—: Twilight :—
My neighbor Is putting her little boys to bed. Over my hedge Their laughter comes to me In amber puffs like smoke That roll and uncoil And wrap around my throat Chokingly.
Margie-Lee Runbeck (p. 1921-24, etc.)
P: Tempo (1921), Sunset (1921), The Granite Monthly (1921), The Literary Digest (1921), American Poetry Magazine (1921+), Voices (1921+), Pegasus (1924), Poetry (1924), The Double Dealer (1924), Detroit Educational Bulletin (1924), etc.
“A journalist by profession who lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.” (The Double Dealer, 1924)
I love this poem. Everything happens in the last line. A kind of “tu(r)ning-word”: which (re-)turns the poem back on itself, de-tuning and re-tuning the rest of the poem. The meaning is ultimately left hanging: what is it about the children’s laughter which chokes her? Suggestive multiplicities: Walt Whitman’s “multitudes” rather than Aristotle’s “unity”. Also: lovely use of partial-rhymes along the way: smoke, throat, chokingly . . .
For Margie-Lee Runbeck By Dick Whyte A bulbous bell Struck: The air turns to waves Crash Into my ear little gods— Unborn. xoxo dw
Forgotten Poets Presents:
Forgotten Poems, a living anthology of obscure and out-of-print poetry from the late-1800s and early-1900s. Explore the archives:
More poems about twilight . . .
More poems about laughter . . .