Young poet;Poem;Transformed, Somehow by Jenny Mayo
* My soul tingles for freedom.
So let us walk the streets
Where dead men have lost their bones,
And let us soar together
With your soft silk scarf and violin bow
Up through the mountains,
Where we shall gather lilacs
To place in yellow bowls
* My red chair is ready,
By the fire, my cat is curled
We are almost changed,
You and I.
Although the poet does not permit us access to the plain facts that initiated the poem, I was attracted by the writer's desire for transcendence and her expression of yearning and excitement - the inexpressible which we are always compelled to try to express.
The paired "soft silk scarf and violin bow" seem to belong together somehow, and their partnership creates the kind of appealing mystery that defines much of the poetry I like best. Would not the long sound made by a violin bow resemble a scarf? There's something almost teasing in the mystery of the final images of the red chair and the cat, and I fell for that too. I equally liked the trick of reversing the objects - the "lilacsTo place in yellow bowls" - and their ensuing simile, the "memories". For young writers to incorporate versions of famous writers' lines into their own work ("Where dead men have lost their bones" remains in Eliot's ownership) is not only acceptable, in my opinion, but absolutely beneficial, especially when it is unconsciously done. The process of becoming a writer involves absorbing the memorable and lingering sounds of language and literature; these become more and more integrated and then finally, as if by magic, transformed into the writer's own voice. This poem obviously arises from powerful impulses - dare I say heart and soul? - but the writer also has a good sense of line and line-breaks.