The Concluding Chapter

On Saturday I finished a sonnet about Egypt, and I thought I might interrupt my tale of young adulthood on Martha’s Vineyard with a political interlude.  But it’s Valentine’s Day, and this song, in its way, is about love.  So I will continue as planned.
In the end of that summer the tensions were resolved for me.  I managed to step clear of the judgement that I was doing a bad job, managed to find joy in the good I did and a vicarious enjoyment of my brother’s budding friendships.  This final song brought me great comfort.
Many years later a mentor was helping me find my life direction.  He asked me to talk about times I remembered with a sense of accomplishment. One of the highly salient ones was the writing of this song, in three chapters.  He observed that this proved I was an artist – that of all the challenges that I may have overcome that summer, what I mentioned was this song.  It took me another twenty years to figure out that I’m a writer, and that I can’t just divert that calling to do something else that seems plausible.
The song is still clear in my mind.  It still pleases me to sing it.  I showed it to my brother once, and he was unimpressed.  When I shyly sang it to him, he said ah, I see how it works.  So I guess this one does better with the melody than without it.  I wish I could sing it to you.
Vineyard Haven Kite Song, Chapter Three
End of summer
Goldenrod afterglow
Now from somewhere
Things that you know come in clear again –
That life is love and laughter
In the end the things you’re after find you
All the dreams will reach their dreamers
You will too.
End of summer –
Knowing you have to go
End of summer
Thinking of times that you want to hold
But a golden haze enwraps them
And the summer days
Fuse into one,
A song, a ripple on the water
Waves and storms, and smiles for keeping warm
Tans will never last forever
Plans will change and who’ll remember?
-Someone will.


©Wendy Mulhern
August, 1978

Songs and Longing

Vineyard Haven Kite Song turned out to have three chapters.  I know it’s odd to refer to songs in terms of chapters, but I felt impelled to call them so at the time.  Each one came to me with melody and words together, and each one illustrated something of my passage through that difficult, though at times beautiful, summer.  
When composing it (if that can be the word for letting it come into my mind) I didn’t really notice the longing in it.  That was something my brother later pointed out.
Vineyard Haven Kite Song, Chapter Two
Afternoon off and I’m drifting on down
Wandering with the wind into the town
Stepping along, looking around
A little bit lost and a little bit free
Knowing there’s something here waiting to find me
I’m seeking, seeking something worth keeping
Not even speaking but silently hoping
Hoping, hoping too hard for coping
Choking on chances but with my eyes open
Open to see something strong and flamboyant
Something that’s vibrant, gentle and sweet.
Leaving, sighing – nothing worth buying
Still keep on wandering, trying to find it –
Something or someone to kindle my soul
That I might fly again
That we may know
That we together have somewhere to go, too
Someone and me
To set ourselves free
That we might reach the sky over the sea.


©Wendy Mulhern
August, 1978

Truth Conditions

I remember the phrase truth conditions from my study of linguistics at Penn, where we talked about how an utterance was true if all its truth conditions were met, both the asserted and the presupposed.  The truth conditions of “The king of France is bald” are  a) there is a king of France; and b) he is bald.  We talked about how negating the sentence doesn’t touch the presupposed truth condition: “The king of France is not bald” still implies that there is a king of France.
I found myself thinking of truth conditions in another context with regard to writing.  In order for a line to go into a poem, it must be true, and it must be what I want to say.  Those are its truth conditions.  Rhymes will eagerly suggest themselves even when they have nothing to do with truth.  It is my job to reject them, even in the most mundane of verses.  Last night I could truthfully write a line about leaving the dishwasher to its burbles.  But I couldn’t, even in a verse far from worthy of posting, write that I would go to bed and dream of gerbils.  Sorry.  Wasn’t going to happen. Didn’t meet truth conditions.
On the other hand, sometimes a song will come to me almost whole, mostly, as it seems to me, following the leadings of rhyme and meter, and afterwards suggest something to me that, though I hadn’t known I was thinking about it, seems to me in some sense true.  The summer after I took a year off of college, I returned to a job that was idyllic in many respects.  But some crucial supports were missing, so there were unexpected tensions.  One day I hitchhiked most of the way to work and walked the remaining several blocks, through the small town of Vineyard Haven.  I saw a kite in a store window, and by the time I got to work a song had formed in my mind, which I hastily wrote down.  The tune was cheerful; the song entertained me.  It was only later that I considered what truth conditions may have been met:
Vineyard Haven Kite Song, Chapter One
Icarus with burning wings
Spoke to the flying clouds as he fell:
How can you
Not doing
Anything
Catch the resplendent sun so well?
The water that caught him was sparkling blue
Like the sun and the sky that he thought he knew
But the sea was still and the sun was silent
Nothing to tell of a fall so violent
Save a few feathers and, up above,
A father that mourned for the son he loved.
Daedalus, Daedalus, tell us please
What is the lesson you’d teach from this?
Is there a hope for arms such as these
To find the sky and the sun’s great bliss?


©Wendy Mulhern
August, 1978