A durable fire; new poems

by May Sarton

New Poems (1972) by Mary Sarton

Genres: Poetry

80 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1972

About the author

May Sarton was born on May 3, 1912, in Wondelgem, Belgium, and grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her first volume of poetry, Encounters in April, was published in 1937 and her first novel, The Single Hound, in 1938. An accomplished memoirist, Sarton boldly came out as a lesbian in her 1965 book Mrs. Stevens Hears the Mermaids Singing. Her later memoir, Journal of a Solitude, was an account of her experiences as a female artist. Sarton died in York, Maine, on July 16, 1995.

Reviews

[Jenny (Reading Envy) · Rating 4 out of 5]

A great collection about solitude.

"I can tell you that solitude
Is not all exaltation, inner space
Where the soul breathes and work can be done.
Solitude exposes the nerve,
Raises up ghosts,
The past, never at rest, runs through it.

Who wakes in a house alone
Wakes to moments of panic.
(Will the roof fall in?
Shall I die today?)
Who wakes in a house alone
Wakes to inertia sometimes
To fits of weeping for no reason
Solitude swells the inner space
Like a balloon"
-from Gestalt at Sixty

[Jimmy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I enjoyed this collection of poems much more than I expected to. Not my style. I must be mellowing in my old age.

Here are a few samples:

Myself To Me
by May Sarton

"Set the table and sweep the floor––
Love will not come back to this door.

Plant your bulbs, sow summer flowers.
These be your joys, these your powers.

A cat for comfort, wood to burn,
And changing light as seasons turn.

Long hours alone and work to do––
These are your strength. These are for you"

So spoke myself. I listened well;
I thought that self had truth to tell.

But love came back after many a year,
Love all unasked knocked at the door,

Love all unasked broke down the door,
To bring me pain as it did before,

To bring me back lost poetry,
And all I'd meant alone to be.

What does myself now say to me?
"Open the door to Mystery.

Gather the grapes from any vine,
And make rich wine, and make rich wine.

Out of the passion comes the form,
And only passion keeps it warm.

Set the table, sweep the floor––
Forget the lies you told before."



February Days
by May Sarton

Who could tire of the long shadows,
The long shadows of the trees on snow?
Sometimes I stand at the kitchen window
For a timeless time in a long daze
Before these reflected perpendiculars,
Noting how the light has changed,
How tender it is now in February
When the shadows are blue not black.

The crimson cyclamen has opened wide,
A bower of petals drunk on the light,
And in the snow-bright ordered house
I am drowsy as a turtle in winter,
Living on light and shadow
And their changes.

Burial
by May Sarton

The old man who had dug the small pit
Opened the two boxes with a penknife
And let the ashes fall down into it,
The ashes of this husband and his wife,
My father and my mother gently laid
Into the earth and mingled there for good.

We watched the wind breathe up an ashen breath
And blow thin smoke along the grass--
And that was all: the bitterness of death
Lifted to air, laid in the earth. All was
Terribly silent where four people stood
Tall in the air, believing what they could.

[Kirsty · Rating 2 out of 5]

The beginning of the hefty tome of May Sarton’s complete poetic output includes an interesting publisher’s note, which converses upon what poetry means to us in the modern world. The reading of poetry underwent such change during the period in which Sarton was writing, and it is fascinating to be able to see how her work changed from her beginnings in 1930, to the final poems here, which were written in 1993.

Each collection has been arranged chronologically, and Sarton’s writing from the first is beautiful. Consider the following lines from wondrous poem ‘She Shall Be Called Woman’: “She lay quite still / and leaned / against the great curve / of the earth, / and her breast / was like a fruit / bursten of its own sweetness.”

Sarton’s use of surrounding landscapes, imagery and vocabulary is masterful throughout, as can be seen in the poem ‘Meditation in Sunlight’: “Far all is blue and strange / The sky looks down on snow / And meets the mountain range / Where time is light not shadow’.

Throughout, many different themes have been considered – architecture, love, what it means to be a woman, death and loss, the coming of the seasons, the passing of time, the grandeur of America, dancing, religion, teaching and learning, and the notion of experience. So many different poetic techniques have been used throughout too that whilst this is a wonderful volume to dip in and out of, it can also be read all at once.

[Adam Cherson]

Fantastic set of poems expressing the author's life geist at 60. The courage displayed by this author is inspiring for all persons, be they cis-, trans-, homo-, a-, or any other sexuality prefix I missed.

[Della O'Shea · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have read and really enjoyed her journals, now beginning to read her poetry.
Reading these published in 1972 made me want to go back and read her poetry in
chronological order, which I found in, "Collected Poems 1930 - 1993".

[Pamela · Rating 4 out of 5]

read about half and enjoyed it. Then got to Part Two: The Autumn Sonnets and had to admit defeat. I've been forcing myself to read poetry lately but not getting into it. Will return sometime later. I do like Sarton's poems, usually.

[Kody Dibble · Rating 5 out of 5]

A very amazing piece of poetic symphony...all together brilliant!