Archive for the Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale Category

Paeans for Polly

Posted in Broceliande, Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale, love poems, Merlin, Nimue, Poetry, Pollyphilia, Vivien with tags , , , , , , , on February 13, 2017 by Manuel Paul Arenas

In the early oughts I ran around with a young woman many years my junior (she 19, I somewhere in my early 30’s). She was a brilliant writer, but she had some issues, as do I. We were both lonely, so we gravitated to one another and were inseparable for a few months. Eventually, our respective issues collided and she dumped me. To heal, I wrote many poems, some good, others not-so-much. I hope these are some of the former. The first was a ditty which popped into my head as a song, complete with a melody from some obscure nursery song I cannot recall otherwise. I sang it to her and she loved it. The second was penned after everything went south. In it, I compare our May/December relationship to that of Merlin and Nimue (Vivien, the Lady of the Lake):

 

Pollyphilia

I love my Polly, oh yes I do / No one’s as pretty or smart as you

We go out dining and play at pool / We muse on past lives and laugh at poo

We smuggle J.D. into you room / Chase it with o.j. to mask the fumes

We watch the X-Files and Lenny Bruce / Wax philosophic and get real juiced

Narrow hands just like an icon / I love her more than my bacon

Eyes of absinthe: green and cloudy / Lips like cushions, flush and pouty

Skin so soft and fair complexioned / She’s as sweet as crème confection

Florida’s boring, but we’ve got smokes / Long Island Iced Teas, sun-ups and jokes

We’ll go to Vegas and make our name / Then move to Madrid, grow old in Spain

I Love my Polly, oh yes I do / No one can move me quite like you do

Verlaine and Rimbaud, that’s me & you / Here’s hoping this round things go more smooth

"Merlin and Vivien" by Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1911).

“Merlin and Vivien” by Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1911).

Broceliande

Piscean, watery enchantress ardent, lubricious Lady of the Lake
Merlin, assotted, awaits you, though he knows your kiss means to quell
Nimue, bury me in your joyous garden–once curiosity is slaked
The loving cup you offer over-brims with a philtre fell

Eyes of pale green luminescence, searing my soul straight through
Nipples like red Chinese lanterns on hillocks of new-fallen snow
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you–but know that I love you still true
In a place where time is suspended, tho’ forgiveness and love freely flow…