April is Poetry Month: Day 15

Open Secrets 

Because you are beautiful I will have to tell you a number

    of my secrets

(What does anyone hid anything for except to have

    it found?)

I have concealed from you too long the fact that space

    is curved,

That I have invented the night the better to see you by 

    that

If I seem upset at times it is because of the way you walk,

    leaning into the wind.

That most of my secrets are doors that open onto other 

    secrets--

(Vistas of fields and beaches and columns stretching on

    forever),

That even these words are secrets with turquoise doors

    in them,

Opening out to one side or the other, letting you glimpse

    for two seconds

Herds of speaking horses, temples full of starfish

    Clandestine moons,

And as you walk, leaning into wind, into the terrible landscape

    of your own beauty,

These secrets are my gifts to you, these signs that lead you

    to my door.

                                    --Gwendolyn MacEwen (1941-1987)

Reykjavik, Iceland, 5/2022, photo image J. Doolittle

A poem is a peculiar, particular thing; often compact (the depth of a novel in the space of a page).
Every word chosen JUST-BECAUSE- no other word could quite say it as clearly or deeply.  The line breaks, the punctuation, Capitalization (or not), the way the words and lines sit on the page--all of those things can enlarge the poem, convey the meaning, expression the emotion, dictate the cadence.  A poem is the essence of gestalt, a thing greater than the sum of all its parts.  

For example, this poem on my Facebook post looks different and may not "sound" the same when you read it (even in your silent reading mode), so check out how it looks and reads on my blog and see what you think.

Writing a poem about love is a common undertaking (Roses are red...etc.)and yet an enormous challenge to capture "the bright elusive butterfly of love."  Poets and non-poets alike have nevertheless continued to try.  All too often the poems we read represent only one side of the equation; women poets have been underrepresented in anthologies on this subject. Of course, men can write beautifully about love.  I cite Robert Browning: 

Escape me? 

Never--

Beloved!

While I am I, and you are you,

    So long as the world contains us both... 

 

But don't we also need to hear his beloved, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's response?

How do I love you? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

Jill Hollis has attempted to rectify that shortcoming in Love's Witness: Five Centuries of Love Poetry by Women, Carroll & Graf, 1993.  She mingles the bitter and the sweet and introduces us to women writers we are sure to have missed in our English classes.  

The poem I've shared, with its beautiful images of doors and secrets and of our longings for someone to open those doors and discover our wonders was so appealing. It became even more intriguing when I learned a little about the author, a Canadian poet, Gwendolyn MacEwen, who grew up quickly,  died tragically, but lived richly and fully in her 46 years on earth.