The Victims
When Mother divorced you, we were glad. She took it and
took it in silence, all those years and then
kicked you out, suddenly, and her
kids loved it. Then you were fired, and we
grinned inside, the way people grinned when
Nixon's helicopter lifted off the South
Lawn for the last time. We were tickled
to think of your office taken away,
your secretaries taken away,
your lunches with three double bourbons,
your pencils, your reams of paper. Would they take your
suits back, too, those dark
carcasses hung in your closet, and the black
noses of your shoes with their large pores?
She had taught us to take it, to hate you and take it
until we pricked with her for your
annihilation, Father. Now I
pass the bums in doorways, the white
slugs of their bodies gleaming through slits in their
suits of compressed silt, the stained
flippers of their hands, the underwater
fire of their eyes, ships gone down with the
lanterns lit, and I wonder who took it and
took it from them in silence until they had
given it all away and had nothing
left but this.
took it in silence, all those years and then
kicked you out, suddenly, and her
kids loved it. Then you were fired, and we
grinned inside, the way people grinned when
Nixon's helicopter lifted off the South
Lawn for the last time. We were tickled
to think of your office taken away,
your secretaries taken away,
your lunches with three double bourbons,
your pencils, your reams of paper. Would they take your
suits back, too, those dark
carcasses hung in your closet, and the black
noses of your shoes with their large pores?
She had taught us to take it, to hate you and take it
until we pricked with her for your
annihilation, Father. Now I
pass the bums in doorways, the white
slugs of their bodies gleaming through slits in their
suits of compressed silt, the stained
flippers of their hands, the underwater
fire of their eyes, ships gone down with the
lanterns lit, and I wonder who took it and
took it from them in silence until they had
given it all away and had nothing
left but this.
This poem is written as one long stanza. There is no separation of the lines but there is a separation of ideas which I will discuss later. In terms of rhyme scheme, there seems to be a lack of one in this poem. There were occasionally lines that rhyme, but there did not appear to be a distinct pattern that would denote a rhyme scheme. I also couldn't come up with a uniform meter. As soon as I would think that I discovered a specific patter of stressed and unstressed syllables, the next words and lines would break it and I would start the process all over again.
Because this is a structure and form blog post, yet nothing in this poem seems to fit this, its curious as to why I chose it. What really intrigued me about this was how the shift in tone and subject acted as line and stanza breaks contributing to the structure, For example, up until line 17, the speaker refers to the father in an accusatory and biting tone. At the start of line 17, however, the speaker begins, "Father. Now I pass the bums in doorways, the white slugs of their bodies..." This shows a shift in tone from the speaker accusing the Father of causing a miserable life for her and her mother to the Father being portrayed as the victim who "took it from them in silence."
This poem shows that regardless of whether or not there is a specific meter or rhyme scheme, there is always structure to a poem that works with the development of tone and ideas helping to further the reader's understanding of the message that is being conveyed by the speaker.