Martin Galvin’s Comments

One of the most pleasant surprises in the writing of poetry is the surprise that suddenly emerges out of apparently divergent notions. In “Mummers’ Day,” the first stanza started 20 years ago as a separate poem about the challenges that crickets present to the householder. Their frightening aggressive moves make their capture uncertain at best.

Ten years ago I had the pleasure of watching a Nature show that demonstrated the artificial defenses of a corn snake without natural equipment to ward off enemies. The second stanza describes some of its moves. Recently, slow learner that I am, it occurred to me how closely we live the happy and haphazard ways of cricket and snake, exemplified by the mummers—hence the finish to a poem.

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