Post 3 (Elegy): Lucy Wan

Catalogue of Ephemera

BY REBECCA LINDENBERG

You give me flowers resembling Chinese lanterns.

 

You give me hale, for yellow. You give me vex.

 

You give me lemons softened in brine and you give me cuttlefish ink.

You give me all 463 stairs of Brunelleschi’s dome.

 

You give me seduction and you let me give it back to you.

You give me you.

 

You give me an apartment full of morning smells—toasted bagel and black

coffee and the freckled lilies in the vase on the windowsill.

You give me 24-across.

 

You give me flowers resembling moths’ wings.

 

You give me the first bird of morning alighting on a wire.

You give me the sidewalk café with plastic furniture and the boys

with their feet on the chairs.

You give me the swoop of homemade kites in the park on Sunday.

You give me afternoon-colored beer with lemons in it.

 

You give me D.H. Lawrence,

and he gives me pomegranates and sorb-apples.

 

You give me the loose tooth of California, the broken jaw of New York City.

You give me the blue sky of Wyoming, and the blue wind through it.

 

You give me an ancient city where the language is a secret

everyone is keeping.

 

You give me a t-shirt that says all you gave me was this t-shirt.

You give me pictures with yourself cut out.

 

You give me lime blossoms, but not for what they symbolize.

 

You give me yes. You give me no.

 

You give me midnight apples in a car with the windows down.

You give me the flashbulbs of an electrical storm.

You give me thunder and the suddenly green underbellies of clouds.

 

You give me the careening of trains.

You give me the scent of bruised mint.

 

You give me the smell of black hair, of blond hair.

 

You give me Apollo and Daphne, Pan and Syrinx.

You give me Echo.

 

You give me hyacinths and narcissus. You give me foxgloves

and soft fists of peony.

 

You give me the filthy carpet of an East Village apartment.

You give me seeming not to notice.

 

You give me an unfinished argument, begun on the Manhattan-bound F train.

 

You give me paintings of women with their eyes closed.

You give me grief, and how to grieve.

Lindenberg, Rebecca. "Catalogue of Ephemera." Poetry Foundation. Poetry Foundation, n.d. Web. 24 Sept. 2014. <http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/243892>.

Lindenberg's poem does not fall within the constructs of a typical elegy. Rather, it is a more modern version of the elegy; there is no exact structure but the poem still expresses her grief. A traditional elegy consists of three parts: lament, praise, and solace. For much of the poem, we cannot tell whether the speaker is recalling good or bad memories. The ambiguity of the piece eschews the form of an elegy. We cannot tell if the "loose tooth of California" or the "broken jaw of New York City" are places the speaker is fond of or despises. If the poem took a more traditional route, the lines would be praise or lament, but due to the unconventional nature of the elegy, we cannot assume so. The elegy touches on loss: "You give me grief, and how to grieve." The poem explores the length of the relationship, from bright beginning to dreary end; though the mention of grief is brief, we can feel the loss of the speaker acutely.

Catalogue of Ephemera is intimate. The details of the relationship are the main focus, and the imagery is specific.  As an audience, we may never know what "midnight apples in a car with the windows down" refers to, or what "black hair" smells like, but the specific details allow us to relive her experiences. It is clear how Lindenberg treasures those moments. The symbolism of the flowers is a key point in the poem. The beginning of their relationship is like "freckled lilies," innocent. However, the "lime blossoms" he gave points to commitment or intimacy issues as they signify lust. The "bruised mint" also means suspicion; during this time, their relationship was undergoing a rough period. The couple seems to rekindle when he gives her "hyacinths," "narcissus" and "soft fists of peony," which symbolize sincerity, rebirth, and healing, but the "foxgloves" show his deception. Though this relationship ended unhappily, the speaker still holds on to their memories with love. 

I chose this poem because the vivid imagery stuck with me. I also like the repetition of "you give me"-- repetition is an element I use frequently within my own writing. The specific details captured the essence of their relationship. Lindenberg uses words in a fresh way: "afternoon-colored beer," "midnight apples," "bruised mint". The use of language in an atypical fashion makes her imagery stronger.  The poem has so many stunning moments--too many to list--that it's like a greatest hits collection of single lines. Though I have not personally had the same experiences as the speaker, the imagery makes it easy to relate.