Verse Wisconsin 105| C.B. Anderson

Two Poems

Financial Aid

We tremble at
the thought our flaws
might be revealed,
which is the cause
of hoping that
our lips stay sealed

when bursars tempt
us to disclose
what we believe.
If we expose
what’s up our sleeve
we’ll seem unkempt,

then they’ll demand
to see the ring
of grime around
our collar band
and make us sound
like anything

but worthy men.
We clamp our lips
and cling to hope
that once again
our scholarships
survive their soap.

In the Post-Antidepressant Era

I choose to live because I like the pain
of knowing I’ve endured another loss,
a state of mind not easy to explain

to people who believe there’s much to gain
from life.  It’s not as though I bear a cross:
I choose to live because I like the pain

that comes from watching dreams go down the drain,
a most effective nostrum for a cos-
tive state of mind.  Not easy to explain

to those who think I’m more or less insane
are reasons why I never try to gloss
my choice to live.  Because I like the pain,

I’m partial to the days of endless rain
when rolling stones are first to gather moss,
a state of mind not easy to explain.

As though to highlight portions of my brain
resembling over-processed applesauce,
I choose to live because I like the pain,
a state of mind not easy to explain.

—C. B. Anderson, Maynard, MA

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C.B. Anderson

C.B. Anderson has a long-standing poetic connection to Wisconsin. One of his first published poems appeared in The Neovictorian/Cochlea (now The Deronda Review), which is edited in Madison, and he has been a frequent contributor to this venerable formal-friendly print journal ever since.

About "Financial Aid": A poem written in iambic dimeter sextains is just that; it may be considered a nonce form because it is unusual. In this poem the rhyme scheme begins abc in each stanza, but the next three lines in each stanza exhaust the possible permutations of rhyme sequence that do not involve adjacent rhyming lines (e.g. abccba): bac, bca, acb & abc. The difficulty of writing in dimeter is coming up with rhymes every two metrical feet without excessive wrenching of grammar, diction or sense—there’s little breathing room.

About "In the Post-Antidepressant Era": For years I refused to write a villanelle, perhaps because I had read so many bad ones. By “bad” I mean those where the repetends were dutifully inserted without any particular connection to prior or subsequent lines – they just filled space. I have since come around, and I have a few suggestions for making the most of what I now regard as a seriously delightful form. Devise repetends which offer the possibility of semantic ambiguity, or which contain severable clauses (or phrases) that can be punctuated with a period or semicolon. Feel free to vary conjunctions and other grammatical elements in successive repetends – but not overmuch unless there’s a damn good reason. Apply enjambment liberally! The most endearing (and perilous) aspect of writing a villanelle is that once you’ve finished the first stanza the two final lines are already in place.