As a teenager, one of my “second mothers”, a librarian for whom I babysat, introduced me to the poetry of John V.A. Weaver. His book In American, published in 1939, contains the following poems which I came to love.
“Emotion Bourgeoise”
You thought it was the Spring, the river crinkled
Like creamy ribbon in the moon’s incandescence.
The stage was set: here was the very essence
Of middle-class romance: some far bell tinkled.
And down a warm wind came a sudden flood
Of lilac! Then you shuddered at my lips
Brushed on your cheek; your hair, your fingertips…
And, “Don’t!” you said, “I’m just not in the mood!
You wrenched away, laughed a self-conscious titter,
Spoke some banal something about the Spring,
Entered the doorway with a little fling,
Leaving me somewhat flustered, somewhat bitter.
Twenty! And May! (And several years ago, —
Hell! … That the smell of lilacs should hurt so!…
“Dilemma”
Gee, she's sweet! So sort eyes wide open And shiny, like the streetlights do at night When rain is on the sidewalk. They's a somethin' About the way her whole face has that light Whenever she looks at me. It always says, "I believe in you! Oh, I believe in you!" That face like a little flower, starin' at me-- It scares me! What should I do? What can I do? I tell her not to go and dream about me, I ain't no fine guy, and I tell her so; She keeps on thinkin' I'm just kiddin' her And answers back, "You can't fool me! I know!" And just to think; that lovely dream about me Has got to smash all up some awful day When she finds out how I am really …. It'll hurt her so … I ought tp get away Where she can't never see me any more Before that dream and all that sweetness dies.... But can I do it? Can I do without her? Can I stand not seein' that lovin' in her eyes?