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Spring Bloomers
—a triolet
A lick of spring has kissed the air
Whispering of skimpy knickers—
It’s time to toss thick underwear.
A lick of spring has kissed the air.
I’ll hurl my hat, let down my hair
As chill will thaws and fever flickers.
A lick of spring has kissed the air
Whispering of skimpy knickers.
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To Spring—You Smug Bitch!
I’ve never been keen on your shrill scream of green—
_Quit littering trees with loud leaves.
I’m done with that old golden-daffodil scene—
_The foul floral funk that it weaves.
Go shove your explosions of burgeoning buds
_And burn every bothersome bloom.
Bomb each bumbling bee as it buzzes and scuds—
_Such buoyancy bloats me with gloom.
I hate gaudy, flittering, glittery things
_With fluttering wings in full flight,
So squish the felicity frippery brings,
_Swipe butterfly blights from my sight.
Extinguish the flickers of romance brought on
_By tickles of sun overhead.
Hush juiciest lips with the peachiest song—
_Too soon life’s a prune and love’s dead.
Keep silken, pink piglets and chicks out of sight,
_Don’t let oinks and chirps irk my ear.
Boil two Easter bunnies one blue, moonless night
_And cancel the egg hunt this year.
Castrate randy rams. I abhor leaping lambs—
_Their sweet, fleecy kick makes me sick.
I pray that your door to fertility jams—
_You get on my wintery wick!
Your seasonal spree is tormentingly twee—
_Gratuitous glee is a curse.
May frost bite your arse and may ice guarantee
_You’re hurried away in a hearse.
first published in Snakeskin
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Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.
What a contrast in two poems. When I saw the title of the first one, I knew I was in for a treat from the start. It did not disappoint. The second one shocked my seasonal sensitivities and made me wonder what in the world possessed you to castigate the coming of spring. Could it be all the paeans, praises by poets, and passions unleashed by others relative to spring including William Wordsworth with daffodils marching up a ridge? As always, you dazzle me with your raucous renditions replete with words harking back to your British heritage. What fun ensued in both poems with your vivid portrayals.
You know what’s great about these two poems? INSOUCIANCE — the very basic “I-don’t-give-a-swiving-hump-what-anybody-thinks” that comes across in both of them. They are not sentimental, nor edifying, nor didactic, nor moralizing. They are just impish and perky fun!
The triolet is playfully naughty, with its mention of bloomers and thick underwear and skimpy knickers and letting one’s hair down. It suggests the sexiness that spring is really all about. (Side note: Evan’s illustration is brilliantly ironic.)
The second is an exercise in crankiness and pissed-off resentment, and functions as the tonal opposite to the triolet. The language presents an amazing put-down of all the characteristics of springtime that too many poets have turned into a boring euphoria of celebration.
I’d consider these two pieces as analogous to Milton’s pairing of “L’Allegro” and “Il Penseroso”,” or the debate between Youth and Old Age in Spenser’s “Shepherd’s Calendar.” They view a subject from two different angles, while presenting something catchy and intriguing in both cases.
And more important, they show the real verbal and ideational freedom that a poet is meant to enjoy — a freedom unhampered by hesitation, restraint, piety, bourgeois decorum, or morality-mongering.
Great work, Susan! You’ve made my day.
Hilarious fun, Susan, by turns, saucy, sardonic and more than a wee bit iconoclastic. More on that last observation shortly.
The triolet is such a strange little form in which 3 out of 8 lines and then 2 out of 8 lines repeat. That means these repetends (especially lines 1, 4 and 7) must either do a lot of heavy lifting in terms of varying content, or else take on a role akin to the chorus of a song. Your repetends actually achieve both effects, which is no small achievement. “A lick of spring has kissed the air” is a charming and slightly saucy “chorus” (noting the relationship of “lick” and “kiss”.) And that sauciness ties in beautifully with the bloomer (another pun) subject matter. One would think that the coming of Spring has made you positively cheeky.
Until we get to your grouchy “Smug Bitch” poem. Dr. Salemi described this as “cranky” and that may be an understatement! The language and the imagery are hilariously hostile to all that we normally think of when we poets rhapsodize about Spring. You get to be the contrarian. It’s as if you borrowed Ebenezer Scrooge’s “bah humbug” and channeled the Grinch as you diss the season with as much vitriole as they attack Christmas. I looked for signs that your speaker’s attitude was meant as irony and could not find any. Had it been present, such irony might mask adoration (Shakespeare’s “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun…”) Or even denial (the Cole Porter song for Katharina “I Hate Men” from “Kiss Me, Kate.”) But not here. “Smug Bitch” is indeed unapologetically, gloriously negative — transgressive even.
I’m no mind-reader, but I’m wagering that the “iconoclasm” I mentioned in my first paragraph is the actual point of the poem — the willingness to take something as universally praised as Spring with its flowers and lambs and Easter eggs — and demonstrate that a fanastic poem can be crafted stating the opposing view. But this is not just a show-piece. It’s also a surprising source of hilarity — the speaker’s unexpected preference for the bitterness of winter and not making a daffodil fuss. I’m reminded of Morticia Addams snipping and discarding the blooms off her roses and gathering only the thorny branches into her vase. Every so often, Susan, I see you channel Morticia. And I love it.
Susan,
Twisted knickers
tend to snickers
and rumors fly about the town.
Insouciance
and nonchalance
hold the quivers that bring them down.
How do you like that for double entendre?? Thanks for the entertaining (which is a key to good and great poetry) lines today!!
Jonathan
So much fun, Susan! And I agree that the picture is hilarious! How physical education has changed!
Susan, your second poem , “To Spring—–” , is a bold one, but something that most of us can identify with at one time or another in our life.
Susan, I may text you when I quit laughing – probably sometime next week!
Port Lavaca needs to install a statue of you in its town square in the pose of a seriously-motivated-perception-expounding-poetess’, with one hand displaying a piece of parchment, the other a quill. Another blue ribbon piece from someone I understand is merely pointing out the nastier facets of Spring to slip into her portfolio of far more typical seasonal commentaries. When Connie and I think ‘Spring’, as we know do U 2, we think – ‘flowers and bluejays and cardinals and hummingbirds.
The Hummingbird
The first time that I saw one I could not believe my eyes.
It seemed a wingless body…somehow floating in the air…
With tiny head… a slender beak… a stubby, twitching tail…
and flanked on either shoulder by an iridescent flare.
Its colors were amazing, like I’d never seen before,
with yellow speckles, silver tufts, and brilliant ruby throat.
Like ailerons made of feathers – what I learned to be its wings –
hummed with focused frenzy as they kept the bird afloat.
His hovering seemed so effortless, so agile, and so graceful.
His wings were imperceptible but for the sound I heard.
I softly whispered, “Grandma, what’s that funny little thing?”
She whispered, “It’s your lucky day… you’ve seen a hummingbird!”
Mesmerized, I watched him, as he darted ‘round the gardens,
sampling from the blossoms that adorned her lovely lawn, Pausing only briefly for the nectar in each flower, until at last…
as quickly as he’d come… the bird was gone!
Ha ha ha ha ha!!!! Talking about knickers will always get the male attention! A deep sensuality in your work: love it!
I wanted to respond poetically here to these 2 enjoyable ditties celebrating sweetly & sourly the time of year. I’ll have to be prosaic. Texans on the whole must be two-faced as you are here, Susan–glad winter is over, dreading summer (which may start tomorrow–if it hasn’t already). Here in Toronto, it snowed for 6 hours straight, & it snowed again this am. We may, just MAY see 50 degrees for Easter. Yes, we have had a few warmer days, and the tree branches are filling with buds, but still, the gladsome hailing of spring that Adam Sedia had up here a short while back, while accomplished, seems forced, considering he’s a resident of Indiana or Ohio.
Anyway, thanks for your Janus-like songs, Susan.
Both of these are fantastic! As Julian wisely pointed out, views of spring likely differ depending on one’s location. When living in Canada, I enjoyed the first week or two of winter but quickly transitioned to an eager anticipation of spring. Here in Texas, spring is a sign that the interminable summer will soon be upon us.
Susan, the Addams Family are waiting for you. The Smug Bitch of Spring is hilarious and a joy to read as we slide into the season of Easter bullshite. You have persuaded me to pick up an axe to sort out the pesky Mallard bitch, camping out in my back garden. Great to read today, as ever, from the best poet on the planet.
Susan, I had to comment on these two amazing poems that are so funny and naughty and nasty and delicious. I just love the way your mind works to entertain us and make us think about things in different ways. You always wake us up and make us laugh. Brilliant. As Jeff says, ‘best poet on the planet’. Thank you.