78 Poetry for Students
musical mandates sometimes? Especially in a
“symphonic” poem?
Yes, rhythm and rhyme; in my case, internal
rhyme (there’s a term for you!) is always of ut-
most importance. In this poem, I had the symphony
playing in my head and that helped me to find a
rhythm for the poem. I tried to be symphonic in
my approach, another reason, possibly for the lack
of stanzas. In terms of those specific lines, they act
as a different kind of rest, as well as an introduc-
tion for what’s to come. Think of Beethoven’s, 5th
Symphony for example, the power in those first
notes: dum-dum-dum-DUM. The last note deeper
to give it even more power: He is dying. Then,
what follows, is this lovely high fast sweet
music—but it derives its power and texture from
those first strong, ponderous, grief-stricken, en-
raged notes which play in your mind as a back-
drop. I hear such suffering behind those sweet
desperate notes of his—life is always sweeter
when set against death. Or, as one great poet said,
“Death is the mother of beauty.”
Nasturtiums. Lots of poems with nasturtiums
in them. Is there something about nasturtiums?
I had a friend who used them so much I started
calling him “Nasturtium Boy.” He switched to
Daturas.
I had no idea there were so many poems with
nasturtiums in them. What are they? I consider
them to be my personal flower! I grew up in San
Diego where we had nasturtiums growing in front
yards all over town. I love them. They’re a tough
little pinwheel of a flower. And the circular shaped
leaves are so beautiful—little green umbrellas.
Lilies are the flower of death so I knew I needed
another kind of flower, something small and seem-
ingly insignificant, but that had this tenacious up-
ward movement about it. Not quite a vine, but
almost. Abundant. Colorful. Relentless.
Ending the poem on a dangling preposition.
I love it! ’Bout time we bury that grammatical
myth once and for all. And how stilted and
British it would be to say, “... a peace to which
we could rise.”
Yes, sometimes you have to break the rules to
get the sound right, to get the motion into the words.
There was a last line I deleted after that line. It was
“...a peace we could rise to, if we could rise.” I
realized I didn’t want the poem to be endstopped
like that, to conclude on a visually downward
motion—the image of someone on the floor in sor-
row, unable to rise—but the motion of rising, that
yearning we all have to find some explanation,some solace. And maybe, to end somewhere in the
realm of possibility, looking up to the universe with
a desperate hope.
I know from your booknotes that “abschied”
is German for “farewell,” but tell me about the
symphony itself.
Haydn had been commissioned to compose
music and play for a king in some northern
province. He was given a full orchestra and the
contract was for a month. The king kept asking
them to stay on longer which was a great honor,
and even if it wasn’t, I guess you don’t say no to
a king. Months passed. The orchestra members
were getting tired and cold as winter came on, and
were missing their families who they had left be-
hind. Haydn, unable to bear their suffering any
longer, decided to write a symphony to help them
leave without offending the king. In succession,
each member played their last solo and then left
the stage until only a lone violinist remained.
When he finished the piece he walked off the stage,
leaving it empty. The king then turned to Haydn
and said something to the effect of, “I get the mes-
sage,” promptly called them a carriage and they all
packed up and went home. Haydn called it his
Farewell Symphony. (Absolutely true story. I saw
it on PBS.)
Source:Dorianne Laux and Michael J. Vaughn, “An Inter-
view with Dorianne Laux,” in http://www.themonserratreview
.com/interviews/DL_interview.html, 2005, pp. 1–4.Roger Housden
In the following essay, Housden analyzes
Laux’s poem “For the Sake of Strangers,” finding
that Laux “is asking us to immerse ourselves in the
full experience of our humanity.”For the Sake of Strangers