[Mary Meriam]

rev. 1:

Canon

The tune I grew to know became my voice,
the tune that made me grow. I grew alone.
It was the only tune. I had no choice.
It wasn’t pretty, rooted in a moan.
Virginia’s suicide, and Charlotte’s too,
then Sylvia and Anne. I hear them call
and harmonize, as if they also grew
my sound. I listen to their final fall,
their final thoughts revolving in regret
for ending pain they couldn't understand,
the oven, river, poison, gas, the net
to guide them to the shore, with death in hand.
I couldn't save my sister, though I tried.
She suffered all her life, and then she died.



~~~


original:

Canon

The tune I grew to know became my voice.
The tune that made me grow, I grew alone.
It was the only tune. I had no choice.
It wasn’t pretty, rooted in a moan.
Virginia killed herself, and Charlotte too,
then Sylvia and Anne. I hear them call
and harmonize, as if they also grew
my sound. I listen to their final fall,
their final thoughts revolving in regret
for ending pain they couldn't understand,
the oven, river, poison, gas, the net
to guide them to the shore, with death in hand.
I couldn't save my sister, though I tried.
She suffered all her life, and then she died.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Mary—

Suicide runs in my family, too. I suspect that many people write poetry as a way of throwing light into that darkness, and giving voice to that pain, not always successfully avoiding a fatal outcome. I am sorry about your sister.

I got Virginia Woolf (river), Sylvia Plath (oven), and Anne Sexton (gas) right away. After a bit of googling, I’m guessing that Charlotte refers to Charlotte Mew who poisoned herself by drinking Lysol. I am not familiar with her poetry.

Glenn

[David Callin]

Very touching, Mary. And sadly (in every sense) effective.

Best wishes to you.

David

[Susan McLean]

Mary, I think it works. It is hard when the canon of writers who speak to you is the canon of writers who committed suicide. The one place where it felt like a misstep was at the end of L1, where I think a comma would work better than a period, and in L2, where I think a period would work better than a comma after "grow." The idea in between works better to me as a continuation of the thought in L1, whereas I have more trouble understanding it when connected to "I grew alone."

Susan

[Rick Mullin]

Hi Mary,

Like Susan, I was tripped up in line two, which seems to say, as you have it, that N grew the tune that grew her. But it seems more natural to read it as two statement with the period instead of the comma.

Line four is also readable in two ways--"it wasn't pretty. It was rooted in a moan" or "it wasn't something pretty that is rooted in a moan"

In general, the opening four lines are super-familiar to me as a reader of your poetry, and come across as treading water for you. A better opening quatrain may serve to pull the poem, which has two abrupt shifts (line five and the closing couplet), together. Abrupt shifts are cool generally, but I don't feel the poem coming together very smoothly right now. I really love the closing couplet, and I think the eight lines between the opening quatrain and the couplet are very good. You need something, I think, and it can likely be achieved with a rewrite of that quatrain.

Rick

[Hilary Biehl]

I am reading line 2 as meaning "I grew - on my own/by myself - the tune that made me grow." Changing the punctuation would change the meaning pretty drastically, I think. That said, I am a bit confused as to what the tune is and whether there is more than one. Is the tune a poetic voice haunted by that tendency towards suicide? Or is the tune something opposed to suicide, which the N had to grow all on her own because she didn't find it in the canon? Perhaps both tunes are present. I'm not sure.

[Rick Mullin]

Hi again,

I think Hilary's questions and uncertainties might provide a pathway for a rewrite of the quatrain.

Rick

[Matt Q]

Hi Mary,

I think is very strong. The ending, I didn't see coming, and found very affecting. It's particularly effective in that "sister" can refer both to a biological sister and or, after the listing or names, to a fellow female poet or poets.

Like others, I wondered at the opening. It did sound at first like there may be two tunes. The one she grows to know, and the one she grows that makes her grow. And yet L3 says there's only one. And, it can also be read that way too -- that there is only one tune, and that the N both grew to know it and grew it, and it made her grow. I'm guessing that's your intention and I like the (seeming) paradoxicality of that.

Reversing the first two lines seems to makes that clearer (to me anyway), because it seems to present the correct causal and chronological progression: She grows the tune that makes her grow. She comes to know the tune. The tune becomes her voice.

The tune that made me grow, I grew alone.
The tune I grew to know became my voice.

Still, swapping those lines would change your rhyme scheme, which you may not be keen to do.

Anyway, maybe there's a way of clarifying the opening, making it sound initially less like two voices -- but hopefully not at the cost of losing the paradoxical / interdependent feel of the N both growing the tune, and tune making her grow.

I wondered if there might be an alternative to repeating "final" in "final thoughts", which to me sounded a little flat.

Matt

[John Riley]

Mary, this is very strong. I was reading Sexton just yesterday and early this morning. It's maybe too easy to say you see death in all her poetry, but it's certainly hard to miss. I had the same trip on L2. I "got" it by the end, but it felt a little disconnected on the initial read.

It's a strong sonnet.

[Jim Ramsey]

Hi Mary,

I have no nits. I like it as is. Still, I wanted to show you how this would read with the sister theme, the sisterhood more universalized simply by switching to third person. Just passing a thought on....

All the best,
Jim

p.s. : The style of the piece made me think of Edwin Arlington Robinson, who of course, would have attached a name to the N. I think it's the rhythm and phrasings with a few abstractions mixed in that remind me of him. Sonnetwise, I think he wrote mostly Petrarchans true to form.

Canon

The tune she grew to know became her voice.
The tune that made her grow, she grew alone.
It was the only tune. She had no choice.
It wasn’t pretty, rooted in a moan.
Virginia killed herself, and Charlotte too,
then Sylvia and Anne. She heard them call
and harmonize, as if they also grew
her sound. She listened to their final fall,
their final thoughts revolving in regret
for ending pain they couldn't understand,
the oven, river, poison, gas, the net
to guide them to the shore, with death in hand.
She couldn't save her sisters, though she tried.
They suffered all their lives, and then they died.