Thanksgiving was fun, but, as you may remember, there was coughing going on. Especially Friday and after. Fevers. General discontent. Coco had the privilege of going to the doctor today (joy! – I only have two new scars on my ears and cheek from the visit). Yesterday, Madge had written this poem:
Sick.
My brother is sick.
But I don’t kno
W what to
Do. I am sick
But I don’t
Know what to
Do. Could you
Give me some advice? That would
Be very nice of you. But please
Don’t come to my house or
You will get sick too. I am
Going to tell you my adress
[XXXX] apment [XX]
Thank you!
Call it what you want, blues form or Stollen und Abgesang, this piece has some definite form. Not to mention internal rhymes. But it is also the essence of Madge (or perhaps every 7-yr-old, or – gasp – of a female), asking for help and at the same time refusing it.
(Don’t come here. Where shouldn’t you come? Why, I’ll tell you exactly…)
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5 comments:
I want a book of Madge poetry.
I think she's got talent!! Sorry they're both sick.......
Very good poem writing Madeleine. Hope you are feeling better now. Using your favorite passtime of reading gets boring if you don't really have new good books, goesn't it, try doing puzzles that makes the time go by too. Granny
A book of Madge poetry would be good. I have a feeling her diaries (yes, plural, for some reason) are a goldmine, but we've honored her wish to not peek - even though, reversing the poem, she has revealed the secret of how to find the keys and open the locks to the thing she doesn't want us to see. Gotta love her.
Here's what fascinates me.
"But I don’t kno
W what to
Do. I am sick
But I don’t
Know what to
Do. ..."
The broken-off "W" in the original sentence is not duplicated in the repetition of the phrase. It is a pattern but it is also not -- it is a pattern which breaks itself.
You should introduce her to the workd of e.e. cummings.
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