Post on 22-Jan-2023
Polished With Pumice
A CREATIVE PROJECT SUBMITTED TO THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
AT NOTRE DAME de NAMUR UNIVERSITY
IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS
FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS IN ENGLISH
By
Nethanael L. Payne IV
Fall, 2013
I certify that I have read this thesis and that in my opinion it
is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a thesis for the
degree of Master of Arts in English.
___________________________________
Kerry Dolan, M.F.A.Lecturer of English LiteratureCreative Writing Project Director
I certify that I have read this thesis [creative writing project]
and that in my opinion it is fully adequate, in scope and
quality, as a thesis for the degree of Master of Arts in English.
_____________________________________
Jacqueline L. Berger, M.F.A.Master of Arts in English Literature Program
DirectorCreative Writing Project Director
Approved for submission to the School of Arts and Humanities at
Notre Dame de Namur University.
_____________________________________ii
Acknowledgments
I would like to acknowledge Gaius Valerius Catullus as the primary inspiration for this project.
v
Reflections
The poetry of Gaius Valerius Catullus has had varied lives.
In Rome, Catullus and his generation, the “new poets,” played an
essential role in the development of Augustan poetry. They helped
to create the possibility that one might be a poet by profession.
They brought to Rome the learned and self-conscious style of
Hellenistic poetry, and they helped to create and explore those
interests in erotic pathology that issued in the Roman love
elegy. Later, during the empire, Catullus became the model for
Martial’s epigrams, poems that were witty, often vulgar and
satiric observations of life in Rome. Invariably Catullus’s
corpus fractures along divides between contradictory alternatives
or tendencies: learning and passion; seriousness and frivolity;
conservative values and revolutionary attitudes; ethical “piety”
and vulgar obscenity; accounting and kissing; the great themes of
Rome—love and betrayal, war and death; and lesser preoccupations
as well.
The thought behind writing a book of poetry inspired by the
classical writer known mostly as Catullus has been an ambition of
vi
mine since I was first introduced to the works of Gaius Valerius
Catullus as an AP Latin student in high school. I found his work
refreshing, bringing life to people, events, thoughts and ideas
that had not breathed in thousands of years. The intensely human
and innately personal arc of his poetry, which totals just over
100 poems in all, explains his short 30 odd years of life during
the golden age of Roman art and literature under Caesar Augustus
in ways that resonate with the human condition of the modern
world. It was in reading his work I developed a love of
literature, poetry, history and language that continues to
inspire me in the way I view the aim of a poet and in the way I
write my own poetry. My work is introspective, speculative, and
expressive of the human condition from a singular point of view.
It is not reflective of the world as we know it, rather as we, or
rather one, me, experiences it in the subjective, phenomenal
universe.
vii
Table of Contents
Polished With Pumice 2
A Destination of Fabrication 3
A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Optometrist
4
Doppler Effect 5
Sisyphus Revisited 6
[Thank Virgil For This One] 7
Dedalus 8
The Path of Contemplation 9
Garden Sounds 10
Ambrosia 11
Lucky & Unhappy 12
Past Presently 13
Don’t Look Back 14
Musings 15
Calendrics 16
[For Catullus] 17
From Tübingen with Love 18
Flowers of the Midnight Sun 19
Words 20
Ankh 21
Instant Gratification 22
viii
Flatland: A poem of Many Dimensions 23
Compost: Food for Gods 24
The Beauty of the Moment 25
Wont Away 26
Platform 27
Wind 28
The Unending 29
For Catullus’ Calvus [A Repose] 30
Pomegranate Tree 31
The Voice of Water 32
April 33
Insomnia 34
Count your Losses Dear Catullus 35
No Longer your Lesbia nor my Lydia dear Catullus
36
Leaves Will Fall 37
Days Like These 38
Not for Want 39
Remains of the Day 40
The Veil of Isis 41
I Wear you Like a Scar 42
Forget December 43
Highway 44
Death is the Space between breaths 45
Bibliography 46
ix
Payne 2
Polished With Pumice
To whom shall I dedicatethis masterworkall fresh and polished with pumice?To the leader of the seven muses--the face of the visible sun?Perhaps his virginal twin--the goddess who rules the moon insteador Egyptian Amon, the hidden one?Nay, nay dear reader--this work is for you,making magic of written wordscoming back to life before your curious eyes--with the return of air and breath
Payne 3
A Destination of Fabrication
If I saw tomorrowas the doing of today
and there-from no laughter came--scattered through the ends--
nor in unopened eyesno joy
what future versionof history
ought we be making nowomitting that
wretched sound of fury--piercing on the
breeze--To the compliment of harmony
shining surely brighteraway from what may or might--Thee impartial eyes of fate--
to will be--Any destination of our fabrication
Payne 4
A funny thing happened on the way to the optometrist
Sometimes I think the reason I am near-sightedis life's sense of humor reminding me to stopand see what's right in front of my eyes-and not just a field away.
Payne 5
Doppler Effect
The sound of your voice came back to memaking realwhat once was never quite forgotten recollectionin your silence--quietudethe death of Nature over & donerushing back over once frozen, amorphous rockas streams disrupt winter to the lastunforgotten still
Payne 6
Sisyphus Revisited
Memory spans but an eternitybetter nowthan when I knewI had to walk--no looking back--rather than as Sisyphus in desire,spending all my dayswatching the seed cum flower,or waters of lifemy thirst or hunger eludebetter to starve without the image of that forbidden fruitthan spend it vainly, artlessly piningbetter to endure the silence of the forest,the solace of the desertthan starve amidst abundance--instead of watching one’s wont drift effortlessly away
Payne 7
[Thank Virgil for this one]
Massive dark locks and eyesa reminder of my favourite olive grovethat fierce and timeless visageA portal into the depths of the motion that moves itself
Payne 8
Dedalus
Hot, dry, windless summer evenings dwindle fast awaythe shortening of another dayfilled again with, in or lost amongst wonder in wandering thoughtsleading nowhere Theseus himself would dare followfor wont of gain in each furthered stepanother uncomfortable breathchoking on heated airthe yarn of the maze yet to reveal or unwinda partial breezethe tease of potential comfortas the sun slow and silently melts into the sea
Payne 9
The Path of Contemplation
Taking that narrower nettled overgrown pathI wandered among the brooks’ small rocks through understory treesbattling shrubs for a position from which to enjoythe peace of water moving along artlessly slow in simplicitythose fainter sounds of harmony‘till there was a call to continue onsilence and solitude lost, my head returnedand became once more of this unfortunate world.
Payne 10
Garden Sounds
Birds, sirens, the crumbling, concrete jungle around dilapidatingcramped skylines competing with suffocating modernitystifling the spiritwhat of that exists herecome what mayrain or shinethe poppy’s petals open throughout the dayindifferentliving in an unnaturally foreign worldlayered in amongst gaudy human artificethe remnants of another waythe metronome of a far-flung, forgotten measure of being in
time
Payne 11
Ambrosia
The words and actions of the agemust mirror our intentno hiding or escaping shadowsleft lingering behindin pursuit of such sweet nectaras Ambrosia's refined fruitor the simple placidity of life-giving water
Payne 12
Lucky & Unhappy
Lucky and unhappy I felt in that placewatching the weighted fog slowly wafting above the horizoninhaling the onrushing flavor of coastal vapourssenses clouded as the landscapethat which once was now fast awaythe difference of a dayfickle warmth or hope of Franciscan sun emergesnot dissipating such an antimonious parsimonious spell.
Payne 13
Past Presently
So many of our thoughts are wastedgiving energy and concern to things departedleaves from the ancient tree of memorydead, though not yet plucked or fallenstill drawing water to feed barren, salted, soilpining away living the past presentlytying would-be cycles of wind, sun or raininto knots
Payne 14
Don’t Look Back
Tomorrow isn't yesterdayFor want of imaginationLimiting the future toWhat's been before-forgetting to rememberTo forget and forgo it allThis time always theFirst time-The past--written on theWind or running water-No moreCastles made of sandBetter to build somethingDifferent, intuit a newway-Walking with life hand inhandCreating the only dayThat ever matters-Today.
Payne 15
Musings
For Childrenthere is no conflictbetween who and what they areor want to bethat is what is meant by free
Payne 16
Calendrics
Despite that modern wonder of calendricsno two Mondays play out the samesome mornings, vital, one wakes eagerrecognizing the promise of what is or may be& yet on other mornings-glumly risen one is in need of solace as winds ahead impedestill other days fail to shine after the evening’s spell is broken open--procrastinating-- demanding undertakings be delayed.
Payne 17
[For Catullus]
Ere I standA lover at the vaulted doorOn the side the indolent mass of dark hair and eyesA law unto herself,Dare I besiege the door?No, I shall feign indifference Nay, nay, I cannotI am called, erstwhile pulledGather the hatchet, this vault must be openedTherein lie the voice of sirensAnd the flame of eternal youth
Payne 18
From Tübingen with Love
I spent hours watching leaves detach themselves from treesDoing exactly what their namesake of a season tellsI felt the warmth of the sun and was at home among the treesThey shaded meThe presence of such life that is always actualImmalleable to the wills of societies or the desiresOf we insignificant things who believe in our own importanceI am at peace when I belong to nothingWhen I am unrecognized as an entity trapped in fleshAlone, in the world without words, there is another language, You can hear it on the wind, feel it in the breezeAs it speaks to me or you with rustling ancient voicesWelcoming us into the places they would call their homesThe places we interlopers dare to goTrespassing into the realm of ancient eyes and lifeListen to their cries carried by the skiesLet them tell you of their hopesWatch their leaves wither as these silent philosophers ruminateThe meaning of a world we can only imagineAsk for their knowledge, their understandingAnd receive their warmth and love as you harvest them to buildYour homes--boats--play pens--to hold the life you dare to valueAnd remember, all that lives diesAnd all that dies should learn how to do so gracefully as they
Payne 19
Flowers of the Midnight Sun
recently having planted,I watched the first February flowersof the midnight sun--impatientknowing they strove, reaching, to fulfilland fruitwhatever potential was yearning from within-was it merely hunger-an expectation!ravenously propelling me to look to eat-or reach for drinkthinking these seedlings a falsetto promiseof the Spring
Payne 21
Ankh
In life you may never love the same way twiceroads travelled beforeopening the closing of other doorsmortal vision keen to see meaning in the dissipating lines of timemaking concrete details of things that never wereblurring the focus and purpose of seeingsplit between past, present or futureemanating from the seat of wisdom and the pointof animation within.
Payne 22
Instant Gratification
Walking the hall I sawone of the most beautiful creaturesthat has ever been--appearing like destiny manifestlyan image--A flapper from the past-from some other incarnation--walking towards me in meta-memoryseeing for the first time,again,herlike that speakeasyin 1920 whenever beforea year, place, time--once before, now and againbeginning, renewal, completionperfection
Payne 23
Flatland: A poem of many dimensions
A thought along the planes of dimensionsIs that the sun I see risingThe water I tasteThe sand between my toesAm I touching these things we endearOr merely repelled likeanti-particle pairsI can see my breathmy spiritmy esseAs I am loathe to exhaleThere goes another lonely expirationLike deathto that lonely mothcreeping along the windowsillAre these the sounds that hit meAudi!The sound of that wailing violinis that the sound of my loveor merely the disappointmentin my heart.
Payne 24
Compost: Food for Gods
A leaf sits nonchalant to the endAbyss follows suit like cigarettes’Smoke to windfoot under dirtsootAnd there it dies,becomes no more,foodFor worms and birds and Gods and it decays,Compost
Payne 25
The Beauty of the Moment
The Beauty of the Momentis never lost--written on wind and running wateronly to come again in dreamVenus blooming or Nature re-greeningwhispering tastes, smells,words--such need was wont to hearas imagination or conceptioncontented as of now not yet to bemissplaced, displacedfinally re-invokedthat the world may yet again have magicseize it by the hand and turn it from air and vapourinto clay
Payne 26
Wont-away
When you left it was thoughthe sun was wont-awayand since it is winter nowchildren line single fileand trees in this hemisphere wilt yellowfor now these skies mean to stayand under wandering constellations I wonderlingering in dwindling lightif there will be another sunny day
Payne 27
Platform
Once met a blind couple waiting for a train--proving even love must see with some other eye
Payne 28
Wind
I wanted to hear the wind todaybut it would not goI touched the rain insteadtumbling down in turnsmuting the taste of colourquietudecautious with every gazefriend or fiend?pomegranate, apples& olivesmy repose
Payne 29
The Unending
Quiet this talk of tomorrows--nonsense
for there never are daysnor are there times
ideas incrementally proposed-a wonder of calendricsfurthering the roads-from nothing made--
distancing us all from theonly instant of which we ever
have control:Now, right now!
Thee eternal instantThe moment begun and yet unended
an unlimited pointexisting as the now of experience
such is the transienceslipping through fingers
weightier than all of the countlessgrains of Kronos.
Payne 30
For Catullus’ Calvus [a repose]
Calvus, listen here and share a laugh with meas I so laughed todayupon your inquiry into the natureof my workwondering whether there wasvariation on a theme-to which I replied-not at all-for it is like the wind!I laughed Calvus, I laughed.
Payne 31
Pomegranate Tree
I would steal youif the wont of stealing loomeda pomegranate from the bowsof a neglected branch of a thriving entitywho am I but an observer of this treetending gently to its blooming flowers and limbswho am I but one who recognizesthe depth and veilbeauty hidden 'neath the frail foibles of allhumanity-who am I but one who knowsthe value and worth of every fruitor the sun's tender kisses probing with every wave of light
Payne 32
The Voice of Water
Oceans move of willsending variegated rough or shallow surfthe greeting tides of time acceptingall comers and passers-bysome stay an hourmany more the dayhearing without listeningobserving without visionthe willonly those born the first time or againclaimed by the force of motion stand--not staydeigning the goddess of the deepproffer up her secrets hinted in her movementarcane meanings unavailable on the breeze--vague and ill-definedbut ever swimming in the deep
Payne 33
April
A sober morning breeze is greetsafter only a few days' sunweather as fickle as the fortunesof this cityslowly emptying itself of breathshall we even call this Spring or Aprilas all seemingly slow closes downinstead of opening upA Winter that would be Spring-and thus returns the winda piercing kiss colder than the day before
Payne 34
Insomnia
Nightfall fell, yet still loomslarger on the horizon than harvest moonplacid, cloudless, blue-violetstarless, uninterrupted darknessa mind antithetical to feigned empty skieseverytime I close my eyesyour apparition appearspreferring instead to remain awakeinsomnia is a better placedeathknell to dreamsand a return to the fleeting wisp of waking life
Payne 35
Count your losses dear Catullus
Count your losses,if you can stand to see the fingers of more than one or two handsfrom what wont of Fortuna’s blessing is this due?break oft, break newthe promise of joy escaping a chipped and broken vessel thrupermeable fingerscast no shadow on sea, on sand or dirt trodden pathsdragging behind you the fisher of misfortuneensnaring all who would be caught and so helplessly keptlet out no airyour ill-wind hooking into some others’ lungsperpetuating your conditionbait amongst the unsuspectingno--fall where you are
Payne 36
No longer your Lesbia nor my Lydia dear Catullus
Gather round friends and relations at the tellingof this risible turn of fortunea shock of common decency for certsto say the least--So now the bitch, the whore-The not yours anymoredares to wear a ring.-A signal of commitment!oh had she the notion of the word-what its acts entailshe would laugh aloud at the ironyshe now being so sure of herself to display such a thing;blasphemy.
Payne 37
Leaves Will FallLike leaveswe humans eventually-- fall from Yggdrasilllife fading in color andardor our summersye springs all too shortfor anything less than joylest we spend the winters away hiding from the seasons of illuminationin remorse
Payne 38
Days Like These
The falling leaveskept me companyas I strode along in the rainthat familiar feeling of déjà vuringing in my earsthe taste clinging to my browovercast skieswashing away the worldas it had been beforesomething newwas wont to bloomas autumn finally bid summerAdieu!
Payne 39
Not for Want
Every expectation I had today was not metwhether or not it was the weatherI suppose I once awaitedbittersweet though in its turnhow much was I creating,ignoring all the signs,a pugulist through all peaks and turnsrather than a student.
Payne 40
Remains of the Day
Cold coffee at midnight is all that remains of the daynot even the heat of the sun at noon lingersin thy consequent tender darknessonly the beating of a whispering heart--the mercurial permutations of the over-agile mindbreaking silence into beats of inaudible musicJanus-headed--looking forward whilst gazing back behindanother swirl of the cupthe final sip
Payne 41
The Veil of Isis
Are we not all singing songs of ourselvessemi-congruent harmoniesin search of meaning whichis always looking to be revealed-walking wherever this current sun is shiningSomewhere under and among the valley of the consignedNature loves to hidebehind every tree, leaf or blade of grasssmiling behind her veilIsis wondering who amongst us searchesas many content to view only the covering of the mirrorleave reflection-- Narcissus!far behind'till only Echo remains pining
Payne 42
I wear you Like a Scar
I wear you like a scarbecause that's all you've wanted to beA simple memorythat had nothing but vapouras corpus, eyes or mouthAnd I let you be the illusion you wanteduntil the light was shown to vanish youand the focus then became clear it was always magicalunrealAnd what was said in confidence never written, neither on air nor running waterand without that trace you wentlike you've done beforeso the measure of how far we've comeor ever were at allalso and alas become mere figments of a fracturedexperience I hesitate to call an actualityFor what I shared with you was not breath nor hope nor joybut the indulgence of the whim of a childwho could only ape the compliments of the decidedthe agedthose secure in their judgments and desireswho no longer chase shadowsas their flight of fancybut rather effect change on the only game worth playingthe one with all the stakeswhereby joy and pain are eternally intermittentand to be contentis the word and aim of the age.
Payne 43
Forget December
It was raining hard that dayI asked the dark-haired girl I loved-longer than any other- to marry meignorant that she already had someone elseand his abortion-her green eyes once my desire-pouting lips an only solaceI was always loved if ever so far-though she pushed me- awayand therewith all she was loathe to losewe never worked she saidas she never intended us tobreaking more hearts than just our twosaying she's in love again-and is wont to wed her happinessthus even if she isn't askingwhat shall I sayhaving burnt fresh bridges just to be there thenremembering to try and forget Decemberand the sound of the forlorn fall-Timshel- thou mayestone of us should.
Payne 44
Highway
What left is therewhen once vibrant strands of lifemute pitifullyacquiescing to the onset of the Lord of Sorrowwas that hope I saw leavingjoy’s last look by the windowsillas she wandered awaydead in all but name--then gonene’er to be satedthe vision only flattering to deceiveand the trees shook--the voice of the wind enveloping me againas it did after the musician’s one-woman showdark evening in front of the Swedish-American hall giving away American Spiritsto the homeless couplewas that you in the breeze as I begged you not to go
Payne 45
Death is the Space between breaths
There is no death--Death is the space between breathsevery expiration of oneas surely as Aleph is both inhalation and lifean inseparable act--bound together--the original motion--the original sound--a beating heart