two poems by norma farber

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Two Poems by Norma Farber Poet, concert singer, actress, novelist, translator, wife, and mother of Thomas Farber, interviewed in this issue of Leviathan, Norma Farber (1909-1984) was author of more than thirty books and, for more than four decades, married to noted pathologist and professor Sidney Farber. Her poems appeared in The New Yorker, The Nation, and The New York Times. Here are the first and last poems from her collection Something Further ... , published by Kylix Press (Ann Arbor, MI, 1979). Lagan Buried. But only to rise to the raising. Memory hitches a buoy to bottommost bales. They shall be treasure lifted by those coming after, as all loved time is resurrected by lovers, the deep divers. Our sunken hours lie safe at the end of cables. Stalwart swimmers shall hoist the blind trove to surface. Not jetsam excess of ballast. Not flotsam drifting fragmented. Not lost goods. So lowered, they wait. We left them to be found. C 2006 The Authors Journal compilation C 2006 The Melville Society and Blackwell Publishing Inc L EVIATHAN A J OURNAL OF M ELVILLE S TUDIES 77

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Page 1: Two Poems by Norma Farber

Two Poems by Norma Farber

Poet, concert singer, actress, novelist, translator, wife, and mother of ThomasFarber, interviewed in this issue of Leviathan, Norma Farber (1909-1984) wasauthor of more than thirty books and, for more than four decades, marriedto noted pathologist and professor Sidney Farber. Her poems appeared in TheNew Yorker, The Nation, and The New York Times. Here are the first and lastpoems from her collection Something Further . . . , published by Kylix Press(Ann Arbor, MI, 1979).

Lagan

Buried. But only to riseto the raising. Memory hitchesa buoy to bottommost bales.They shall be treasure liftedby those coming after, as allloved time is resurrectedby lovers, the deep divers.

Our sunken hours lie safeat the end of cables. Stalwartswimmers shall hoist the blindtrove to surface. Not jetsamexcess of ballast. Not flotsamdrifting fragmented. Not lostgoods. So lowered, they wait.

We left them to be found.

C© 2006 The AuthorsJournal compilation C© 2006 The Melville Society and Blackwell Publishing Inc

L E V I A T H A N A J O U R N A L O F M E L V I L L E S T U D I E S 77

Page 2: Two Poems by Norma Farber

N O R M A F A R B E R

Something Further May Follow of This Masquerade

— Herman MelvilleThe strenuous pretense,so practiced as to seemconviction. Newborn semblanceof morning. Innocentleap of the future sun,stoked, oh yes, for our planetsurvival. You wear a dailymien of welcome.

Nightwas another mask. Black,a belief in doldrum,dream, dim countenance,loss of name and sequence,entr’acte – slip me the wandto work a decorous lull,lest doubt, a dullness, spoilthe paid attractions.Conspire in a show.Your fit disguiseis price of admission.Lie in a costume suitedto sleep. Then wake. Quick-changeartist ready on cue.

Time! A backstage warning.Break of day: you’re on,fresh, keen-eyed, behindthe slits. The Romanssometimes played without masks:the Greeks, never. You needprotection againstthe fangs of light. Somethingthin as air and distancekeeps you from being clawed.Keeps a rabble sunat bay. You’re wearing safe

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Page 3: Two Poems by Norma Farber

T W O P O E M S

distraction, keepinga guise of keeping charge.Provided you cause diversion –seem is. The world suspendsdenial: turns – by beingentertained – accomplice.Hands you hats, scarves,rabbits, green-as-Aprilprestidigitation.Volunteers to be halved.Trusts you to play the sceneconventionally. Mayhemis out. Onstage illusionof mayhem triumphs. You’d nevermurder the sun. But youand sun and spectatorscollaborate as if.Midget as master. The gamegrows sleek as art.And who you are, is lessthan how you play.

I know a perfect player.To her, that poignant trimmascara’d amazon,with breast, the amputee,deftly falsified,that flawless flowof dress, curve and curve,the health, the whole, the intactform simulatedmarvelously: to her, homagefrom all our unpretentiousbodies. Something furtherhas come of a sore deceit:a suave grace. Somethingcomes of her masquerade.

A J O U R N A L O F M E L V I L L E S T U D I E S 79

Page 4: Two Poems by Norma Farber

N O R M A F A R B E R

Or take the dragonfly,whose masks are molts.A serious act, for the heavyarmor’s hard to shed.The old skin splits, the fleshcrawls away from cast-offhusks. Insect behavior.Where’s that insect essence?Too soon the new resemblesthe old skin. Feedingresumes. Any hour nownymphs will need to ruptureanother image. Hereinif anywhere: definition,constancy, a constancyof change of terms. Tremulousprogram, subject to serialthrusts. And barely timeto set the delicate newlikeness before it looksof age. A confoundingcontinuity. Mostmolting insects hideunder stones, under cover,in the dark, against sunlightand natural enemies.

O science: seat in the gallery,matinee performance,theater of amateursapplauding expert nature.The magic show spotlighted.Mage unmasked – or, no,mage in the many masks.The many I need, mornings,no sooner myself. For I know meonly in transformations,blink to blink.

Even

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Page 5: Two Poems by Norma Farber

T W O P O E M S

my bone alters its evidence,breath to breath.

Even asThat High Masqueraderanciently changed his slantof will – with days and nightsand fishes and birds and beastsand me in my humankindmaking my changes like anymerlin.

My God, if I cannotdefine you save in the worksof your hand – how dare Iname who I am beyonddemeanor? The man who claimsto know is counterfeit ass.He brays who should be whistling.I whistle, conjuring my lifein its acts. I tune my nameunder cover of deeds doneunder puffs of smoke. I maskmy soul, and subterfugeinvites the show to follow.

A J O U R N A L O F M E L V I L L E S T U D I E S 81