.

Good poetry makes you feel.

Great poetry makes you feel and see.

Thank you.

the true potency of this piece lies in the "poem-as-memoir" approach, which superimposes a mature voice over recollections of childhood, allowing adult insights to be viewed through the prism of meticulous imagery that simultaneously preserves youthful innocence even as it illuminates painful realities to which the child's eyes were blessedly blind.

the memory of aunt terry is set against a backdrop of nature, in all its wonder and terror: "the clotted roses and their thorns." we see her in her yard on "sunny summer weekends" beneath a "cloudless sky," or in "the light glistening off her little pool."

we also see her shattered pitcher scattered in the grass.

nevertheless, she sings and smiles and is a vessel for, and a source of, pure familial love.

uncle john, by contrast, is "rarely seen" and perfunctory, at best, in his role as uncle - evidenced most poignantly by the ten-spot folded into a greeting card, the generic gesture implicitly devoid of any greater feeling.

bolstered by a steady intake of beer, he is tethered to violence and aggression, which he consumes passively by way of televised sports until he is ready to actively dispense it.

in the penultimate stanza, we witness (obliquely) aunt terry's belated triumph over her victimization, but are spared any melodrama by the poet's clever use of whispered conversation to convey it.

this allows her to reserve the final stanza for a repudiation of uncle john, once and for all, a scathing indictment in which he is denied that which is most viscerally treasured throughout the poem, a place in the family.

this is fantastic work. be proud.

This one is too close to home to judge fairly. Had an uncle like that--always sequestered with a drink in hand, waiting for something or someone to launch him from his handle. The scenes he threw were legendary but off camera. From time to time he would step out of the den and try to be part of the family, because, I guess, even twisted bastards crave love. He loved my aunt the way his bully father loved his passive mother. He did like us--my sibs and me. I always knew that, but dreaded and feared his moods--god forbid he ever raise a hand to us.

He and my aunt adopted late in life. He was a fair father to his adopted kids, crying one minute, blustering the next. We could see how much he loved them, but from a distance, always from a distance with him. He was funny, too. When he finally drank himself to death, I felt relief, then guilt. Thanks Cass, for letting me know it was okay to dislike him. --s6

Well, I think William quite covered it - there was a certain rawness to my initial reads of this that still ended up leaving a lingering image and sound of your poem in my head. I think I may appreciate it again & in greater depth over time, through several more reads. Thanks for posting this!!

We discussed this in my last problem poem, and I can't believe I never responded to this. Sorry about that. I always try to read and comment on your work (mostly because I think we have a very similar approach to/relationship with our poems.

this is very powerful, Cass. It speaks completely and fully, but does so concisely and a bit quietly. That balance is a challenge. it's melodic enough to carry the reader through, but doesn't lose any gravity in that music.
You chose your elements wisely. Showing us precise pictures to tell a full story without having to say it all.

I love the title as well. I know this one was a hard one to write; the effort paid off well.

I agree with all, very powerful piece. I HAD a brother-in-law who was Uncle John, though that was not his name. My sister-in-law and niece would break down completely if they were to read this. Thank God my kids were shielded by distance and never had to seriously contemplate the man.

As far as subject, both a difficult and easy read. Too close to home for me as well.

You've done a fine job with this. Congratulations.

CassandraW said:

Thank you so much, everyone.

And Stew, yes, I agree that you and I seem to have a similar approach to and relationship with our poems.

Click to expand...

Coming late to this thread, but yes this is a terrific piece of work.

When I reached the end of this piece, the

smiling through the shaded bars
.....of her trellis,
past the clotted roses and their thorns

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came back to me in such a powerful way. From top to bottom, this is so deftly done that it rewards a second and third read with increasing discovery and appreciation. Great work!