CIRCE’S GRIEF

Louise Glück

In the end, I made myself

known to your wife as
a god would, in her own house, in
Ithaca, a voice
without a body: she 5
paused in her weaving, her head turning
first to the right, then left
though it was hopeless of course
to trace that sound to any
objective source: I doubt 10
she will return to her loom
with what she knows now. When
you see her again, tell her
this is how a god says goodbye:
if I am in her head forever 15
I am in your life forever.

1. Syntax

Only two sentences make up this poem:

In the end, I made myself Known to your wife as A god would, in her own house, in Ithaca, a voice
Without a body: she Paused in her weaving, her head turning First to the right, then left Though it was
hopeless of course To trace that sound to any Objective source: I doubt She will return to her loom With
what she knows now. When You see her again, tell her This is how a god says goodbye: If I am in her
head forever I am in your life forever.

The first sentence is a long sentence that alone covers almost 12 out of 15 lines of the poem It is made up of
three main segments marked by colons:

Segment 1: In the end, I made myself known to your wife as a god would, in her own house, in
Ithaca, a voice without a body:

Segment 2: She paused in her weaving, her head turning first to the right, then left, though it was
hopeless of course to trace that sound to any objective source:

Segment 3: I doubt she will return to her loom with what she knows now.

Segment 1 is a statement attached to a series of five qualifiers, all describing, establishing the particulars
of the situation: in the end, as a god would, in her own house, in Ithaca, in a voice without a body.

That segment 2 is marked off only by a colon suggests close relationship between 1 and itself, a
premeditated, not a spontaneous, thought. In fact, the syntax is more complex this time: two clauses, an
assertion (she paused), and then a contradiction (though it was hopeless to trace that sound), with the
contradiction implied largely in the qualifiers (her head turning first to the right, then left). This reinforces
the premeditated effect, the care in arranging the thought, before its utterance. A series of five qualifiers
once again is attached to the main clauses: in her weaving, her head turning first to the right, then left, of
course, to any objective source.

The last segment, finally, is surprising in its relative simplicity. A continuous statement, without
qualifiers, without commas. Its ease belies the tension of what it prepares the reader for. The next
sentence.

Compared to the first, the second sentence is shorter and syntactically simpler. It is made up of two segments
conjoined by a colon:

Segment 1 When you see her again, tell her this is how a god says goodbye
Segment 2 If I am in her head forever I am in your life forever.
 Segment 1 is a subtle shift: it is not declarative but imperative (tell her). It is made up of three clauses
(you see, tell her, this is, god says goodbye) whose function is either subordinate or accusative, and lacks
additional qualifying phrases, hence its relative bluntness. Segment 2 is a subjunctive statement, and is
the shortest segment. Its brevity, coupled with the weight of its revelation, make it achieve maximum
impact.

2. Syllabication and Stress Pattern

In the end, I made myself 7 syllables 4 accents

known to your wife as 5 syllables 3
a god would, in her own house, in 8 syllables 4
Ithaca, a voice 5 syllables 2
without a body: she 6 syllables 3
paused in her weaving, her head turning 9 syllables 4
first to the right, then left 6 syllables 3
though it was hopeless of course 7 syllables 4
to trace that sound to any 7 syllables 3
objective source: I doubt 6 syllables 4
she will return to her loom 7 syllables 3
with what she knows now. When 6 syllables 3
you see her again, tell her 7 syllables 5
this is how a god says goodbye: 8 syllables 5
if I am in her head forever 9 syllables 4
I am in your life forever. 8 syllables 4

Syllabication and stress pattern is fairly regular.

3. Lineation

In the end, I made myself (Lght)

known to your wife as (Enj)
a god would, in her own house, in (Enj)
Ithaca, a voice (Lght)
without a body: she (Enj)
paused in her weaving, her head turning (Lght)
first to the right, then left (Lght)
though it was hopeless of course (Lght)
to trace that sound to any (Enj)
objective source: I doubt (Lght)
she will return to her loom (Lght)
with what she knows now. When (Enj)
you see her again, tell her (Lght)
this is how a god says goodbye: (Lght)
if I am in her head forever (Lght)
I am in your life forever. (Heavy)

10 lightly end-stopped lines

5 enjambed lines
1 heavy end-stopped line
Pace matches assuredness of thought
DEMETER, WAITING
Rita Dove

No. Who can bear it. Only someone

who hates herself, who believes
to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek
is to put love into her pocket—
like one of those ashen Christian 5
philosophers, or a war-bound soldier.

She is gone again and I will not bear

it, I will drag my grief through a winter
of my own making, refuse
any meadow that recycles itself into 10
hope. Shit on the cicadas, dry meteor
flash, finicky butterflies. I will wail and thrash
until the whole goddamned golden panorama freezes
over. Then I will sit down to wait for her. Yes.

4. Syntax
In prose form, this poem is made up of 7 sentences—3 in the 1st stanza and 5 in the 2nd and final stanza:

(1) No.
(2) Who can bear it.
(3) Only someone who hates herself, who believes to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek is to
put love into her pocket—like one of those ashen Christian philosophers, or a war-bound soldier.

(4) She is gone again and I will not bear it, I will drag my grief through a winter of my own making,
refuse any meadow that recycles itself into hope.
(5) Shit on the cicadas, dry meteor flash, finicky butterflies.
(6) I will wail and thrash until the whole goddamned golden panorama freezes over.
(7) Then I will sit down to wait for her.
(8) Yes.

The first sentence is a single word: No. That the first sentence is a single word, almost without any context as
preamble to it, suggests an effect akin to in medias res. We are in the middle of something, and as we soon see,
in the middle of Demeter’s resolve-making process. That No is uttered in a single sentence also adds to the force,
suggesting a definitive and determined starting point for the working out of a resolution. This is where the
resolve-making process starts: No. The rest of the poem will follow through the logic of this “no.”

The second sentence (Who can bear it.) is an interrogative question marked instead by a period. An interrogative
sentence suggests a plea for an answer, or a state of questioning. That this question is hoisted as a declarative
suggests then it is but a rhetorical question, with the persona already certain of her answer. No one can bear it,
this pain. Sorrow born out of a sense of loss—and anger too—blind the persona to any other possible recourse:
This is not to be endured.

The third sentence is marked by length, in contrast to the two previous relatively simple sentences. It is
Demeter’s own answer to her rhetorical question. Only someone who hates herself, who believes to pull a hand
back from a daughter’s cheek is to put love into her pocket—like one of those ashen Christian philosophers, or a
war-bound soldier. The sentence is made of 4 segements.

Segment 1: Only someone who hates herself

Segment 2: who believes to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek is to put love into her
pocket—
Segment 3: like one of those ashen Christian philosophers,
Segment 4: or a war-bound soldier.

Despite it length, the sentence is grammatically incomplete, once again suggesting an ongoing resolve-making
process occurring in the mind a la stream of consciousness.

The fourth sentence is made up of potentially three run-on sentences. She is gone again and I will not bear it, I
will drag my grief through a winter of my own making, refuse any meadow that recycles itself into hope. That
 these independent clauses are conjoined only by a comma suggests a slight pause only, reflecting the rush of
discovery and an emotional upheaval.

The fifth sentence reads: Shit on the cicadas, dry meteor flash, finicky butterflies. The sentence, while shorter
than the previous, sustains the emotional force. It is an exclamation marked by a period, the way perhaps a
goddess would make one. One way to interpret this is: she is expressing anger: shit on the cicadas, shit on the
flash of meteors—stars?—and shit on finicky butterflies.

The sixth sentence is a continuous single sentence unmarked by any pause. I will wail and thrash until the whole
goddamned golden panorama freezes over.

The seventh, shorter, begins with then. Then I will sit down to wait for her.

The final mirrors the first. Yes. Whereas no is probably a reflex response. Yes is its logical outcome. The arrival at
a final resolve.

5. Syllabication and Stress Pattern

No. Who can bear it. Only someone 9 syllables 5 stresses

who hates herself, who believes 7 5
to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek 10 5
is to put love into her pocket— 9 5
like one of those ashen Christian 8 5
philosophers, or a war-bound soldier. 10 4

She is gone again and I will not bear 10 6

it, I will drag my grief through a winter 10 4
of my own making, refuse 7 3
any meadow that recycles itself into 12 5
hope. Shit on the cicadas, dry meteor 10 5
flash, finicky butterflies. I will wail and thrash 12 6
until the whole goddamned golden panorama freezes 14 8
over. Then I will sit down to wait for her. Yes. 12 7

6. Lineation

No. Who can bear it. Only someone (Lght)

who hates herself, who believes (Lght)
to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek (Lght)
is to put love into her pocket— (Heavy)
like one of those ashen Christian (Enj)
philosophers, or a war-bound soldier. (Heavy)

She is gone again and I will not bear (Lght)

it, I will drag my grief through a winter (Lght)
of my own making, refuse (Light)
any meadow that recycles itself into (Enj)
hope. Shit on the cicadas, dry meteor (Enj)
flash, finicky butterflies. I will wail and thrash (Lght)
until the whole goddamned golden panorama freezes (Enj)
over. Then I will sit down to wait for her. Yes. (Heavy)

7 lightly end-stopped lines

4 enjambed lines
3 heavy end-stopped line
 
MARKET DAY
Fatima Lim-Wilson

Two Filipina maids were forced by their American employer to

march naked down the main street of the Island of Palau.
—Philippine News, November 1994

Hoofbeats thunder roll: dark clouds of runaway horses.

Waterstarved, once-slow-moving buffalo stampede.
We leap higher, higher, insect-winged, monkey-brisk,
Forest floor felines, surviving on instinct, dodging
The Spanish master’s studded whip, the whistling 5
Japanese bayonet, the American’s made-to-order-
For-us .45. We dance on and on to the music
In our minds, following the path of bats and volcanic
Ash, smiling all the while, drinking our own blood.

The men shadowy under the awnings look, look away, 10

Look. Even the cut fruit gape and darken. Women
Shiver, feeling the sheerness of their bright blouses.
But no one comes to blanket us, too afraid of our
Moving mirrors, the way we catch and throw back
The sun. And so we dance on, dance till we birth 15
Tremors under our feet, sending faults racing
Under his very house where the pots we washed
Crash, the child we rocked floats out of its crib.
He alone watches, transfixed, unable to blink,
As we dance, dance on, till we leap out of our skins, 20
Blinding him with our souls’ white flaming.

driving to katoomba
Merlinda Bobis

today, you span the far mountains

with an arm and say,
‘this i offer you—
all this blue sweat
of eucalypt.” 5

then you teach me

how to startle kookaburras
in my throat

and point out orion

among the glow-worms. 10

i, too, can love you

in my dialect, you know,
punctuated with cicadas
and their eternal afternoons:

‘mahal kita. mahal kita.’ 15

i can even save you monsoons,

pomelo-scented bucketfuls
to wash your hair with.
and, for want of pearls,
i can string you the whitest seeds 20
of green papayas

then hope that, wrist to wrist,

we might believe again
the single rhythm passing
between pulses, 25

even when pearls

become the glazed-white eyes
of a Bosnian child
caught in the cross-fire

or when monsoons cannot wash 30

the trigger-finger clean
in east timor

and when tibetans

wrap their dialect
around them like a robe 35

lest orion grazes them

from a muzzle.

yes, even when among the sinhalese

the birds mistake the throat
for a tomb 40

as gunsmoke lifts
from the tamil mountains,

my tongue will still unpetrify

to say,

‘mahal kita. mahal kita.’ 45