A second one that came out of a preoccupation with meter
is a series called The Evergreen.
This is a little series of little poems
for a child who died.
And thinking of this and wondering
what would be an appropriate rhythm,
I thought of the Greek elegiac couplet
which is the rhythm of the Greek anthology.
And the rhythm of many poems on Greek tombstones
are supposed to be on Greek or Latin tombstones.
You know what it is.
It's a hexometer followed by a hexometer
in which the third and sixth foot have
only the first syllable.
Like this is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines
in the hemlocks.
This is the forest primeve, the murmuring pines in the hem.
It cuts off third and sixth syllable in this way.
Well, I took one of the earliest Greek lyrics
says, "What life, what pleasant thing
is there without golden Aphrodite.
Love may I rot in Earth when I don't care about this anymore."
And the sound is a--
τίς δὲ βίος, τί δὲ τερπνὸν ἄτερ
χρυσέης Ἀφροδίτης; τεθναίην,
ὅτε μοι μηκέτι ταῦτα μέλοι
This is the rhythm of this.
Well, I took this as a basis, divided the lines in half,
and connected them by a kind of rhythm,
and had speakers the way many of the poems
in the Greek anthology have.
Someone passing a grave will say, "Who lies here below?"
And the corpse speaks up and says, "I am so and so from--"
Well, this convention is used.
Some of the-- it's easier to look
at than to hear because some lines are italicized so you
know where speeches change.
"Under this stone what lies a little boy's thistle down body.
How and so light a child gravel hefted and hurled light.
As a flower entwined in our shining arms,
heavy laid in the scale.
It set wailing the chains of the world."
Or B, what did you say?
We said, "Bedtime dear forever.
Time to put out the light.
Time for the eyes to close."
What did he do?
He lay in a crazy quilt of fever.
His hands were already like grasses.
His cheek already arose.
How was that year?
Hears a voice, "Over sun on the rug slow turning,
hung like a sea bird lost the lawn and bottomless cry
haunting the house.
And then I remember then one morning silence
like knives in the ear, a bird gone over the sea.
Little head, little head, frail in the air.
Gold Esther.
Why did the great King stoop and smooth those ringlets down?
For a tensile party hit, it was Christmas then, remember?
I remember grown men wept and couldn't lift that crown."