Prelude, and: Willow Wood, and: The Bouquet, and: The Literary Life

Abstract

Prelude, and: Willow Wood, and: The Bouquet, and: The Literary Life William Jay Smith (bio) Prelude All that I see must in my sight becomeSo sparkling clear that waves of vision breakUpon my eye as on some coral-combThe wild Pacific . . . and I summon BlakeTo guide my thoughts beyond that curling foamAs he would lambs to pasture by a lakeAnd leave them frolicking till Kingdom Come.And all that now is ill will then be well,will then be well;And all that now is ill will then be well. [End Page 481] Willow Wood The wood of the willow tree has long been a component of artificial legs. The soldier spoke up and said, "God bless the willows!On willow wood I walk: come with me downthis lovely country lane outside of town."The soldier spoke up and spoke for the other fellows. "I lost both legs," he said, "in a roadside blast;they swirled off into the sand where I'd come to fight,and follow me now when I awake at nightand walk as in a dream far into the past . . . "And walk to the edge of my youth where weeping willowsbrush the cold spring water clear and sweet,where I kick and swim and cut through summer heatin a burst of joy with all the other fellows. "The years go by, and still those willows bendabove that spring moss-rimmed by memory,and in reflection weep, but not for me,but for a world whose wars will never end." [End Page 482] The Bouquet A Wedding Song For Marissa and David The lovers whom today we praiseOnce passed each other on some streetAnd both then went their separate ways.Where in the world would they ever meet? They followed other brides and groomsTo places they'll not soon forgetAnd dined and danced in distant roomsAnd still the two had never met. But then one day a mutual friendSat them down on one divanAnd where my story might well endIs where it really just began. They talked and talked, and then for monthsThey were the proverbial happy pair,And had they chosen still to beMy story would have ended there. But the groom, once profiting by chance,(Another country—better luck?),Pursued his would-be bride to FranceAnd there it was that lightning struck. It was in Paris that he choseTo find if she would share his lifeAnd asked, in simple English prose,"Will you, sweetheart, be my wife?" She felt deep-down a tingling shockAnd up her spine an icy chillAnd in her heart a great hot flash,And she responded, "Yes, I will." [End Page 483] They stood beneath the Eiffel Tower,And Paris, at the close of day,Offered at that magic hourA very special gilded spray Of every shade of lighted flowerWhich, through the darkening evening air,Emanated from the towerAnd fell upon them then and thereIn a fabulous bouquet. And we who come to celebrateTheir union this wedding dayOffer them our deeply-feltAnd very personal bouquet Of flowers that of words are made,That will not wither or decay,That worm or insect won't invade,And here in print is meant to stay. [End Page 484] The Literary Life "Literary is a work very difficult to do." –Julia Moore There is no record that Julia Moore,the Sweet Singer of Michigan (1847–1920),ever appeared in a music hall,but if she had, she might haveanswered her critics with these words: When little Libby choked on a piece of beefAnd no one there could offer her reliefAnd the poor dear thing dropped dead like an autumn leafThey came from far and wideTo mourn at her gravesideHer mother and her dadHer sisters and her brothersThey all stood there so sadAnd so did many othersBut who was there but meTo compose an elegy?And so while their tears flowedI wrote my famous ode"To little Libby who choked...