The rainstorms, one for each atrophied leg
of my leaving, clear you out entirely, my girl:
I’ve no muggy fingers on the bones
of my wrist, no sluggish midsummer pulse.
Here, the rusty quartzes in the gravel road
are yellowed teeth & a mouth full
of light, are knots of russet hair
at the day’s blueing nape. The robin hopping
from the road, all ruddy herself, all early
evening, flickers once, twice,
then drops into shin-high grasses
& is gone.
Here, I pull on socks against ice-box evenings
& peer between lace, learn early
to startle at lonely evening cars rattling
down the lane. The streets are as wide
as a page. The river kinks just beyond the yard
& the horned skulls in flowerbeds are sweetened
by stands of white lilacs
their back-of-knee pulp all over.
You are pale, my girl, & insistent:
the last few days, you wanted me
within earshot, wanted me no further than think
thought...until I muttered that I was going
& I went. The sky here is too sure of itself,
the sky here is too sure & I revise
this dappled manuscript every time
you refuse to come to the phone.
* * *
Hey all, given that I've got nothing (I mean, nothing...) in terms of new poetry so far, I thought I'd share a slightly older poem. It hasn't been workshopped or critiqued anywhere, so I'd really appreciate your good eyes on it...
Sorry for the 'cheat.' But oh well.
A.
5 comments:
I really like this piece. The colours are vivid and they welcome me in. It is a very outdoor poem, full of motion and texture. A couple times that outdoor quality is lost, and I find myself brought out. At lines:
"wide/as a page"
and
"I revise/this dappled manuscript every time/"
seem to be about something different. With these references to the act of writing, I feel lost as to the meaning of the rest of the piece, whereas without those lines, it is a description of and encounter with a bright setting.
i'm esp fond of second stanza
i'm pretty okay with "wide
as a page"
and, actually kind of thought of the sky being the dappled manuscript. wasn't sure about the repetition in the final stanza but maybe a punctumacation mark after "the sky here is too sure (,.:; -) I revise" might help me (I kept thinking I'd misread and going back in a time-loop continuum)
I agree about the last stanza -- it didn't fit for me. I think you either need to bring the writing reference in earlier or leave it out. In some ways I like the mystery of omitting it... why is she leaving?
Lovely images here -- the "muggy fingers... sluggish midsummer pulse"
(though is there a way to clarify whose pusle? I'm assuming the girl's, and the narrator still has her own...)
I also like the old-fashionedy details "ice-box evenings" and the lace.
I love "knots of russet hair
at the day’s blueing nape" and the robin afterward.
I actually quite like the end, but I agree it would work better if you brought the writing references in earlier. That might help sharpen the beginning a bit; I had to start it two or three times to "get" what was going on (though that may be blamed on my hazy lazy Saturday-itis).
Hey Ariel,
Who says it's cheating? It's a poem. It's May. Great sensory details in this poem.
I particularly liked lonely evening cars and the streets wide as a page - that's where i got pulled in. the fifth and sixth stanzas are particularly strong.
I wonder about tightening up the opening a bit, maybe omitting a few details or moving them done to after "unitl I muttered I was going and I went."
Sounds like Eastend. I miss that place.
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