Melancholy

[ray miller]

Someone whispered on a fiddle,
a siren blowed that hung and stretched
out long notes, slung slow rope
around my baby’s neck.
Men come with tape and pencil,
cut him and coloured him grey;
cast a web and like a marionette
out in the wind he sway.
My man look sorry
now he’s somebody
these melancholy days.

Some mistress of the devil,
a Jezebel in disguise
clapped manacles to ankles
and put out each his eyes.
He suffocate and strangle -
I miss the jazz and the jive,
but some sorcery is forcing me
to watch him suicide.
My man stop swinging,
don’t hear him singing
these melancholy times.

[Lia]

The wordplay is so good in this, Ray. With my limited knowledge, I don't know who it's about in particular. I tried to search a few references in the poem, but too many different results came up. The scene setting and timing is terrific here, harrowing too,

"Men come with tape and pencil,
cut him and coloured him grey;
cast a web and like a marionette
out in the wind he sway."

and

"clapped manacles to ankles
and put out each his eyes."

I could hear music in the poem as if it were being sung. The only thing I wondered about was the complication in this line,

a siren blowed that hung and stretched

I understand the use of blowed and how it matches the voice of the narrator, but the line seems to jar. Would it work if you took out 'blowed that'?

Lia

[Macavity]

Great Ray. Really keys into and conveys mood. Like those songs you can immerse yourself in after a work downer day (I'm referencing work because that was my draining context, though the poem picks up on tropes from Black life in the Deep South). Each reader brings their baggage

Someone whispered on a fiddle,...............would a brass instrument key more to sense of place/music?
a siren blowed that hung and stretched.........this could be work and also the situation that he has been spellbound in
out long notes, slung slow rope....................a long day, more than one way to have a rope tightening around the neck
around my baby’s neck.
Men come with tape and pencil,
cut him and coloured him grey;.......................control, 'dead man working'
cast a web and like a marionette
out in the wind he sway.
My man look sorry
now he’s somebody......................no longer self
these melancholy days.

Some mistress of the devil,
a Jezebel in disguise...........................so wife taking responsibility, domestic life demands a working life
clapped manacles to ankles
and put out each his eyes.................not seeing the colours in life
He suffocate and strangle -
I miss the jazz and the jive,......................not projecting the joys of life, lost his life rhythm to that of work
but some sorcery is forcing me......she is a slave too to the 'rules' of 'domestic bliss'!
to watch him suicide.
My man stop swinging,
don’t hear him singing
these melancholy times.

[Lia]

That's great, Phil! Do you know, I can't unsee that interpretation now. A different slant entirely.

Lia

[ray miller]

Thanks both. In my head I hear it as a song by someone like Billie Holiday. I see where Phil's interpretation is coming from and that's fine with me, though it was meant to be about the demands of fame, really.
I'm not sure what the complication in the 2nd line is, Lia.
I'd thought about trumpet instead of fiddle, what do you think, can trumpets whisper?

[Lia]

I'm not sure what the complication in the 2nd line is, Lia.
It just seemed to be clunky on my ear so early in the poem. But it might be my ear, Ray.
I'd thought about trumpet instead of fiddle, what do you think, can trumpets whisper?
I imagined the bow was whispering across the strings of the fiddle. I'm not sure about trumpets. It's a brassy, stronger sound. A reed instrument, more likely. Woodwinds such as a clarinet, sax, oboe. I have a clarinet and it certainly does. Bassoons do, too.

Lia

[Macavity]

Is there a scale for whispers? I can hear notes whispered from Miles...he whispers in the spaces.



Of course, the snare whispers are those brushes on a drum!

[Lia]

The game is afoot, Phil! Whispering and humming from a master...

[Lia]

Mind you, Ray, whispered on a fiddle sounds like it could almost have a double meaning in your poem for grassing someone up... therefore explaining the siren and all that follows.

Lia