Gerald
Stern’s “Bolero” is a rabble-rousing poem that stirs me up, incites me almost
to internal riot, and makes me want to love it. However, it fails to convey the
rational components of its argument. In the end, we sense an emotional logic,
but its left-brained component leaves us with as many questions as answers.
With its run-on lines, its (arguably)
run-on sentences, and no commas, no pauses of any kind until the final word,
“Bolero” is a rushing, breathless thing. There’s a lively, appealing gusto and
some compelling images, such as an azalea bush that’s “firing” and a Japanese
maple
But
I’m almost as full of questions as enjoyment and affection. Here are some,
offered breathlessly, perhaps.
What
if a reader does not know Ravel’s Bolero?
Granted, it’s famous, but must one hear or remember it to “get” the poem?
Why
the odd line breaks such as “firing / away” or “daylight and / turned” or
“for it was / time”? Have I already answered this in noting how the poem
strives for unbridled energy? Is that energy too intense to pay attention to
syntax and the point where its poetic line would normally end?
I
do see a rationale for the break at end of Line 2, with “roaring I.” With this
enjambment Stern is able to make both the Japanese maple and the speaker things
that “roar.” A “roaring I” is part of the speaker’s characterization of
himself.
 |
| One Roaring I (St. Clairsville, Ohio) |
It
also makes sense to pause at “roaring I,” in order to emphasize it as its own
entity; the roaring I is a being, and
to build suspense, as it were, we must wait till the next line to hear what
this rampaging thing might do.
 |
| More Roaring I (The Speedtrap Diner, Woodville, Ohio) |
Some
additional, random questions: What might “sugar and barley . . .
come to”? Beer? Bread? In my quick Google search, I found that
sugar and barley yield hard candy. I don't see how that's part of the poem,
unless Bolero has the feel of candy.
In
what way is loyalty relevant? To whom
should the speaker be loyal? Ravel?
Or his lover or his wife or his son? Or his own energy in decades past?
What style might be “too nostalgic”? His dancing style? Or is it Bolero that’s too nostalgic?
Who
is the nightingale? Ravel? Or the speaker’s wife, who is not present for his
mad dancing in the kitchen? Or a former lover? The speaker’s “burning alive”—is
that his own dancing, his feeling the music in the present moment? Or is it a
mental picture of himself in the past, along with a thinner waist?
If
not, whose waist is “that thin”? His son’s? His wife’s? Has he
found himself in an old photo? When, in the timeline of the poem, did that
happen?
Even
the final line, which I love, is full of questions. How does the speaker get
from nostalgia to “burning alive” or “nightingale”? Is this burning alive a
good thing—a kind of intensity and vitality? Or was he burning up and wasting
away in some deathly fever, with unfulfilled passion?
 |
| Nightingale!! Fever |
The
nightingale is one of the most romantic birds available as an image—is it a
term of endearment here, or are the bird and its music somehow blameworthy in
the speaker’s burning alive? Isn't that accusation I hear in the final line?
Can it be both? Neither? Is the nightingale an actual bird, whose music somehow
connects to Ravel and Bolero?
 |
| Floating I |
Gerald
Stern is about as major a living poet as we have in America, so I want to
digest every piece of this or any Stern poem. Maybe “Bolero” is one of those
poems where a reader cannot explain just what the poet is saying, no matter how
attracted he is to the poem’s lively longing. For me, what’s lovable and
stirring are the poem’s energy and its homey specific details. It’s full of
heart, but its rational head is confused. Or at least my head is
confused—enough to prevent being swept by this engaging, rowdy piece that seems
to want to sweep me away.
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