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Aubade: Composure
The first light tints the eggshell walls
From dimmest grey to violet,
And light-spokes through the window’s shade
Glance over eyes asleep as yet.
But light is opening within
The mind still closeted in sleep,
Like the Word creating space from void
And a seed troubling the soil’s sleep.
Asleep I am preparing to
Begin once more my self-creation
As wakening, like sap, flows through
My limbs and my still sleeping reason.
Organic balances of mind
Emerge from the completing sum
Of energy and intellect
Breathing in equilibrium.
Therefore both rise together here
In balance, buoyancy, on the tide
Of darkness they in answer to
Sunrise will shortly put aside.
And breathing is a key to this,
Breathing is the opening door
That sways in when I let breath out
And opens when I draw in more.
My body lives again and moves
With an intelligent delight,
My mind wakes in the morning air
And opens to the retinal light.
Here, now, I must resolve to live
So that my mind, until my death,
Will be this drawing, balancing,
And perfect measuring of breath.
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Steven Frattali worked in the field of mental health and currently lives in Greater Boston. In his former life as an academic, he published two short books: Person, Place and World: A Late Modern Reading of Robert Frost’s Poetry (English Literary Studies, 2002) and Hypodermic Light: Philip Lamantia and the Question of Surrealism (Peter Land, 2003). His book on Elizabeth Bishop is nearing completion along with another on John Wieners.
Steven, this is a delightful poem not only on awakening in a mortal state, but the capitalization of “Word” tells me it is like the world awakening from a void through the hand of God. Wonderful use of words and rhyme.
Dear Roy,
Thank you for your response. Yes, I was trying to bring in a religious or metaphysical dimension. With your remark, you push this even farther than I would have thought — the whole world — but I think it’s a great idea. Than you.
Traditionally the aubade complains of the coming of dawn and sunlight, since they interrupt the lovemaking of a couple in bed. This one is different, since the speaker is alone, and is meditating on his awakening and his breathing.
Dear Joseph,
Thank you for reading, and for underlining the speaker’s solitude. I actually modeled this piece somewhat on a famous solitary waking up poem by Paul Valery called “Aurore,” in which he reconstructs his mind, “raison”, after rising up out of the sands of sleep.
This is awesome, Steven! Many of its phrases are excellent and original; but the lines that made my eyes pop the most were, “Like the Word creating space from void / And a seed troubling the soil’s sleep.” — with “sleep” rhyming with the unheard (unwritten) “deep” of Genesis’ “Darkness on the face of the deep,” which follows “The earth was formless and void.”
“Light spokes through the window’s shade”; “Energy and intellect / Breathing in equilibrium”; “Darkness they in answer to / Sunrise will shortly put aside.” are some of the other very impressive lines.
Dear Cynthia,
Thank you for your note and for your kind remarks. The interesting connection to Genesis you make is something I never would have thought of (you must know the Bible much better than I), but I find it a fascinating suggestion. Thank you for this.
Steven, this is a delightful reawakening of the aubade theme. Especially in the modern era, the complaint of a lover waking has been expanded to greater consideration of the moment of dawn. Your aubade on the physical and mental restoration of consciousness for the purpose of self-creation is well put, with touches religious, psychological, and scientific. “Intelligent delight” to me echoes “intelligent design.”
There is one feature of the early Provencal alba that you take up in accord with concern about gradual return to conscious life. The medieval alba had no particular form, but was written in stanzas, each stanza ending with “alba,” or “dawn.” You take “breathing” to be the key process of life, but it is not mentioned at all in the first stanza. The second stanza uses “breathing” once, and the third twice, with “breath” added. In your fourth and final stanza, you place “breath” in the highly significant and noticeable position of last word in the poem, with “death” rhyming as a most meaningful contrast. I see this progression as a carefully composed renewal of composure!
Dear Margaret,
Thank you for your subtle interpretation of this structural feature and your connecting of that to the early Provencal practice. It’s a very interesting point.
I really appreciate your comments.