Below is a poem I wrote recently. But its “story” is complicated. I wrote a poem with a similar title when I was in high school, in the same format: formally, a sestina, and with other (efforts at) metrical constraints. The protagonist, Dr Hubert, was the same, in the original, too – he is a character from a fictional world I had created. I suspect that in actual tone, this recent poem is more optimistic than the first version, which I long ago lost (though it still may exist in some box in my Minnesota storage unit, but obviously I don’t have the ability to find it, currently). I was more of a pessimist about humanity as a teenager than I am now, and the character Dr Hubert, in my youth’s conception, was a dystopian anti-hero. Below, on the other hand, he is more of a simple, tragic hero. Nevertheless, broadly speaking, the poem is about disillusionment. “The Collective” is a reference to the Jeres Collective, which was a failed utopian experiment within this world I’d created. I don’t think that was the original name. The similarity between the name of the collective and my own first name is purely phonological coincidence.
(Poem #21 on new numbering scheme)
Dr Hubert On The Beach at Jeres He was lost, alone. His companions were dead. Dr Hubert stood under Mahhalian skies. The man's disconsolate face had turned to gray, And the war, begun and just ended, like gold, Seemed pointless. The billowing clouds threatened rain. There was a ragged pine down the shore. A lie Had started it all. It was pointless. A lie had bloomed, flourished, been nurtured, and now was dead. Days before, with hope and optimism, the rain had relented and the typically wan skies had given way to bright explosions of gold And crimson as the sun rose. Just now, a gray Seagull spun, landed, stepped twice, and pecked at gray bits of sand, searching for insects, that might lie Beneath. Dr Hubert bent and picked up a spent gold shell-casing from the sand. Memento of dead Fellow fighters. He turned and peered at the skies But his memory only showed him the rain Of bullets that hours before, before the rain Diligently washed the sour smell of gray Gunpowder from the cold air, had filled the skies' Dome with pain, useless suffering and death. That lie Had been the false utopia promised by dead Men. Earthly paradise had been a fool's gold. Some of the birches on the hillside had gold leaves, which hung like saddened children as the rain started again finally, pelting the dead vegetation. Their white bark, damp, looked like gray Photographs. He felt tired, now. I want to lie down," he muttered. "The Collective filled our skies With hope for glory. Here in Jeres those skies Instead have been destroyed." A pale egret, gold beak flashing, lands down the beach. "Nature can't lie To us, though. I will take solace in the rain." Born among angels, having fared across gray seas, the idealist peered from among the dead. Under Mahhalian skies, driftwood damp and dead, On gold sands lay. Dr Hubert faced the gray Heavens and chose to lie down in the lucid rain.
– a sestina
One calendrical observation: I am certain that I wrote the original poem on or near November 3rd, 1982. That’s because November 3rd is St Hubert’s day, which was where the character first got his name. The reason is that November 3rd is the first saints’ day after the commemoration of all the dead (All Saints), Novermber 1 and 2. That’s a bit complicated, but I was trying for some kind of obscure symbolism. The fact that I re-wrote the same poem leading up to Novermber 3rd is thus not entirely coincidence, either. Dr Hubert is an autumnal figure.
Another note: when I went to check on Saint Hubert (patron of mathematicians, among others, which was of keen interest to my 17-year-old self, and marginally relevant to the original conception of the Mahhalian history) at the wikipedia, just now, with the intention of placing a link, I learned that Hubertus was born in Texas. This is, no doubt, a bit of wikivandalism. But it was quite humorous – I have placed a screenshot (because wikivandalism is ephemeral) at right.
[daily log: walking, 6km]
