This isn’t my story to tell,
but one I can conduce
about a boy who met a girl
and since then she has been his muse
so much she sits like a brand on his brain
that he felt the need to write
until the story was told and brought to light:
He was born in a land far away
where stars dimly shine
and Birth givers don’t lie awake.
Sent to live with elders fast
who farm under a torrid blue sky
amidst a blazing red sea of grass
meeting new animals and learning ways of the sly.
Pony-riding and snake-finding
Pumpkin-pieing and sledge-flying
This plain world offers him so much anew
including a girl who,
sweet as pie,
grows up too fast amidst a harsh world she did not chose.
She, too, was born in a land far away
where wealth was present
but promised times ten in a new land
finds herself in a descent.
The two foreigners intermingle and coalesce.
Friendship blooms like the Mormon sunflower road.
Here and there they reminisce
but look forward to what the future holds.
Sadly first, her first man dies.
Whether his life taken by choice, we can surmise
Daddy came to America for the prize,
But he was fed lies.
But with poverty looming over many heads
and harsh winter near
she had to grow up quickly
work the fields.
When tragedy strikes its easy to point the finger
say your neighbor was the cause
instead of interrogating your own labor.
You find the faults and build the bad.
Create an enemy from a comrade.
Petty lies made them mad—
Pulls arm hard and swings back.
Yet, like the seasons change and
growth abounds,
the two foreigners come together once again.
Their story still to expound.
The grace of forgiveness comes from an old and steady heart
Grandpa to the rescue, now everyone must do their part
The boy goes off to school and comes back often.
He and the girl remain friends, her working to soften
the blow of the American dream on her mother’s back –
A blow she feels for herself too.
Having to grow up fast in a world that promised her everything
Isn’t just her story to tell though,
It is almost all of ours.
Oh Ámerica! How seductive your dream sounds
Like a siren, calling people from all around
To come abound
In your pleasure
Yet, like a dream, you are not real
All you do is steal
From those who plant seeds in you
From those who cross seas to you
From those who bleed for you.
My goals for this poem were numerous. First, I wanted to create some sort of frame narrative/voice where the content of the poem is introduced similar to the introduction of My Ántonia. I then struggled a bit with trying to decide if there should be a stable rhyme scene but decided a sporadic one was better suited because it reminded me of the Nebraskan land scape Jim sees. In other words, I wanted to keep things shifting like the seasons as well as how events in the plot constantly change and keep us on our toes.
Additionally, I wrote the poem with the novel in mind as you can see from the plentiful, subtle references. But I also wanted to expand the poem from simple plot mentions to a larger theme I was noticing throughout the book. The Shimerdas were wealthy in their home but came to America for a better life. To an extent, so did Jim’s family. We also see from Peter and Pavel that leaving Russia was hard for them, but they chose America specifically for it’s potential. America is land of immigrants. They are promised freedom, hope, potential, ecenomic opportunity yet when they come, they are alienated and abused. We can see this from the beginning of America’s founding, to our modern perspective on immigration today. I wanted to capture that sentiment and include it in the poem through my own narrative, rather than Jim’s, but through his story.
Lovely poem! “Pony-riding and snake-finding / Pumpkin-pieing and sledge-flying”! You capture the energy and beauty of the land, the struggle of the immigrants, and the illusory promise that American offers.
It’s interesting that the central part of your poem is not in the first-person, so you still capture a sense of judgment that’s not always available through the narrator’s eyes in Cather’s narrative.
I also sense a very strong critique here that might make an interesting counterpoint to the narrator’s more naive and childish sensibility. I’m always struck by what I call the “goodness” of the book–its easy sense of sentiment, its apparently uncomplicated beauty. “The plain world offers so much anew,” as you write. But there are many things that potentially complicate that “goodness”–that trouble it, or make us look differently at it. I hope we can address some of these issues–so clear in your poem–in class.
I’d like to have a few words in front of the poem, rather than just by way of explanation. Perhaps you can offer a set-up up front (including how you felt this relates to your own story), and them more of a close-reading engagement with your own poem after the text itself?