Draft, LEFT UMBRELLAS

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Poem Begun at 55 bis..., Paris, 21.8.86; NEW VERSION 23.8.86, 2:25p.m (new end) 3:38 p.m.; 7:30 p.m. to 8:18 LEFT UMBRELLAS by J. A. Emanuel That little old lady stole mine (the clerk agreed)-- too close to me at Window 3, hunched over her own business while minding mine, puckered and sour as a stale lime, like Paris sky that day. Other umbrellas, other skies Drifted outside with me: Canterbury Cathedral-- I'd left one there in '72, solaced by grandeur; a series of them left me no face to blame, their last—look images almost dry beside some picnic throwaways in Krakow, below a Courte—Paille luncheon chair in Angouleme, behind a rugged airport bench in Denver, beneath a battered taxi seat in Lagos. My footstep slowed to change that guilty face: better a man's, the prospect of a bigger canopy ----18.9.86 upon typing snatched by wind and blasted to a treetop, of spine and tines maimed in the mud, a disappearance dear as William gone to war. Instead a standstill thought declared-- she'd hide it in a hatbox, wrapped in a grey-green scarf. Crazy, least eccentric, hiding umbrellas; In the beginning 18.9.86 less like Adam? There was rain before that garden grew: Knowledge came wet into this world. A left umbrella tangle in such a tangle some little old lady would have hidden, minding the business of Eve.

Full description

Draft poem written by Emanuel in 1986, typed with written edits, where he reflects on how his umbrella was stolen.

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  • type
    Image
  • created on
  • file format
    jpg
  • file size
    404 kB
  • container title
    James A. Emanuel Papers
  • creator
    James A. Emanuel
  • issue
    BOX 5 FOLDER 5, Deadly James, draft A, 1981-1990 (2 of 2)
  • rights
    James A. Emanuel Estate
  • rights holder
    James A. Emanuel Estate
  • version
    8/21/1986