Berenice Wakefield writes poetry to charm Edgar Allen Poe…
By Victor Schwartzman, poetry editor
Berenice Wakefield has not written a lot of poetry (yet) but what she has produced would charm Edgar Allen Poe, who is one of Wakefield’s literary heroes (one of her poems is included in a time capsule buried on the Poe estate). Indeed, her poems read exactly as if Poe himself had written them, provided Poe was a feminist woman in 2012. Poe’s women were all victims, generally the object of various male obsessions. Wakefield’s women take charge. For example, The Broken Bride, which manages eerie echoes of Poe, Dickens, Noam Chomsky, Quentin Tarantino and, most remarkably, Edward Gorey.
Warning: the following poem contains scythe violence and rhymes. Parental Guidance is suggested for this and other Wakefield poems. Also, this review could have been trenchant, even profound, if only Wakefield wrote shorter poems and left more space for someone else.
The Broken Bride
There was a girl whose family was large and rather wealthy
Their love of money altogether ghastly and unhealthy
There was a boy who had no one and lived out in the cold
He had no care for finery, porcelain or gold.
They met each other twice but quickly found it was enough
For them both to fall quite happily and desperately in love
But when her father saw his too small clothes and muddied feet
He went into a rage and threw him out into the street
Her father quickly told her love to leave her all alone
So she waited till the daylight died and ran away from home
When her parents found out that the couple planned to wed
Her father put a price upon her young Fiancé’s head.
They stayed in the next village where they found a little church
Somewhere they thought her father would never think to search
He walked to meet her on the day he would make her his wife
All the while knowing he might well pay with his life
He smiled when he saw her in her white wedding gown
When a man appeared behind him, collars up and hood pulled down
She heard a sudden bang as she stood at the church door
And his smile disappeared as he crumpled to the floor
Dragged back to the house she quickly learned of their foul deed
Their crime committed shamelessly for power wealth and greed
They said she could not marry someone with so little gold
And said he’d be alive if she had done as she was told.
She ran into the courtyard cursing all those heartless fools
And came across the place where they kept all the harvest tools
She heard tiny voices whisper deep inside her head
That told her she would feel much better if they were all dead
She went into that house with an old and battered scythe
And swung it round and round till there was no one left alive
Instead of feeling better like the voices had implied
It provided little solace for the broken, shattered bride.
Although the deed was done when she was grieving and possessed
She found her crimes prevented her from ever finding rest
Instead of living all their years happy and together
They wander different realms alone and kept apart forever.
Yes, on occasion the rhythms are unreliable and some qualify for criminal charges. It does not matter. Seeing her man killed off by her own family is not enough for this morality tale. Our girl grabs her scythe. While such murders might be celebrated by some, The Bride ends up punished forever, her lover in Heaven while The Bride ends in Hell! Yowza!
Wakefield also writes poems about children, although you would never want to meet any of the children she writes about. The Girl With Glass Eyes, a series of “children’s poems,” from Wyrdbooksltd, with illustration by Carolyn Storey is available at Amazon.com before the official launch near Halloween. Other poems in this review were included in the anthology The Spirit of Poe, just released and available from Angelic Knight Press and also at Amazon.com.
Poe wrote about “troubled” characters, but rarely went farther than using them to achieve an effect. Wakefield explores her characters. What is it like to know or believe that everyone thinks you are a fruitcake? To believe they will be relieved when you are finally gone? Wakefield is only 22, lives in the U.K., and has only just started writing. Her understanding of people, and her ability to get it on paper, however, can be remarkably mature.
Premature Death
She sat down in the soothing storm and pondered – if she were to die
Would those who loved her so gallantly even wonder why
Would they grieve the troubled mind that had so long been ill
And would they mourn the halted heart that should be beating still?
Would they pander to those gathered with a melancholy grace
Or would contemptible indifference shadow every face
Would her Mother be dragged screaming from her grandiose tombstone
Or would she gaze a while then leave her to rot all alone?
Would they set loose all her horrors and let the truth unfurl
Or lie and claim a chill had carried off their fragile girl
Her Father would smile that depraved man- if he were a man at all
He had raised his little girl always wanting her to fall
No doubt her heartfelt epitaph would read a daughter dearly missed
At this she smiled- a little laugh that shattered mind could not resist
They called her odd- unhealthy- damaged and oh so depressed
The girl her Father ruined and her mother grew to hate- detest
She wondered on the method – there we so many to chose
Alas she only had the one abhorrent life to lose
But in the end her life was not her own to take
It only took a little for that struggling heart to break
Is life a blessing or a curse? Is there any point in making sacrifices for yourself or others? The protagonist in the above poem could have written the poem below.
Heroes
She’ll die for her prince who’s in love with another
She’ll jump to be free of her wicked stepmother
She’ll die selling matchsticks in a winter so cold
She’ll fall because she never does as she’s told
She’ll be stabbed by a killer disguised as her lover
She’ll die for her troublesome, careless young brother
She’ll drown because long ago she went mad
She’ll whither because all alone she’s so sad
She’ll die so her lover can live a long life
She’ll find her prince poisoned and die by his knife
She’ll die for her cause just like all of them would
She’ll die because maybe- we think that she should
He’ll die for the girl who’s locked in the tower
He’ll die to protect her- his fragile spring flower
He’ll die slaying the dragon a strong handsome knight
He’ll die fighting for what he thinks is right
He’ll die for his princess and for his cause
He’ll die for his mother despite all her flaws
He’ll die for his kingdom while fighting a war
He’ll die when she doesn’t love him any more
He’ll fall when his dreams catch ablaze and crash down
He’ll die for a chance to put on the crown
He’ll die for his loved ones like a hero would
He’ll die simply because a good hero should.
The poem below is the one included in the Poe time capsule….
Night and Day
Long ago when men and monsters had to share the land
There were two sisters who no one could ever understand
They were both so different in each and every way
One was like the night and the other like the day
The second sister’s outer beauty far outshone the first
But in the most dreadful way the young girl had been cursed
Inside she was jealous- filled with bitterness and fury
Towards her elder sister who was blessed with inner beauty
The elder girl, while quieter was generous and kind
With no thought for herself, but the younger grew up blind
To the plights and misfortunes of those who were most needy
Instead she sought the company of the vain, rich and greedy.
Until one winter day a handsome young man traveled by
But as he wandered through the eldest sister caught his eye
Although he had intended to be quickly on his way
He found she loved him dearly too and decided to stay
The younger sister’s jealousy turned into putrid hate
She watched them both and decided that she’d decide their fate
She knew her sister loved the handsome man with all her heart
And so devised a plan to keep the two of them apart
The second sister cursed the first to forever walk
She couldn’t stop to eat or rest, she couldn’t see or talk
She wouldn’t hear a sound as she traveled all alone
She could never turn around or try to get back home
She thought that with her sister gone he’d love her and confessed
But instead he flew into a rage as if he were possessed
She said he wouldn’t find her- always cursed to be one step ahead
He swore that he would never stop his search until he fell down dead
He ran out of the village and straight into the night
But couldn’t find the girl he loved- far gone out of his sight
He ran into the woods her own hurried path still defined
And although she only walked he seemed to be stuck just behind
When he got sick from walking in the cruel harsh winter weather
He thought that if he found her at least they could die together
But as winter turned to spring he wondered if he had a chance
Of ever finding her again or catching just a glance
Through desert lands and swamps he ran through caves his footsteps fell
Past castles ships and market towns through every bracken dell
The Elfin folk quite often tried to help him as he passed
The humans laughed at him and ignored the questions he asked
In the valleys where the Letheranum set the skies alight
They told him sadly she had passed their way that very night
The gentle creatures watched him leave their hearts filled with despair
The firelight in their eyes and stardust twinkling in their hair
Through the dreaded swampland that the Telnaham called home
He waded passed those killed-through rotted flesh and bits of bone
The Telnaham drown humans, a safe passage they deny
But they saw the grief upon his face and let him wander by
The trolls, too showed him kindness when he walked into their nest
They picked him up and carried him so he could get some rest
Although his limbs were weary as he looked for her he thought
That she was far too kind to be a human being at all
The humans laughed at him and at his love he’ll never find
They told him to give up his search and leave her memory behind
They told him that the girl was gone his cause had long been lost
Again he swore he’d find her no matter what the cost
At the towns and villages he’d never pass a night or day
All the girls who saw him laughed but wished that he’d decide to stay
To all the other women he would never spare a glance
He just stumbled forward as if captured in a trance
Although his bones grow weary as the years make their claim
The world around him changing till it barely looks the same
Through the valleys and the fields the old man searches still
Although he swears he’ll find her -he knows he never will
Find “The Girl with Glass Eyes” at http://www.wyrdbooks.co.uk/
