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Aldo
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Aldo |
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Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
Aldo All that lives is holy ―William Blake I. Aldo? He's dead. I met him many times, but, first, we met and over Chilean wine we talked and followed that with beer. A fine American, we joked that both of us were from the only continent that mattered. A friendly man, he seemed too nice to me at the roof party, but that changed with time. The night grew later, time grew slower, drinks went faster and he stopped. We have a photo of him, alone, among the drunken. II. I played with children, late one night, his child, my friends, again with beer, again with wine. His smile, contagious when discussing plans of family outings, barbecues, and real children together, his and mine, at play, and nights with beer and wine, but no time slips, mutated when he heard one drunken slur too many, one more comment, never meant provocatively, but slurs can be confused when sound passes for talk around a myth. III. The high school students liked his Spanish class and high school students never tell you what they like here. Silence permeates and spreads like ocean fog and is disturbed by mumbles behind these hollow walls ― A power 'play', a private 'our'. The students told me this and after the obligatory pause, said they did not need his class but liked the man. I did not tell them everything that hour: We all keep secrets from an early age. IV. A different party ended well a week before. We talked of Doctor Strange with his red cloak of levitation and the green Behemoth-like Hulk: bones like bars of iron. Jay told a story of a woman reciting The Rime of the Ancient Mariner while in bed with him, and rumors frisked about of past mistakes, and Aldo arrived then. "I like the character," said Jay as Aldo apologized for an unnatural rage. V. Greg's voice was deeper than his usual apologies for early morning calls. Disturbing pandemonian routines, he paused and waited, actor-like, and told me what he heard, three days before Christmas, the day after Aldo was found outside a love hotel, his trousers down below his knees, his shirt undone. He told me stories, what he did and didn't know, and where to go and who to meet and when. VI. "What secret albatross was hung around his neck?" was an aberrant, errant thought: The mariner was cursed to live forever telling his story. Aldo died and I was cursed to hear his story from his mates. I heard that he had had a few affairs, that he was separated from his wife, that he was going back to Mexico, that he could hold his own when he was drunk and that his wife and he had reconciled. VII. They found no alcohol in his blood stream. The doctors told us this, and disbelieving, we stared wild eyed at them and at ourselves. We thought, a victim of an accident, a slip, a fall, a trip to a prostitute gone wrong, the risks of Aldo's life, his rage, his bones of brass and iron unaffected by a doctor's cloaked derision; and he, reborn as a clutched root, was damned to bleed among the harpies of the seventh circle. VIII. Still in denial, sitting on a rock jutting beyond the shoreline, next to the breaker, I watched the passing ships, people, and crabs and angry at the world, I thought about doing what you did, stopping your way: Yes, yes, I thought about oblivion and raised my self and walked for an hour and in the evening I saw the face of an old man who spoke while pouring gin: "We haven't seen you here in a long time." IX. I never met his wife, I never saw her face. She always seemed to work before the break and was excused during the break. They owned a bar in central Jeju, near a city building, City Hall, I think. I never went. I do remember her. Greg humbly placed a Budweiser before the shrine, an altar to his memory; and when she saw that it was open there, she picked it up and dropped it in a can. X. I recognize the need to blame something: to see the other as a way to expiate one's own guilt, to hear the 'toll' in glass and metal sound throughout a room, to give a little life to the self-righteous comfort around you; and I hear our words, misogyny without a point, and know what we have lost and that from three stories, the man who jumped is lost to all. Your loss is ours and yours: Aldo is dead. |
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| © Copyright 2008 Brad - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Seoulair Senior Member
since 2008-03-27
Posts 807Seoul S.Korea |
A very good story or a memorial poem for a friend. I felt the sadness and a rationale thinking of life. It was in neat form of iambic pentameter (I shall carefully check again for this) And the story was grouped ten verse each in ten stanzas. but I don't think that the number of the stanza added any weight to the stanza or to the whole story. Because the story went as I knew I knew I heard X 4 I surprised I thought I sigh I thought again I like the ending verse Your loss is ours and yours: Aldo is dead. Enjoyed the read. |
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chopsticks Senior Member
since 2007-10-02
Posts 888The US, |
Brad, you have surely been touched by alcoholics ; as you have written a few poems where alcohol was one of the main subjects . I liked the poem, because I felt I was there with you . I stumbled for a micro second over “ stories “ in the last stanza as I was not sure if you meant ( floors of a building ) or ( narrative of an event ) When I read the next eight words after “ stories “ I understood. Btw, when I first read it , I thought you were posting another poem by a well known poet of whom I am not familiar with . |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
I love this poem. I'm still not a scandroid and will leave that to those who are adept at the art of that, but this particular subject, the detached observance works very well for your subject, because it is very much the same tone that someone in shock relates a story. This one replaced Mt. Halla as my favorite from you. I don't have much more to add, but this line here sums it up for me. "We have a photo of him, alone, among the drunken." Now we do too. Excellent work, Brad.  |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Your timing is perfect - not for the poem, but for me, personally, as I refer to the thoughts presented, and the disillusion that death provides us. |
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Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
I just wanted to say thanks for reading this. I will try to respond in more detail when I have more time. Uh, I will say that I never intended it to be strict iambic, but when I write on something that I care about I tend to use loose iambic. Karen, Which one do you like better? |
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Seoulair Senior Member
since 2008-03-27
Posts 807Seoul S.Korea |
Brad, sir, have you forget this poem? say something. why did Aldo's death made a poem? When he drank, or was drunk, he had a loyal friend of bottle. When he was wake, he was unbearably longly because he had no true friend. (what about I) say something. |
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Brad Member Ascendant
since 1999-08-20
Posts 5705Jejudo, South Korea |
I'm not sure what you want to say. I did have delusions at one point that I overcame the whole 'it's alcohol's fault' motif, but that doesn't seem to be the case. quote: That's about as clear as I can make it. If there had been, it would have been understandable. If his life had really taken a downturn, that would have been understandable (not justifiable but understandable), but it seemed like everything was turning up for him. To me, the action is inexplicable (but then it usually is for me). Ultimately, my point is simply that the loss should overcome, outweigh the reasons for that loss. That it doesn't/didn't bothers me; it bothers me deeply. |
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