Spoon River Anthology Part 7

And when Adam outwitted G.o.d by eating the apple And saw through the lie, G.o.d drove him out of Eden to keep him from taking The fruit of immortal life.

For Christ's sake, you sensible people, Here's what G.o.d Himself says about it in the book of Genesis: "And the Lord G.o.d said, behold the man Is become as one of us" (a little envy, you see), "To know good and evil" (The all-is-good lie exposed): "And now lest he put forth his hand and take Also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever: Therefore the Lord G.o.d sent Him forth from the garden of Eden." (The reason I believe G.o.d crucified His Own Son To get out of the wretched tangle is, because it sounds just like Him. )

Francis Turner

I COULD not run or play In boyhood.

In manhood I could only sip the cup, Not drink--For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.

Yet I lie here Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows: There is a garden of acacia, Catalpa trees, and arbors sweet with vines-- There on that afternoon in June By Mary's side-- Kissing her with my soul upon my lips It suddenly took flight.

Franklin Jones

IF I could have lived another year I could have finished my flying machine, And become rich and famous.

Hence it is fitting the workman Who tried to chisel a dove for me Made it look more like a chicken.

For what is it all but being hatched, And running about the yard, To the day of the block?

Save that a man has an angel's brain, And sees the ax from the first!

John M. Church

I WAS attorney for the "Q"

And the Indemnity Company which insured The owners of the mine.

I pulled the wires with judge and jury, And the upper courts, to beat the claims Of the crippled, the widow and orphan, And made a fortune thereat.

The bar a.s.sociation sang my praises In a high-flown resolution.

And the floral tributes were many-- But the rats devoured my heart And a snake made a nest in my skull

Russian Sonia

I, BORN in Weimar Of a mother who was French And German father, a most learned professor, Orphaned at fourteen years, Became a dancer, known as Russian Sonia, All up and down the boulevards of Paris, Mistress betimes of sundry dukes and counts, And later of poor artists and of poets.

At forty years, pa.s.se, I sought New York And met old Patrick Hummer on the boat, Red-faced and hale, though turned his sixtieth year, Returning after having sold a ship-load Of cattle in the German city, Hamburg.

He brought me to Spoon River and we lived here For twenty years--they thought that we were married This oak tree near me is the favorite haunt Of blue jays chattering, chattering all the day.

And why not? for my very dust is laughing For thinking of the humorous thing called life.

Barney Hainsfeather

IF the excursion train to Peoria Had just been wrecked, I might have escaped with my life-- Certainly I should have escaped this place.

But as it was burned as well, they mistook me For John Allen who was sent to the Hebrew Cemetery At Chicago, And John for me, so I lie here.

It was bad enough to run a clothing store in this town, But to be buried here--ach!

Pet.i.t, the Poet

SEEDS in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel-- Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens-- But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof.

Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus, Ballades by the score with the same old thought: The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished; And what is love but a rose that fades?

Life all around me here in the village: Tragedy, comedy, valor and truth, Courage, constancy, heroism, failure-- All in the loom, and oh what patterns!

Woodlands, meadows, streams and rivers-- Blind to all of it all my life long.

Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus, Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, Tick, tick, tick, what little iambics, While Homer and Whitman roared in the pines?

Pauline Barrett

ALMOST the sh.e.l.l of a woman after the surgeon's knife And almost a year to creep back into strength, Till the dawn of our wedding decennial Found me my seeming self again.

We walked the forest together, By a path of soundless moss and turf.

But I could not look in your eyes, And you could not look in my eyes, For such sorrow was ours--the beginning of gray in your hair.

And I but a sh.e.l.l of myself.

And what did we talk of?--sky and water, Anything, 'most, to hide our thoughts.

And then your gift of wild roses, Set on the table to grace our dinner.

Poor heart, how bravely you struggled To imagine and live a remembered rapture!

Then my spirit drooped as the night came on, And you left me alone in my room for a while, As you did when I was a bride, poor heart.

And I looked in the mirror and something said: "One should be all dead when one is half-dead--"

Nor ever mock life, nor ever cheat love."

And I did it looking there in the mirror-- Dear, have you ever understood?

Mrs. Charles Bliss

REVEREND WILEY advised me not to divorce him For the sake of the children, And Judge Somers advised him the same.

So we stuck to the end of the path.

But two of the children thought he was right, And two of the children thought I was right.

And the two who sided with him blamed me, And the two who sided with me blamed him, And they grieved for the one they sided with.

And all were torn with the guilt of judging, And tortured in soul because they could not admire Equally him and me.

Now every gardener knows that plants grown in cellars Or under stones are twisted and yellow and weak.

And no mother would let her baby suck Diseased milk from her breast.

Yet preachers and judges advise the raising of souls Where there is no sunlight, but only twilight, No warmth, but only dampness and cold-- Preachers and judges!

Mrs. George Reece

To this generation I would say: Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty.

It may serve a turn in your life.

My husband had nothing to do With the fall of the bank--he was only cashier.

The wreck was due to the president, Thomas Rhodes, And his vain, unscrupulous son.

Yet my husband was sent to prison, And I was left with the children, To feed and clothe and school them.

And I did it, and sent them forth Into the world all clean and strong, And all through the wisdom of Pope, the poet: "Act well your part, there all the honor lies."

Rev. Lemuel Wiley

I PREACHED four thousand sermons, I conducted forty revivals, And baptized many converts.

Yet no deed of mine Shines brighter in the memory of the world, And none is treasured more by me: Look how I saved the Blisses from divorce, And kept the children free from that disgrace, To grow up into moral men and women, Happy themselves, a credit to the village.