Summer 1939, even the radio starts to sweat in
Pepkin’s family’s room above the Shotwell’s, below
the Westcott’s arched eyebrows on the 12th,
and backed off the beach well enough to stall every
breeze off Brighton, as Philco’s eleven tubes glower
Red the Hour at the Sanhedrin and the Field of Blood
libel from behind the olivewood escutcheon, tuning
Bakelite hex dials police band squeals, shortwave
hails from the old country, WJR coughs Golden Hour
Little Flower crusades importing sacrificial wine
from Rhineland Mass, NBC Blue Network gives
cathedral chassis the Jell-O shakes, resonating
voices of Mary Rochester Phil and Don, and sweat
beads on wooden cabinet start to run as Jack
Benny’s kvetch begins, and the whole family gathers
round, trying to catch within, before marching
drowns the sound, the voice of Ben Kubelsky.
Posted for dVerse ~ Poets Pub
Sun, Sand, Storms, and Celebrations: Summer Ekphrastic
hosted by Merril,
My ekphrastic poem is inspired by Summer Day, Brighton Beach by Edward Henry Potthast
Jedediah Smith 
A wonderful nostalgic poem of times gone by! Well done.
Trying to catch Jack Benny in his native voice before the armies commence rolling is akin to glorying in a Potthast seascape while the waters consume the coast. A tad obscene, but who’s to blame? Fire up Auschwitcz, the water’s great.
An apropos parallel. Thank you for the insight.
You’ve captured a moment in time–I can imagine this family gathered around the radio sweating in the heat, with the war in Europe looming.
“below
the Westcott’s arched eyebrows on the 12th, “
Thank you. Glad the image came across to you.
Cool poem…don’t touch that dial!
The year and the heat are so well juxtaposed against the powder keg that is about to explode… ta last moment of innocence before the real horror begins
Thanks. Oddly, Brighton always seemed to be a place for refugees.
Love how you have created such a vivid scene.
(Brighton in the UK was home to many evacuee children – it was bombed over 50 times during WWII.)
Very interesting.