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Saturday, September 03, 2011
The Husband of Mary May
Category: Poetry/LyricsI don’t talk sae good,
fur each neighbourhood
I growed up in had - howja say -
a unique turn o’ phrase
an’ a proud sense o’ place
an’ that’s thirty-eight towns, by the way.
I was born amidst burrs
of hes an’ hers
who churned their r’s like butter.
But way down south
Da’s highland mouth
made ‘im sound a proper nutter.
So from each sprawlin’ city
an’ each village, small an’ pretty,
I’d steal away a lickle bit o’ speech.
I’d hide it in me coat,
then shove it down me throat
an’ keep it nice an’ safe an’ outta reach.
Since I tried me best to learn
the speech of every town in turn,
I thought I’d fit in everywhere I’d go.
But alas! That weren’t the case
an’ every bloody place
spoke too slowly, an’ clearly told me “No”.
In the Louisiana drawl
‘neath the stinkin’ sun’s slow crawl
on a jewel-bright, steamin’ summer’s day,
I met a girl who turned me ‘ead
an’ killed me sorry tongue quite dead.
She left me speechless, an’ her name was Mary May.
Me knees were pow’rful weak.
I was all afraid to speak -
knowin’ that I’d murmur an’ I’d choke.
But she flashed that moonbeam smile
an’ in just a lickle while
me fears had drifted all away, like smoke.
An’ the clearest damn thing
that I ever did say
was “Marry me, Mary May”.
The clearest damn thing
that I ever did say
was “Marry me, Mary May”.
I liked it very much. I appreciate poems that rhyme. The music of rhythm and rhyme are sorely missing from most modern poetry. There little or no craft in today’s poems. Your poem has a few rough patches that broke the cadence (neath the stinkin’ sun’s slow crawl—I’d get rid of slow and in the next line I’d substitute hot for steamin’ as I think there’s one syllable too many). But all in all a fine effort. It reminds me of a poem I submitted here a year or so ago which no one commented on:
http://www.litmocracy.com/weblog/the_ballad_of_clan_macaroon
Check it out and let me know what you think.
Harris
I have found,
From time to time,
It is nice to read,
Words that rhyme.
I offer encouragement.
Please write more.
Go right ahead,
Let your rhyming spirit soar…
My favorite aspect of this poem is that the narrator’s eclectic speech got him rejected by the masses, but he found someone special who apparently appreciated his cloak full of dialect and idiom.
This is lovely and works for me because I’ve been in Cambodia, surrounded by ex-pats and tourists speaking every koind of Englitch, never mind the Cambodian language, which I expected not to understand! And the story itself tugs at the heart strings. Really nice!
Thanks for your feedback and comments guys, much appreciated. 