The Cruellest Month ( . . . with apologies to T.S. Elliot) - April 10 2021

 

The Cruellest Month (   . . . with apologies to T.S. Elliot)

April 10 2021

 

The cruelty of April

is not in its harshness or extremes,

like a January blizzard

or heatwave in July.

 

Rather, it's that wishy-washy man

who drives you to distraction

with his dithering indecision

and timid back and forth.

An indeterminate season,

teeter-tottering between

an insipid middling winter

and a welcome hint of heat.

 

For weeks, it seems

it's been dull and cool and damp,

the grass barely greening

the flower beds inert.

 

So we are tired of waiting

and getting impatient for change.

Wondering

is this a kind of limbo

and we unbaptized sinners

at the barred gates of hell?

Or is it our purgatory,

unwillingly held

in the vestibule of heaven

to expiate our sins?

 

And what about people like me

the unrepentant non-believers,

no faith to sustain us

no hope of an afterlife?

 

For whom heaven on earth is enough.

                                                                                         

The pleasure of hot sun and verdant grass

and flowers poking up,

long days

and cloudless skies

and skinny dips at night.

 

Of tanned girls

in summer dresses

flirting with their eyes,

manly men

who should know better

and sins of the flesh.

 

But it is April

and we are dead inside.

Spring may have sprung,

but the weather gods are vengeful

and we despair the dearth of sun.

 

 

This is the note that accompanied this poem when I sent the first draft to one of my first readers. I thought it would nicely take the place of the usual commentary.

 

I'm not doing the poem-a-day thing; but since I do write pretty much every day, I thought I might as well share today's effort.  What I've got so far, because I'm leaving it now. 

I told you before that my fall-back subject -- when, in my uneventful and inconsequential life nothing worthy of poetry comes up, which is usually! -- is something to do with the season or the weather. Today, I managed both!

For an atheist it would surprise you how often there is a religious metaphor running through my work. This one is no exception. 

I meant this to be a nice light poem, and I hope the humour comes through. Not laugh out loud humour; more the smile inside kind. 

I apologize for using the word "dearth". I really really dislike using "poetical" words like that (by which I mean formal sounding archaic words; words you would NEVER use in spoken English); but it just fit so well here. Unfortunately, it's in the last line, so stands out more than it would if it were lost somewhere in the middle. 

You and I have talked about word play, and there is some of that here. 

My favourite part is the 2nd last stanza. 

This poem came to me when I glanced out the window and noticed -- to my surprise, considering the lousy weather and lack of sun -- that the grass has turned slightly green. It brought to mind the resilience and toughness of nature; the thirst for life in spring. And the observation did make it in. But now, come to think of it, the indomitability of life would have made a really good poem, maybe a better one! That you can't suppress life, it can't be contained.  (Maybe another day!)