Time to finally wrap up my sporadic series of posts featuring my juvenilia as published in Apotheosis,
the Niles West High School
in Skokie, Illinois student literary magazine way back in 1967, which a keen historians will note was shortly
after the invention of the wheel. I bet you thought the torture would never end.
I was way over represented in the little book, probably simply because I
had the audacity to dump the most material, short prose and
poetry alike, into the selection
file. At any rate, most everything I
submitted got printed, which is an indictment
of the editing skills of 17 year olds.
Both of these two short poems have spring themes and were completed
shortly—probably just days—before the final submission deadline. Inspired
by my Advance Placement English Literature
class which had a text book with
a generous selection of poetry—something current high school students are seldom are even shown—I had been seriously reading verse on my own for the first time. And it showed.
The first verse proved that mere exposure to
quality poetry was not sufficient to
inoculate me from committing crappy
imitations. Although I had a potentially interesting central image,
I had no idea what the hell to do with it.
I over explained it and contorted a closing. The piece was inspired by one of the late
evening rambles I had lately taken
up, mostly on the assumption
that it was what broody, melancholy
young poetic geniuses did.
A Midnight
Stroll Through Early Spring
When the midnight sky is indigo purple rubber
stretched
taught over a lamp
and pin
pricked a million times,
smally
sliced once in cuticle shape
so that the
light from the lamp
gleams though—but
dimly, dimly
And when beneath the rubber sky
a hostile
light of glaring nakedness
strung
loosely over the street
dances in
the wind
Then, because the light dances
and the
wind plays also
on the
black lace twigs
of the high
tree tops
The intricate shadows thus cast
move
smoothly and rapidly
over the
tender, wet nurtured lawn
and
dirtied, cracked sidewalk
And I walk there in anguish
and step
upon the moving shadows
and crush
them thus
upon the
dirtied, cracked sidewalk
—Pat
Murfin ‘67
The
second poem was a blatant attempt to ape the style, as far as I understood it, of e.e. cummings with a dash
of the Beats a la Lawrence
Ferlinghetti. It’s a little better
and shows some dim promise. The most astonishing
thing about it was that with its semi-graphic
abortion image it was printed at all
in a high school publication. The only
explanation is that faculty advisor
Richard Gragg slipped it passed Principal
Nicholas T. Mannos because he was sure
the boss would never slog through the effusions of pimply faced, hormonal
teenagers. Likewise conservative parents, of whom the
school had plenty, evidently chose only to scan their own progeny’s contributions. My own
mother did read it and nearly fell
out of her chair, but she hardly
dare draw more attention to her shame
by storming the school and demanding the magazine be squelched and
recalled.
April is a bad month for Coke
and the
flies
gather
on the droppings
drop,
drop
while the
clods slip off
the
steal plowshare.
Robins die with boyish arrows
in their
throats,
children
dance
round
and again
on
silver-slick grass
of
the graveyard.
Abortion with a knitting needle
and greasy
hands
interrupts
prematurely
the
expected rebirth
of
earth.
April is a very bad month for Cokes.
—Pat Murfin ‘67
Hey, I'm in there! And the '68 one, too! You were gone by then. Well, Pat, we can totally see your budding awesomeness here! There's so much that's great about these poems!
ReplyDeleteAnd I enjoyed seeing the work of young Carole Tobias. "Last Words" and the title-less verse that occupied the page just opposite "A Midnight Stroll..."
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