Magdalene Faces the Tribunal of Quantifiable Evidence and Measurable Outcomes
Yes, it is possible, I suppose, that he hypnotized us and we only imagined ourselves in those silent depths— that he tricked our minds into peace, our bodies into ease, created the illusion that we were whole. And yes, perhaps we merely felt as if we were loved. . .with abandon. . . He smelled like rain and his voice made my bones hum like a thousand dulcimers… Yes, it was probably an imaginary wind that brought us to his feet and blew us back into lives that are now, somehow, on fire. And I suppose one could make the case that he faked the whole thing, that he was just like the rest of us—lost, tiny as a grain of rice in a bubbling kettle of stars. He may have only brought laughter to our days and dancing to our feet, only made it seem a blessing to be alive. No, sirs, I have nothing to show. None of us got rich or made ourselves a name. But often I find my pillow wet when I wake in the night and think of him.
From Elephant Raga (Lynx House Press, 2015), winner of the 2015 Lynx Prize and reprinted with permission of the press. The book can be ordered here.


I thought, if you have hurt my child, If you have curdled my milk with that, I will find you, and I will kill you. And with that my son’s hair stood On end, in the saline.
“The Defense,” from Blood, Tin, and Straw (Knopf 2004)
In the same way, Magdalene appears to acquiesce to the Tribunal (who, in its despotic exercise of power no doubt believes she has accepted their pronouncement), but in fact it is she who has the last word and carries the day in these powerful last lines:None of us got rich or made ourselves a name. But often I find my pillow wet when I wake in the night and think of him.
About writing “Magdalene Faces the Tribunal, its author says:“It’s no exaggeration to say this poem’s gestation took decades. I lived in an Indian ashram on and off for much of the 80s, and upon returning to the West, I found myself in a culture ‘religiously’ devoted to weights and measures. All credibility for the immeasurable seemed to have been lost. I wobbled through the following decades carrying what felt to be an unwieldy secret: experiences of terribly suspect states such as love, silence, and (dare I say?) joy. Then, a few years ago, I re-entered academe to pursue an MFA in poetry. Even in the sheltered precincts of Creative Writing, the ivory tower’s virulent prejudice against all things interior and inexplicable slipped under the door. It was there, on one of many lonely, gray afternoons, that I heard Magdalene’s voice before the Tribunal. Her vulnerability and helplessness met mine; I let her write the poem.”
Sereno’s comment about letting Magdalene write this piece makes me want to talk a bit more about a technique popular in rhetoric and poetry called “persona.” The word literally means “mask,” and the writer using it enters the mind and body and speaks through the mouth of another person, often a famous historic or literary figure. A famous example is “My Last Duchess” by Robert Browning, where the speaker is a wealthy nobleman showing guests the painting of his wife whom he has had removed (possibly murdered) for insubordination. I made extensive use of persona in my last book (Paradise Drive), adopting the voices of men and women, of the Seven Deadly Sins, and even of dogs living in Marin County. The technique has come under fire recently, raising issues of cultural appropriation when writers adopt voices belonging to genders, races, and nationalities not their own. Many writers, though, find it remarkably freeing to speak in another person’s voice, and as you can see from this week’s poem, the results can be quite powerful.
I see you. I see me. I see all of us, shining.
I see you. I see me. I see all of us, shining.
Becky:
Insightful response to a beautiful poem Will have to read Poetry Sunday more often.
Best wishes, Mike
Becky:
Insightful response to a beautiful poem Will have to read Poetry Sunday more often.
Best wishes, Mike
Thanks for this wonderful poem,that even manages to speak to rain…
Thanks for this wonderful poem,that even manages to speak to rain…