LULLABY IN BLUE
by Betsy Sholl
The child takes her first journey
through the inner blue world of her mother’s body,
blue veins, blue eyes, frail petal lids.
Beyond that unborn brackish world so deep
it will be felt forever as longing, a dream
of blue notes plucked from memory’s guitar,
the wind blows indigo shadows under streetlights,
clouds crowd the moon and bear down on the limbs
of a blue spruce. The child’s head appears—
midnight pond, weedy and glistening—
draws back, reluctant to leave that first home.
Blue catch in the mother’s throat,
ferocious bruise of a growl, and out slides
the iridescent body—fish-slippery
in her father’s hands, plucked from water
into such thin densities of air,
her arms and tiny hands stutter and flail,
till he places her on her mother’s body,
then cuts the smoky cord, releasing her
into this world, its cold harbor below
where a blue caul of shrink-wrap covers
each boat gestating on the winter shore.
Child, the world comes in twos, above and below,
visible and unseen. Inside your mother’s croon
there’s the hum of an old man tapping his foot
on a porch floor, his instrument made from one
string nailed to a wall, as if anything
can be turned into song, always what is
and what is longed for. Against the window
the electric blue of cop lights signals
somebody’s bad news, and a lone man walks
through the street, his guitar sealed in dark plush.
Child, from this world now you will draw your breath
and let out your moth flutter of blue sighs.
Now your mother will listen for each one,
alert enough to hear snow starting to flake
from the sky, bay water beginning to freeze.
Sleep now, little shadow, as your first world
still flickers across your face, that other side
where all was given and nothing desired.
Soon enough you’ll want milk, want faces, hands,
heartbeats and voices singing in your ear.
Soon the world will amaze you, and you
will give back its bird-warble, its dove call,
singing that blue note which deepens the song,
that longing for what no one can recall,
your small night cry roused from the wholeness
you carry into this broken world.
Wonderful poem, beautiful picture; what satisfying pleasures on a regular Monday. Thank you, Andrea
I need help with the poem, I am not getting it. Also, is the lake still frozen over? Looks like there is snow cover, is that picture from today?
Candy, the picture is from yesterday. The lake is still mostly frozen. I try not to be too analytical when I read a poem. I think sometimes people believe poems are a sort of code that must be deciphered, but I prefer to enjoy the language of a poem almost like music. The imagery invokes feeling and is representative, of course, but I don’t believe most poets intend that the poem’s readers will have a line-by-line understanding of exactly the poet’s meaning. I’ve been missing my daughter and came across this poem that is about the birth of a baby girl. I loved the use of blue with the birth, blue is the color of our blood in our veins, and the color of the a baby’s eyes and the watery womb. The blues plucked on the guitar remind us of the sadness that is any life.A birth is the beginning of something that must end. “Child, the world comes in twos, above and below” Love that. The pre-born waterworld where there is no want, all is provided. And the world of the born, where there is hunger and want and loss but also love “heartbeats” Bird-warble” Love-call”
Thank you so much–your interpretation is just beautiful. I guess it’s my left-brain thinking; I’m one of those people who tries to decipher the poem. I actually got most of this one,but you helped make it complete. I, too, am missing my daughter–we’re counting the days until she’s home for Easter!!
Barbara,
You and I must go to a poetry reading together! When I read a poem it is almost as if I am reading a foreign language. I have to read the line/stanza slowly, process it, read the next line/stanza process etc. I’m a math person!!!!
I like Ann’s way think of it as a song..if you do that it doesnt matter what it says.
Thanks Ann!
“Somebody’s bad news”….too true. The joy of new life versus reality. Thank you for getting some poetry into my life! I haven’t tuned in for a while and this is just so beautiful. Thanks.
Love this poem. Thank you.
This poem, and the accompanying photograph, reminded me of Joni Mitchell’s 1971 album, Blue.
Alan-Funny you should mention that…yesterday morning I texted my far away daughter saying I would be remiss in my parenting duties if I did not insist that she download and listen to “Blue” immediately. She replied “Oh, the music from “The Kids Are Alright” movie? I was deflated.
“Blue, here is a shell for you
Inside you’ll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me.”
Sigh. My family hates Joni Mitchell so I must listen to her alone in my car. Maybe it’s not Joni but my singing along that bothers them. I don’t have quite her range.
I’m laughing at your comment about your family hating Joni Mitchell. My husband heard her singing somewhere recently, maybe it was PBS, he made a rather disparaging comment about her voice, I was offended because I think she has a beautiful voice.
People love her or hate her. There seems to be no in between for poor Joni
Oh Joni, Joni, wherefore art thou Joni? She’s the best. Sing your head off Madame Leary…
My favorite from this is “A Case of You”:
I remember that time you told me you said
“Love is touching souls”
Surely you touched mine
‘Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you’re in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
That is a beautiful poem. Wonderfully written.
Ann, lovely poem, I have a daughter with a birthday in a week or so, this really has meaning for me.
Oh, and I just listened to Hash Hags, how I enjoyed this one!
Writing, baking and running(though I’m not a runner I admire those who do). I went to Gesine’s blog, my mouth was watering immediately, wow, those pics!
I am a baker, today I’m doing bread and oatmeal raisin choc chip cookies and maybe a baked custard, just everyday fare, nothing like your guest’s master baking.
Annie, Would you like some company this afternoon? I could bring the tea and milk.
I’ll be looking for you Colleen, the cookies just came out of the oven! Yum, as I munch, nothing like warm cookies, huh? I had to test them to make sure they are good enough to serve.
: )
Cookies just out of the oven?! I’m on my way!!
Annie, I think I can get there in an hour. My mouth is watering at the thought of an oatmeal raisin cookie sandwiched between two slices of fresh-baked bread, dipped in baked custard. Oh, if you could see me now, typing this post, salivating like a Saint Bernard in a butcher shop. Lord have mercy!
Thanks Annie. Yes, we have a new Hash Hags up and I really hope you all have time to listen to our discussion with Gesine Bullock-Prado. She left her job as a Hollywood executive – yes, she’s Sandra’s sister and moved to Vermont to open a bakery. Why Vermont? She has what she calls, “a sweet spot for beauty.” What an inspiration she is. She discusses baking as an act of giving, of finding balance and focus, and how it, like all creative endeavors, teaches one that perfection is impossible, but we should still strive and always learn from our mistakes. She is a beautiful person inside and out, and you’ll know why after you listen to her.
You may listen to it here: http://podcasts.am1020whdd.com/~am1020wh/shows/play.php?id=12347
Ann, I must have missed that she is Sandra’s sister, or maybe she didn’t say. Yes, my favorite part of the discussion was where she was talking about finding balance, and once you become comfortable with baking, begin to adjust recipes to suit your own creativity by not following to the letter, which is what I do….not always successfully mind, but it is fun trying.
You can tell I was really excited about this show.
Ann, just listened to this podcast. Loved it, it was great, the time just flew by. I have admired Sandra B. greatly, and now admire her sister as well. I think I may buy one of her books. Thanks, and good luck with future shows.
I love when a poem holds an almost infinity of meanings, in that it morphs with each reader, fluid, reflective as mercury, its images & meanings rising to meet – a journey, a road, a window.
For me this poem calls to mind my almost child, my daughter, the flickering blue blur of her curved body on the ultrasound monitor, silver-blue snow falling around her, one hand outstretched as if to catch the fragile twinkle of the slippery star flakes, her other hand at her face, pale blue lips suckling her tiny thumb, darker sapphire chord wrapping like a Christmas scarf around her wrist & neck.
How many times have I dreamed – asleep or awake – of her birth, her life? Red hair, freckles & Texas bluebell-colored eyes, dressed in jeans, t-shirt & tennis shoes, holding a cartoon superhero lunchbox on her way to school.
Beautiful,Denise, sorry she was not to be.
Oh Denise. I have tears. So sorry. What you just wrote is very beautiful.
Denise, so so sorry for your loss. Your daughter is a little angel up in heaven who might be reading this blog right now.
Gloria
Denise, Beautiful but very sad. I am so sorry.
Oh Denise, so very sorry. That is so unbearably sad.
Oh Denise. So very sorry.
How can one feel beautiful and unbearable with such a few short words??
Thanks, everyone, for your kind responses. After I pressed the Submit button I was wondering if I should have. To borrow your word, Ann, that you used after posting the link to your drinking interview – I felt raw. Which I guess is just another way of saying tender & exposed. That poem unzipped me, my heart & memories & mourning – a ripcord pulled, naked emotion rushing like yards of colorful silk parachute being released from the too-tight squeeze of a pack.
I’m grateful this is such a safe & compassionate “place.” This community (thank you Thank You, Ann, for creating it!), where I come to learn & laugh & share – this give & take – and all of you participating, mean a great deal to me. Surely this Wicked Good Leary Blog ‘Hood is the epitome of what’s right & good & grace-filled about the Internet & Social Media, don’t y’all think?
I do
I’m with you on that, Denise!
Oh yes, Denise, I couldn’t agree more. So sorry about your heartbreak.
I’m wholeheartedly with you on that too, Denise. Beautifully put.