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

© 2013

by

Nethanael L. Payne IV

i

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

John Lemmon, Ph.D.Dean, College of Arts and Sciences

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For Karl

iv

Acknowledgments

I would like to acknowledge Gaius Valerius Catullus as the primary inspiration for this project.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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Polished WithPumice

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 20

Words

Words are the artifacts left behindto describe the experience of experience--

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

Payne 46

Bibliography

Catullus, Gaius Valerius., and Peter Green. The Poems of Catullus: A

Bilingual Edition.

Berkeley, Calif. [u.a.: Univ. of California, 2005. Print.

Catullus, Gaius Valerius, and Peter Whigham. The Poems of Catullus

[Whigham].

London: Penguin, 1966. Print