what to pack. Anyway, I was sitting at a stop sign at the bottom of the hill on which I live and a robin flew into my back window and killed its self. I was so horrified and upset that I pulled over and tried to revive it (by poking it with a stick, of course) but it was gone. I picked it up with a towel that was in my trunk and buried it on the side of the road. By this time I was crying so hard I couldn’t drive, so I had to go back home and wash my face and redo my makeup. After telling my sister and mom my horrifying story and doing the task at hand, I was ready to head to the restaurant. Remember that I was already late, so by this time I was 30 minutes late, making me 45 minutes late to lunch. Because it was long ago, I didn’t have a cell phone, so everyone thought I was dead. The day only got worse too because one of our more annoying friends (with a flair for the dramatic) made a huge show of asking out my best friend, who promptly rejected him. To say the least, the ride to the beach was an awkward and quiet one. I wonder how Shade could have known about this story? I have never even met him, so it couldn’t have been from me.
an apple on a plate
When I was a child, my mother tried to feed me apples everyday. But I didn’t really enjoy them at all, so she tried to be creative about the serving of them. Cubed, diced, sliced and whole, none of it would I have. Until one day… it was like I had an apple epiphany in my 12th year. Suddenly I loved them! I couldn’t get enough; my mom was so pleased, as was my doctor. As for Shade’s knowledge of this, I suppose a simple call to my primary physician or my mother could have been used to acquire this information, but it seems a strange thing to ask someone.
crystal
I have a cousin named Crystal. She is my father’s brother’s kid. I have never really been close to that side of the family, until a few years ago, when she got pregnant. After that, she started actually coming to the holidays that we always invited her family to, and became much more involved in our lives. It was nice, she is a great mom and a great person, and it’s so nice to get to know her better. I feel as if Shade must have known that, or he wouldn’t have mentioned Crystal at all.
gradual and dual blue… all colors make me happy: even grey.
These lines are reminiscent of my favorite song, called ‘grey or blue’ by Jaymay. It is a somewhat obscure song, which only few have heard of. Perhaps Shade and I have similar taste in music, or he acquired the password to my iTunes account? This troubles and disturbs me; perhaps I will have to be more careful about my passwords and to whom I speak to.
china
When my grandparents moved from their house to a retirement community named Canterbury, my grandmother gave my mother, her daughter, her poppy seed china. It is a beautiful set, in which each piece is lovingly decorated with yellow and orange poppies. I told my mother that either when she dies or when she tires of them that I would love to have them. I wonder how Shade could have possibly known this, and if I should be worried for my mother’s safety?
Sherlock Holmes
I read this collection of stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle one summer when I babysat during the summer. The girls were obsessed with swimming that summer, and I tired of it much quicker than them. After a few weeks of swimming each day, all day, I started to bring my book and lay in the sun to read outside with them. Much of the summer was spent reading this collection of stories, and I wonder how he would have known that unless he was hiding in the woods behind their house? What a strange and creepy man this Shade was! I should perhaps call their mother and warn her to keep a close eye on her daughters, for fear he is still watching them.
field of vision
Right now I am sitting at my desk by the window writing this. I never realized the parallel between my life and this story until now, and my gazes out the window are becoming more frequent and inspecting. I do see a shadow, but it cannot be Shade because he is dead. I wonder if I am being too paranoid, or if I really do have something to fear? I am also beginning to wonder if his daughter’s death was an accident. It seems that if he spent as much time stalking me throughout my life, that Hazel would have become jealous, or suspicious. Poor girl! I hope I am not correct in my thinking!
stillicide
I wonder what Shade means by this line… does he describe the stillness being broken by a random movement, or forever murdered by his obsession with me? He must have been so consumed by his obsession to so accurately write this poem about me that it must have affected the other parts of his life. It must have been especially difficult to travel all the way across the country to observe my every movement. I wonder what he told his wife?
Was close my eyes to reproduce the leaves,
Or indoor scene, or trophies of the eaves…
Goldsworth and Wordsmith on its square of green.
This short passage reminds me of William Wordsworth poem ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’, of which I wrote a similar poem a few years ago for one of my entry level British literature classes called I Sang Happy as a Clam. It goes as follows:
I sang happy as a clam
That sleeps low on the ocean floor,
Then suddenly something swam
A walrus, in all his dark lore;
Coming near, across the beach,
Waddling and sliding almost in reach.
As natural as the sun that sets
And rises on the very next day,
It collides into the ocean met
With colors that soon do not fade:
Alighting the sky with fire and light,
Which are soon not forgotten, whatever your might.
The clams before him scurried in fright
As the walrus before them grinned in glee,
They swam and swam with all their might
But one fell and skinned his knee;
He cried- and cried- but none did come
To save him from the walrus’ gum.
And now, when I read from Carroll
Sitting upon my couch in strife,
I think of this story of the unlucky fellow
Which shows us the sadness of his life;
And then my mind with longing brims,
To swim with the clams and somehow win.
How could Shade have possibly known that without speaking to my professors or friends? I wonder why they didn’t tell me of such an occurrence?
White butterflies turn lavender…
Butterflies are my favorite creatures in the world. They are so graceful and beautiful, like flying flowers. This is common information; a few simple questions to my eldest sister would give this information to anyone who wished to have it.
solarium
I worked at Taco Time in my hometown for 3 years, during my senior year of high school, and while I was getting my Associates Degree. Every night that I worked I would have to clean the dining room, in which there was an atrium that I would have to sweep and mop. With all the windows that you could see into, but not out of, I always wondered if there was someone watching me clean. Now I know there was.
mockingbird
When I was in high school, we read To Kill a Mockingbird, and it was my very favorite novel for a really long time. I loved it even more when I saw the Gregory Peck version of the film. I wrote a paper about the connections and beautiful of both the novel and film when I was a sophomore, Shade’s extensive knowledge of this makes me believe that he accessed it and read it. I should have a talk with my old school about privacy and allowing others access to students work.
And “cancer of the pancreas”
Six years ago my Grandfather died from pancreatic cancer. It was one of the most difficult times of my life, and for my family. For him to mock it in this way is an outrage! What a disgusting and cruel man John Shade is!
…and prayed
For everybody to be always well,
Uncles and aunts, the maid, her niece Adèle
Who’d seen the Pope, people in the books, and God
When I was a child, I would say a prayer each night before I went to bed. I would not only pray for my family, friends, pets and for Frank, the imaginary alligator that lived under my bed, I would also pray for my favorite book characters. The time I remember most vividly was when I would pray for Laura Ingalls Wilder, because The Little House on the Prairie were my favorite books for a large portion of my childhood. No one knows this, not even my family. I am not wondering if Shade is not only a creepy stalker, but also a wizard.
the forlorn guitar
This of course reminds me of Wallace Stevens’s poem ‘The Man with the Blue Guitar’ which I read during my first semester here at MSU in an American Literature class. I have kept Wallace Stevens’ collection of poems in my purse ever since that semester, to have it always with me. The only way Shade would know that is to look through my purse! I will now be taking a short break to call my credit card company and check the balance to make sure he didn’t access my card numbers.
On Chapman’s Homer, thumbtacked to the door
This image, of Chapman’s Homerun being stuck to a door is also found in Lolita, which I read in my aforementioned American Lit class, and again this semester for a class. The first time I read it, I spent the majority of my time reading it at the Salt Lake City airport. With the thousands of people there, it would have been a perfect place for Shade to spy on me without it being brought to my attention. Crazy, devious man!
My God died young. Theoloatry I found
Degrading, and its premises, unsound
This is the one part that I do not understand the connection to my life. I have always been a devote Christian. I spent the majority of my youth at Emanuel Lutheran Church in my hometown of Longview, Washington. Theology I find inspiring and fascinating, not “degrading” and “unsound”. I wonder if perhaps he confused me with my younger sister in this instance?
phenomenon
When I was in middle school, I was obsessed with Muppet’s Tonight. My very favorite episode was the one with Garth Brooks, of course, but my second favorite has always been the one with Sandra Bullock. In it, she copies one of the old skits from The Muppet Show, and sings the hilarious ‘manominon’ song. It is both delightful and hilarious to watch. Perhaps Shade and I have a common love of The Muppets, but I will not let him off so easily. I truly believe that he watched my youngest sister and me watching this show through the window.
For we are most artistically caged.
When I was going to Lower Columbia College (LCC) to get my Associates Degree, I took a series of art classes. My favorite was my sketching class, in which I learned to draw quite well, if I do say so myself. It was during this time that my grandmother died, a hard blow because it was only 2 years after my grandfather’s heartbreaking death. I was very close to both of my grandparents, but especially my grandma. After her death, I had a very dark time. The only thing that would make me feel better was to draw. I drew everything in my house! But my favorite was to sketch flowers and plants. I recreated all of the flowers sent to us by loving friends, all of the plants that my mother took care of for her, and each plant in our garden. I was obsessed with getting everything perfect. In a way, I was trapped in the world in which I created, that each perfect flower would somehow bring her back to me, or at least make her proud. This was much like Shade’s belief that he needed to make the perfect poem because of his ‘so-called’ heartbreak over his daughter’s death. I was trapped in vicious cycle of failure and triumph, until one day it became clear to me that I didn’t need to do this anymore. That my grandmother loved me and that I didn’t need to prove myself to anyone. It was the most freeing day of my life. And now I truly believe that we can only rescue ourselves from the artistic trap we create for ourselves.
That’s the Great Bear
When I was in high school I read a book about an astronomer. After this, I desperately wanted to be one. I would have done anything to achieve this goal, until I realized how many science and math classes were needed. My dream dwindled until my last quarter at LCC. I needed one more science class to graduate, so my friend and I signed up for astronomy. It was the best class I’ve ever taken. 6 hours long, every Wednesday night, I’ve never had such fun! And shockingly, I was good at it. I still remember most of the constellations, and what I found so interesting is that Ursa Major is the point that is needed to find all of the others. Like in life, you need to find something to focus on before everything else is clear, the Big Dipper directs you to everything you need to find. Perhaps I am that for Shade. Although I am not excusing his actions or obsessions, perhaps I have been the one thing in his life that helped him make everything else clear.
Asthmatic, lame and fat,
I never bounced a ball or swung a bat
I can’t help feeling sorry for Shade if this is really true. I played competitive volleyball for 6 years of my life, all throughout middle school and high school. It was one of the only things in my life during that time, in which I really excelled. It was time consuming though, with practice twice a week, and a tournament each weekend; I didn’t have time for much else. There was always a ton of people that attended these games, many of which I didn’t know. I hope that if John Shade was one of them that he could partake in my joy, even if he couldn’t do it himself.
sleeping dreams
When I was in 10th grade, my godfather died. It was a shock, a sudden heart attack that claimed him, and the first death that I ever dealt with. Shortly after his death, I had a series of dreams involving him. In each dream, he was in heaven, watching me to protect and guide me. It made me feel so safe and loved, and to this day I believe that they are true, that all of the people that I love are watching me, protecting me. How Shade could have known this, and included it in his poem is incredulous. Only a few people know of my dreams, so how he could have figured this out is amazing! I am sure now that he has some sort of mind-reading ability, which he has used on me throughout my entire life, the bastard!
Bicycle tires
I have always been a little slow when it comes to learning new things. For instance, I didn’t learn how to ride bike without training wheels until I was in 5th grade. I was always too scared, afraid to fall and hurt myself. Until one day I decided to just do it. My dad pushed me from behind, and I just went, like I’d always been doing it. After that, I rode constantly, at every chance I got. One day, once I was getting a little braver and cocky, I decided to jump a curb. It didn’t end so well. I flew over the handle bars and landed on my leg. I started to stand up, limping and crying, when a kind older man helped me up and walked me home. I always wondered where he was and why I didn’t notice him before. I always just assumed that I was so focused on my riding that I didn’t pay attention, but now I know the truth. It was you John Shade. You were watching me and picked me up when I fell. It that wasn’t so creepy, it’d be kind of sweet. But it’s too creepy.
There was a sudden sunburst in my head
My older sister suffers from epilepsy. She has it mostly under control now, with medication, but she still has minor seizures from time to time. I once asked her what it was like when you had a seizure, and she described it exactly as Shade does. This makes me question if Shade really was epileptic or was using my sister’s material for his writing. What an abominable man if this is true! It is a real disease, not something to publicize for your own gain.
That blackness was sublime.
I felt distributed through space and time:
One foot upon a mountaintop, one had
Under the pebbles of a panting strand,
One ear in Italy, one eye in Spain,
In caves, my blood, and in the stars, my brain.
There were dull throbs in my Triassic; green
Optical spots in Upper Pleistocene,
An icy shiver down my Age of Stone,
And all tomorrows in my funnybone
When I first read this poem, I read this part to my aforementioned sister. She laughed out loud and said that it’s not quite as romantic as all that when you black out. “It hurts and gives you a horrible headache” she said. Nice try Johnny.
I even learned to swim
I took swimming lessons all throughout my childhood. My mother was not a good swimmer, so she wanted us to be. I was so good, in fact, in 5th grade I was asked to be on the Killer Whale Swim Team at the YMCA. It was a great honor, and I wish I would have done it now, I was too lazy then. It was a lot of work, and I didn’t want to put in the time.
growing pains
The summer between 6th and 7th grade I grew 3 or 4 inches. I loved it! I could now play middle blocker on my volleyball team, and it helped me jump much higher when spiking. The really bad thing about growing so much is that I got Osgood Schlatters disease, making my knees throb in pain each time I landed a jump. This disease affects the bone directly under the knee, causing it to become inflamed. I also got horrible shin splints during this time. Volleyball, my great love was causing me much pain! But of course I ignored the pain, and continued to play and it eventually went away. To you John Shade, this was nothing to joke about! I still have problems with my knees because of it, and until you experience it, don’t make fun!
*This ends my commentary on canto one. I was going to continue to the other cantos, but I am too angry with Shade to continue. He was the Humbert Humbert to my Lolita, tainting and ruining my youth. I am glad that he is dead, well done J. Gradus! You have rid the world of one more perverted man, stalking young children.
Canto 1:
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff- and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
And from the inside too, I’d duplicate
Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate:
Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass
Hang all the furniture above the grass,
And how delightful when a fall snow
Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so
As to make chair and bed exactly stand
Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
Retake the falling snow: each drifting flake
Shapeless and slow, unsteady and opaque,
A dull dark white against the day’s pale white
And abstract larches in the neutral light.
And then the gradual and dual blue
As night unites the viewer and the view,
And in the morning, diamonds of frost
Express amazement: Whose spurred feet have crossed
From left to right the blank page of the road?
Reading from left to right in winter’s code:
A dot, an arrow pointing back; repeat:
Dot, arrow pointing back… A pheasant’s feet!
Torquated beauty, sublimated grouse,
Finding your China right behind my house.
Was he in Sherlock Holmes, the fellow whose
Tracks pointed back when he reversed his shoes?
All colors made me happy: even gray.
My eyes were such that literally they
Took photographs. Whenever I’d permit,
Or, with a silent shiver, order it,
Whatever in my field of vision dwelt-
An indoor scene, hickory leaves, the svelte-
Stilettos of a frozen stillicide-
Was printed on my eyelids’ nether side
Where is would tarry for an hour or two,
And while this lasted all that I had to do
Was close my eyes to reproduce the leaves,
Or indoor scene, or trophies of the eaves.
I cannot understand why from the lake
I could make out our front porch when I’d take
Lake Road to school, whilst now, although no tree
Has intervened, I look but fail to see
Even the roof. Maybe at some quirk in space
He caused a fold or furrow to displace
The fragile vista, the frame house between
Goldsworth and Wordsmith on its square of green.
I had a favorite young shagbark there
With ample dark jade leaves and a black, spare,
Vermiculated trunk. The setting sun
Bronzed the black bark, around which, like undone
Garlands, the shadows of the foliage fell.
It is now stout and rough; it has done well.
White butterflies turn lavender as they
Pass through its shade where gently seems to sway
The phantom of my little daughter’s swing.
The house itself is much the same. One wing
We’ve had revamped. There’s a solarium. There’s
A picture window flanked with fancy chairs.
TV’s huge paperclip now shines instead
Of stiff vane so often visited
By the naïve, the gauzy mockingbird
Retelling all programs she had heard;
Switching from chippo-chippo to a clear
To-wee, to-wee; then rasping out: come here,
Come here, come herrr’; flirting her tail aloft,
Or gracefully indulging in a soft
Upward hop-flop, and instantly (to-wee!)
Returning to her perch- the new TV.
I was an infant when my parents died.
They both were ornithologists. I’ve tried
So often to evoke them that today
I have a thousand parents. Sadly they
Dissolve in their own virtues and recede,
But certain words, chance words I hear or read,
Such as “bad heart” always to him refer,
And “cancer of the pancreas” to her.
A preterist: one who collects cold nests.
Here was my bedroom, now reserved for guests.
Here, tucked away by the Canadian maid,
I listened to the buzz downstairs and prayed
For everybody to be always well,
Uncles and aunts, the maid, her niece Adèle
Who’d seen the Pope, people in the books, and God.
I was brought up by dear bizarre Aunt Maud,
A poet and a painter with taste
For realistic objects interlaced
With grotesque growths and images of doom.
She lived to hear the next babe cry. Her room
We’ve kept intact. Its trivia create
A still life in her style: the paperweight
Of convex glass enclosing a lagoon,
The verse book open at the Index (Moon,
Moonrise, Moor, Moral), the forlorn guitar,
The human skull; and from the local Star
A curio: Red Sox Beat Yanks 5-4
On Chapman’s Homer, thumbtacked to the door.
My God died young. Theoloatry I found
Degrading, and its premises, unsound.
No free man needs a God; but was I free?
How fully I felt nature glued to me
And how my childish palate loved the taste
Half-fish, half-honey, of that golden paste!
My picture book was at an early age
The painted parchment papering our cage:
Mauve rings around the moon; blood-orange sun;
Twinned Iris; and that rare phenomenon
The iridule- when, beautiful and strange,
In a bright sky above a mountain range
One opal cloudlet in an oval form
Reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm
Which in a distant valley has been staged-
For we are most artistically caged.
And there’s the wall of sound: the nightly wall
Raised by a trillion crickets in the fall.
Impenetrable! Halfway up the hill
I’d pause in thrall of their delirious trill.
That’s Dr. Sutton’s light. That’s the Great Bear.
A thousand years ago five minutes were
Equal to forty ounces of fine sand.
Outstare the stars. Infinite foretime and
Infinite aftertime: about your head
They close like giant wings, and you are dead.
The regular vulgarian, I daresay,
Is happier: he sees the Milky Way
Only when making water. Then as now
I walked at my own risk: whipped by the bough,
Tripped by the stump. Asthmatic, lame and fat,
I never bounced a ball or swung a bat.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By feigned remoteness in the windowpane.
I had a brain, five senses (one unique),
But otherwise I was a cloutish freak.
In sleeping dreams I played with other chaps
But really envied nothing- save perhaps
The miracle of a lemniscates left
Upon wet sand by nonchalantly deft
Bicycle tires.
A thread of subtle pain,
Tugged at by the playful death, released again,
But always present, ran through me. One day,
When I’d just turned eleven, as I lay
Prone on the floor and watched a clockwork toy-
A tin wheelbarrow pushed by a tin boy-
Bypass chair legs and stray beneath the bed,
There was a sudden sunburst in my head.
And then black night. That blackness was sublime.
I felt distributed through space and time:
One foot upon a mountaintop, one had
Under the pebbles of a panting strand,
One ear in Italy, one eye in Spain,
In caves, my blood, and in the stars, my brain.
There were dull throbs in my Triassic; green
Optical spots in Upper Pleistocene,
An icy shiver down my Age of Stone,
And all tomorrows in my funnybone.
During one winter every afternoon
I’d sink into that momentary swoon.
And then it ceased. Its memory grew dim.
My health improved. I even learned to swim.
But like some little lad forced by a wench
With his pure tongue her abject thirst to quench,
I was corrupted, terrified, allured,
And though old doctor Colt pronounced me cured
Of what, he said, were mainly growing pains,
The wonder lingers and the shame remains.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*A note on the commentary, while reading this poem, I felt as if John Shade was writing about me! Each line was like an insight into my life, I wonder if I might have known him, or if he was, in fact, stalking me throughout the last 24 years?
Commentary:
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I remember this one time, I had just graduated from high school and I was running late to go to lunch with all my friends at Izzie’s Pizza. I was running so late because my two best friends and I were heading to the beach after lunch to spend the night, and I couldn’t figure out what to pack. Anyway, I was sitting at a stop sign at the bottom of the hill on which I live and a robin flew into my back window and killed its self. I was so horrified and upset that I pulled over and tried to revive it (by poking it with a stick, of course) but it was gone. I picked it up with a towel that was in my trunk and buried it on the side of the road. By this time I was crying so hard I couldn’t drive, so I had to go back home and wash my face and redo my makeup. After telling my sister and mom my horrifying story and doing the task at hand, I was ready to head to the restaurant. Remember that I was already late, so by this time I was 30 minutes late, making me 45 minutes late to lunch. Because it was long ago, I didn’t have a cell phone, so everyone thought I was dead. The day only got worse too because one of our more annoying friends (with a flair for the dramatic) made a huge show of asking out my best friend, who promptly rejected him. To say the least, the ride to the beach was an awkward and quiet one. I wonder how Shade could have known about this story? I have never even met him, so it couldn’t have been from me.
an apple on a plate
When I was a child, my mother tried to feed me apples everyday. But I didn’t really enjoy them at all, so she tried to be creative about the serving of them. Cubed, diced, sliced and whole, none of it would I have. Until one day… it was like I had an apple epiphany in my 12th year. Suddenly I loved them! I couldn’t get enough; my mom was so pleased, as was my doctor. As for Shade’s knowledge of this, I suppose a simple call to my primary physician or my mother could have been used to acquire this information, but it seems a strange thing to ask someone.
crystal
I have a cousin named Crystal. She is my father’s brother’s kid. I have never really been close to that side of the family, until a few years ago, when she got pregnant. After that, she started actually coming to the holidays that we always invited her family to, and became much more involved in our lives. It was nice, she is a great mom and a great person, and it’s so nice to get to know her better. I feel as if Shade must have known that, or he wouldn’t have mentioned Crystal at all.
gradual and dual blue… all colors make me happy: even grey.
These lines are reminiscent of my favorite song, called ‘grey or blue’ by Jaymay. It is a somewhat obscure song, which only few have heard of. Perhaps Shade and I have similar taste in music, or he acquired the password to my iTunes account? This troubles and disturbs me; perhaps I will have to be more careful about my passwords and to whom I speak to.
china
When my grandparents moved from their house to a retirement community named Canterbury, my grandmother gave my mother, her daughter, her poppy seed china. It is a beautiful set, in which each piece is lovingly decorated with yellow and orange poppies. I told my mother that either when she dies or when she tires of them that I would love to have them. I wonder how Shade could have possibly known this, and if I should be worried for my mother’s safety?
Sherlock Holmes
I read this collection of stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle one summer when I babysat during the summer. The girls were obsessed with swimming that summer, and I tired of it much quicker than them. After a few weeks of swimming each day, all day, I started to bring my book and lay in the sun to read outside with them. Much of the summer was spent reading this collection of stories, and I wonder how he would have known that unless he was hiding in the woods behind their house? What a strange and creepy man this Shade was! I should perhaps call their mother and warn her to keep a close eye on her daughters, for fear he is still watching them.
field of vision
Right now I am sitting at my desk by the window writing this. I never realized the parallel between my life and this story until now, and my gazes out the window are becoming more frequent and inspecting. I do see a shadow, but it cannot be Shade because he is dead. I wonder if I am being too paranoid, or if I really do have something to fear? I am also beginning to wonder if his daughter’s death was an accident. It seems that if he spent as much time stalking me throughout my life, that Hazel would have become jealous, or suspicious. Poor girl! I hope I am not correct in my thinking!
stillicide
I wonder what Shade means by this line… does he describe the stillness being broken by a random movement, or forever murdered by his obsession with me? He must have been so consumed by his obsession to so accurately write this poem about me that it must have affected the other parts of his life. It must have been especially difficult to travel all the way across the country to observe my every movement. I wonder what he told his wife?
Was close my eyes to reproduce the leaves,
Or indoor scene, or trophies of the eaves…
Goldsworth and Wordsmith on its square of green.
This short passage reminds me of William Wordsworth poem ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’, of which I wrote a similar poem a few years ago for one of my entry level British literature classes called I Sang Happy as a Clam. It goes as follows:
I sang happy as a clam
That sleeps low on the ocean floor,
Then suddenly something swam
A walrus, in all his dark lore;
Coming near, across the beach,
Waddling and sliding almost in reach.
As natural as the sun that sets
And rises on the very next day,
It collides into the ocean met
With colors that soon do not fade:
Alighting the sky with fire and light,
Which are soon not forgotten, whatever your might.
The clams before him scurried in fright
As the walrus before them grinned in glee,
They swam and swam with all their might
But one fell and skinned his knee;
He cried- and cried- but none did come
To save him from the walrus’ gum.
And now, when I read from Carroll
Sitting upon my couch in strife,
I think of this story of the unlucky fellow
Which shows us the sadness of his life;
And then my mind with longing brims,
To swim with the clams and somehow win.
How could Shade have possibly known that without speaking to my professors or friends? I wonder why they didn’t tell me of such an occurrence?
White butterflies turn lavender…
Butterflies are my favorite creatures in the world. They are so graceful and beautiful, like flying flowers. This is common information; a few simple questions to my eldest sister would give this information to anyone who wished to have it.
solarium
I worked at Taco Time in my hometown for 3 years, during my senior year of high school, and while I was getting my Associates Degree. Every night that I worked I would have to clean the dining room, in which there was an atrium that I would have to sweep and mop. With all the windows that you could see into, but not out of, I always wondered if there was someone watching me clean. Now I know there was.
mockingbird
When I was in high school, we read To Kill a Mockingbird, and it was my very favorite novel for a really long time. I loved it even more when I saw the Gregory Peck version of the film. I wrote a paper about the connections and beautiful of both the novel and film when I was a sophomore, Shade’s extensive knowledge of this makes me believe that he accessed it and read it. I should have a talk with my old school about privacy and allowing others access to students work.
And “cancer of the pancreas”
Six years ago my Grandfather died from pancreatic cancer. It was one of the most difficult times of my life, and for my family. For him to mock it in this way is an outrage! What a disgusting and cruel man John Shade is!
…and prayed
For everybody to be always well,
Uncles and aunts, the maid, her niece Adèle
Who’d seen the Pope, people in the books, and God
When I was a child, I would say a prayer each night before I went to bed. I would not only pray for my family, friends, pets and for Frank, the imaginary alligator that lived under my bed, I would also pray for my favorite book characters. The time I remember most vividly was when I would pray for Laura Ingalls Wilder, because The Little House on the Prairie were my favorite books for a large portion of my childhood. No one knows this, not even my family. I am not wondering if Shade is not only a creepy stalker, but also a wizard.
the forlorn guitar
This of course reminds me of Wallace Stevens’s poem ‘The Man with the Blue Guitar’ which I read during my first semester here at MSU in an American Literature class. I have kept Wallace Stevens’ collection of poems in my purse ever since that semester, to have it always with me. The only way Shade would know that is to look through my purse! I will now be taking a short break to call my credit card company and check the balance to make sure he didn’t access my card numbers.
On Chapman’s Homer, thumbtacked to the door
This image, of Chapman’s Homerun being stuck to a door is also found in Lolita, which I read in my aforementioned American Lit class, and again this semester for a class. The first time I read it, I spent the majority of my time reading it at the Salt Lake City airport. With the thousands of people there, it would have been a perfect place for Shade to spy on me without it being brought to my attention. Crazy, devious man!
My God died young. Theoloatry I found
Degrading, and its premises, unsound
This is the one part that I do not understand the connection to my life. I have always been a devote Christian. I spent the majority of my youth at Emanuel Lutheran Church in my hometown of Longview, Washington. Theology I find inspiring and fascinating, not “degrading” and “unsound”. I wonder if perhaps he confused me with my younger sister in this instance?
phenomenon
When I was in middle school, I was obsessed with Muppet’s Tonight. My very favorite episode was the one with Garth Brooks, of course, but my second favorite has always been the one with Sandra Bullock. In it, she copies one of the old skits from The Muppet Show, and sings the hilarious ‘manominon’ song. It is both delightful and hilarious to watch. Perhaps Shade and I have a common love of The Muppets, but I will not let him off so easily. I truly believe that he watched my youngest sister and me watching this show through the window.
For we are most artistically caged.
When I was going to Lower Columbia College (LCC) to get my Associates Degree, I took a series of art classes. My favorite was my sketching class, in which I learned to draw quite well, if I do say so myself. It was during this time that my grandmother died, a hard blow because it was only 2 years after my grandfather’s heartbreaking death. I was very close to both of my grandparents, but especially my grandma. After her death, I had a very dark time. The only thing that would make me feel better was to draw. I drew everything in my house! But my favorite was to sketch flowers and plants. I recreated all of the flowers sent to us by loving friends, all of the plants that my mother took care of for her, and each plant in our garden. I was obsessed with getting everything perfect. In a way, I was trapped in the world in which I created, that each perfect flower would somehow bring her back to me, or at least make her proud. This was much like Shade’s belief that he needed to make the perfect poem because of his ‘so-called’ heartbreak over his daughter’s death. I was trapped in vicious cycle of failure and triumph, until one day it became clear to me that I didn’t need to do this anymore. That my grandmother loved me and that I didn’t need to prove myself to anyone. It was the most freeing day of my life. And now I truly believe that we can only rescue ourselves from the artistic trap we create for ourselves.
That’s the Great Bear
When I was in high school I read a book about an astronomer. After this, I desperately wanted to be one. I would have done anything to achieve this goal, until I realized how many science and math classes were needed. My dream dwindled until my last quarter at LCC. I needed one more science class to graduate, so my friend and I signed up for astronomy. It was the best class I’ve ever taken. 6 hours long, every Wednesday night, I’ve never had such fun! And shockingly, I was good at it. I still remember most of the constellations, and what I found so interesting is that Ursa Major is the point that is needed to find all of the others. Like in life, you need to find something to focus on before everything else is clear, the Big Dipper directs you to everything you need to find. Perhaps I am that for Shade. Although I am not excusing his actions or obsessions, perhaps I have been the one thing in his life that helped him make everything else clear.
Asthmatic, lame and fat,
I never bounced a ball or swung a bat
I can’t help feeling sorry for Shade if this is really true. I played competitive volleyball for 6 years of my life, all throughout middle school and high school. It was one of the only things in my life during that time, in which I really excelled. It was time consuming though, with practice twice a week, and a tournament each weekend; I didn’t have time for much else. There was always a ton of people that attended these games, many of which I didn’t know. I hope that if John Shade was one of them that he could partake in my joy, even if he couldn’t do it himself.
sleeping dreams
When I was in 10th grade, my godfather died. It was a shock, a sudden heart attack that claimed him, and the first death that I ever dealt with. Shortly after his death, I had a series of dreams involving him. In each dream, he was in heaven, watching me to protect and guide me. It made me feel so safe and loved, and to this day I believe that they are true, that all of the people that I love are watching me, protecting me. How Shade could have known this, and included it in his poem is incredulous. Only a few people know of my dreams, so how he could have figured this out is amazing! I am sure now that he has some sort of mind-reading ability, which he has used on me throughout my entire life, the bastard!
Bicycle tires
I have always been a little slow when it comes to learning new things. For instance, I didn’t learn how to ride bike without training wheels until I was in 5th grade. I was always too scared, afraid to fall and hurt myself. Until one day I decided to just do it. My dad pushed me from behind, and I just went, like I’d always been doing it. After that, I rode constantly, at every chance I got. One day, once I was getting a little braver and cocky, I decided to jump a curb. It didn’t end so well. I flew over the handle bars and landed on my leg. I started to stand up, limping and crying, when a kind older man helped me up and walked me home. I always wondered where he was and why I didn’t notice him before. I always just assumed that I was so focused on my riding that I didn’t pay attention, but now I know the truth. It was you John Shade. You were watching me and picked me up when I fell. It that wasn’t so creepy, it’d be kind of sweet. But it’s too creepy.
There was a sudden sunburst in my head
My older sister suffers from epilepsy. She has it mostly under control now, with medication, but she still has minor seizures from time to time. I once asked her what it was like when you had a seizure, and she described it exactly as Shade does. This makes me question if Shade really was epileptic or was using my sister’s material for his writing. What an abominable man if this is true! It is a real disease, not something to publicize for your own gain.
That blackness was sublime.
I felt distributed through space and time:
One foot upon a mountaintop, one had
Under the pebbles of a panting strand,
One ear in Italy, one eye in Spain,
In caves, my blood, and in the stars, my brain.
There were dull throbs in my Triassic; green
Optical spots in Upper Pleistocene,
An icy shiver down my Age of Stone,
And all tomorrows in my funnybone
When I first read this poem, I read this part to my aforementioned sister. She laughed out loud and said that it’s not quite as romantic as all that when you black out. “It hurts and gives you a horrible headache” she said. Nice try Johnny.
I even learned to swim
I took swimming lessons all throughout my childhood. My mother was not a good swimmer, so she wanted us to be. I was so good, in fact, in 5th grade I was asked to be on the Killer Whale Swim Team at the YMCA. It was a great honor, and I wish I would have done it now, I was too lazy then. It was a lot of work, and I didn’t want to put in the time.
growing pains
The summer between 6th and 7th grade I grew 3 or 4 inches. I loved it! I could now play middle blocker on my volleyball team, and it helped me jump much higher when spiking. The really bad thing about growing so much is that I got Osgood Schlatters disease, making my knees throb in pain each time I landed a jump. This disease affects the bone directly under the knee, causing it to become inflamed. I also got horrible shin splints during this time. Volleyball, my great love was causing me much pain! But of course I ignored the pain, and continued to play and it eventually went away. To you John Shade, this was nothing to joke about! I still have problems with my knees because of it, and until you experience it, don’t make fun!
*This ends my commentary on canto one. I was going to continue to the other cantos, but I am too angry with Shade to continue. He was the Humbert Humbert to my Lolita, tainting and ruining my youth. I am glad that he is dead, well done J. Gradus! You have rid the world of one more perverted man, stalking young children.
This is so funny! I like imagining Shade crouched in the bushes, spying on you at Taco Time.
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