Joan of Arc
I wanted to just play my silly-girl part,
But I'm heavy with visions, old from the start;
I wanted kisses, dresses, a canopy bed--
But I am holy and lonely Joan instead.
I hear voices, which are my poems.
I see saints, which are my better impulses.
I have my horse, whose soft brown nostrils flare,
My sword and my cross and my short-shorn hair;
The sun bakes down, my saddle creaks
And it goes on like this for weeks...and weeks.
I know the night, which is my sister.
I know the want for a woman, which is my sentence.
What can anyone do to me, or do for me?
They've already reduced me to smoke and glory;
But inside my armor, I've re-formed and I sear
And I'll smoulder like this for years...and years.
I love the high grass and the red-winged blackbird.
I long for a French girl and la fin de la guerre.
I only wanted some charm and some looks,
Never my face in old history books;
No statue all pigeon-shit, stood in the park,
Not this lonely and burning sweet bitch Joan of Arc.
I wanted to just play my silly-girl part,
But I'm heavy with visions, old from the start;
I wanted kisses, dresses, a canopy bed--
But I am holy and lonely Joan instead.
I hear voices, which are my poems.
I see saints, which are my better impulses.
I have my horse, whose soft brown nostrils flare,
My sword and my cross and my short-shorn hair;
The sun bakes down, my saddle creaks
And it goes on like this for weeks...and weeks.
I know the night, which is my sister.
I know the want for a woman, which is my sentence.
What can anyone do to me, or do for me?
They've already reduced me to smoke and glory;
But inside my armor, I've re-formed and I sear
And I'll smoulder like this for years...and years.
I love the high grass and the red-winged blackbird.
I long for a French girl and la fin de la guerre.
I only wanted some charm and some looks,
Never my face in old history books;
No statue all pigeon-shit, stood in the park,
Not this lonely and burning sweet bitch Joan of Arc.
I like the voice you've given Joan here and the rhythm is lovely too
ReplyDeleteThank you, Crafty Green Poet. I'm fascinated by St. Joan.
ReplyDeletelol shay, only you could wrote this! it has your original shay signature all over it, and i don't know whether to supress a smirk or feel sad, so i feel both emotion in the one moment. v.well written. bravo. x
ReplyDeleteHmm, I seem to do that to you, don't I, K, leave you smirking and emoting all at once. But you're a sturdy Cap goat, you can deal!
ReplyDeleteThanks for commenting. My blog just wasn't complete until you did.
Oh God, heart-breakingly real. Few people choose their fate, destiny is a cruel mistress. You craft your words so well. x
ReplyDeleteThanks, Shrinky. This is my favorite from among my own poems.
ReplyDelete"Joan" by Lene Lovich is running through my head. I Googled and found a page listing all songs with references to Joan of Arc.
ReplyDeleteJoan Link
"I wanted to just play my silly-girl part,
ReplyDeleteBut I'm heavy with visions"
I hear ya, Joan.
Wow:
"I know the night, which is my sister.
I know the want for a woman, which is my sentence." ... And I actually first read "sentence" as it relates to writing poems, rather than how it relates to a punishment or a form of suffering.
"I long for a French girl and la fin de la guerre" ... I like this. The end of the war indeed.