LEARNING TO DANCE
by Carol A. Stephen
There’s something elemental in the odour of death,
each myth dissected, the way boys dissect frogs,
then wash hands in the pond’s fog. Each remembers
the veined legs, the death-croak, wonders
what to tell mother when she asks
What possessed you?
It’s a boy thing, a tradition, this call down to the river.
Answers mothers have forgotten:
how to balance on a log, counting to thirteen.
Things children know:
The call of the desert, summer wind, dancing silent.
Sacrifice at the oasis, the offering of young bulls.
Their death songs recede into sand, drift into
each mouth, the labour of their last breath.
Children burn through days believing nine religious things.
Whisper secrets. Escape from prayers, their auras
clear and hollow, drawn always to water, to riverbed.
Every child learns to walk at an angle, to memorize
the mysteries of ancestors kept in a yellow box
buried in a pit under the oldest tree. Each year
they grow away from fairy tales, forget how the sky sounded.
Its old echo twists through rock as they climb to the edge.
Boys speak the language of nowhere,
rough and guttural, tell of visions seen when they
hunted on the edges of their days. They strut round the fire,
muscles sinuous, hard, youth slipping off with the flames.
In the midst of the dance, one trips over a stray bone,
nothing else remains, no word to name the spirit of the dead.
Grit rises in his belly. He writhes to music from the pipe
of a red-haired boy. Drum falls silent. They begin to circle.
Euphoric faces lift. They remember
the struggle to clear ground for their fire. They remember
how their leader held the amulet close to the amber flame,
then placed it around his neck.
They remember the scent of burning.
Painting by Odilon Redon (1840-1916).
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Carol A. Stephen is a Canadian poet. Her poetry has appeared in Bywords Quarterly Journal and two Tree Press/phaphours press collaborative chapbooks. You can also find Carol’s poems on-line at The Light Ekphrastic and in videos. Twice shortlisted, in 2012 Carol won third place in Canadian Authors Association National Capital Writing Contest. She’s the author of two chapbooks, Above the Hum of Yellow Jackets, and Architectural Variations. Visit her blog at quillfyre.wordpress.com.
Reblogged this on Quillfyre and commented:
Very pleased to have a poem featured today over on the Silver Birch Press blog. I hope you will drop by and read this and other poems in the series, Mythic Poetry!
Love the painting chosen for pairing with my poem, and thanks again for the opportunity to participate in the series!
Carol, this is wonderful! Turns childhood, specifically boy-children, into their own myth. The word choice is exquisite. Congrats!
Reblogged this on Trish Hopkinson and commented:
Exquisite poetry from fellow poet Carol Stephen published on Silver Birch Press today as part of their Mythic Poetry Series. I love the way this creates a myth of childhood. Great stuff!
Thanks for the comments and for the reblog, Trish!
Carol, I loved this poem…the strength of your opening and closing lines and how these two lines reinforced that mythical theme… “the odour of death…the scent of burning” BRAVO!
Thanks. I appreciate your taking the time to read, and to comment.
Beautifully written, dark and enthralling. I love the mythology of childhood linked to earliest expressions and rites of manhood. These are expressions boys carry deep within them and have never quite forgotten.
Thanks, Robin. That is what I had hoped the poem would suggest to readers!
Carol I revisited your poem 3 times today-had a visceral reaction to your words- a a mixture of nostalgia for and fear for the children I raised and the child I was. Then I went outside. Truly admire this work.
Wow, Mary, thank you so much!
Dear Carol,
I love this. It’s very rich, very beautiful.
Sincerely,
Margaret ( Joyce)
Margaret, thanks so much for your kind comments!
This so lovely…gritty in parts…touching in others…and mythical throughout. Very nice.
Thanks, Sharon, glad you like it.
Dear Carol; This is truly wonderful! The way your phrases, like ‘walk at an angle’, ‘strut round the fire’, writhes to music’ among several others, are so exactly on. Love it!
Thanks, Claudia, for your comments and for stopping by to spend time with my poem!