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Title:       Nana
Date:        2025-04-12
Link:        https://spool-five.com/poetry/2025_apr12_nana/
Word Count:  376
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> And after all those shenanigans we, we bring you a very serious (or
> is it?) optional prompt. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a
> poem inspired by Wallace Stevens’ poem, “Peter Quince at the Clavier.”
> It’s a complex poem that not only heavily features the idea of music,
> but is structured like a symphony. Its four sections, like symphonic
> movements, play with and expand on an overall theme, using the story of
> Susannah and the Elders as a backdrop.

> Try writing a poem that makes reference to one or more myths, legends,
> or other well-known stories, that features wordplay (including rhyme),
> mixes formal and informal language, and contains multiple sections that
> play with a theme. Try also to incorporate at least one abstract concept
> – for example, desire or sorrow or pride or whimsy.


I
Another cigarette
Another pang of regret
Another whimsical smile
For leering eyes

II
Angelic glow of movie theatre
Where two faces meet
One in resolute glory
And one in resolute sadness

Sadness at the loss of opportunity
To be a heroine like her
After all, who can become so iconic
In a Paris like this?

III
A philosopher in a cafe
Wonders about The Three Musketeers
The idiotic one

And about whether some things persist
Though settings and people
and ideas may change
so drastically

Is there something that can
nevertheless be conveyed
When we reach into the past
Come face to face with another like us
But so different in so many ways

Did Joan, too, look back at faded icons
Mary, Esther and, yes, Susanna,
And wonder if her life was meaningless
in their shadow?

Only Falconetti knew how to
communicate resolutely through time.
That was the power of the actress

IV
Was it Nana or Anna,
Through concave lens
And out-of-sync sound track,
Who was pushed out of her own time?
Into eternity
Like Joan, and Falconetti, and Mary
And, yes, Susanna

Whether it be Jerusalem, or at the stake,
Or in a walled garden, bathing,
Or abandoned like an animal
On cold Paris street
All are forgotten in their time
Relegated to eternity

And haunting the walls
Of local bookstores
Or in a dark, glowing movie theatre
Where another cries, watching