For Ariel
I have the throne. My queen, her
Father's vast demesnes her dowry,
Reigning next to me. The courtiers
And claimants and aggrieved and
Peddlers filter in, bowing, stumbling
Led by gilded flunkies, they're afraid
Of me, and I suppose that's wise of
Them, as I am God's appointed regent.
Go, ask any priest. Each wants
Something. Oh, don't we all?, and,
In fact, I've been finding it impossible to
Hear their tales. My mind's been on
My own misfortune. Cinderella's gone
For good. I'd hoped that she would
Stay.
Not much more than a year ago,
The queen and I (well, someone
From the palace) read a proclamation.
We would host a New Year's ball
In here, and everyone could come,
Nobles, clerics, tradesmen, peasants,
Anyone who had the wherewithal
To don the proper clothes. You
Should have seen the crowd that came,
A rabble of unsightly clods, but, like
A diamond gleaming in the midst
Of heaps of lesser stones, one
Stunning woman brightly shone,
And I felt myself drawn to her.
I asked her what her name was,
And if she would let me dance
With her. She meekly uttered,
“Cinderella,” smiled and replied
She would, and, as I held her on
The floor, and led her from it to
A drink, and chatted with her about
Nothing, I felt myself falling for
Her. She, in turn, seemed
Pleased with me. Some people
Stared. I didn't care. The
Queen was seated far away.
My hands would not release
This woman until midnight,
When a brace of servants climbed
The stairs to shout the ball was
Done. She looked at me, I thought,
With sorrow. I asked if I'd ever
Have a chance to meet with her
Again. "Perhaps," she said, then
Sank into the crowd and disappeared.
I could not free my mind from
Her. A week went past, and
I was filled with grief. Was she
Forever gone? One day, as I was
Being dressed, I asked Bertram,
My most trusted servant, to go
Look for her. “Where might she
Be?,” he asked. I hung my head
And told him, “I don't know.
She's just a common woman,
Someone's daughter, maybe
Someone's wife. She's not a
Noble.” “That may help,”
He laughed. He's not afraid
Of me, but he is faithful, and
He left. The days would pass,
And, every morning, as he
Dressed me, pointlessly, I had
To ask, “Have you discovered
Where she is?” “I'd tell you,
Sire, if I had, but, so far, I have
Not.”
At last, one dreary afternoon,
As I squirmed on my throne
Beside the queen and her
Best friend, a baroness, the
Two of them absorbed by
Palace gossip, Bertram came
To me. He whispered, “I know
Where she is.” I thanked him,
Then began to wonder how
The two of us (he had to lead
Me, and, the truth be known,
I'd be afraid to go alone) could
Slip out of the palace and
Proceed to her unseen. Every
Morning, we would plan.
“Perhaps you could decide
That we should go off fishing
On our own,” he said one day.
“A great idea! We'll dress in shabby
Servant's clothes.” “Then, not
In mine,” he sniffed, “but I'm
Sure I can find some that will do.”
We climbed on horses just past
Dawn and clip-clopped down
The cobbled streets until we
Reached a line of little buildings
Standing side by side. Each
Contained a shop beneath, a home,
Or two, above. Bertram stopped
At one of them, got down and
Helped me from my horse.
“Your Cinderella lives up there,”
He said, and pointed. Then
He knocked. We heard the
Sound of feet on stairs. The
Door creaked open. At it was
A worn old woman. “Yes?,”
She asked, and Bertram spoke.
“This man has come to visit
Cinderella.” “So?” “He is
The king.” A look of panic
Crossed her face. “I'm sorry,
Sir! I didn't know.” I said,
“No harm will come to you.
May we see Cinderella now?”
She led us up the stairs into
A clean, but wretched, dim-lit
Room. “Sit, sir, and I will go
To get her.” Bertram and I
Settled onto wobbly wooden
Chairs.
That woman, even in a peasant's
Dress, proved just so beautiful
As she'd been in that gown.
I nearly gasped. I stood. “Do
You remember me?,” I asked.
She frowned. “Yes, sir, you are
The King.” “I'm here to see you.
Since the ball, I cannot drive
You from my mind.” “Well,
Now you've come. That's nice
Of you, but what do you
Propose to do? To make a
Mistress out of me, to dress
Me in the finest clothes, and
Hide me somewhere, reputation
Ruined, mostly on my own?
Would you divorce the queen
For me?” “I can't.” “I know,
So what should I, what should
You, do? I have a life. You
May not think it's much, but
It is like a bed. It's close and
Warm. I have my mother,
And my sisters. I have friends,
And things to make and sell.
I would not leave it if I could,
And you can never be in it.
You have your king's life,
Queen and palace. There's
No place in yours for me.
I had the nicest time with you.
I'm flattered that you've come to
See me, but Your Grace, you
Have to know we've unconnected
Lives.”
Bertram and I rode back to the
Palace. Neither of us spoke.
We both knew that she'd been
Right, and that she'd dealt my
Heart a blow. Some months
Would pass before it healed,
And my life lapsed again into
A dull familiarity.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 70 times
Written on 2016-02-03 at 23:59
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Cinderella
Yes, life falls back to dull familiarity.I have the throne. My queen, her
Father's vast demesnes her dowry,
Reigning next to me. The courtiers
And claimants and aggrieved and
Peddlers filter in, bowing, stumbling
Led by gilded flunkies, they're afraid
Of me, and I suppose that's wise of
Them, as I am God's appointed regent.
Go, ask any priest. Each wants
Something. Oh, don't we all?, and,
In fact, I've been finding it impossible to
Hear their tales. My mind's been on
My own misfortune. Cinderella's gone
For good. I'd hoped that she would
Stay.
Not much more than a year ago,
The queen and I (well, someone
From the palace) read a proclamation.
We would host a New Year's ball
In here, and everyone could come,
Nobles, clerics, tradesmen, peasants,
Anyone who had the wherewithal
To don the proper clothes. You
Should have seen the crowd that came,
A rabble of unsightly clods, but, like
A diamond gleaming in the midst
Of heaps of lesser stones, one
Stunning woman brightly shone,
And I felt myself drawn to her.
I asked her what her name was,
And if she would let me dance
With her. She meekly uttered,
“Cinderella,” smiled and replied
She would, and, as I held her on
The floor, and led her from it to
A drink, and chatted with her about
Nothing, I felt myself falling for
Her. She, in turn, seemed
Pleased with me. Some people
Stared. I didn't care. The
Queen was seated far away.
My hands would not release
This woman until midnight,
When a brace of servants climbed
The stairs to shout the ball was
Done. She looked at me, I thought,
With sorrow. I asked if I'd ever
Have a chance to meet with her
Again. "Perhaps," she said, then
Sank into the crowd and disappeared.
I could not free my mind from
Her. A week went past, and
I was filled with grief. Was she
Forever gone? One day, as I was
Being dressed, I asked Bertram,
My most trusted servant, to go
Look for her. “Where might she
Be?,” he asked. I hung my head
And told him, “I don't know.
She's just a common woman,
Someone's daughter, maybe
Someone's wife. She's not a
Noble.” “That may help,”
He laughed. He's not afraid
Of me, but he is faithful, and
He left. The days would pass,
And, every morning, as he
Dressed me, pointlessly, I had
To ask, “Have you discovered
Where she is?” “I'd tell you,
Sire, if I had, but, so far, I have
Not.”
At last, one dreary afternoon,
As I squirmed on my throne
Beside the queen and her
Best friend, a baroness, the
Two of them absorbed by
Palace gossip, Bertram came
To me. He whispered, “I know
Where she is.” I thanked him,
Then began to wonder how
The two of us (he had to lead
Me, and, the truth be known,
I'd be afraid to go alone) could
Slip out of the palace and
Proceed to her unseen. Every
Morning, we would plan.
“Perhaps you could decide
That we should go off fishing
On our own,” he said one day.
“A great idea! We'll dress in shabby
Servant's clothes.” “Then, not
In mine,” he sniffed, “but I'm
Sure I can find some that will do.”
We climbed on horses just past
Dawn and clip-clopped down
The cobbled streets until we
Reached a line of little buildings
Standing side by side. Each
Contained a shop beneath, a home,
Or two, above. Bertram stopped
At one of them, got down and
Helped me from my horse.
“Your Cinderella lives up there,”
He said, and pointed. Then
He knocked. We heard the
Sound of feet on stairs. The
Door creaked open. At it was
A worn old woman. “Yes?,”
She asked, and Bertram spoke.
“This man has come to visit
Cinderella.” “So?” “He is
The king.” A look of panic
Crossed her face. “I'm sorry,
Sir! I didn't know.” I said,
“No harm will come to you.
May we see Cinderella now?”
She led us up the stairs into
A clean, but wretched, dim-lit
Room. “Sit, sir, and I will go
To get her.” Bertram and I
Settled onto wobbly wooden
Chairs.
That woman, even in a peasant's
Dress, proved just so beautiful
As she'd been in that gown.
I nearly gasped. I stood. “Do
You remember me?,” I asked.
She frowned. “Yes, sir, you are
The King.” “I'm here to see you.
Since the ball, I cannot drive
You from my mind.” “Well,
Now you've come. That's nice
Of you, but what do you
Propose to do? To make a
Mistress out of me, to dress
Me in the finest clothes, and
Hide me somewhere, reputation
Ruined, mostly on my own?
Would you divorce the queen
For me?” “I can't.” “I know,
So what should I, what should
You, do? I have a life. You
May not think it's much, but
It is like a bed. It's close and
Warm. I have my mother,
And my sisters. I have friends,
And things to make and sell.
I would not leave it if I could,
And you can never be in it.
You have your king's life,
Queen and palace. There's
No place in yours for me.
I had the nicest time with you.
I'm flattered that you've come to
See me, but Your Grace, you
Have to know we've unconnected
Lives.”
Bertram and I rode back to the
Palace. Neither of us spoke.
We both knew that she'd been
Right, and that she'd dealt my
Heart a blow. Some months
Would pass before it healed,
And my life lapsed again into
A dull familiarity.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 70 times
Written on 2016-02-03 at 23:59
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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