For the next few days I will print the poems mentioned in John Daniels' intro to the original website.
To a Soldier Artist
Dream, artist,
fingers dappled in sun!
Spring whitely
from the scarlet earth,
the hurting earth,
the suffering earth,
earth broken for love of you,
earth dying.
Sing, blood on blue blood ringing,
where prismed rain awaits,
and dust of snow,
and starshine.
Spill your heart in moonlight.
Ravish the moon,
the lonely moon,
the loverless moon,
with your art.
Evelyn Coffey
(original in initial capitals;
original title To H.H. Soldier Artist
handwritten in pencil on the back of
Thunderstorm in February.)
The subject of this poem was a friend of Evelyn's, perhaps a man she loved in the way we love those who we eventually marry. She feared for his losing his kind, sensitive heart when he was forced into the horror of war. The mention of blood as that thing keeping us alive, spilling all around him. It was, she said, her plea to him to use his art to hold onto his identity, his goodness.
ReplyDeleteThe unbelievable depth of her heart made us wonder how she had never married, never joined into this union about which she wrote so passionately, erotically in the best sense. We asked her if she and this young man were courting. I am unsure from her response whether he came back from the war. she told us that she was afraid to marry, that the problem with her heart that required her to stop dancing would cause her to die (in the ecstasy of the marriage bed.)