Vilnius Opera, 1993
“Those costumes look professional!” he gasps,
Goggling the stage through my aunt’s high-end glass.
Of course they are. What does he take us for?
This is a European capital.
I’m half-American myself. It rasps—
Association with his lack of class.
I’m almost twelve, look daggers at the boor
And his half-witted condescending gall.
Dry ice and peacock feathers set aswirl
A scene in which a Hebrew sibyl screams,
A golden idol perches. It’s my first
Opera. When Mociute was a girl,
She sat here, pinched herself to ward off dreams.
I sit beside her now—and die of thirst.
Mociute: Grandmother, in Lithuanian
Monika Cooper is an American family woman.
Monika, your confident splash of design details makes the opera scene a genuine bildungsonett. “Bildung” can be an elusive European concept relating to the individual’s personal process of maturing in society. In this poem, it’s going on in a self-aware, emotional as well as cultural, manner. The surprising final word “thirst” indicates to me a youthful moment of reaching for adulthood, in the presence of a grandmother who may be an admired model. I like the unusual abcdabcd rhyme scheme for the octave. I’ve used it myself recently in shorter and longer poems, as has at least one other poet here. Pairing it with the more typical efgefg in the sonnet sestet works nicely. Like your experience in the European capital, this short poem reflects the conscious pleasure of sophistication, even when the effect may not be entirely comfortable.
For the speaker, that is. The poet applies it easily!
Thank you for commenting, Margaret, and reading so sensitively. “Bildungsonnett”: exactly what I was going for. Glad you like the rhyme scheme.
Dying of thirst is a colloquialism for wanting a drink, so perhaps although the narrator lambasts the unsophisticated American, she would rather be having a drink than be watching an opera.
Or maybe I’m completely wrong, Margaret.
Thanks for the read, Monika.
Paul, you’re not wrong about the narrator wanting a drink (non-alcoholic; she’s eleven). Thank you for reading.
Monika, this is a delightful tale of kids being taken to the opera. Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania in the Balkans, may be unfamiliar to many Americans. When I was an Army Attache in Moscow, I visited Vilnius in 1984. Unfortunately, I missed the opera. This seems to come from personal experience.
One small correction, Roy: Lithuania is not in the Balkans; it is a Baltic nation.
I was lucky enough to visit Vilnius in 1993. Due to factors and circumstances, I may have underappreciated my first opera but I could certainly feel the post-occupation exuberance of the city. As near as I can guess, it was Verdi’s Nabucco we saw: significant performed so soon after the restoration of religious liberty in Lithuania. I’m glad you liked the poem. I have great respect and gratitude toward you and all who fought to defeat Soviet communism.
Very nice, Monika. Rather than using the blunt force of bald statement, you employ innuendo to get your points across, which is something I would like to learn how to do. Sadly, I will never be an American family woman, and maybe that’s what it takes.
Thank you, C. B. American family womanhood is my best life but it’s certainly not for everyone. I once came across a video of you and your friends and some of your poetry at a kitchen table and can only hope that my friends and I will be half as cool when we grow up.
I remember that video, Monika. It was recorded by my brother-in-law, much to the dismay of my wife and her sister, who also appeared in it.
I remember that video, Monika. It was recorded by my brother-in-law, much to the dismay of my wife and her sister, who also appeared in it.
Honored to receive a 4th place in the SCP contest for this poem. Thank you to the judges.
I wrote it to take the place of a letter I never got around to writing, to Sally Cook, when she was in rehab. I’ve spent significant time with her poetry this winter. And now, thanks to her, some of my children and I are beginning an adventure in listening to opera (on the CD player, in the car, for now).
May she live forever!