Poem of the Day: Philip Nikolayev's "A Midsummer Night's Stroll"

I am a man. I’ve lived alone. I’ve been in love. I’ve played with
fire, cursed the telephone, and basked in verse, in verve, and also
Humid, terrestrial,    mixed,     nongenderspecific,   have   occasionally
day’s tumult ushers in an   evening   with a lone    moved a woman’s
shut   icecream   stand,   false promises of cone  heart, although I also,
and scoop near Central Park. Juneific  famously, had such an awk-
are   the silhouettes of   people dreaming by,  ward   start. Amazed at
lips, lit   cigarette   tips,   thoughts and tulips streaming by  how much
along   dimly   hospitable park lamps toward eleven  symmetry a life
with an occasional rev   of internal combustion  can still support, I
wafted across from nearabouts.   stare in rapt near-idiocy, like a
“What’s   this   you are talking about, Sarah?”   foreign   passport, and
you hear a voice, and the reply, “I’m sorry.   April’s Persian lilacs
but what was I supposed to do?” Two   bats  all bloom straight into
dash through   a silver stretch of atmosphere.   my face, and various
What   she   was supposed to do   we never hear,   other   blossom, too,
depending on each case, while you are softly tangible, while you
are sweetly mine. We’re existentially wise, we’re mortally divine.

II.

All whispers know where whispers go and lusters where with
lusters flow, and when your palm is in my palm, just as my poem
There is   a sparkling   tone to how you speak,  is in your poem, look
a   quickness to   your whisper,   an implied   at   this   stellar, cellular,
correctness in   your ironies. We stride   organic   life   of mine, the
along   emphatic benches in   the weak   general and particular, the
light   bristling   eloquent dark. Pine, elm and oak   gross (as well   as
fall silent now to hear you tell a joke— fine) intentions I epitomize.
something about a man and a mandrake;   Look, seeing through its
I think it cute and laugh like Captain Drake.  thin disguise the bleary
We then explore the vagaries of light   sky whose weepy eyes have
found underfoot by lamps, and kiss. “Beatrix,   rained   us a surprise.
will    you   still   need me when I’m   thirty-six?”    A    lightning bolt’s
You favorably   mumble that you might,   protruding hand snatched
and throw a willing arm around my nape.  past us, far and brief and
I reassure you that there’s no escape.  as I hold you in my arms, you
fill me with belief. Don’t wonder if and how, much stranger than
right now, the hyacinth of sorrow may blossom forth tomorrow.

III.

The stars in liquid decadence reclaim their lost positions, all
knotty dispositions dissolved in limpid dance. They offer us their
Another couple   floats up through thickened ink   stardom.   Oh,   we
into the field of vision, to redissolve   could sympathize with them,
leaving a thin trail of   perfume and love   but   instead, we set eyes
and   visual   recollection in the pink.   with   them upon that higher
Cicadas   cataract from tree to tree. tsardom, that real of love and
A mock nightingale trills, then two, then three.  reason. Our lengthy
We cut   short across grass and leaves (then four),  cigarettes crackle
encountering no one on our slight detour  with   dry regrets during
where,   negligibly burdened with a   sixpack,  the rainy season, but
a master and his bulldog rustle on, we ignore their humors, their
a   small red light   fixed to   her   furry back. melancholy murmurs,
We are too busy with our love to see them.   decline ascetic rigors,
Tomorrow   we’ll   be   going   back to Boston.   welcome straight facts,
Three cheers for Central   Park at height of   season.   clear    figures,
where laws concerning numbers come plumed with midnight
sounds, and spirits stir from slumbers like angels out of clouds.

“A Midsummer Night’s Stroll” by Philip Nikolayev is about a young couple, who are in love, walking through Central Park in New York at night in the summer. The narrative is first person from the point of view of Beatrix’s lover. The narrator is sharing his observations as he encounters strangers and converses with his lover.

The poem is organized by its structure. It’s separated into three parts, each containing two parallel verses separated by bold and italics. Aside from the structure, the story being told is a connection of reflections of “them” (the narrator and Beatrix) and “others.” The clear language is paired with vivid imagery, rhyme and irony.

Nikolayev’s voice is what makes this poem so memorable. The commentary he makes through this poem is achieved with a tone that’s modern and playful. His words give voice to the narrator as a man and as an attentive observer. The combination of dialogue and description add depth and enough specificity for the reader to find their place in his “argument.”

The first time I read “A Midsummer Night’s Stroll” I expected to hear Shakespeare in the poem because of the similarity in the title with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But the writing style was refreshing and original, and I found myself reading slowly, instantly drawn to the language. For instance, the four consecutive words, “humid, terrestrial, mixed, nongenderspecific” had me intent on decoding the poem.

The form of “A Midsummer Night’s Stroll” depicts the many layers of activity during a stroll in Central Park. Each section talks about a new scene and a different line of thinking. The non-bold, non-italicized part of the second stanza stood out to me. It’s the most intimate part of the poem and it’s positioned in the middle of playful, “gross” rhymes. The line, “encountering no one on our slight detour / where, negligibility burdened with a sixpack, / a master and his bulldog rustle on, / a small red light fixed to her furry back” on the other hand, is an example of comedy in the poem. Nikolayev combines several genres to create a representation of modern thought.

— Jenny Curt

Jenny is a freshman majoring in English and minoring in women’s studies. She loves frosting and hates peanut butter.