Poems[3]

JEANNE D’ORGE

My body is no more clayBut rapture—touched and golden:The Cup—the CupFrom which my lover drinksAnd drinking makes immortal.

My body is no more clay

But rapture—touched and golden:

The Cup—the Cup

From which my lover drinks

And drinking makes immortal.

(Eleven years)

Oh you spoil everything!I am glad you are only my teacher—My mother would know better:She would not make me treat my friend badly as you do;She would let me go to the Park and ride on the Merry-go-round with him;Even if he is a sailor and a stranger he is grown-up and kind:What harm can he do me? Would he beat me? Would he run away with me in his sloop? Would he murder me?You shake your head and say nothing!You have nothing to say—And now you have spoiled everything.You scared me so that when he came as he promised I edged away and hid my face and almost cried—He couldn’t understand and of course he was hurt and went awayAnd I never shall see him again—It is all spoiled.And you spoiled it—by saying nothing—nothing—You never say anything—You never speak a true word.

Oh you spoil everything!

I am glad you are only my teacher—

My mother would know better:

She would not make me treat my friend badly as you do;

She would let me go to the Park and ride on the Merry-go-round with him;

Even if he is a sailor and a stranger he is grown-up and kind:

What harm can he do me? Would he beat me? Would he run away with me in his sloop? Would he murder me?

You shake your head and say nothing!

You have nothing to say—

And now you have spoiled everything.

You scared me so that when he came as he promised I edged away and hid my face and almost cried—

He couldn’t understand and of course he was hurt and went away

And I never shall see him again—

It is all spoiled.

And you spoiled it—by saying nothing—nothing—

You never say anything—

You never speak a true word.

(Fifteen years)

I shut my eyes and rememberHe kissed me,My playmate suddenly kissed meAgain and again—Now I remember all I knew long ago....And more.Kisses take your breath, stab to the heart with sweetest, strangest pain;Oh, you can grow faint under their sweetness—What will the Bridal night be....A rush through terror and fire and deathInto swift heaven.

I shut my eyes and remember

He kissed me,

My playmate suddenly kissed me

Again and again—

Now I remember all I knew long ago....

And more.

Kisses take your breath, stab to the heart with sweetest, strangest pain;

Oh, you can grow faint under their sweetness—

What will the Bridal night be....

A rush through terror and fire and death

Into swift heaven.

(Sixteen years)

I wish there were SomeoneWho would hear confession:Not a priest—I do not want to be told of my sins;Not a mother—I do not want to give sorrow;Not a friend—she would not know enough;Not a lover—he would be too partial;Not God—he is far away;But Someone that should be friend, lover, mother, priest, God all in oneAnd a Stranger besides—who would not condemn nor interfere,Who when everything is said from beginning to endWould show the reason of it allAnd tell you to go aheadAnd work it out your own way.

I wish there were Someone

Who would hear confession:

Not a priest—I do not want to be told of my sins;

Not a mother—I do not want to give sorrow;

Not a friend—she would not know enough;

Not a lover—he would be too partial;

Not God—he is far away;

But Someone that should be friend, lover, mother, priest, God all in one

And a Stranger besides—who would not condemn nor interfere,

Who when everything is said from beginning to end

Would show the reason of it all

And tell you to go ahead

And work it out your own way.

I will make it all into a package and put a heavy seal upon it, and label it “To be destroyed unopened when I am dead.”

These nine black months. These memories that must be cut away—like a cancer from the breast but without anaesthetics to deaden the pain. Cut away altogether lest they threaten life and reputation and the honor of the family.

Here is the signature of the man who caused it all, and the letter he wrote when he knew the terrible truth.

It includes a perfunctory offer of marriage which I was too proud to accept.

It also proves that I was virgin when he seduced me and protests that had he believed in my virtue he never would have touched me.

Here is the paper from the registry office recording the birth of a male child:—mother unmarried—father’s name withheld.

Here is the receipt for money paid on the adoption of a nameless child, and the promise in my own handwriting to the woman who adopted him:—never to make any further claims upon him—a resignation of all the rights of motherhood.

The rest is misery in black and white.

A diary of stoic days and nights when even dreams were wet with tears. An account of a secret sojourn in a strange city—veiled walks in twilight streets—skulking in corners—lies—deceit—trickery—truckling to convention. The copy of a prayer from Thomas-à-Kempis, and on the opposite page a character sketch of the drunken and facetious landlady in whose house the child was born.

Seal up the package.

If I look at it too long I am likely to go blind with rage at my own weakness.

I am likely to go mad and pull down upon me the pillars of society.

I am likely to go mad and destroy the world—

Seal up the package—hide it away—

Forget—forget.

The incident is closed.

The Beauty and the Doom of that last day—No heart was in me but an empty gaping woundThat reddened all the hours.We were afraid to speak: to look: to touch—At dusk within the house a dog barked wildlyAnd at that—I heard a voice—a wizard’s voiceThat gave me back my heart.You spoke—and words were wands that touched and changedPassion to glory—thistles into palmsYou even made the silly barking of a dogEternal in mine ears.So now the mangiest pup that howls about the worldHas voice and power and magicTo rend my heart in twainOr bid it rise and forth again.

The Beauty and the Doom of that last day—

No heart was in me but an empty gaping wound

That reddened all the hours.

We were afraid to speak: to look: to touch—

At dusk within the house a dog barked wildly

And at that—I heard a voice—a wizard’s voice

That gave me back my heart.

You spoke—and words were wands that touched and changed

Passion to glory—thistles into palms

You even made the silly barking of a dog

Eternal in mine ears.

So now the mangiest pup that howls about the world

Has voice and power and magic

To rend my heart in twain

Or bid it rise and forth again.

[3]Seepage 24.

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