Harrison and Mildred

Now that the poems about John and Mary Ratcliff's lives are going to be published (Finishing Line Press, sometime in 2016), I think it's time to focus on the next phase of the Skimino Cycle.  Harrison and Mildred Ratcliff present two compelling individuals.  Mildred was a Quaker prophetess and minister who traveled fairly widely in her ministry and visitations with other Quakers.  She was well-known among Quaker circles in the 1810s and 1820s, and was vocal during the schisms that rocked Quakers in the early 1800s.  Her Memoranda and Correspondence were published after her death.  She led a public life.

I know less about Harrison.  For a time, he and Mildred lived in the Lynchburg, VA area, which suggests to me that he might have taken on running of the family's farm in that location.  Middle and upper income Virginia farming families typically had farms in Tidewater, the Piedmont, and out in the mountains.  I know that Harrison's father, William, owned land in York County (Tidewater) and Hanover County (Piedmont) as Quaker records list him in both locations at various times.  But, back to Harrison.  He was the first postmaster of Leesburg, OH in the early 1800s, which means he and Mildred were early migrants to Ohio.  When his uncle, William Harrison, decided it was time to move the extended family to Ohio in 1817, Harrison Ratcliff (then in his 50s) was sent to find suitable land to purchase and on which to settle.  In his obituary, Harrison is described as having a "fractious" personality.

Mildred was not a Quaker when she and Harrison married and, even though she attended Meeting with him, she questioned Quaker's beliefs (she was raised Baptist).  Harrison had lost his membership for marrying outside the faith, but apparently still attended meeting.  Mildred's conversion to Quakerism came in part after reading John Woolman's Journal, a copy of which Harrison owned.  Coming from a prominent Quaker extended family, Harrison probably had met John Woolman as he traveled among the meetings in the South.  I don't know much else about Harrison and Mildred.  I assume they were childless-- there is no mention of children in Mildred's writings or in either of their obituaries.  They both seem to have been strong-minded and strong-willed individualists.  Mildred certainly wasn't afraid to express her thoughts and opinions, and I imagine the labeling of Harrison as "fractious" suggests a certain penchant for going his own way as well.  There's also no mention of Harrison traveling with Mildred in her writings, which suggests openness, respect, and trust between them, and agreement that each should be able to pursue interests.

Mildred's life is "out there" to some extent through her published writings and the writing of others.  Harrison is less known, but as the husband and man behind the prophetess, just as interesting.  I think it's worth exploring and imagining his personality and life. 

THE GLASS CUTTER

The meetinghouse was no place for art.

Plain walls and clear glass

were better to focus the mind

on the spirit born in simplicity,

brought forth from the Inner Light,

and spoken in the still, small voice

that need not announce itself

with ornamentation.

So, too, with daily life.

When he became a man

he was told:  pursue a trade,

go into business, take up farming.

Do good, practical work.

The Meeting taught him

that God’s beauty was in all things.

He saw it everywhere—

in blades of grass bent before the wind,

in the colors of the sky throughout the day,

in ripples on the surface of a pond.

All the world was art to him.

So he became a glass cutter,

beveling simplicity's stark edge,

etching grace as lines and patterns

into vases, bowls, and glasses,

each refracting spirit and light.

WHAT WONDERFUL DAYS THESE ARE

Mary Townsend Ratcliffe, Marshall County, Spring 1859

Spring has returned to the prairie.

The sky is a beautiful cornflower blue,

the air still more cool than hot,

and my family is happy and healthy.

John plows like he’s cutting glass,

absorbed in the precision of his work,

stopping only to run

the black soil through his hands.

I tend to the garden,

pick daffodils and jonquils—

narcissus poeticus and jonquilla—

to brighten up the kitchen.

Tonight, when the boys are asleep,

John and I will go down to the creek

and wash the day’s toils from each other.

DECISIONS

Mary Townsend Ratcliffe, Wheeling, VA, April 1856


The hardest decision is what to take
and what to leave behind. There is
not enough room on the riverboat
for all our possessions, even if we could
pay to have them shipped to Kansas.
So many items that have no value
other than the memories they spark,
I must sell or leave for others.
I will pack necessities—pots, pans,
bedding, clothing, books (yes, necessary)—
and a few niceties, but most I will leave.

And, Uncle Thomas’ collections—
we cannot take them with us.
We do not need his herbarium
or his geological specimen cabinet,
though, what a curiosity they would be…
Perhaps the medical society
will have an interest, or one
of the natural scientists in town.

I know we’ve made the right decision.
I know we should go, lest Kansas be lost
to slavery and ignorance;
that we must go to help assure free soil.
But, I struggle with the thought
that we might never see
family and friends again;
that I might never again
walk these green mountains.
And, what of natural science? Medicine?
What opportunities will I have
to pursue these, to continue my studies
when there will be so much work with the farm?

SPRING, 1863

John Ratcliffe, Marshall County, Kansas


I see the signs of spring around me.
Birds have returned
or are passing overhead, flying north.
Flowers are in bloom,
and buds have appeared on the fruit trees.
But I cannot shake this winter.
Though the days grow longer,
I am in darkness.
Though I am home,
the storm of war surrounds me.

I cannot find the beauty
in the blossoms and the buds.
In the singing of the birds,
I hear only the cries
of the wounded and the dying.
The boys clattering through the house
sound like brigades rushing to battle.
Every clang of a pot or pan makes me jump.

Only in the depths of night,
when all is still do I find peace.
There are days I wish I’d died on that battlefield.
Then there would have been only one death,
instead of the pain from my wounds
and the daily deaths I endure.

THE OHIO TOWN COMPANY

There on the prairie, on the edge of settlement,
the great sea of grass flowing to the west,
cities, towns, and farms to the east,
these Ohio men laid out their town,
measured out their farms,
knowing it would be some time
before government surveyors arrived,
but only a short time before claims jumpers,
Missourians, and Border Ruffians.

They came with plows and ideals,
to sow and reap new lives from the Kansas soil.

Raised on abolition, they had seen
runaways pass through their villages,
had seen the fear and hope in the eyes
of men, women, and children;
heard it in the whispered voices
in barns and cellars, under cover in wagons
as they waited for the slave hunters to pass.
Quakers to a man, they sat in Meeting
listening to those who counseled patience
and trust in God that laws would change.
They had helped hide runaways;
bought only goods made with free labor.
But this was not enough.
When Kansas opened, they went west
to send a message to the nation.
Kansas would be free,
by the ballot, they hoped;
by force if necessary.

It was their season,
and they waited for conflict to sprout.

More "found" poetry in the words of Mildred Ratcliff

Last year I delved into various family history-related documents from the 18th and 19th centuries to "find" poems in the wonderful words and phrases contained within them.  Correspondence was much more of an art form in the past, it seems, and even legal documents and Quaker meeting minutes have a certain rhythm and poetic feel to them.  The Memoranda and Correspondence of Mildred Ratcliff is a particularly good trove; it is no wonder that Mildred was respected as a minister and prophetess among Quakers.  The following poem is based on her words, contained on pages 36-37 of her Memoranda and Correspondence.  I have added line breaks, edited and revised a bit to improve the rhythm and flow, but for the most part left the words as Mildred wrote them.



THE WONDERFUL GOODNESS OF MY GOD

Mildred Ratcliff; based on text from her Memoranda and Correspondence, pp. 36-37
First Month 1st, 1805


Oh! the wonderful goodness of my God!
Oh! the overflowing of thy love that I have felt this day.
The new found songs of praise that I have been favored to sing!
Yea, I will say hallelujah to thee.
Teach me, and I will declare of thy wonderful works,
whilst my hands are employed about the business of the day.

How thou hast arisen in my heart.
Thy animating love overcomes and reigns above all,
raising in my inward life new found praises,
adoration, thanksgiving, and supplications
unto thee, who liveth and abideth forever.
I have said in my heart, I am lost in love and praise;
for thou art holy! holy! holy!

Thy goodness extends to the smallest work from thy hands;
thy gracious care is to the sparrow upon the house-top.

Thou art worthy of all my affections.

The Hired Girl... yet again

Thanks to my sister, Amy, the copy editor, I think "The Hired Girl" is finally in decent shape.  Amy is my primary sounding board, commenter, and editorial consultant.  She has a great knack for finding better ways to say things (which is why she's such a good copy editor) and has a great ability to make my words even better.  She's been a huge help in getting this poem into shape after the many drafts it's been through.  So, here's the final draft.  If you like it, Amy gets the credit; if you don't, then it's all on me.

THE HIRED GIRL

Melissa Hendricks, Marshall County, Kansas, 1873


This is my day today—
much like yesterday
and the day before that.
Up at dawn to help Miz Mary fix breakfast
while the older boys milk the cows.
Clean the kitchen,
then sweep and straighten up the house.
The younger boys will feed the hogs
before they go to school.
Miz Mary and the older boys finished the plowing.
Gene and John will be planting corn today;
Miz Mary will be in the far field sowing wheat.
I’ll have little Grant with me—
he can help me feed the chickens.
After that, I’ll take lunch out to the fields.

I hope Mr. John returns today.
He went hunting on the prairie.
Been gone a week—longer than usual—
but I don’t dare say too much about that
or Miz Mary will snap at me
like she did the other day
when I said he’d been gone so long.
She said she doesn’t understand
what’s going through his head,
why he can’t help more with the farm.

I’ve missed him much this week.
Talking with Mr. John makes the day go faster.
He tells me what he’s seen on his trips.
We talk about wildflowers and prairie grass,
about how much of the prairie has been plowed up
since he and Miz Mary settled here.
I know all the flowers and trees here in Kansas,
so I ask him about the plants back East.
And the way he talks about the green mountains—
I’d love to see them some day.

He talks of being a glass cutter back in Wheeling,
and said he’s thinking of making glass
here on the farm since he can’t do heavy work anymore
and needs something to do.
I’m going to help him.
Sometimes he reads to me while I work.
He knows I have a hard time reading.
Sometimes I mix up the letters
and the words don’t make any sense.
He said he’s going to teach me to write.

Sometimes Mr. John just sits at the kitchen table
and drinks his coffee while I work.
I feel his dark eyes follow me around the room.
I like that he watches me.
He said I’m pretty—no one’s ever told me that.
He seems different when he’s with me;
he stands a little straighter
and his face is not so hard.

I hope Mr. John returns today.
I could use some company.
If he’s not too sore and tired
we can work together in the garden.
We need to decide what to plant this spring.

Or, maybe we can just be together in the house.

Melissa/The Hired Girl... Again

I am still revising "Melissa/The Hired Girl."  Finding the right voice for Melissa Hendricks has proven to be a very difficult task.  I have struggled with the narrative aspects of the poem-- at times she is telling more than is necessary, or even perhaps realistic.  At times her voice and personality get lost in the process of my telling a story.  At times, I feel like I capture her voice, but make her tell too much.  I have never revised and rewritten a poem, and still been less than satisfied, as I have with this one.  I haven't even settled on a title.

In some ways, the poem seems transitional; that is, it provides a transition between poems that focus on John or Mary or John and Mary.  Melissa seems superfluous.  She is simply there to get us from one stage in John and Mary's lives to another.  Perhaps that was the part she played in their lives.  She was the hired girl, living with them, but not fully part of the family, and thus not fuly part of the story.  But, she is a critical player in their story, even if only the object of John's desire, and through their adultery, the catalyst (but likely not the only cause) leading to John and Mary's divorce.  John did not live with Melissa after the divorce, so perhaps her role in John and Mary's story, and hence in the Skimino Cycle, is ephemeral; transitional.  So, perhaps the poem should not stand on its own, but rather act as a means to move from one poem to another.

I don't know.  This one is hard to wrap my mind around.  But, whatever the role of this poem, here's the latest draft:

THE HIRED GIRL

Melissa Hendricks, Marshall County, Kansas, 1873


This is my day today—
much like yesterday
and the day before that.
Up at dawn to help Miz Mary fix breakfast
while the older boys milk the cows.
Clean the kitchen after we’re done,
then sweep and straighten up the house.
The younger boys will feed the hogs
before they go to school.
Miz Mary and the boys finished the plowing.
Gene will be planting corn today;
Miz Mary and John will be in the far field sowing wheat.
I’ll have little Grant with me—
he can help me feed the chickens.
After that, I’ll fix lunch and take it out to the fields.

I hope Mr. John returns today.
He went out hunting on the prairie
and has been gone a week—longer than usual—
but I don’t dare say too much about that.
When I said something the other day
about him being gone so long,
Miz Mary snapped at me
and said she doesn’t understand
what is going through his head
and why he can’t help more with the farm.

I have missed him so much this week.
Talking with Mr. John always makes the day go faster.
He tells me what he’s seen on his trips.
We talk about the wildflowers and the prairie grass,
and how much of the prairie has been plowed up
since he and Miz Mary settled here.
I know all the flowers and trees here in Kansas,
so I ask him about the plants they have back East.
And the way he talks about the green mountains—
I would love to see them some day.

He talks about being a glass cutter back in Wheeling,
and said he’s thinking of making glass
here on the farm since he needs something to do
and can’t do heavy work anymore.
I am going to help him.
Sometimes he reads to me while I work.
He knows I have a hard time reading.
Sometimes I mix up the letters
and the words don’t make any sense.
He said he’s going to teach me to write.

Sometimes Mr. John just sits at the kitchen table,
drinks his coffee, and watches me while I work.
I feel his dark eyes following me around the room.
I like that he watches me.
He said I’m pretty—no one has ever told me that.
He seems happier when he is with me;
I noticed that he stands a little straighter
whenever he is around me.

I hope Mr. John returns today.
I could use some company.
If he’s not too sore and tired
we can work together in the garden.
We need to decide what to plant this spring.

Or, maybe we can just be together in the house.

THE HIRED GIRL

This is my day today:
help Missus Mary with the breakfast;
clean up the dishes when we are done;
send the younger boys off to school;
go out to the garden
and pick beans and squash for dinner;
feed the chickens.
Missus is working in the fields
with the older boys,
so I will feed the hogs today.
I hate feeding the hogs. 
Prepare lunch, and take it out to the field.
They’re working in the far field today—
maybe I’ll dip my feet in the creek on the way back.

Mr. John has been gone hunting for days.
We expect him back today.
I’ll make some coffee for him.
I made some biscuits—I know he’ll like that.
Missus complains when he’s gone;
says she doesn’t understand
why he likes to be away so long.
But she knows his wounds still cause him pain,
so he can’t do the hard work of the farm.
Mr. John told me he likes the quiet of the prairie,
lying out under the stars at night.
Says he needs to be alone sometimes;
needs to get away from people.
I asked him what he does all day when he’s gone.
He said he checks his traps,
does some hunting or fishing,
but mostly just sits and thinks and listens.
I think he can’t get the war out of his head.
Pa said men were like that when they came back.
Some got better, some started drinking;
some, like Mr. John, just became sad or angry.

Here comes Mr. John now,
leading his mule down the lane.
Looks like he got a deer.
He’s bent to the side more than usual,
and he’s limping—
his hip and back must really be hurting.
I’ll get an extra cushion for his chair
so he can be comfortable
when he sits and talks with me.
I love it when he talks about the stars,
and all the plants on the prairie,
or about the years before the war,
when there was hardly anyone living here,
and there was nothing but a sea of grass.
Oh, how beautiful that must have been.
He was one of the first settlers here,
him and the others from Ohio.
He told me they surveyed their own farms,
laid out lots for the town, built the mill.
I think he wants to go back
to those days before the war.
I can see it in his eyes—
he doesn't seem so sad
when he talks to me.
I think he likes to talk with me,
maybe 'cause I listen,
and of course I don’t tell him
what he should do.
I try to help him feel less sad.
I wish there was a way I could ease his pain.

The Hired Girl

I took a break from work on the next set of poems in my Skimino Cycle series.  These poems were going to focus on the period of time when John Ratcliffe had his affair with Melissa Hendricks, the young woman whom John and Mary had hired to help out on the farm.  The affair is the act that led to Mary's decision to file for divorce.  It probably wasn't the only cause (although that's speculation on my part), but it certainly was the action that was spelled out in the divorce papers. 

I had drafted a poem narrated by Melissa, but initial comments from others was that it seemed a little flat.  Melissa (unnamed in the poem) seemed too one dimensional.  I agreed.  My goal in the poem was to introduce her as a character in the series of poems and to place her in some sort of work-a-day context.  I also wanted to try to place her in the context of John and Mary's relationship, knowing that as the hired girl she would be somewhat of an outsider, albeit well-informed outsider and observer.  And, knowing that she had an affair with John, she is not, or at least would not remain, an impartial observer.  I wanted to establish empathy for John on her part; establish that she cared for him in some way, that there was something that attracted her to him.  But, I wanted to be careful that she did not come across as a seductress, plotting to eventually get John into bed.  I also didn't want to make her come across as having a sort of school girl crush on John.  He was probably a fairly good looking man (his Civil War enlistment papers describe him as having dark eyes, dark hair, dark complexion); friends described his physical build as trim and fit.  They also described him as being a neat and tidy dresser.  But, family lore has it that he was depressed and bitter after the war, in part because of the wounds he suffered.  Depression runs in the family, so this seems plausible.  So, John had qualities that might have been attractive to a young woman of 21 (Melissa's age at the time of the affair), but he had qualities that would have been less attractive.  What was it, then, that attracted the two of them to each other?  And, did the affair grow out of love?  Or, was it simply something that happened as two people who enjoy each other's company and maybe need each other find themselves drawing closer together? 

Back to the poem itself-- I read my initial draft again this morning.  I read the alternate version that I had drafted.  That version, which tried to get more into Melissa's character, made her seem shallow, naive, maybe even a bit dull of mind.  Given John's upbringing and background, I can't see him being attracted to someone who was dull of mind, and I don't want the affair to be based solely on physical attraction, some mid-life crisis where John is simply looking for fling with a voluptuous young woman.  Maybe it was, and there is a comment from one of his neighbors in a statement in John's pension files that he had an eye for the women, but as author and storyteller, I don't want it to be simply about sex.  As I read the initial draft again this morning, I felt a little more comfortable with the words, with the story line.  I made a few changes to improve cadence and flow, and made a few changes that may help improve my characterization of Melissa and her feelings toward John.  But, as I read the poem again, I realized this is not a poem that delves deep into her character and persona, and neither did I want it to be that.  Rather, the poem is a young woman voicing her thoughts on a particular day, in a particular moment without getting introspective or into self-analysis.

Mining the Past; Finding Poems

Last night I was reading historical documents that I have collected in my family history research, searching for new themes for poems in The Skimino Cycle.  I've been stymied in my attempts to capture feelings and events leading up to John and Mary's divorce, and in my attempt to develop the personality of Melanie, the hired girl with whom John had an affair.  So, I thought I'll return to earlier years in the cycle and turn to documents from the 1700s and early 1800s for ideas.  The deed in which John and Harriett Ratcliffe's personal property was itemized had formed the basis for the poem "There is No Life For Us Here," and in fact, the poem contains the itemized list almost verbatim.  Reading various documents, I realized there was a certain rhythm and style to much of the official and legal writing in the past-- with a little editing perhaps they could be literary items.  This also is in keeping with the "Found Poetry" movement-- the idea that poems can be formed from everyday words and language; that there's a certain poetry in everything we say or write. 

So, I'm going to experiment with this idea.  The next few poems posted in The Skimino Cycle will be "found poems," drawn and formed from the actual historical documents that are the record that remains of individual lives.

Addendum:  Posted four poems drawn largely (and in the case of "At the Supper Table of the Lamb" entirely) from the words in historical documents:  "William Ratcliff's Will and Testament," "Dear William," "At the Supper Table of the Lamb," and "I Take Thee, My Friend."

John and the Hired Girl

I've been working on a new poem within my Skimino Cycle titled "The Hired Girl."  As the title indicates, the poem focuses on the hired girl that John and Mary Ratcliffe hired to help work on their farm.  According to depositions from friends and neighbors in John's Civil War pension file, John and Mary hired multiple girls to help out, to some of whom John apparently (according to the depositions) took a liking.  That he had an affair with one is definitely known-- Mary names Melissa Hendricks in the divorce papers that she filed in 1873.

I don't know much about Melissa, which is making it difficult to capture her personality and voice in the poem.  She was rather "flat" in the first draft-- commenters who read the first draft said as much, and I have to agree with them.  Here's one little bit of information I know about her:  she was 18 years old in 1870, which means she would have been around 20 or 21 when the adulterous act occurred.  She was listed in the 1880 census as unable to write, but interestingly, she was not listed as illiterate (can one know how to read, but not write?).  She was living with her parents in 1880.  Not much in the way of facts around which to build a personality.

Each of the poems in the Skimino Cycle has required a fair amount of imagining to build the story around the facts.  But, the others involved people (mostly John and Mary) for whom I have enough information from which to create a well-rounded character.  This is not the case with the hired girl.  I am having to create her personality and character almost from scratch, and ultimately based upon how I think she related to John and Mary.  The problem right now is that, as a character, she is mostly a reflection of other people, without any real personality of her own.  I think she turned out that way in the first draft because I was trying to avoid making her come across as either exploited by John or as a seductress.  The result, however, was that she came across as "flat" and without any sort of feelings or thoughtful expression-- in a way, as dull and unintelligient.

The poem is narrated by the hired girl-- we are in her head as she goes about her activities.  The physical setting is the kitchen of the farmhouse, which is where I envision much of her interaction with John occurred.  The kitchen seems like a good setting-- the family hearth; the focus of much daily activity; where John would rest after returning from his trips out onto the prairie for hunting, fishing, and trapping (activities in which he engaged a lot, according to the pension file depositions).  If Mary is out in the fields, managing the daily activity of the farm, the kitchen would be a good location for John and Melissa to spend time.  Friendship and then intimacy could develop there, but also because it's a family space, Mary would have opportunity to interrupt and observe the relationship between them.  And, because ultimately the kitchen is Mary's kitchen, there is a violation of space even if there is not yet a violation of trust.

So, where to go with Melissa's character?  The difference in ages between her and John would suggest that she might see him as a "father figure" type, someone older and wiser from whom she can learn.  Someone who is more mature and perhaps understanding than the younger men of the community.  Perhaps she has a learning disability (which is why she can't write) or some other disability that makes her less attractive to younger men, but which John, with his war wounds (physical and perhaps mental), can empathize and see past.  They find solace in each other; they spend time together; they share a mutual understanding of each other's condition; and this leads ultimately to physical intimacy.

Two More Poems in The Copperfield Review

The Copperfield Review is turning out to be a great place for me.  I've got two poems in the latest issue, Spring 2012:  "David Sang in Welsh Today" and "Separated in Death, Even as in Life."  Just about all of the historical poems in my Skimino Cycle have been published there. 

Check out the poems as well as the Copperfield Review's new look at http://copperfieldreview.com/?p=527

Three more poems at The Copperfield Review

I seem to have found a home in The Copperfield Review.  Three more of my Skimino Cycle poems have been published in the Winter 2012 issue:  "They Rode on Borrowed Horses," "John's Lament," and "She Will Not Thirst Again."  These poems fit temporally with the three poems published in the Summer 2011 issue as all focus on John and Mary Ratcliffe.  The three poems published in the Fall 2011 issue represented a step back in time, as they were set in the 1700s and early 1800s.

Many, many thanks to the editors at The Copperfield Review.  If you want read my poems there, see http://www.copperfieldreview.com/poetry/Ratcliffe%202012.htm

DAVID SANG IN WELSH TODAY

[Published in The Copperfield Review, Spring 2012]


DAVID SANG IN WELSH TODAY

Phebe Williams, 1856, as she and her husband, David, and a small group of fellow Mormons travel eastward from Utah to Kansas.  They had already crossed the Great Plains and the Rocky Mountains the year before, as part of a group of Welsh Mormons migrating to Utah.

David sang in Welsh today—
faced the rising sun and sang;
his voice, so strong and clear,
we stopped our work and listened,
the women by the breakfast fires,
the men hitching up the mules,
even the soldiers escorting us—
all stopped and listened to him sing:
Arglwydd, arwain trwy’r anialwch—
Lord, lead me through the wilderness—
O, his voice, like a sweet fountain flowing,
clear and strong across the prairie.
David sang in Welsh today—
how good to hear him sing again.

He never sang in Utah—

not with the other men
while working in the quarry.
He would not join the chapel choir,
saying he could not sing
while the Saints were in darkness;
would not sing as long as humble Saints
were forced to give their possessions to the Church;
to work first for the leaders,
and then for themselves.
This was not the Zion we expected—
the communal life he preached in Wales.
He would not sing while the Church
preached polygamy,
or all the temple rites,
or blind obedience to the priesthood.
He would not sing while rule in Zion
was no better than the ironmasters’
grips on the valleys of South Wales.

And when we left Utah
traveling east through the mountains,
he still would not sing—
No sounds that might help
the Destroying Angels find us;
no praises sung to heaven above;
no songs to ease the hiraeth we felt—
the longing for life back in Wales.

David sang in Welsh today,
faced the rising sun and sang.
We stopped our work and listened,
and then a rising chorus,
the men hitching up the mules,
the women tending the fires,
voices rising in harmony—
pilgrims of poor appearance,
singing in this barren land.
We felt our anxious fears subside,
and the spirit of God and hope flowed through us,
like the River Jordan in the desert.

David canodd yn Gymraeg heddiw.
David sang in Welsh today.

Reading the Skimino Cycle

I've tried to write each of the poems in "The Skimino Cycle" in such a way that each can stand alone and is not dependent on the context of the whole for meaning and value.  But, each is also part of a larger story, particularly those that revolve around the lives of John and Mary Ratcliffe.  I also have not attempted to write in a linear, chronological fashion, with each new poem written and posted following the previous poem in time.  As a result, I jump around in time as my creative juices flow and the words come to mind.  For instance, I recently wrote and posted "John and Mary, 1873."  This poem, which is set just prior to their separation and divorce, came along years after I wrote poems set in the years after their divorce.

So, for those who want to read these poems in a chronological manner, here's the order, from furthest back in time to most contemporary (the year in which the poem is set is in parentheses).  The bulk of the poems-- those set in the 1850s-1882, including "Separated in Death, Even As In Life," focus on John and Mary Ratcliffe.

Cypress Boards (1805)
John and Harriett, 1837 (1837)
This Prairie is Life (1855)
The Mountains Were My Meetinghouse (1855)
On This Cold Southern Field (1862)
John and Mary, 1873 (1873)
The Glass (1876)
They Rode on Borrowed Horses (1876)
John's Lament (post-1876)
The Wheatfield (1876)
She Will Not Thirst Again (1882)
Separated in Death, Even as in Life (no particular time, but post-1882.  I was at the cemetery in 2005.)
Skimino (2001/2002)
Grass (2000s)
Spring Soil (2000s)
The Homestead (2005)
The Homestead, Part 2 (2005)
Moel Siabod (2009)

Lives Imagined and Re-Imagined

The larger portion of poems in the collection that I've called "The Skimino Cycle" focus on the lives of John G. and Mary Townsend Ratcliffe.  These poems take the core of what I know about them from a variety of historical documents and combine those facts with what I can assume about them based on the milieu in which they lived.  There's also quite a bit of imagining based in these facts and assumptions, as well as bits and pieces of information passed along through the family.  In essence, I've created characters and lives, based on real people who lived at some time in the past-- I suppose what I've created should be called "pseudo-biographies."  I began writing imagining and writing the series of poems based on their pseudo-biographies nearly ten years ago.   And, athough I knew that new facts and details would always come to light, I thought I knew the core details of their lives.  In recent weeks, however, I have come across new information that has changed what I and others thought we knew about their relationship.  These new facts create a dilemma regarding the poems that have been written (and some published) already, raising critical questions.  When imagining lives, and building a story based around historical characters, how closely must the author stick to the facts?  And, when new information is found, is there a need to revise previous work?

I knew all the basic facts about their lives-- dates of birth, death, marriage, births of their children; what towns and counties they lived in over the course of their lives together; John's occupation, when they moved to Kansas and under what circumstances; John's Civil War record; and the general timing of their separation and presumed divorce.  What I didn't know was why they married in West Alexander, PA rather than in Wheeeling or eastern Ohio, where their families lived; specifically why they were living with Mary's uncle, Dr. Thomas Townsend, in Wheeling in 1850; and whether they actually divorced, and the specific reason for their separation and divorce.  I knew that they were both buried in the Ratcliffe family plot in the Gaylord, KS cemetary; that Mary had originally been buried on the farm, but was moved to the cemetary; and that she was buried at the opposite end of the plot from John.  I built a series of poems and imagined their lives and personalities based on these events and what I fact-based assumptions I could form. 

A few months ago, I decided to read every item in John's Civil War pension file (which a neighbor who researches and writes books on the Civil War graciously photographed for me).  Most of the file contains his petitions for increases in his monthly pension, as well as affidavits from doctors, neighbors, and friends supporting his claims.  Those items and their contents were familiar to me.  Several of the affidavits from long-time friends and former neighbors, however, contained shocking revelations about his personal life and events that led directly to his and Mary's separation and divorce.  All noted that he had been intimate with the young woman that he and Mary had hired to help out on the farm, and several noted that John had gotten her "in the family way."  In addition, one person noted that John had had a tendency to "chase after women."  After reading these, I decided I had to obtain documents relating to their divorce, if indeed they were officially divorced.  I wrote to the clerk of the District Court for Marshall County, KS, and received copies of Mary's petition for divorce.  It was true-- in October 1873, John committed adultery with the hired girl.  Mary was divorcing him for that reason, as well as the fact that he had not been present in the home for a year. 

The family story had always been that John had been depressed and moody after the Civil War, and had basically become difficult to live with.  Given the nature and extent of his wounds, and the amount of time between his return from the war in 1863 to their separation and divorce in the early 1870s, that made sense.  In my poems, I had him sinking into depression and essentially driving people away from him.  There was something in one family history record of him having a wife in Jewell County, but this would have been after the divorce, and there was no other corroborating evidence of that-- just a seemingly random note jotted down by a grandson long after the fact.  But, adultery-- that seemed change everything.  Were the family stories of depression correct?  Or, were they just the stories told to the younger sons to protect them from the truth?  My great-grandfather and his brothers got enough basic facts about their father wrong in his obituary and other documents to make it plausible that they had not been told all the truth.  They were all young (15 years and under) at the time of the divorce, and they reached manhood largely without him.  If the stories of depression and anger are false, then the emotional underpinnings of the poems, particularly those exploring Mary's feelings, are false.  And, in that case, must I revise?

On the other hand, perhaps the stories of depression and anger are true, and help to explain the adultery.  In the decade between John's return from war and the separation, three sons were born.  The marriage could not have been terribly bad.  Perhaps there was a slow decline in their relationship, brought on by depression, moodiness, and a change in roles and relationships.  John could not perform manual labor, which meant he could not do the hard work on the farm.  The same individuals who mention his "chasing after women" also not that he spent a lot of time hunting, fishing, and trapping after the war.  This would have kept him away from the farm-- perhaps for days at a time?

So, a deeper, richer imagining of their lives is beginning to form.  Mary, taking on the role of managing and running the farm, and perhaps even doing some of the work that John once did.  Perhaps this helped her realize she could successfully take out her own homestead and farm on her own after the divorce.  John, increasingly despondent about his inability to do the work he once did, immerses himself in hunting, fishing, and trapping-- the things he can still do to bring in money and to support his large family.  They begin drifting apart; Mary tries to keep them together, and to spend more time together on the farm; John reacts to what he sees as nagging by finding solace with the hired girl (or girls), eventually getting caught in the act of adultery-- or admitting to it.  Does this require revision to existing poems?  Perhaps not.  But, it helps chart the direction in which new poems must go, and helps fill in some gaps in knowledge, providing new emotional depths to plumb.

THEY RODE ON BORROWED HORSES

[Published in The Copperfield Review, Winter 2012]


THEY RODE ON BORROWED HORSES

John Ratcliffe, Marshall County, Kansas, 1876, after his wife, Mary, has left him.


Sunlight glints across the sharded floor…
blue light, and he knows
it was the glass he gave her.

He reflects upon another day…

They rode on borrowed horses,
leaving Wheeling at the first blue light of dawn
while others still slept.
Into the ancient hills they rode
to West Alexander
and a chapel where they would wed.
Just the two of them,
no family, no friends,
no queries from the Meeting,
no concerns over their beliefs,
or perhaps lack thereof.
Just the two of them,
and the preacher and wife to make it legal.

Side by side they rode
under that November sky
clear and blue as her eyes;
blue as her gingham dress
and the ribbon (a gift from his mother)
holding back her dark hair.
Through familiar meadows
where they walked,
gathering plants for her collection,
and minerals to color glass,
the cobalt that he used
for the two glasses in his bag.

He remembered the day they met—
the things they talked of:
plants and rocks, sand and glass,
the designs of nature,
the creation of beauty in the artist’s hands.
He thought of walks in the mountains,
sharing their dreams—
she, to be a surgeon and scientist;
he, an artist, shaping glass and stone—
dreams left far behind in Wheeling.

Sunlight glints across the sharded floor,
he takes the other glass from the shelf
and remembers the end of that other day—


Down the ancient mountains,
their new life beginning,
they rode on borrowed horses
under blue November skies.
In a familiar meadow,
at a spring, clear water flowing
they stopped. In his saddlebag
two blue glasses,
blown and cut by hand;
together they filled them from the spring,
and drank to the dreams they would share.

Something old, something new...

... something borrowed, something blue.  This wedding rhyme has been running through my mind over the past month.  Not because I plan to get married (already am), but because I'm trying to write another installment in The Skimino Cycle.  The poem that I am working on ("struggling with" might be more appropriate) focuses on the marriage of John Ratcliffe and Mary Townsend, my great-great-grandparents, and the subjects of the largest group of poems in The Skimino Cycle.  John and Mary were married in 1848, in West Alexander, PA.  My effort hasn't yielded any useful lines, but the research process has been quite interesting. 

I've been trying to build the poem around the two glasses that I've imagined John made as wedding gifts.  These glasses feature in earlier poems, one of which Mary breaks before leaving John (in "The Glass"); the other that John leaves by her bedside when he visits her just before her death (in "She Will Not Thirst Again").  John was a glass cutter in Wheeling, before they moved to Kansas.  When visiting with a distant cousin of my father's, she showed us a blue glass that, according to the family story, had been passed along to her father (my great-grandfather's brother), and was apparently made by John.  This is the glass that I decided was left by John on the table beside Mary's bed.  The two glasses will be the "something[s] new" in the poem on which I'm working.

So, I got to wondering what the lines in the rhyme refer to.  "Something old" is meant to convey continuity with the bride's family and past.  "Something new" represents good luck and a bright future in married life.  "Something borrowed" should come from happily married woman, lending the good fortune she's experienced to the bride-to-be.  And, "something blue" symbolizes purity, faithfulness, and loyalty.  What was interesting to me was that up until the late-1800s most brides wore blue, and not white.  This bit of information is critical to the development of the poem, and points to the need for research and understanding the people and period about which one writes.  I don't know that I intially thought I would mention anything about Mary's dress, but knowing now that brides wore blue in the mid-1800s saved me from making an erroneous reference to a white dress.  And, the meaning of the rhyme now gives me a framework around which to "build" the poem.  New glasses, made by the groom, perhaps working on the glasses after his shift is done, blowing the glass himself, and the cutting the grooves and designs.  Traveling to the chapel in a borrowed wagon.  Mary wearing a blue gingham dress; John in white shirt and black trousers, a black, broadbrimmed, Quaker style hat.  Mary, her hair tied back with a blue ribbon; John, blue ribbons around his sleeves.  I haven't figured out what the "something old" will be-- perhaps something old from her Uncle Thomas Townsend (a noted, and somewhat eccentric, doctor and amateur botanist and geologist in Wheeling).

Development of the poem required researching other questions.  John and Mary lived in Wheeling, but married in West Alexander, PA, which is about 10 miles to the east.  Why West Alexander?  I don't know exactly why, but West Alexander was where couples went in the 1830s and 1840s to get married quickly-- when they were eloping, whatever the reason.  This is intriguing to me, and I've envisioned that John, raised in a mixed Quaker/Disciples of Christ household, and Mary, perhaps a lapsed Quaker, decided that they didn't want to be married under the care of any Quaker Meeting and didn't want to be married in a Disciples of Christ chapel.  Of course, there could have been other reasons, but we won't go there without any sort of evidence.  I've claimed poetic license and imagined many things in the Skimino Cycle poems, but never imagined scandal where none existed.  Another question:  how do you make blue glass?  Cobalt would have been used in the 1840s; now I can imagine John, or maybe John and Mary, gathering rocks from which to obtain cobalt.  Traipsing around the mountains east of Wheeling collecting geological and botanical specimens was one of the things Thomas Townsend was known for; perhaps Mary accompanied him.  One imagined scene of mine has John in the mountains looking for minerals to color glass when he runs into Mary collecting plants or rocks.  And, of course, because John was a glass cutter, I have had to learn what glass cutters did, and how they carried out their work, which required a deft, artisan's hand when etching and cutting glass.

Much to learn; much to imagine-- but all necessary to constructing a poem that captures the essence of John and Mary and places them in the proper context.  And, in the end, I've added "something new" to my stockpile of esoteric knowledge that makes writing fun.