if, perchance, we two should meet,
on some polluted London street;
I hope your eyes would say it all
#
The busker wears a silk waistcoat
the strains of 'Wish you were here'
breeze up with us on the escalator,
I find myself wishing you were different
I realise I have
a hand in your misery
if I could give you back your eyes
those eyes that saw with clarity;
purity and beauty virtues,
I would not hesitate to leap
forward with you into
this fear-tinged death-stained river
the whole world would be yours
truly, I would give you hope
We turn, glance at the ceiling,
at each other, at the exit;
all hope abandoned
walk robotically into
our methodical lives
I think of you once,
later, on the train
in the darkness of the tunnel
I read my book,
disapprove of the idiot with a guitar
at the other end of the carriage.
Author notes
I tried something different - I know it's in need of some heavy editing. As always, comments & suggestions greatly appreciated.
By way of an explanation:
I saw a busker at Canary Wharf tube station two Mondays in a row - he wore a silk waistcoat, had a beautiful expensive-looking guitar and played Pink Floyd's 'Wish you were here' at 9am. Somehow, it didn't feel real and I began to see how people can become so detached and alone.
A contest entry
- No Pretense by JustBe.
1107 points, ended October 13, 2007, 21 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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Back as promised for an extremely belated review of this poem, which you entered in a contest that ended approximately one century ago.
I like this poem, because I like the way it is worded (esp. S1 and S4), and because of the topic you've chosen to confront here. True awareness is one of my greatest aspirations, and attaining it is so difficult. It's so easy to retreat to the intellect and zone out, and it gets easier with every new form of self-contained distraction we invent. To even see at all is an achievement, and actual sharing between people is really rare. As you say, then, it is no wonder that so many people are alone and depressed in this day and age.
So here are a few things I'd like to whine about.
1. The first several times, I was under the impression that "you" was the busker strumming his guitar, but subsequent reads have convinced me that he lives only in S2 and S4, and that "you" is someone else. If that is the case, then the rest is all internal monologue about a person with whom I as a reader am totally unacquainted, and I am not really encouraged to strongly consider the connection - transparent though it is - between the guy with the guitar and your reasons for writing this well-worded poem.
I wish you could tie some aspect of the busker's song to the meat of the poem, because it would unify it more. It would be way cool if "you" and the busker actually were the same person, because then in S4 when you refer to an idiot with a guitar, it would be really jarring. After all, getting lost in a song is a way of zoning out, too, and the title of the song in question expresses loneliness. If I am wrong, and "you" really is the busker, then I think you need to make that more clear.
2. Found some grammar gremlins. If you are a champion of creative grammar, then you won't care about that, but here's my OCD effort at fixing everything, anyway:
[I]f, perchance, we two should meet
on some polluted London street[,]
I hope your eyes would say it all[.]
#
The busker wears a silk waistcoat[.]
[T]he strains of 'Wish you were here'
breeze up with us on the escalator[.]
I find myself wishing you were different[.]
I realise I have
a hand in your misery[.]
[I]f I could give you back your eyes[-]
those eyes that saw with clarity[-]
purity and beauty virtues,
I would not hesitate to leap
forward with you into
this fear-tinged[,] death-stained river[.]
[T]he whole world would be yours[.]
[T}ruly, I would give you hope[.]
We turn, [hard return]
glance at the ceiling,
at each other, [hard return]
at the exit[,]
all hope abandoned[;]
walk robotically into
our methodical lives[.]
I think of you once,
later, on the train[,]
in the darkness of the tunnel[.]
I read my book,
disapprove of the idiot with a guitar
at the other end of the carriage.
3. S2L4 is worded too strongly, I think. Based on what follows, I take that line to be a statement of compassion, but "wishing you were different" has a twang of "don't like you the way you are," and that seems almost anathema to what you're going for in the way of a message. It took me a couple of lines to get back on-point as a reader.
4. S3L5 seems unnecessary, and I don't really understand it as worded.
5. "I realize" is not necessary in S3L1, and for me it waters down a clear statement.
All in all, this a well-rendered, thought-provoking piece that has a lot of potential for being even more so. Thank you for entering it in my contest, and thank you for your patience in awaiting my reply.
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I will be back to respond and edit! Barbie. Xx
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PLEASE do not remove your entry. I do plan to give you quality commentary, and I am sorry it has taken me this long. to even say this much. This is easily the hardest contest I have judged, if you did not win, then that means only just slightly more than nothing, as far as this judge is concerned.
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Heh, I look forward to your return. Barbie. Xx
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Ms Barbie, this is a classic I love it. Where has this newfound expression of concern for others come from? I hope you’re not sinking into socialism. ----- Thank you, twice for this one.
--- Barbie uses her celebrity to help the disadvantaged, wears plain shoes.
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Thank you. If you're ever in London between 7am & 9am, take the Jubilee line to Canary Wharf and you'll see where it came from. It's a dead, soulless place and yet it's where all the rich, successful people work - in fact, perhaps the two go together.
I couldn't be a socialist, all that shouting at people and petition signing would wear me out. Btw - about halfway through editing the chapter you sent me (one suggestion: some of your sentences are extremely long - think about whether long sentences will complement your readers' moods in the first chapter, which should really be fast-paced, considering the content). Barbie. Xx -
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You could be a closet socialist; it’s not for me mind, my quite sure capitalism affords my fun. Filthy rich with extra decadence has a ring to it. --- Thank you (about the editing); please don’t neglect your real job. Re: the sentence length and other failings not mentioned; I’m an idiot, everyone knows (I try). ---- I do like this poem. You're at your best when working from pleasant stored images.
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