Jarred from a daydream--
of lilacs and lavender in some Provencal town, where I would sit, legs crossed over each other and the fresh of the day's wind playing with my hair. Where I knew all the words to all the poetry and could string up a metaphor more eloquently than even the most lauded bard.
the banging from atop my living space has become
an annoyance. Handyman fixing a leak on the roof,
perhaps- or just clumping around enough to appear
worth an excess of dollars wasted on his wallet.
Occasionally a drill will pierce the air,
demand attention once I become accustomed
to the booted foot vibrating through my ears
he would be half a planet away. His ghost would have to stow away among the exports on a plane bound for a Parisian air strip. Spend the night counting the inventory of some small business owner, hoping to boost sales with amish leather, Native American pottery. He would lose count many times, as turbulence bounced his smoke-back against the cool metal of the plane. He would curse once or twice.
I'm picturing a whale's belly, stout legs
broad peasant face that would boom into a smile
should I stick my head out the window, inquire on
the disruption of my day. There would be a gap
where a tooth use to sit, a wad of tobacco lodged
between gum and cheek. I'm sure he would
apologize-- perhaps throw a couple ma'ams in
and go back to doing whatever it is he is doing
that breaks the sound barrier surrounding my apartment--
We would no longer reside in silence, but distance. Somewhere in Ohio, he would be playing tag with another girl's panties. I would be shearing lilies to use as a centerpiece. Host a poetry reading or two, recite all that I had written in the separation. Throw in a couple of french phrases. The crowd would touch hands to hearts, "ooohhhh" and "aaahhhh". I would count stars every night. Wonder if his had fallen yet, if Ohio looks as pretty without me to hold up the sky for him.
sound dulls, a lunch break or perhaps just finishing
up the job he was overpaid for. Clumps echo
into a nothing and the rolling landscape of my daydream
brighten back into closed eye-sight
and somewhere, in the monet swirl of wistful thinking
hums the engine of a cargo jet
ready to squeal brakes.
Author notes
I'm posting this because just recently I've been getting good, solid critiques... and I could use some here. This is an idea, only. Nothing set in stone, just yet. If you have any thoughts on this... I'd appreciate hearing them.
If not... such is life.
....
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
-
The paragraphs in between the prose worked very well for me. I liked it. That format made it very clear that you were being distracted from your daydreams and it almost put me in your shoes.
There is some very "poetic poetry" going on here. Could it use a bit of fine tuning? Maybe. But maybe daydreams should stay just as they come to us. We have them and we let them float away.
Nothing about this piece made me cringe. I found it delightful and interesting to absorb.
MP
. Rewarded 8
-
Ok. I've read your work a couple of times and I like it. This is really different from what I've seen from you. You remind me of someone else on here that writes with prose. I don't really know how to do critical critiques so I'll try and I don't know how useful it will be. I liked how this felt as I read it. I read the other comment and I think that the parts that are seperated are hard to read. I don't think it's because of the way that you're spacing them but because the wording changes enough that it's distracting and I lost my place of what was going on a couple of times. And I'm sure that's not what you want. I don't know what you could do about that except make that non-prose parts in very short form lines or put them parenthesis? I really don't know. The only other things I could think of is that in this line ' wind playing with my hair.' it's cliche. And the line that comes right after is kind of too. Also in some of your lines, the tenses you use make it too non poetic. I don't know how to explain what I mean. To much 'what if' and not just stating I guess. I normally wouldn't say anything but that seems to be what you want? I hope you don't get mad.
-
du know this how line number thing doesnt work for prose? it considers that paragraph style one line.
well i liked the prosey style of this, because you worded it well.
i dont know that i liked the sections between the paragraph style parts. i can see the visual effect was nice, but i dont know if i like the break in form.
i liked this one alot though.
i think i'll come back when i am awake... and give a better critique
. Rewarded 8
-
-
thank you
Ah. One comment in 6. I about expected a slower response for this... considering it is likened too close to prose.
The sections between the paragraphs is suppose to represent the distraction (reason the narrator is jarred from the day-dream)... The jump from prose to "poem" back to prose is suppose to reflect the title. I like the form, personally- I just think the "poem" needs to be more poetic.
Though the original idea was for the prose to sound more "poetic" than the poem... I don't think the idea is as effective as I thought it would be.
-
-
back as promised
I disagree. I find that the "prose" part is much more poetic than the "poetic" part.
I think that the "poetic" part would probably sound more poetic if you changed the form to your usual shorter lines. I think the longer lines being broken make it a little iffy. Because you have the prose with the long lines that run on... but then the poetic part is kind of long too... i mean, it doesnt look like prose because it isnt in paragraph form, but it doesn't feel poetic, because I, as the reader, form in my brain while reading that it is prose, and then breaking down in the shorter lines it just feels like it was shifted... like it was broken on purpose, but was originally in the prose style.
does that make sense?
there is just something in the words. i dont know.
it isnt a bad poem. i like it alot.
i just am trying to be critical...
-
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 6 of 6
