Vernal Clinic
To regular observers, spring had never seemed
So jarringly abnormal as it did this year.
Its bright chromatic strains came winging in, some claimed,
On airships made from canvas scrap and two-by-four.
The whole three months came off as crudely improvised,
A makeshift presentation staged without a plan
That we could fathom; strange cacophonies our eyes
Beheld were never well explained by weathermen.
Bold flowers blooming out of sequence was a sign
That something was amiss. The colors were in total
Disorder, poorly matched and bleeding in the rain.
For birds, it only mattered that it wasn’t fatal.
Derangement isn’t commonplace in Nature’s ruled
Demesne, but neither are exceptions hard to find:
There’s almost nothing as disturbing or as cruel
As frosts which dare to smudge what May adeptly penned.
The classic text, incondite and corrupt, has scads
Of footnotes, thus anomalies appear legit.
If spring’s arrival disappoints, that’s just too bad—
Make do, ‘cause it’s the only spring you’re gonna get.
The Moment
About the only thing that’s certain in this world,
Besides the many taxes one must pay till death
Arrives, is how the time we think we’ve safely squirreled
Away for future need evaporates like breath
Condensed upon a windowpane. The proper way
To save the days allotted us is making use
Of them the moment they arrive, without delay.
Our rope’s too short to stand procrastination’s noose,
And any hopes left hanging there were better spent
On pulling for a worthy end: that when the sun
Has set, we’ve done a part of all those things we meant
To do some day—and while we did it, had some fun.
To dawdle while the iron lies ready on the fire
Is vain, my friend. I trust I’m preaching to the choir.
C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.
C.B. the endings of both poems is magnificently conceived and written. I feel them both!
I’m glad you liked the endings, Roy. My feeling is that every decent poem should have satisfying closure.
I’m very impressed by your near rhymes in “Vernal Clinic”; and as for “The Moment”, and speaking as a long-time procrastinator, the subject is close to home. So true … so very true.
I’m glad you approve of the line-ends, Cheryl. I think I did a pretty good job with the slant rhymes — nothing too far-fetched. As for procrastination, believe it or not I could probably show you a few new tricks on how to put things off. But really, can there even be such a thing as a short-time procrastinator?
I agree with Cheryl — the near rhymes are expertly managed. They allow a wider range of word choice, and they do not distract from the essential “formalism” of the poem. The use of hexameters made the poem more laid-back and conversational.
There is a striking “conceit” in the first two lines of the last quatrain in “Vernal Clinic”:
The classic text, incondite and corrupt, has scads
Of footnotes, thus anomalies appear legit.
This shows how poetry can telescope into a few words what prose would have to describe in a paragraph. The use of the rare work “incondite” (unfinished, badly constructed) really helps here. Prose would have to say: “The written and historical record of past springs, which is only partially dependable, shows a great many variations and exceptions to what might be thought of as typical spring weather, and therefore the unusual spring we have just had must be seen as something to be expected occasionally.” That’s 48 words, as opposed to 14.
I have been given to understand, Joseph, that compression ought to be a standard feature for almost any poem. The last thing I need is to wade through unnecessary verbiage. That was a nice periphrastic paraphrase by you though, just what I would expect from a master essayist.
In regard to the photo at the top, I have never seen nor even heard of a purple narcissus. The plant there is definitely a crocus, and its color is not really purple, but indigo or violet or some mixture thereof.
Your technique, Kip, is extremely impressive. The end near-rhymes of Vernal cCinic is a great use of the poem’s architecture to mirror the thwarted expectations described in the text. Of interest to me: I would wager that for a poet who uses rhyme as naturally and expertly as you it was harder to produce the near-rhymes than it would have been for true rhymes! Is my theory correct?
And speaking of technique, the enjambment in the Moment sonnet is superb. There is no one who can come close to using unexpected rhymes (squirreled and world) or utilizingbreathless enjambment like you. That is a very sincere compliment.
Having written that poem roughly a decade ago, I can’t remember how hard it was to go slant. But yes, finding a good near-rhyme is often, if not usually, more difficult than coming up with a perfect rhyme. I only wish I could see what I do as clearly as you seem to. Sometimes stuff just happens. As far as I know, I have no technique. A voice, maybe. And I’m no longer fond of mirrors. I take to heart your penultimate sentence, and now I must consider the tropes you mentioned a bounden, if not sacred, duty. Things never get easier.
I am a little late to the party here, and reaping the benefit of Brian asking the very question I had when reading Vernal Clinic. Thank you both, for the question and the answer!
It is funny that your 10-year old poem matches this spring so well — perhaps not so surprising given your observation that the anomalies are more the rule than the exception. Here in my neck of the woods I spent a couple days in March at an outdoor pool with my kids, and shoveled snow off the driveway in May…
“Vernal Clinic” is thought-provoking and instructive, a wonderful illustration of one of the many life lessons gardening teaches. La Niña gave us all a curveball this year and you’ve turned it into a work of wisdom.
“Moment” is in the same vein, but with a delightful twist of an ending that can be taken two ways: are we fellow procrastinators, diligent, or perhaps a little of both?
The funny thing, Adam, is that we must fight for the gardens we sow, whereas Eden was given to us complete, entire, and unconditionally. (Well, I guess there were a couple conditions.) I did not understand your reference to La Nina’s curveball, but, then, you Midwesterners always get our weather before it comes to us. Rotation is a powerful device..
Strike while the iron is hot, is all.
“Vernal Clinic” matches a medieval poem of like demesne, where I translate:
“We seem to see a strange parade
Of unaccustomed wonders rare”
The woodsman said. “My axe’s blade
Has hacked down goodly trees and fair
To turn up more than one March hare
And other freaks as wood is cleared.”
He and a farmer and vinegrower decide the madness of the present time is probably to be attributed to (or at least reported to) the king who should put better officials in charge. They have more confidence in authority than you do in weathermen, C. B.
So History is cyclical, Margaret. I’d rather repeat someone else than repeat myself. Other than for purposes of prognostication, my own rain gauge tells me all I need to know. Reports on today’s weather are silly and unnecessary.
C.B., your poems always offer me layers of meaning – there is a humble and curious wisdom about them that speaks ever louder to my soul the older I get. I am at an age and stage where many years have passed and I know less and less as time moves on. Your poems lift me with their wit and beauty. Thank you!
The good news, Susan, is that you are not one of those fools who don’t know what they don’t know, but act like they know things they don’t. It is said that brevity is the soul of wit, and Emerson said, “If eyes were made for seeing, then beauty is its own excuse for being.”