Deliria by Eve Stanton, 1933

This post was originally published to my old family history blog, boldandqueer(dot)com. Since no longer publishing on that site, I have moved a handful of popular posts to this space and dated them as their original publish date. However, a few posts, like this one, will be dated in the present because they are special to me and I want to highlight them for you here. Please visit my Bold+Queer Family History category for all family history and genetic genealogy specific posts.

Deliria

I live in a room that is straight and bare,

With rings on my fingers and thorns in my hair

And I hear all night against my door

The pounding hands of the days before.

I dare not look from my window ledge,

There are faces at the pane, fingers at the edge,

And all night long,

And all day through,

The hands beat hard

In a weird tattoo:

“Let us in…Let us in

Let us in…Let us in

We are sibs to your brothers,

Kin of your kin,

We are starlight and sunlight

And whispers of wind,

We are leaves that are stirred,

We are trees that are thinned,

We are ferns in the rain,

We are drops on the grass,

We are slivers of fire,

we are splinters of glass,

We are thistles, and saffron

And silver, and white,

We are April and autumn

And daybreak, and night,

We are moments who dare you to live and forget,

We are shadow and crystal

And cheeks that are wet,

We are silence

And stillness of shimmering seas,

We are teardrops…

And songs from the top of the trees.

We are willows atoss on the breast of a storm

And quiet

And darkness

And lips that are warm.

We are yours and you want us…

The soul of you calls,

We will creep in the chinks,

We will break down the walls,

We will slip in the windows and pour down the flue,

We will rise in your heart…we are coming to you.”

And I in my place sit and tremble within.

“We are sibs of your brothers,

Kin of your kin,

We are violets, and cattails

And ribbons and lace,

We are thorns in your fingers, and silk to your face,

We are moments…your moments,

Your glimpses of red,

We are arms that are dust, and

Lips that are dead.”

And I in my room that is empty and bare

Strip rings from my fingers, thorns from my hair,

Sink to my knees with an anguish that cries

“Deafen your ears, put out your eyes!

Words that are slender, words that are dear

You must not see, you must not hear!”

Oh, and I tremble,

Oh, and I fall,

Stuff up the cracks,

Build up the wall,

Labor and labor with fingers that bleed

Let the drops fall, pay them no heed,

Put out the lights, pull all the shutters,

Close up your ears to the spirit that mutters,

Oh, but they come, Oh, but they clamor,

Gather up nails, pick up the hammer,

Nail the frames down to the floor, to the sills,

They fill up the valleys, they ravish the hills,

Oh, they are coming,

Oh, they are calling,

Down from the roof

They are tumbling,

Falling

Down

Down.

Keep your control,

Stop up your heart,

Dam up your soul!

Let us forget

Let us remember

Breezes are March,

Snow is November,

Flowers are April,

Leaves are in fall…

Oh, does it matter

At all, at all?

Let me be calm,

Let me be still,

Oh, let me rest on the breast of a hill

A moment…one moment,

A minute of quiet,

Then I will answer

This mob…this riot.

No, but they beat,

No, but they scream,

Give me my rest,

Give me my dream.

Let me be silent,

Give me my task;

It is so little

So little to ask.

No, but they crush,

No, but they call,

Let the roof break,

Let the house fall,

Let the panes crash,

Let in the song.

I have been silent

Too long, too long,

I have been been still,

Now let me speak,

I have been quiet,

I have been weak.

Break down the door,

Burst in the bars—

I would chant to the moon,

I would shriek to the stars!

~Written by Eve Stanton, age 16 – 1st place winner of the Witter Bynner Poetry Award, hosted by Scholastic, in 1933

Background:

In the Spring of 1933, my maternal Grandma, Eve Stanton, won the Scholastic Award Witter Bynner Poetry Award. That win was a turning point in her life and would set the stage for innumerable decisions and creative endeavors for decades to come.

When Eve passed away in 1997, she left me the original Scholastic Magazine her winning poems had been published in, so I’m very familiar with the poems she submitted and won for. I didn’t, however, understand that a physical book containing all the winning writing was published each year until very recently! And miracle of miracles, one eBay seller was offering up Eve’s book! Well, maybe not “Eve’s book”, but the 1933 Saplings book that contains her winning poetry!

So, I made my very first eBay purchase and it was delivered to my mailbox in record time!

Sometimes my mind boggles at the wonders of the internet and the quickness with which truly meaningful experiences can turn around!

The sweet little Saplings books now lives on my bookshelf alongside other copies of Eve’s books I’ve slowly found and collected over the last several years and I couldn’t be happier.

Onward,

Melissa

P.S.

This lovely comment was left on the original post and I simply couldn’t let it slip away. This is why we share pieces of our world online, no?