Books on Saturday

Jane Kenyon did extraordinary work with syntax; she did extraordinary work on the topic of antidepressant medications.

With the wonder

and bitterness of someone pardoned

for a crime she did not commit

I come back to marriage and friends,

to pink fringed hollyhocks; come back

to my desk, books, and chairs.

Another gift Kenyon had was to build an unusual list: "friends, hollyhocks, desk, books, chairs." ("Happiness comes to the boulder in perpetual shade, to rain falling on the open sea, to the wineglass, weary of holding wine....")

Having been returned to life by a monoamine oxidase inhibitor, Kenyon feels skeptical:

Unholy ghost,

you are certain to come again.

Coarse, mean, you'll put your feet

on the coffee table, lean back,

and turn me into someone who can't

take the trouble to speak; someone

who can't sleep, or who does nothing

but sleep; can't read, or call

for an appointment for help.

There is nothing I can do

against your coming.

When I awake, I am still with thee.

Having been plagued for years by clinical depression, Kenyon can't accept that the dark days are over. Her weariness is underscored by "form"; the many syllables between "call" and "help" make us aware of Kenyon's despair. "Call....for an appointment....for help."

It's impressive that Kenyon could write so honestly and precisely.

Comments

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