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This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2005-05-01 21:01:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
OKAY! Now I get it: this is a companion piece to the other poem I just read. The title implies two things: it's a weekend evening, and these two characters are imprisoned here, as if there are guards posted to keep them in (which may well be the case). Presumably, too, they read the Times in the morning (the other poem) and the Post at night. These are literate, intelligent people, regardless of mental condition. A psychiatric hospital shouldn't equate with stupidity. Henry's with his fellow patient, after the supposedly "normal" folks have left. It's a locked ward. "You need a swelling or a vision to get in." Beautiful!! It can be tough to get certified. They seem almost proud of it. The nurses brief themselves in cursive verse. [IP, even here in this clinical place; sets us up nicely for Virgil] I talk Henry into Virgil. All those ur/er/ir sounds! And what a contrast between the nurses' notes and Virgil's poetic narrative!! When he gets to the bees in Book IV, He gets woozy. Something about a dead cow. He may be woozy but then again, the details described in that passage are hardly pretty. Bougonia, the Egyptians called it. The rise of life from death, insects from flesh. Apis is both bull and bee; these two men are well cognizant of such nuances, methinks. This is how we spend the evening, Locked up in a concrete building without any windows, Reading Virgil, wishing we were there with you, Reading something exciting, a Papal Bull or something. The identity of "you" is effectively unclear -- could be a parent, a friend on the "outside", maybe even Jesus or the Pope. The "Papal Bull" line connects back to that "dead cow" comment (in which the bees make their honeycomb inside the cow's carcass as if spontaneously generated there, as I recall, and so - obviously - does Henry). "It's like he never got trained." In the first poem, you mention training Henry. So with his repetitive actions (one gathers he does this cabinet-opening bit quite often) we can deduce he doesn't have a good short-term memory. Thank goodness no one can see us. They’d put us in a nuthouse. Ah, the poignant irony here! “Pass the vino.” Our Latin improves by the glass. Yes, here is the wine again. And are they reading Virgil in the original language, too? De vino veritas, right? I think this poem presents a great deal of truth, through careful selection of images and small incidents. It definitely humanizes the protagnoists and makes us truly care about them. You never fail to draw us in and then give us more than we've bargained for. Brenda

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