"A lovely light"

My trip to the library today left me feeling dreadfully unfulfilled. Not only did I have to limit myself to three magazines and two books (because I have required reading to do for college) but I was also confused and disappointed by the library's poetry section. The poetry books were jumbled in with literary criticism, short stories, and plays, (all of which are truly valuable) but all I wanted was a good book of poems!
I currently have a strong craving for poetry. This is something that cannot be ignored... it's almost like a girl's craving for chocolate during her time of the month... except worse.

In particular, I'm craving the poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay. This poet and playwright is the kind of writer who writes like I think. Her words sound and feel like the words in my head, but they are new ideas and thoughts that I might not think of. Thank goodness for the internet, where I can have my fill of Edna, though I have to sacrifice the tactile pleasure of a good book. A little poking around led me to realize (yet again) that one of my favorite writers had a crazy life. Perhaps the roughness of her lifestyle--bohemian, free-loving, and fiercely feminist--is what makes her poetry so fascinating. She knew what made her happy, and somehow, though she and I are entirely different in lifestyle and personal choices, we happen to find happiness in the same things.
"Millay is the poetic voice of eternal youth, feminine revolt and liberation, and potent sensitivity and suggestiveness. Her best and most representative themes are bittersweet love, sorrow, the inevitability of change, resignation, death, and ever-abiding nature. One of her very best poems is her early, mystical "Renascence," about spiritual interment and resurrection through the cycles of nature" (Gale).

For instance, this poem describes the utter joy of spending a day enjoying the world all around you:

AFTERNOON ON A HILL

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

I love her use of images and punctuation, especially the exclamation point!

The cockeyed optimism of this poem reminds me of myself:

FIRST FIG

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

The mystery of this poem is simply beautiful:

LOW-TIDE

These wet rocks where the tide has been,
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Will show again when the tide is high
Faint and perilous, far from shore,
No place to dream, but a place to die,--
The bottom of the sea once more.
There was a child that wandered through
A giant's empty house all day,--
House full of wonderful things and new,
But no fit place for a child to play.

I'm a sucker for a sonnet:

VIII

And you as well must die, beloved dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell,--this wonder fled.
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how beloved above all else that dies.

Ahh, what truth, what ease of words, what beautiful rhythms... my craving is satiated (at least a little bit).

Quote and "First Fig" from Edna St. Vincent Millay's Life by Robert L. Gale

Poetry from everypoet.com: http://www.everypoet.com/archive/poetry/Edna_St_Vincent_Millay/edna_st_vincent_millay_contents.htm