free-verse900 lines

Sun-Up

by Lola Ridge

(Shadows over a cradle...

fire-light craning....

A hand

throws something in the fire

and a smaller hand

runs into the flame and out again,

singed and empty....

Shadows

settling over a cradle...

two hands

and a fire.)

CELIA

Cherry, cherry,

glowing on the hearth,

bright red cherry....

When you try to pick up cherry

Celia's shriek

sticks in you like a pin.

: :

When God throws hailstones

you cuddle in Celia's shawl

and press your feet on her belly

high up like a stool.

When Celia makes umbrella of her hand.

Rain falls through

big pink spokes of her fingers.

When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs

she runs under pillars of the bank -

great round pillars of the bank

have on white stockings too.

: :

Celia says my father

will bring me a golden bowl.

When I think of my father

I cannot see him

for the big yellow bowl

like the moon with two handles

he carries in front of him.

: :

Grandpa, grandpa...

(Light all about you...

ginger... pouring out of green jars...)

You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat...

so you pretend... you see his face up in the ceiling.

When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,

Celia crosses herself.

: :

It isn't a dream....

It comes again and again....

You hear ivy crying on steeples

the flames haven't caught yet

and images screaming

when they see red light on the lilies

on the stained glass window of St. Joseph.

The girl with the black eyes holds you tight,

and you run... and run

past the wild, wild towers...

and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet

and little frightened dolls

shut up in the shops

crying... and crying... because no one stops...

you spin like a penny thrown out in the street.

Then the man clutches her by the hair....

He always clutches her by the hair....

His eyes stick out like spears.

You see her pulled-back face

and her black, black eyes

lit up by the glare....

Then everything goes out.

Please God, don't let me dream any more

of the girl with the black, black eyes.

: :

Celia's shadow rocks and rocks...

and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow

as though she had gone away

and the night had come in her place

as it comes in empty rooms...

you can't bear it -

the night threshing about

and lashing its tail on its sides

as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid -

and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave

and pull it around to the light,

till the night draws backward... the night that walks alone

and goes away without end.

Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers.

Celia tucks the quilt about her feet,

but I run for my little red cloak

because red is hot like fire.

: :

I wish Celia

could see the sea climb up on the sky

and slide off again...

...Celia saying

I'd beg the world with you....

Celia... holding on to the cab...

hands wrenched away...

wind in the masts... like Celia crying....

Celia never minded if you slapped her

when the comb made your hairs ache,

but though you rub your cheek against mama's hand

she has not said darling since....

Now I will slap her again....

I will bite her hand till it bleeds.

It is cool by the port hole.

The wet rags of the wind

flap in your face.

THE ALLEY

Because you are four years old

the candle is all dressed up in a new frill.

And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain,

(except the big stiff planets

too fat to move about much,)

and you curtsey back to the stars

when no one is looking.

You feel sorry for the poor wooden chair

that knows it isn't nice to sit on,

and no one is sad but mama.

You don't like mama to be sad

when you are four years old,

so you pretend

you like the bitter gold-pale tea -

you pretend

if you don't drink it up pretty quick

a little gold-fish

will think it is a pond

and come and get born in it.

: :

It's hot in our street

and the breeze is a dirty little broom

that sweeps dust into our room

and bits of paper out of the alley.

You are not let to play

with the children in the alley

But you must be very polite -

so you pass them and say good day

and when they fling banana skins

you fling them back again.

: :

There is no one to play with

and the flies on the window

buzz and buzz...

...you can pull out their legs

and stick pins in their bodies

but still they buzz...

and mama says:

When Nero was a little boy

he caught flies on his mama's window

and pulled out their legs

and stuck pins in their bodies

and nobody loved him.

Buzz, blue-bellied flies -

buzz, nasty black wheel

of mama's machine -

you are the biggest fly of all -

you have the loudest buzz.

I hear you at dawn before the locusts.

But I like the picture of the Flood

and the little babies getting drowned....

If I were there I would save them,

but as I can't save them

I like to watch them

getting drowned.

: :

When mama buys of Ling Ho,

he smiles very wide

and picks her the largest loquots.

The greens-man gave her a cabbage

and she held it against her black bodice

and said what a beautiful green it was

and put it on the table

as though it had been a flower.

But next day we boiled and ate it with salt.

It was our dinner.

: :

Christmas day

I found Janie on my pillow.

Janie is made of rubber.

Her red and blue jacket won't come off.

Christmas dinner was green and white

chicken and lettuce and peas

and drops of oil on the salad

smiley and full of light

like the gold on the lady's teeth.

But mama said politely

Thank you, we are dining out.

She wouldn't let you take one pea

to put in the hole where the whistle was

at the back of Janie's head,

so Janie should have some dinner

So you went to the park with biscuits

and black tea in a bottle.

: :

You feel very sad

when you climb on the fence

to watch mama out of sight.

The women in the alley

poke their heads out of doorways

and watch her too.

You know her

by the way she holds her shoulders

till she is only a speck

in a chain of specks -

till she is swallowed up.

But suppose

that day after day

you were to watch for her face

and it didn't come back?

Suppose

it were to drop out of the string of white faces

like the pearl out of my chain

I never found again?

: :

Mabel minds you while mama is out,

she washes while she sings

Three blind mice!

they all run away from the farmer's wife

who cut off their tails

with a carving knife -

Wind blows out Mabel's sheets,

way you blow in a bag before you burst it.

Wind has a soapy smell.

It's heavier'n sun

that lies all over you without any weight

and makes you feel happy

and crinkly like bubbling water.

There's no sun on the empty house -

sly-looking house -

you can't see in its windows

that watch you out of their corners.

Perhaps there's a big spider there

spinning gray threads over the windows

till they look like dead people's faces....

Jimmie says:

Jimmie's hair is white as a white mouse.

His lashes are gold as mama's wedding ring

and his mouth feels cool and smooth

like a flower wet with rain.

You wouldn't believe Jimmie was different...

till he showed you....

: :

Blind wet sheets

flapping on the lines...

sun in your eyes,

dark gold sun

full of little black spots,

you have to blink and blink...

round eyes of Jimmie....

Jimmie's blue jumper...

blue shadow of wall...

all the world holding still

as when a clock stops...

streets still... people still...

no streets... no people...

only sky and wall...

sun glaring bright as God

down at you and Jimmie...

shadow like a purple cloth

trailing off the wall...

Wild wet sheets

flapping in the wind...

big slippered feet flapping too...

big-balloon-face

rushing up the alley...

houses closing up again...

windows looking round...

... Mabel pulls you in the gate and shakes you

and tells you not to tell your mama...

And you wonder

if God has spoiled Jimmie.

III

MAMA

Mama's face

is smooth and pale as tea-rose leaves.

That ivory oval of aunt Gem

you sucked the miniature off

had black black hair like mama.

: :

Pit-it-ty-pat,

Mama walks so fast,

street lamps jig

without bending a leg...

lights in the windows

play twinkling tunes

on crimson and blue

bottles like bubbles

big as balloons...

Faster and faster...

and pink light spurts

over cakes doing polkas

in little white shirts,

with cake-princesses

in flounced white skirts.

Pit-pat -

mama walks slower...

slower and... slower...

Eyes... lamps... stars...

acres and acres of stars...

bells... and sleepily

flapping feet....

You're glad mama walks slow.

It's nice to be carried along

up high near the stars

that look at you with a grave, great look.

: :

Every night

mama sings you to sleep.

When she sings, O for the light of thine eyes Dolores,

there's a castle on a cliff

and the sea roars like lions.

It leaps at the castle

and the cliff knocks it down

but always the sea

shakes its flattened head

and gets up again.

The castle has no roof

so the rain spins silvery webs in it,

and Dolores' face

floats dim and beautiful

the way flowers do when they are drowned.

Step by white step

she goes up the castle stairs,

but the stair goes up into the sky

and the sky keeps going up too,

and none of them ever get there.

When mama sings Ba ba black sheep,

the stars seem to shine through her voice

so everything has to be still,

and when she has finished singing

her song goes up off the earth,

higher and higher...

till it is only as big as a tiny silver bird

with nothing but moonlight around it.

BETTY

You can see the sandhills from our new room.

Butterflies

live in the sandhills

and lizards

and centipedes.

If you keep very still

lizards will think you a stone

and run over your lap.

Butterflies' liveries

are scarlet and black.

They drive chariots in air.

People in the chariots

are pale as dew -

you can see right through them -

but the chariots

are made of gold of the sun.

They go up to heaven

and never catch fire.

There are green centipedes

and brown centipedes

and black centipedes,

because green and brown and black

are the colors in hell's flag.

Centipedes

have hundreds of feet

because it is so far from hell

to come up for air.

Centipedes

do not hurry.

They are waiting for the last day

when they will creep over the false prophets

who will have their hands tied.

: :

Night calls to the sandhills

and gathers them under her.

she pushes away cities

because their sharp lights

hurt her soft breast.

Even candles make a sore place

when they stick in the night.

There are things in the sandhills

that no one knows about...

they come out at dark when the young snakes play

and tell each other secrets

in the deaf logs.

Sometimes... before rain...

when the stars have gone inside...

the night comes close to your window

and sniffs at the light....

But you must not run away -

you must keep your face to the night

and walk backward.

: :

When it rains

and you are pulling off flies' legs...

mama lets you play houses

with Lizzie and Clara.

Because you are the Only One -

and because Only Ones have to live alone

while sisters stay together,

Lizzie and Clara

give you the dry house

and take the one with the leaking roof.

Rain like curly hairpins

blows on Lizzie and Clara's two heads

turned like one head -

two mouths

spread into one laugh.

Lizzie is saying:

why don't you want to play -

when you feel you'd like to braid

the crinkled-silver rain

into a shining rope

to climb up... and up... and up... into the wet sky

and never see any one again.

Our gate doesn't hang right.

It must have pawed at the wind

and gotten a kick

as the wind passed over.

The sitting sky

puffs out a gray smoke

and the wind makes a red-striped sound

blowing out straight,

but our gate drags its foot

and whines to itself on one hinge.

: :

What do you think I've found -

two wee knickers of fairy brass,

or two gold sovereigns folded up

in a bit of green silk,

or two gold bugs

in little green shirts?

If you want to know,

you must walk tip-toe

so your feet just whisper in the grass -

you must carry them careful

and very proud,

for their stems bleed drops of milk -

but Lizzie and Clara shout in glee:

Pee-a-bed, pee-a-bed -

dandelions!

You look in the eyes of grown-up people

to see if they feel

the way you feel...

but they hide inside of themselves,

and so you do not find out.

Grown-up people say:

The stars are bright to-night,

but they do not say

what you are thinking about stars -

not even mama says what you are thinking about stars.

This makes you feel very lonely.

: :

It's strange about stars....

You have to be still when they look at you.

They push your song inside of you with their song.

Their long silvery rays

sink into you and do not hurt.

It is good to feel them resting on you

like great white birds...

and their shining whiteness

doesn't burn like the sun -

it washes all over you

and makes you feel cleaner'n water.

: :

My doll Janie has no waist

and her body is like a tub with feet on it.

Sometimes I beat her

but I always kiss her afterwards.

When I have kissed all the paint off her body

I shall tie a ribbon about it

so she shan't look shabby.

But it must be blue -

it mustn't be pink -

pink shows the dirt on her face

that won't wash off.

: :

I beat Janie

and beat her...

but still she smiled...

so I scratched her between the eyes with a pin.

Now she doesn't love me anymore...

she scowls... and scowls...

though I've begged her to forgive me

and poured sugar in the hole at the back of her head.

: :

Mama says Janie is a fairy doll

and she has forgiven me -

that she's gone to the market

to buy me some sweets.

- Now she's at the door

and a little bag tied to her neck -

I run to Janie

and kiss her all over....

Ah... she is still frowning.

I let the sweets drop on the floor -

mama

has told you a lie.

: :

Chinaman

singing in street:

gleen ledd-ish-es, gleen ledd-ish-es -

hot sun

shining on your face -

it must be a new day.

But why aren't you happy

if it's a new day?

Because something has happened...

something sad and terrible....

Now I remember... it's Janie.

Yesterday

I took Janie out

and tied my handkerchief over her face

and put sand in it

and threw her into the ditch

down in the black water

under the dock leaves...

and when mama asked me where Janie was

I said I had lost her.

: :

I'm glad it is night-time

so I'll be able to go to sleep

and forget all about it....

But mama looks at my tongue

and says she will give me senna tea.

When you smell the tea

you shut your eyes tight

and pretend not to hear

the soft, cool voice of mama

that goes over your forehead

like a little wind.

And then you lie in the dark

and stare... and stare...

till the faces come...

yellow faces with leering eyes

drifting in a greeny mist....

I wonder

if Janie sees faces

out there... alone in the dark....

I wonder

if she has got the handkerchief off

or if the water has gone in the hole

where the whistle was

at the back of her head

and drowned her...

or if the stars

can see her under the dock leaves?

: :

It's smoky-blue and still

over the red road.

Wind must be lying down with its tail under it -

doesn't even flick off the flies.

And you can hear the silence

buzzing in the gum trees,

the way the angels buzzed

when they flew through the cedars of Lebanon

with thin gauze wings

you could see through.

Nice to hear the silence buzzing -

till it comes too close

and booms in your ears

and presses all over you

till you scream....

When you scream at the silence

it goes to jingling pieces

like a silver mirror

broken into tiny bits.

Perhaps its wings are made of glass -

perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave

and only comes up

to warm its wings in the sun....

It's cold in the cave -

no matter how you cover yourself up.

Little girls sit there

dressed in white

and the dolls in their arms

all have white handkerchiefs

over their faces.

Their shadows cannot play with them...

their shadows lie down at their feet...

for the little girls sit stiff as stones

with their backs to the mouth of the cave

where a little light falls off

the wings of the silence

when it comes down out of the sun.

: :

Moon catches the flying fish

as they dive in the bay.

Flying fish

spin over and over

slippity-silver

into the water.

Mom bends over jungles

and touches the foreheads of tigers

as they pass under openings made by dropped leaves.

Tigers stop on the trail of the deer

while the moon is on their foreheads -

they let the stags go by.

Moon is shining strangely

on the white palings of the fence.

Fence keeps very still...

most times it moves a little...

everything moves a little

though you mayn't know it...

but now the little fence

wouldn't change places with the great cross

that stands so stiff and high

with its back to the moon.

Moon shining strangely

on the white palings of the fence,

I am shining too

but my light is shut inside of me

and can't get out.

: :

Old house with black windows -

blind house begging moonlight

to put out the shadows -

why do you want so much light?

You creak when the wind steps on you -

you cough up dust

and your beams ache -

you know you will soon fall,

the moon just pities you!

Don't waste yourself moon -

come on my bed and play with me.

Wrap me up in blue light,

you who are cool.

I am too hot,

I am all alive

and the shadows are outside of me.

: :

There are different kinds of shadows.

The blind ones

are the shadows of things.

These are the tame shadows -

they love to play on the wall with you

and follow you about like cats and dogs.

Sometimes

they hiss at you softly

like snakes that do not bite,

or swish like women's dresses,

but if you poke a candle at them

they pull in their heads and disappear.

But there is a shadow

that is not the shadow of a thing...

it is a thing itself.

When you meet this shadow

you must not look at it too long...

it grows with your looking at it...

till you are all alone

with nothing around you...

nothing... nothing... nothing...

but a shadow

with its eyes full of black light.

: :

There's a shadow in the corner of the shed,

crouching, lying in wait...

a black coiled shadow,

watching... ready to strike...

but I mustn't be afraid of it -

I mustn't be afraid of anything.

Poor evil shadow,

the candle would chase it away

only she can't get at it.

Do you think that every one hates you,

shadow with your back to the wall,

afraid to lie down and sleep?

But I don't hate you.

Even the moon means to be kind.

She just treads on you

as I'd tread on a worm that I didn't see.

Don't be afraid of me, shadow.

See - I've no light in my hand -

nothing to save myself with -

yet I walk right up to you -

if you'll let me

I'll put my arms around you

and stroke you softly.

Are you surprised I'd put my arms around you?

Is it your black black sorrow

that nobody loves you?

JUDE

When you tell mama

you are going to do something great

she looks at you

as though you were a window

she were trying to see through,

and says she hopes you will be good

instead of great.

: :

When you are five years old

you spend the day in the Gardens.

The grass is greener than cabbages,

and orange lilies

stand up very straight

and will not curtsey to the sun

when the wind tells them.

Only pansies bow down very low.

Pansies make little purple cushions

for queen bees to stand on.

Bees

have brown silk hair on their bodies.

If you are careful

they will let you stroke them.

The trees over the marble man

catch up all the sunbeams

so the shadows have it their way -

the shadows swallow him up

like a blue shark.

When you scoop a sunbeam up on your palm

and offer it to the marble man,

he does not notice...

he looks into his stone beard.

... When you do something great

people give you a stone face,

so you do not care any more

when the sun throws gold on you

through leaf-holes the wind makes

in green bushes....

This thought makes me very sad.

: :

Jude has eyes like tobacco

with yellow specks on it

and his hair is red as a red orange.

Jude and I

have made a garden in the field

that no one knows about.

We creep in and out

through a little place

where the barbed wire is down.

We lie in the long grass

and crush dandelions

between our two cheeks

till the milk comes out on our faces.

We hold each other tight

and the wind tip-toes all over us

and pelts us with thistle-down.

: :

Jude isn't afraid of shadows -

not even of the ones that have eyes in them.

And he can look in the face of the sun

without blinking at all.

Hush! don't say sun so loud.

The sun gets angry when you stare at him.

If you peek in his glory-windows

he spreads into a great white flame

like God out of his Burning Bush...

till you put your hands up on your face

and tremble like a drop of rain upon a flower

that some one throws into the fire...

and then

the sun makes himself small,

the sun swings down out of the sky -

littler'n a star,

little as a spark

little as a fierce red spider

on a burning thread...

and then

the light goes out...

shivers into blackened bits....

You hold on to a wall that whirls around

and the gate is a black hole.

You grope your way in like a toad

that's blinded by a stone...

and mama puts on cold wet rags

that get hot soon....

Hush! don't let's talk about the sun.

: :

When you pass by the ditch where Janie is

You run very fast

and look at the other side.

Jude says Janie did love me

only she couldn't forgive me,

and that you can love people very much

and never, never, never forgive them....

so we poked a stick in the bottle-green water.

But only weeds came up

and an old top with the paint washed off.

: :

Jude and I

wave to the new moon

curled right up like one gold hair

on the bald-head sandhill.

Mama peeps out the window and smiles.

She thinks

I am playing with myself...

Run, Jude, run with the wind -

but hold my hand tight

or the wind,

looking for some one to play with,

will take me away from you!

Wind with no one to play with

cooees the orange-trees -

stay-at-home orange trees,

have to nurse oranges,

greeny-gold.

Wind shouts to the grass -

run-away-grass

tugs at its roots,

but the earth holds tight

and the grass falls down

and wind boos over it.

Wind whistles the bees -

bees too busy

with taking home stuff out of flowers

won't look back -

bees always going somewhere.

Only Jude and I -

heads over shoulders

watching all roads at one time -

run with the wind,

going to nowhere.

: :

Jude and I

were weeding our garden

when we heard his whip -

must have been a new whip

to cut off dandelion-heads at one swing....

He was the kind of boy you knew when you had Celia....

with nice clothes on and curls

crawling about his collar

like little golden slugs,

and his man was leading his horse.

I wish I hadn't run to meet him....

If you hadn't run to meet him

he mightn't have trod on your garden and said:

Get out of my field you dirty little beggar...

he mightn't have struck you with his whip....

How the daisies stared....

I hate daisies -

stupid white faces -

skinny necks

craning over the grass!

I said It is not your field,

and he struck me again.

But he didn't make me run.

His hand

smelled of sweet soap...

he couldn't shake me off,

but his man did....

Funny - how the sky fell down

and turned over and over

like a blue carpet rolling you up,

and the grass caught at your face -

it couldn't have been spiteful -

it must have been saving itself.

Hot road... silly wind playing with your hair....

The road smelled of horses.

I only got up

when I heard a dray.

: :

Mama has sung ba ba black sheep,

and put a chair with a cloth on it

between me and the light.

But the clock keeps saying:

Dirty little beggar,

dirty little beggar....

Some day

I will get that boy.

I will pull off his arms and legs

and put him in a box

and hide the box

under the bed....

I wonder

will he buzz

when I take him out to look at his body

that will have no arms to whip me?

Mama drew my cot to the window

so I can look at the stars.

I will not look at the stars.

There is a black chimney

throwing up sparks

and one tall flame

like gold hair in a blaze....

I know now

what I shall do....

I will set fire to him

and he will burn up into a tall flame -

he will scream into the sky

and sparks will fly out of him -

he will burn and burn...

and his blazing hair

shall light up the world.

: :

Before he hit me -

I knew he was going to -

I thought about Jude....

I thought if he'd fight...

but he shriveled all up...

he lay down like a fear.

Mama never knew about Jude.

You always wanted to tell her,

but somehow you never did.

You were afraid she'd smile

and say he wasn't real -

that he was only a little dream-boy,

because the grass didn't fall down under his feet....

He is fading now....

He is just lines... like a drawing....

You can see mama in between.

When she moves

she rubs some of him out.