Moving Out

[DieterM]

Pavements littered with debris and dust
rise up toward the wedding cake church,
white and unchanged
and hovering above exhausted buildings.

Cars honk by, an ambulance wails;
Ras-el-Hanout, cinnamon, pepper
blend with African rhythms and Chinese salves;
a smart trip-hop-tune booms
out of a my boho neighbour's window;
rusting steel melts under the sun
where railway tracks head for the Gare du Nord
in an entanglement so absolute
that somehow it looks haphazard.

My Indian summer steps lead me
for one last time through narrow lanes
where I cross sari-clad Indians
and white toothed smiles upon black faces,
and young Moroccan eyes saying 'Come On!'
It all feels so familiar and homey,
all fastness, blurry, and turbulence.
The noise of life.

My last days I spend in a cobweb mood,
in and out of boxes, cardboard, plastic, sadness.
And golden sunsets feel weary like a silent goodbye.

[symphony]

Very vivid images and very vivid smells, but that last line from the 2nd stanza made me falter. The poem was smooth to my ears except for that one line.
"... that somehow it looks haphazard."
I thought that haphazardness could be tucked in the poem in a better way than that. But that's just me.
But the lines (or should I say, the images) before and after that line totally made up for it. I loved reading this.
If the narrator is the real you, I hope you moved in to some place that evokes as much, if not more, poetry for you.

[tailor STATELY]

Most evocative.

My last days I spend in a cobweb mood,
in and out of boxes, cardboard, plastic, sadness.
And golden sunsets feel weary like a silent goodbye.

I thought the most memorable lines.

Well done.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[DieterM]

Thanks symphony, you found immediately the weakest line, the one I was not content of either. I've corrected it. And yes, the poem is about me moving; I planned a two-part piece but didn't have the time to write the rest. As it is, the pome turns out a triptych after all; I'll post it right after my answer.

Tailor, thanks a lot, I really appreciate that you chose the lines I prefer most, too!

[DieterM]

Here is the real thing, the poem like I had planned it (with minor edits for the first, previously posted part).

1. Out

Pavements littered with debris and dust
rise up toward the wedding cake church,
white and unchanged
and hovering above exhausted buildings.

Cars honk by, an ambulance wails;
Ras-el-Hanout, cinnamon, pepper
blend with African rhythms and Chinese salves;
a smart trip-hop-tune booms
out of a my boho neighbour's window;
rusting steel melts under the sun
where railway tracks head for the Gare du Nord,
woven and entangled
like a schizophrenic consciousness stream.

My Indian summer steps lead me
for one last time through narrow lanes
where I cross sari-clad Indians
and white toothed smiles upon black faces,
and young Moroccan eyes saying 'Come On!'
It all feels so familiar and homey,
all fastness, blurry, and turbulence.
The noise of life.

My last days I spend in a cobweb mood,
in and out of boxes, cardboard, plastic, sadness.
And golden sunsets feel weary like a silent goodbye.


2. Pause

Moses, troubled, forgot to write down
a number eleven stating that
you shall not compare what you have
with what you had before.
What a pity ever since.


3. In

After the speedy city, the suburb's yawning,
though politely, from behind a manicured hand,
reveals the stale fragrance of wealth and old names.

Through the gaping, ceiling-high window,
a sort of fake Cannes gazes in;
pine-trees sway across the street;
beneath them, scissor-trimmed lawns.

Even the dogs wear Ralph Lauren,
and cats mew with posh accents.
In the woods nearby, males offer their altered bodies
in fishnet hoses and corsets and fruity perfumes.

Shuffling steps echo from white walls
and my voice's whispers sound empty.
This beginning smells of new paint.

[hillwalker]

When I read this I felt I was there with you, the imagery so real that we can hear the sounds of the street and smell the fresh paint.

Loved the idea of cats mewing with 'posh accents' by the way.

H

[symphony]

Brilliant.
Just one little thing: Wouldn't it sound smoother with:
Shuffling steps echo from white walls,
my voice sounds empty whispers.
This beginning smells of new paint.
?

[AuntShecky]

For reasons not entirely of my own making, I've been away from the boards too long, Dieter, and have a lot of catching up to do. I'm saving this thread and will come back to it A.S.A.P., but for the record, I thought #1, about
moving, was brilliant. Loved the painterly details and the
speaker's subtle emotion.

[DieterM]

@hillwalker, thank you, I would you really WERE here – I could do with an extra-pair of strong arms to help me move all that darn stuff from one place to another!
@symphony, glad you enjoyed it. I'll have to reread your suggestion as soon as I have the time; as things are, in my "Out"-place, I don't even have space (it really is boxes and boxes and more boxes virtually everywhere, with an overstressed dog lost somewhere in the mess whining), and in my "In"-place, there's no Internet yet (arrrrgh!!!!!)
@AuntShecky, "away from the boards", that sounds a lot like myself. Be me guest, I'd love to read one of your usually brilliant comments on this humble piece!

Now I've got to go back to (guess?) my boxes...

[Bar22do]

DieterM, what a sad moving in... this poem is so vivid and shares entirely the emotion N felt upon forced moving... (I like "a sort of fake Cannes gazes in" but in fact, I love ALL about this poem!) - very well done! My best, Bar

[Hawkman]

Hi Dieter, I always enjoy your posts and the first of these is very evocative. Of the three though, my favorite is the last, although hose as in stockings/socks is both plural and singular, so you don't need the second s

That last verse is nearly right:

"Shuffling steps echo from white walls
and my voice's whisper sounds empty.
This beginning smells of new paint."

would be the best way of putting it.

Live and be well - H

[AuntShecky]

Now that I've had a chance to read all three sections, I have to say that I like the whole piece even more than I liked the first part. The middle part "pause" is good enough to stand on its own, but works wonderfully here -- "out, pause, in" are like before and after pictures, because the pictures they paint are highly detailed, vivid.

My favorite line was the very last.

[DieterM]

Thank you all for your very very kind comments… It has been quite a sad moment to move, sad yet exciting (as every new start in life), and above all, exhausting (the actual, physical moving bit, I mean). Now, it's done and over, I'm overjoyed by my new flat, and very pleased that you liked my little try to put into words what I felt.