Poem: 'Down by Magdalena'

[Stewart]

I thought I'd add a poem I wrote a while back - I don't have any fresh fiction at the moment.


Down by Magdalena

In Heaven, there could only be one place
Among the arms of Holiness that night
Which saw my love, nay! my Magdalena
Taken from me. As I lay weeping by
Her side, staring at her sweet, empty face
And cursing Him; His apathy. That light
In which He bathes, has blinded Him: saner?
Never He - only life with which to die!
Yet, despite the years He grants unto us
I know they have no meaning, but in length
For being together in love is strength
As is, in love again, apart. The fuss
Between is just a path of years run straight
To be down with my love, a life too late.

 

[third man girl]

The problem is that when clever people write poetry, simple people do not understand it. I would like you to explain it to me, but not if it would spoil it for you.

Can I add that I loved the flow of these three lines, when whipped out of context:

Yet, despite the years He grants unto us
I know they have no meaning, but in length
For being together in love is strength

I imagine those words being spoken in a tiny church, by a grizzled vicar, with a low, soft voice. During a wedding ceremony. Or a funeral.

Third Man Girl

 

[Ashlea]

It's the perfect pacing for a sonnet. Can never get a handle on it myself, but I recognize it instantly.

 

[third man girl]

I think the boys are scared of you, Mile-O

Third Man Girl

 

[Martin]

Well, he did make Dan Brown cry.

Cheers, Martin

 

[RaVeN]

He did you know.

RaVeN

 

[Stewart]

I would like you to explain it to me, but not if it would spoil it for you.

It won't spoil it for me, I just don't see what's difficult - there's no hidden meaning.

Spoiler

In Heaven, there could only be one place
Among the arms of Holiness that night
Which saw my love, nay! my Magdalena
Taken from me...

The night she dies, I know (or am confident, at least) that she will be accepted into Heaven. At first she's my love, but no: she's more than that. She had a name. But she's not here anymore.

...As I lay weeping by
Her side, staring at her sweet, empty face
And cursing Him; His apathy.

She's dead and empty. Gone. And I blame Him. I blame God. I blame how indifferent He is. Why take my innocent Magdalena?

...That light
In which He bathes, has blinded Him: saner?
Never He - only life with which to die!

And now I'm cursing the judgement of God. Saying that the light, in which the Bible descibes Him as being, has affected his judgement. God is mad. Mad for letting my Magdalena die. Even more insane is granting us life in the first place if we are only going to die.

Yet, despite the years He grants unto us
I know they have no meaning, but in length
For being together in love is strength
As is, in love again, apart.

The last six lines of a sonnet usually mark a reflection on the previous eight. No exception here, then. A focus on the life (with which we'll die) and what it's worth wih respect to love. You live; you die - whatever age you reach is irrelevant. With love, ts the being together and it's the being apart and longing to be together again that matters.

The fuss
Between is just a path of years run straight
To be down with my love, a life too late.

Yes, I'll live through this predetermined life. Live each year one by one until mine are all over. And then I'll be with her, down in the earth. The only thing is that I'll have a longer life and I'm catching up to her. She's already lived hers.

 

[third man girl]

Thank you for taking the time to explain it to me, Mile-O. And forgive my lack of understanding. You have shed light, not only on the poem, but on yourself

Third Man Girl

 

[Crystal]

I thought I'd add a poem I wrote a while back - I don't have any fresh fiction at the moment.


Down by Magdalena

In Heaven, there could only be one place
Among the arms of Holiness that night
Which saw my love, nay! my Magdalena
Taken from me. As I lay weeping by
Her side, staring at her sweet, empty face
And cursing Him; His apathy. That light
In which He bathes, has blinded Him: saner?
Never He - only life with which to die!
Yet, despite the years He grants unto us
I know they have no meaning, but in length
For being together in love is strength
As is, in love again, apart. The fuss
Between is just a path of years run straight
To be down with my love, a life too late.

Realized that I really like this one. May I save it? or you have its copyright reserved?