The Roe Violin

By Jack Joseph Smith

Her door opens, while eyes from dream begin to play From this porch, one's attraction, is taken by the best Subtle small smile; in a glance she does say (Done; their bit of driving, the escape from the beast) Born blood aristocratic at the third person in life From moment to nerve a cord in her own song No overloaded diamond wings bent against her strife She hand feeds birds on a yardless slope, up and down On enterance, a slight twist Has made thunder ponder Always a visit by an abstractionist And a man might shake his head in wonder

A suggestion of madness Or carpet gossip making money magic When after all we know there is a canvess Her eyes as good as a farm, rambl'in and rake We see a mile, a big wheel, and H.B.O. in sneer And when no good is done we all will be gone Hopefully we will know there is a God here Not for herself, she has taken us beyond She says there is no contimence in retreat Choose a chair and damn the drunk (Don't you know; I would like to live in a tent, before I wink my way down to that lot)

So rounds of de Cafe' coffie it is In her care of continence This time around in fashion Where the drip of sorrow has no spite or spice While with dirty linen they continue to call her hun And after again she tunes the instrument of herself Offering soup and cakes to the souls she has found Later understands their alien gaze over her threshold As these times taken by parties of three, lingering off from wishes left; cannot deny a presence unbearably free, while making marvel of the reply in her stance (I suppose I am not so ill after all; seeing how they can never find their way)

Original Scan

Original scan for The Roe Violin page 30 — Page 30

AI Interpretation

GPT

A portrait poem that turns charisma, hospitality, beauty, and social theater into a study of a woman who remains larger than the scene around her.

The poem mixes admiration with gossip, prayer, wit, and visual detail, so the figure at its center becomes both person and legend.

Claude

A three-page, densely rhymed portrait of an enigmatic woman whose 'door opens, while eyes from dream begin to play' and who, 'Born blood aristocratic', 'hand feeds birds on a yardless slope'. She draws 'an abstractionist' and provokes wonder, gossip, and talk of 'A suggestion of madness'; she 'tunes the instrument of herself', offers 'soup and cakes to the souls she has found', insists 'there is no contimence in retreat', and is parenthetically given a longing 'to live in a tent, / before I wink my way down to that lot', concluding 'I suppose I am not so ill after all; / seeing how they can never find their way'.

The title's 'Roe Violin' frames the woman as a finely strung instrument played by life - the poem literalizes this when she 'tunes the instrument of herself', making her both artist and art. She is rendered through paradox and rumor: aristocratic yet feeding birds on a 'yardless slope', hosting 'parties of three' yet 'unbearably free', called 'hun' over 'dirty linen' yet presiding with grace, suspected of 'madness' yet clearly the sanest presence in view. The parenthetical asides, set off in her own voice, are the intimate counter-melody to the public portrait, and the closing one inverts the gossip's verdict - 'I am not so ill after all' - by measuring her health against others who 'can never find their way'. The dense internal rhyme and near-sonnet music give the piece a courtly, ballad-like texture. Preserve source spellings 'enterance', 'canvess', 'rambl'in', 'contimence', 'coffie', 'de Cafe'' exactly as written.