Poetry Response #5: The Halo That Would Not Light by Lucie Brock-Broido

The Halo That Would Not Light

By: Lucie Brock-Broido

When, after many years, the raptor beak

Let loose of you,

                                                     He dropped your tiny body

In the scarab-colored hollow

                                                             Of a carriage, left you like a finch

Wrapped in its nest of linens wound

With linden leaves in a child's cardboard box.

Tonight the wind is hover-

Hunting as the leather seats of swings go back

And forth with no one in them 

As certain and invisible as

                                                  Red scarves silking endlessly

From a magician's hollow hat

                                                        And the spectacular catastrophe 

Of your endless childhood

                                            Is done.

     The Halo That Would Not Light by Lucie Brock-Broido, is a very well written poem almost about a bad childhood rather than a good one. The title of this poem starts the tone. "The Halo" almost brings in a sense of a guardian Angel; then putting the whole title together of "The Halo That Would Not Light," leads me to think almost of an Angel that never showed up. The guardian Angel that we hope to be watching over us, didn't ever seem to be there throughout their childhood. The beginning of the poem is speaking of the years of childhood finally passing but then moves into the things that mad that childhood not so good. The second, third, and forth stanza feel like abandonment. Like a child who was left out in the cold with no one to hold or love them. "Wrapped in its nest of linens wound With linden leaves in a child's cardboard box." This part almost seems like Christ figure, as Jesus was born in a manger and rapped in linden cloths. It then brings us to the fear that comes in the night as the wind blows. "Hunting as the leather seats of swings go back and forth with no one in them As certain and invisible as Red scarves silking endlessly." This part reminds me of horror movies, as the swings go back and and the scarves that blow in the wind. Stanzas eight and nine bring us to a "spectacular catastrophe," to she that a childhood could be spectacular but it must have been tragic to seem so endless. The last stanza of "Is done." Brings us peace as in childhood the Angel may not have been there, but hopefully in the light of the end of this childhood we can finally find peace.