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Sitaram

07-01-2005, 05:39 PM

I found my mother in a box.

A letter, 1970,
scribbled on the backs
of brittle grocery lists.

An apology—
I stopped telling people
about us
because you asked.
All my love,
Kathleen

Married now, Patricia
slides into cool sheets
and sleeps in her room,
alone.

A box of dust
crumbles in the attic.

Interesting poem.

I will share with you my impressions, as I look for meaning.

I found my mother in a box.

To say I found, implies that something was lost.

To find in a box could possibly mean a coffin, at first glance, though further reading makes it clear that this is not the case.

Hmm... curious. Who wrote to whom, and who saved the letter?

And we are given a date of 1970. We may reasonably assume that the poem was written recently. So it might have been 35 years ago, that this letter was written. Or, it might be an old poem. Hence, some of the meaning depends on knowing how long.

The note was written in haste, perhaps furtively, since it is on old, crumbling, brittle cash register receipts (or are they really shopping lists?) The old and crumbling part lends credance to the 35 year figure.

It is a very short note, which conceivably migh easily fit on one grocery list. Yet the poem clearly states "lists", plural. Does this mean that perhaps a few words were on each piece of paper, like a code, a secret code?

There is ambiguity in placement of Kathleen. It is probably reasonable to construe Kathleen as the author of the note. BUT, it is possible that Kathleen is the name of the person to whom the note is addressed.

Is Patricia the daughter, who has found her mother's box of keepsakes?
Is Kathleen the name of Patricia's mother.

To say that the BOX of dust crumbles, implies that a great deal more time has now elapsed. The note has become dust, and now the box which contains the dust is crumbling.

This implies that the box was never looked at again, but also, that it was never thrown out. It was not important enough to preserve, but it was important enough that it was not discarded. Ambivalence.

Does the title imply that the mother was not simply found, but rather, "found out", that is, discovered, implicated in something embarrassing?

Why does Patricia sleep alone? Did she never marry because of some impression that she had about her mother being very proper. Is this some shocking discovery after Kathleen's death, revealing that she had another, secret, sexual side, which she concealed from her daughter under the pretense of propriety? Does Kathleen somehow now feel deceived and betrayed, perhaps cheated out of sensual pleasure, because she was mistaken about her mother's values?

Yet, clearly, from the letter, there was some point at which Kathleen WAS open about the relationship. Or was it a relationship?

The structure of this poem is casual and free enough that one might easily continue to work on it, reshape it, play with it, experiment.

Sometimes, verse can become so crafted and structured, that it becomes frozen in its beauty, and we no longer have the courage to tamper with it or modify it, even if it is incomlete or unsatisfactory in some respect.

When I was a young teenager, I had the notion of writing an epic poem.

I wrote the first stanza, and that was all:

Beneath the gambreled roof of trees,
of leaves untorn by archer's shafts,
of branches innocent of all
but purling chinks of trysting squirrels,
grew grass and thistles shivering
with anxiousness and gangrel swarms
of bees and insects warmed to frenzy
by the lambent dawn.

There was something, I felt, very beautiful, very good, perhaps perfect, about these lines, but I was too young to figure out what to do with them.

I cite this as an example of something which becomes somehow frozen for us, and we cannot bring ourselves to change or modify or continue.

Whenever we write a poem, we must I think ask ourselves if we are finished. And if we feel that we are finished, we must be able to say why we are finished.