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Critical Analysis #2
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Poem recently revised from notebooks
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Poem recently revised from notebooks |
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Bob K Member Elite
since 2007-11-03
Posts 4208 |
Limes You have come to a diplomatic accommodation With the night beyond the back porch. Each of you will keep your eyes closed And pretend the other is only an illusion. The garden is awash with a rising scent Of azaleas, blue as the scent of ice on evergreens In a sudden warming spell in February, Except, you know, more floral. The darkness Of closed eyes is hollow as bags. Everything alters In the evenings all-out assault of crickets. Let’s erase all that and go back to basics. You amble into the back yard on a spring evening Requiring only a tee shirt for comfort, With no noticeable discomfort from the humidity. You’re carrying a six pack of Sam Adams And an ancient army surplus blanket Of indeterminate color. Laying on your back In the grass, you can feel the turntable of the world Slowly turn under you, or the stars revolve slowly Overhead, the night sky perpetuating that revolution More inexorable than history. You are gripped With a kind of skimming motion by something Enormous with wings, by something that struggles To become concrete and powerful, like an idea. You will remember this vaguely like a memory Of alien abduction while you’re driving home From the market in a heavy snowstorm sometime In early December. You will cast about for a language To express the complete relaxation you feel As you sink into that memory of luxury. You close your eyes; and, remembering your bargain With darkness, flick off lights and windshield wipers. You sit completely still, absent as a forgotten sensation; Grasping nothing, you levitate far above yourself, An exhausted sensorium filled past overflowing With an authoritative pungency like West Indian limes. |
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| © Copyright 2008 Bob K - All Rights Reserved | |||
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TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
Dear Bob K, This is a wonderful poem. I love it. and I am expecting you to post more. Just good. Tom  post more!!!! |
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jbouder Member Elite
since 1999-09-18
Posts 2534Whole Sort Of Genl Mish Mash |
Bob: I’m determined to come back to this one when I have more time. For now, I’ll give you all the time I’ve got. The poem reads to me as a wrestling match with one’s creative process. I might be completely off in this initial reading, but my sense is that the speaker is always on the cusp of a clear image, and trying hard to bring it into clearer focus. This is roughly how I saw the progression: Night beyond the back porch --> Garden with blue azaleas --> Crickets --> [ERASE ERASE ERASE] --> Beer and an army blanket --> Night sky and stars --> Something great flying at the fringes of perception --> Lost it --> Almost remembered it --> Nope, lost it again. This poem does so much, and one of the things it does so well for me is illustrate the struggle to bring a solution to a problem into focus (and I think, in this case, the problem is artistic - or more specifically, poetic - in nature). Looking, sometimes in vain, for that object on which to focus that serves as our creative kick off. For me, it worked nicely. For others, I’m not sure. Some might complain that this is a poem about nothing, rather than see it as I do as a poem about that elusive something. Reminds me a bit of the Gerda Mayer poem, “Shallow poem” (unsure whether it is subject to copyright and I couldn’t find a copy online … sorry about that). Not so much in substance as in the focus on the fragility of a creative idea. All this assumes I didn’t completely blow the read. I’ll try to offer some more specific observations tomorrow. I need some more time to digest the parts.Jim |
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Bob K Member Elite
since 2007-11-03
Posts 4208 |
Thank you, Jim, I appreciate the reading. It's kind of you to take the time and I look forward to other thoughts you're thinking of sharing. With appreciation, BobK. |
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jbouder Member Elite
since 1999-09-18
Posts 2534Whole Sort Of Genl Mish Mash |
Bob: quote: S1 remains a mystery to me. It is difficult for me to grasp the purpose of the personification here, mainly because I can’t figure out why a personified “night beyond the back porch” would feel threatened by the speaker. I suppose it is possible that, like S2 and following, S1 is describing mental efforts to give creativity a helping hand, but I am leaning toward doubting that interpretation. Perhaps I’m being too literal and “beyond the back porch” represents the fear of the unknown ... the fear of taking risks. The world “outside one’s comfort zone” … something to that effect. Not sure if there is a way to make this clearer, or if you want to force the reader to puzzle the meaning out of it, making the reading process mimic, in some respects, the writing process I believe is described in the poem. But then later, you note: quote: I’d be lying if I said that I don’t want to know more about this bargain and I also be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that I don’t understand the implications of a breach of this bargain. But I think that pretty much sums up all that bothers me about the poem. Later, I still believe the poem describes the several “false-positives” the speaker has discovered along the poorly marked road of poetic inspiration. With S2, we see the beginning of an attractive image in "The garden is awash with a rising scent / Of azaleas, blue as the scent of ice on evergreens" followed by a stutter-step in "In a sudden warming spell in February" and the “back to the drawing board” statement, “Except, you know, more floral.”. This seems to be followed by an immediate jump into the next attempt to find a starting point. As I mentioned before, the poem first seems to be all over the place, but it soon becomes apparent the many seemingly unrelated “ideas” share something in common with the others. The elusive inspiration appears to come within reach again during the “car in the snowstorm” scene. I suppose what follows is what I am least certain about, but my guess would be that this line … quote: … is the “will-o’-the-wisp” line that has been tormenting the speaker all this time. A phrase that assaults the senses, moreso than bright blue azaleas or the incessant chirping of hordes of crickets. A sensation most readers are familiar with, but not one that is so commonplace as to exit memory seconds after it enters the senses. A line that might be brought back to the reader on the next Cinco de Mayo when the waitress/waitor serves the bottle of Corona. In the case of this poem and this reader, it probably will be. From time to time when I was wrestling with writer’s block, I tried to write about not being able to find the right words to a poem, and discovered how difficult that is. An admirable effort. The only thing I would recommend for your borderline OCD readers is some clarification of this deal with darkness. Jim |
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Bob K Member Elite
since 2007-11-03
Posts 4208 |
Dear Jbouder, I thought you had some useful insights. I tried to make some use of them in this revision, which isn't right yet but which at least gets the troublesome beginning out of the way. It seemed to contribute little but confusion. Limes You amble into the back yard on a spring evening That requires only a Tee shirt for comfort; There’s no noticeable discomfort from humidity. You’re carrying a six pack of Sam Adams Black Lager and an ancient Army surplus blanket of indeterminate color. Laying on your back in the grass, you can feel The turntable of the world slowly turn Under you, or the stars wheel slowly overhead, As the night sky perpetuates a revolution More inexorable than history. You are gripped From above in a kind of skimming motion By something enormous with wings, by something That struggles to become concrete and powerful As weather. Returning from grocery shopping In late December, in the middle of a snow squall These are the images that will return to you Troublingly as vague memories of alien abduction, The garden awash with a rising scent Of azaleas, blue as the scent of ice on evergreens. As you allow yourself To sink into that voluptuous memory, You must close your eyes as an expression Of utter trust and utter silken relaxation. There will be a language to express the hissing of the tires. There was some bargain with the darkness, Which a flicking off of the wipers and headlights May help you recall. You sit completely still, Absent as a forgotten sensation. Grasping Nothing, you levitate far above yourself, An exhausted sensorium filled past overflowing With a pungency like West Indian limes. Anybodys' thoughts are appreciated. Also on 14 lines if it's worth commenting on. Yours, BobK. |
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chopsticks Senior Member
since 2007-10-02
Posts 888The US, |
Bob, I like your first version best. When I read it the first time, I ask myself what just happen. Well I’ll tell you what happen, I just circumnavigated a whole year with that poem. We started off with azaleas in February and had an alien abduction in December and had a beer along the way. I think it was a delightful poem. Btw, you did stretch it a tad with those azaleas in February , but they are a hardy mountain flower. Bob, in the fifth stanza when the poet was gazing at the stars, did he wonder like Huckleberry Finn did : “ Was them stars put there are did they just happen ? “ [This message has been edited by chopsticks (01-26-2008 08:09 AM).] |
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TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
I agree with Chops, the first version is better. Limes You have come to a diplomatic accommodation With the night beyond the back porch. Each of you will keep your eyes closed And pretend the other is only an illusion. Diplomatic---representative of only itself. Night beyond the back porch---strong, broad back ground make them more "noble" And pretend the other is only an illusion. Love this verse...the proud character. The garden is awash with a rising scent Of azaleas, blue as the scent of ice on evergreens In a sudden warming spell in February, Except, you know, more floral. The darkness The scent. can you replace The second "scent" with "shine" or "light"? Of closed eyes is hollow as bags. Everything alters In the evenings all-out assault of crickets. Let’s erase all that and go back to basics. You amble into the back yard on a spring evening Who is "you"? I read as same as the first "You" Judging the character and let start again. Why? Requiring only a tee shirt for comfort, With no noticeable discomfort from the humidity. You’re carrying a six pack of Sam Adams And an ancient army surplus blanket Character is back to ordinary. Of indeterminate color. Laying on your back In the grass, you can feel the turntable of the world Slowly turn under you, or the stars revolve slowly Overhead, the night sky perpetuating that revolution ? "you" feel, but can one feel stars? More inexorable than history. You are gripped With a kind of skimming motion by something Enormous with wings, by something that struggles To become concrete and powerful, like an idea. still, "you" feel. like this S You will remember this vaguely like a memory Of alien abduction while you’re driving home From the market in a heavy snowstorm sometime In early December. You will cast about for a language why bad or scary memory? To express the complete relaxation you feel As you sink into that memory of luxury. You close your eyes; and, remembering your bargain With darkness, flick off lights and windshield wipers. May you explain this to me? You sit completely still, absent as a forgotten sensation; Grasping nothing, you levitate far above yourself, An exhausted sensorium filled past overflowing With an authoritative pungency like West Indian limes. Still a proud Being Dear Bob K, you may want to tell us about this poem line by line. |
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Bob K Member Elite
since 2007-11-03
Posts 4208 |
Dear TomMark, Everybody has their own reading of a poem. It needs to make sense to you and create a feeling response in you. I'm still in negotiations with the thing and, frankly, I'm losing. This may be the way it should be. I already have another version finished beyond the one above, and I'm working on that, so everything folks say is useful. When I get that one ready for show, I'll print it out here and let folks comment on that in maybe a day or two. The game is afoot! |
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