MYTH
I was asleep while you were dying.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow
I make between my slumber and my waking,
the Erebus I keep you in, still trying
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live. So I try taking
you back into morning. Sleep-heavy, turning,
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.
Again and again, this constant forsaking:
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.
But in dreams you live. So I try taking,
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow.
The Erebus I keep you in — still, trying —
I make between my slumber and my waking.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow.
I was asleep while you were dying.
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Hello Friends,
Much like Elizabeth Bishop's villanelle "One Art," Natasha Trethewey's "Myth" conveys the impossible enormity of loss through the tightness of the form employed to contain it — as strict or stricter than any villanelle or pantoum. The structure of "Myth" evokes ancient myths of reflection — Narcissus, Echo — and also gestures toward the perfect symmetry and circularity of 11th-14th century courtly love epics (wherein moral outcomes are
determined by simple formulas, codes... the good guy always wins, and nobody dies in his sleep).
I had a hard time choosing which poem from Natasha Trethewey's 2006 collection Native Guard to send to you; if you like this one, you won't be disappointed by checking out the whole book.
To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.
Best,
Ellen
Labels: Elizabeth Bishop, NPM