Poetry Train Monday - 83 - When He First Appeared at The Bottom of the Stairs

For today's Poetry Train I'm doing the first in what will be a series of found poems. This one is from a diary entry I made on Jan. 12th, 1980 when I was 15.

When He First Appeared at The Bottom of the Stairs


Michelle and I
Watched
Star Trek - it was Charlie X

That's so
Funny too
Because
Every Friday night
Michelle and I
Guess
What episode Star Trek will be
And Michelle had guessed
Charlie X

Mom, Dad
Michelle
Connie and I
Went
To the Rebecca Cohn
This evening
To see
Gone With the Wind

So many people came

At intermission, the
Line-up in the washroom was
A mile long

The movie was astounding

It overwhelmed me

Vivien Leigh
Was
So good
As Scarlett

What an actress

Clark Gable, of course
Was
Terrific

When he first appeared
At
The bottom of the staircase

At Tara
During the barbeque

The whole audience
Sighed
And burst
Into applause

Copyright - Jan. 11, 2009 - Julia Smith

Original diary entry - Jan. 12, 1980

Poetry Train Monday - 64 - The Meaning

The Meaning


The words that make me think of you are these
Soldier – for you had my back and I, yours
Department – with Cedric’s West Indian ease
For retail was our battleground, our shore

Kids – our tiny clientele… and parents
Lollipop – abandoned doll from glorious Oz
Thumbs in suspenders, kick, ‘We represent’
Leaving us bent and gasping with guffaws

‘Yarp’ – the Hot Fuzz joke is our souls bared
A laugh – it’s not a word. A laugh’s a sound
But laughter weaves through every hour we’ve shared
And every hour we’ve shared is treasure found

The words we say, the meaning of a phrase
Like ‘love’ that we write on a birthday card
The words for you embody all our days
The yarpy days and those that felt so hard

You’ve walked 500 miles for me and more
You’ve comforted and healed. You lift me up
I’ve hugged you tight when you shook to the core
Because we laughed soon after at the ‘Yarp.’

Copyright - 2008 - Julia Smith

In the photo: me, my friend Lisa and my husband Brad

Poetry Train Monday - 62 - I Can’t Be Your Captive If I Give Myself To You

Here is a second backstory poem about my latest character, Scorpius. I've been writing about him all weekend, so I did up a poem that delves deeper into his psyche. Scorpius is Chamberlain of the Keep for Lady Elysande, in a fantasy world that combines medieval society with technology. You can read the previous backstory poem and catch up on excerpt 1 and excerpt 2. I've modelled Scorpius after English actor Richard Armitage.























I Can’t Be Your Captive If I Give Myself To You




My tunic covers scars upon both wrists
Their silent witness to the blows I bore
I pulled and writhed but he would not desist
Until I would have crumpled to the floor














The manacles prevented my escape
They also meant I somehow kept my feet
The manacles preserved my pride from japes
Which never pulled the screams as when he beat



















My tunic covers scars that she’s now seen
My lady with her cuffs chained to her bed
Her fingers lock me into place, between
Two posts, my clothing gone – those words I said

I hand myself to her, to be her slave
Surrender is my only hope...or grave...

Copyright - Julia Smith – Aug. 17, 2008

Poetry Train Monday - 59 - How Can I Ache For What I Never Had

I've done a backstory poem for my new character, Scorpius. It helps to get a handle on his inner dialogue.

Scorpius is Chamberlain of the Keep for Lady Elysande. The story takes place in a medieval-flavored slave-owning high-tech society.







How Can I Ache For What I Never Had


My bed belongs to my mistress, blanket and all
My keys are to her Keep, safeguarded stone
My ankles drag with phantom shackles
I hear them still, each moment I’m alone

My lineage is suspect, thus my role
My father may have strode before me
As I bowed before my lady’s guests
Wondering every time, could this man be…

My mother may have cried and fought
She may have hoped and schemed
I’ll never know, and never cease from wondering
Am I the man that either of them dreamed?

My tunic is the finest she can buy
My face and form are pleasing, for she smiles
My lips have brushed my lady’s hand, and yet
I long to kiss her foot, to lay in homage on those polished tiles

- Copyright - Julia Smith - July 27, 2008

Poetry Train Monday - 54 - Bluebird

After receiving longed-for news that I am no longer Pinnochio, but a real live boy at my job, I went joyously to see the Royal Ballet's Sleeping Beauty, broadcast in HD from Covent Garden and shown at a cinema theatre in Halifax on Saturday. Not only is Sleeping Beauty one of my favorite ballet scores (the soul-touching Tchaikovsky), but it showcases one of my favorite pas de deux - the Bluebird pas de deux.

I love this piece of dance so much, I set out to make a short film focusing on the choreography's attempt to replicate flight. I was even shortlisted by the Canada Council for the project, but alas, did not get the grant. Someday.


The dancer who agreed to be in the film if it got the green light was Johan Persson, at left. He danced for the National Ballet of Canada when I worked at the theatre as an usher. He was the best Bluebird I've ever seen. His powerful masculinity inhabited his performance like a shapeshifter. He was shivery-awesome to behold.

He's now retired from dance and is a photographer specializing in theatre photography, as well as portraits. He's definitely spoiled me as far as Bluebird performances go. The Bluebird pas de deux takes place near the end of the ballet, so part of me is waiting and waiting for it to start, even though I'm reveling in the rest of the ballet.

Imagine my dismay when the Bluebird started and the guy absolutely sucked. She was great - he sucked. I won't even tell you who it is. If I can't say anything nice, I won't say anything at all.

*crickets chirping*

If you want to see what the Bluebird should look like, check out this wonderful performance I found on YouTube by Vitali Tsvetkov from the Mariinsky Ballet Theatre.

The Bluebird Pas de deux begins at the 2:40 mark. His solo variation begins at the 6:10 mark.




Bluebird

Don’t wish it all away, I always think.
The overture begins. The ballet starts.
Anticipation drags me to the brink -
The tale unfolds, each luscious scene departs.
And then the prince and princess are to wed.
I long to see one very special guest,
And when that music sweetly fills my head,
The pas de deux begins that I love best.
So masterfully he steps upon the stage,
No longer man, but fiercely vibrant beast.
More than any war with earth-bound waged,
These variations let us mortals feast
Upon the victory this dancer scores.
The man who dances Bluebird truly soars.

- Copyright - Julia Smith - June 22, 2008

Poetry Train Monday - 45 - Discovered Too Late

Here's a backstory poem for the husband of last week's poem narrator, and the step father of this narrator. Luther is a fur trapper in the northern New Brunswick woods. It's the 1830's, and he lives an isolated life in their cabin, especially when winter sets in and they are unable to leave for weeks at a time.








Discovered Too Late


I vowed to be the hero of her life
The morning that I saw her with her son
Tears rose inside as she became my wife
No longer widow - bride again, fears done
I showed the little fella how to hunt
We waited till he was asleep to lay
Together. Or I took her, to be blunt
The months passed, still not in the family way
I thought he’d be a brother to my own
The years passed, for the two of them and me
How easy it would be if he were known
The ghostly man between us she could see
Much easier to swing and hear the thwack
Each time I eased my hatred cross his back

- Copyright - Julia Smith - 2008

Painting - At River's Edge by Russ Docken

Poetry Train Monday - 44 - The Supplicant

Since I've currently got my mind wrapped around the story for the screenplay I'm working on, here's another backstory poem. This time we meet Kate, the mother of last week's poetry narrator.

It's the 1830's in northern New Brunswick. Kate was widowed at 23 when her husband, a stevedore, was crushed beneath a crate of textiles being offloaded from a merchant ship. She had a five-year-old son, so she remarried to ensure a home, food and clothing for him. She had no idea the man who took her for a wife could be so hard on her son.

In the twelve years they've been married, she has never grown heavy with child. Each year with no offspring of his own, her new husband is more and more cruel to her son. She spends all her energy stepping between the two of them before violence erupts, but she's not always successful.










The Supplicant


I call on Mother Mary
I call on her grace
She cried, did she not
As she gazed on His face?

I call the Holy Spirit
I call for Your strength
In the silence between blows
He hands out at length

I call on my son
I call him - beware
His mood's dark today
The fury gleams there

I call on my knees
I call with head bowed
In the distance I hear it
My son cries aloud

I call to be spared
I call without hope
Wish my rosary was not
Beads but a rope


Copyright - Julia Smith - 2008