Help, please!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Some time ago these three lines came to mind:


Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.

I thought, Man! That’s good! But could it, should it, stand alone as a complete poem? I fiddled and fiddled and came up with this as a somewhat logical continuation/conclusion:


One day you reach in there
for a tin of salmon, anchovies,
dried beans to make a soup,
and you see him glance
at the watch
on his thin, freckled wrist.
And then - curses! - a quite different alternative three lines occurred to me:


Death is the lonely boy
in the back room,
pining...
I believe that the first three is more of a throat-grabber, but the fear of death, the hatred of death is something too easy a sentiment I now think. There is something more true to the tragic nature of human existence in the second version.

Yes? Or no?

[CdnReader]

I love the first three, and I loved them the day you first sent them to me. Please don't change them. For me, it's the contraposition between "death" and "laughing", and the implication that he's waiting for ME to open the pantry door (such a commonplace activity that we all engage in a dozen or more times a day), that makes the opening so uncomfortable as to be gripping. Gosh, he could be there NOW, and he's gonna grab me by the wrist and drag me in!! Yowzers!

To be honest, the second set of three lines does nothing for me. My 2 cents. ;)

[Pendragon]

What if we do this:



Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.

One day you reach in there
for a tin of salmon, anchovies,
dried beans to make a soup,

Death is the lonely boy
in the back room,
pining...


and you see him glance
at the watch
on his thin, freckled wrist.

Death is the...
I do not presume to write your poems for you, Jerry, you do not need my help. It is but an idea, and may be discarded like a bad hand of poker...

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[ampoule]

Some time ago these three lines came to mind:


Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.

I thought, Man! That’s good! But could it, should it, stand alone as a complete poem? I fiddled and fiddled and came up with this as a somewhat logical continuation/conclusion:


One day you reach in there
for a tin of salmon, anchovies,
dried beans to make a soup,
and you see him glance
at the watch
on his thin, freckled wrist.
And then - curses! - a quite different alternative three lines occurred to me:


Death is the lonely boy
in the back room,
pining...
I believe that the first three is more of a throat-grabber, but the fear of death, the hatred of death is something too easy a sentiment I now think. There is something more true to the tragic nature of human existence in the second version.

Yes? Or no?

I agree with Cdn. I think the first three lines stand alone and say volumes, however, I am wild about the next section. If you don't include it, you must use it for another poem.
The last three lines...no...because death is not lonely, it's a spoiled child. I could see all three parts working together then. The laughing boy who thinks he knows it all and has caught you, then the waiting boy, then the pouting boy because he didn't get his way....yet!

[PrinceMyshkin]

What if we do this:



Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.

One day you reach in there
for a tin of salmon, anchovies,
dried beans to make a soup,

Death is the lonely boy
in the back room,
pining...


and you see him glance
at the watch
on his thin, freckled wrist.

Death is the...
I do not presume to write your poems for you, Jerry, you do not need my help. It is but an idea, and may be discarded like a bad hand of poker...

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

As one who played poker - badly but with ecstatic joy - every Friday night for thirteen years, I must tell you there are no bad hands at poker - only BAD PLAYERS.

Not to imply that you are one, but I rebel at the idea of having both versions in the same poem! What little aesthetic integrity I have will NOT permit it. Not in the same poem and indeed not in the same universe, For me, it must be one or the other of those versions.

[CdnReader]

I think the first three lines stand alone and say volumes, however, I am wild about the next section.

Oh oh yes! Me too. Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you should stop after those first three lines, Jer. I love the thin freckled wrist....

[ampoule]

I rebel at the idea of having both versions in the same poem! What little aesthetic integrity I have will NOT permit it. Not in the same poem and indeed not in the same universe, For me, it must be one or the other of those versions.

Well, as I said in #4 above, a change of one word makes it work for me. No matter how you present it, I will like it, I'm sure.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Well, as I said in #4 above, a change of one word makes it work for me. No matter how you present it, I will like it, I'm sure.

The one word I believe you mean is to change "pining" to "pouting"? But that's not how I think of death as a comment on life. I'm beginning to see nw that my two versions - others would have their own image of death - represent different ways in which I think of death: 1) as something that makes a mockery of life, or 2) death as an inevitable, waiting, but not to be feared conclusion. It may be pining for us because naturally we pit our will to resist it, to hold it off either by ingenious medical means or by pretending as hard as we can not to see it, to live our lives as if we had forever and could put off for another week those things we feel we ought to do.

That's why I'm more partial to the 2nd version.

[ampoule]

No, I believe I said I would change the word lonely.

[PrinceMyshkin]

No, I believe I said I would change the word lonely.

"death is the spoiled child"? Get real! What have they put in the water there in the wilds of Pennsyvania? [for your eyes only: I was interrupted in the writing of this by a phone-call from a friend we have in common, with whom I have THE MOST platonic love relationship ever!] Anyway, as I was about to say, I'd be most interested to read whether as a poem or expository prose how death, in your view, might be conceived as a spoiled, pouting child!

[Bii]

Some time ago these three lines came to mind:


Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.

I thought, Man! That’s good! But could it, should it, stand alone as a complete poem? I fiddled and fiddled and came up with this as a somewhat logical continuation/conclusion:


One day you reach in there
for a tin of salmon, anchovies,
dried beans to make a soup,
and you see him glance
at the watch
on his thin, freckled wrist.
And then - curses! - a quite different alternative three lines occurred to me:


Death is the lonely boy
in the back room,
pining...
I believe that the first three is more of a throat-grabber, but the fear of death, the hatred of death is something too easy a sentiment I now think. There is something more true to the tragic nature of human existence in the second version.

Yes? Or no?

Well, all things considered I prefer the first version, much more striking and thought provoking. The second version is more reflective, and has the makings of a gentler poem. I also think the following lines fit better with the 'waiting' in the first version, particularly with the image of him looking at his watch. I'd also like, if it were for me to do so, to play with the structure. The structure of the first three lines is also striking, but what follows, visually, isn't as great. So, following the venerable Pendragon's example, how about:

Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.
One day you reach in
for a tin of salmon,
anchovies,
dried beans to make a soup,
and you see him glance
at the watch
on his thin,
freckled wrist.

Or something along those lines. Of course I appreciate that you will probably stick two fingers up at my suggestion, Master Poet as you are (it's not like you need my help!).

Perhaps you could write two opposing but complementary versions, one with the 'laughing' theme, the other 'pining'?

[firefangled]

Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.

...but the fear of death, the hatred of death is something too easy a sentiment I now think. There is something more true to the tragic nature of human existence in the second version.

Yes? Or no?

OK, this is a quick (at least I thought so when I started) and dirty bit of philosophical observation of your problem, so forgive me if it misses the mark:

Your words state Death is the laughing boy, so the subject you have set up for yourself has nothing to do with the fear or hatred of death. Those are human emotions and would be true if your POV is from our side, but it does not seem so the way the words hit me. Your subject is death from Death's POV. Read it: (I am)Death (is) the laughing boy in the pantry waiting.

Now you have a possible dialog between Death, who does not find herself/himself hated, feared, or tragic, and us who do because we do not fully comprehend life, or existence.

You have come up with a little stick of dynamite, Jerry. That phrase is loaded, but then you know that. But there is more for you to write....

In short, you are describing how Death looks in the mirror, not us or our vision of Death. There is plenty that is true to our condition in the first lines.

Death is fearful because we don't have a solid belief system about it in our culture. 90% say they believe in heaven and it is such a wonderful place, where we are united with our loved ones for eternity -- no struggles, no pain, no fear, how wonderful! So why would we fight such a thing? Why would we want to hold someone we love from jumping into that with both feet? It is because we don't fully believe it. That takes a lifetime of examination on a regular basis.

The fear and hatred of death is not an easy sentiment if fully explored. So why is Death laughing? To the contrary why so often is Life crying?

This came off the top of my head. I hope I didn't say anything offensive. I think about this often when trying to make sense or not make sense.

There is a marvelous book by Brenda Hillman (married to Robert Hass) called Loose Sugar. They are experimental poems, hard to read in many cases, but one of the themes running throughout begins:

A power came up; it was in between the voices
It said you could stop making sense.

I think it means stop making sense in the usually ways we make sense, because at the end of the day we are still somewhat confused, but at least we saw the world in a new way.

Then, of course, there are Talking Heads, but I will stop there and just say, Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...

[PrinceMyshkin]

OK, this is a quick (at least I thought so when I started) and dirty bit of philosophical observation of your problem, so forgive me if it misses the mark:

Your words state Death is the laughing boy, so the subject you have set up for yourself has nothing to do with the fear or hatred of death. Those are human emotions and would be true if your POV is from our side, but it does not seem so the way the words hit me. Your subject is death from Death's POV. Read it: (I am)Death (is) the laughing boy in the pantry waiting.

Now you have a possible dialog between Death, who does not find herself/himself hated, feared, or tragic, and us who do because we do not fully comprehend life, or existence.

You have come up with a little stick of dynamite, Jerry. That phrase is loaded, but then you know that. But there is more for you to write....

In short, you are describing how Death looks in the mirror, not us or our vision of Death. There is plenty that is true to our condition in the first lines.

Death is fearful because we don't have a solid belief system about it in our culture. 90% say they believe in heaven and it is such a wonderful place, where we are united with our loved ones for eternity -- no struggles, no pain, no fear, how wonderful! So why would we fight such a thing? Why would we want to hold someone we love from jumping into that with both feet? It is because we don't fully believe it. That takes a lifetime of examination on a regular basis.

The fear and hatred of death is not an easy sentiment if fully explored. So why is Death laughing? To the contrary why so often is Life crying?

This came off the top of my head. I hope I didn't say anything offensive. I think about this often when trying to make sense or not make sense.

There is a marvelous book by Brenda Hillman (married to Robert Hass) called Loose Sugar. They are experimental poems, hard to read in many cases, but one of the themes running throughout begins:

A power came up; it was in between the voices
It said you could stop making sense.

I think it means stop making sense in the usually ways we make sense, because at the end of the day we are still somewhat confused, but at least we saw the world in a new way.

Then, of course, there are Talking Heads, but I will stop there and just say, Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...

Oh sure, stop right there, Dude, just when I was getting engrossed in this one-handed conversation. You didn't touch at all on the implications of the other, later version; but never mind. And if this is any sort of response to your comments, death in either case must (to my mind) remain only as seen by the mortal persona, for whom death can either be a taunt (as in the death at the back of my mind of my younger brother at a very young age) or something that has been longing for us/we have been longing for (as with my 69-year old sister who failed a suicide attempt after years of endless physical pain and the prospect that it would worsen, was resuscitated but had further damaged her health, was released to hospice care and was the most serene and ready for death when I last visited her)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Well, all things considered I prefer the first version, much more striking and thought provoking. The second version is more reflective, and has the makings of a gentler poem. I also think the following lines fit better with the 'waiting' in the first version, particularly with the image of him looking at his watch. I'd also like, if it were for me to do so, to play with the structure. The structure of the first three lines is also striking, but what follows, visually, isn't as great. So, following the venerable Pendragon's example, how about:

Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.
One day you reach in
for a tin of salmon,
anchovies,
dried beans to make a soup,
and you see him glance
at the watch
on his thin,
freckled wrist.

Or something along those lines. Of course I appreciate that you will probably stick two fingers up at my suggestion, Master Poet as you are (it's not like you need my help!).

Perhaps you could write two opposing but complementary versions, one with the 'laughing' theme, the other 'pining'?

"Two fingers up"? You fish-sticks do flatter yourselves, don't you? Here in the colonies (read "the real world") one finger suffices... but both your suggestions interest me and indeed maybe the resolution is that the real poem is a debate between these two ways of facing death (as in my response to firefangled above).

[firefangled]

"Two fingers up"? You fish-sticks do flatter yourselves, don't you? Here in the colonies (read "the real world") one finger suffices... but both your suggestions interest me and indeed maybe the resolution is that the real poem is a debate between these two ways of facing death (as in my response to firefangled above).

If it is any help, this poem by Wallace Stevens has always made me think of that moment between life and death. When it comes for me I want to see something like this before the final mystery shows itself, laughing or otherwise.


Of Mere Being

The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor.

A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.

You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.

The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.


-Wallace Stevens

[PrinceMyshkin]

If it is any help, this poem by Wallace Stevens has always made me think of that moment between life and death. When it comes for me I want to see something like this before the final mystery shows itself, laughing or otherwise.


Of Mere Being

The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor.

A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.

You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.

The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.


-Wallace Stevens

Hence the origin of your stage name! Why didn't I think to adopt Peter Quince as mine?

[Pendragon]

As one who played poker - badly but with ecstatic joy - every Friday night for thirteen years, I must tell you there are no bad hands at poker - only BAD PLAYERS.

Not to imply that you are one, but I rebel at the idea of having both versions in the same poem! What little aesthetic integrity I have will NOT permit it. Not in the same poem and indeed not in the same universe, For me, it must be one or the other of those versions. I play Texas Hold 'Um, and yeah, you can get a very bad hand there when the chips are down... You asked for advice, I gave it. As I said, I do not presume to write your poetry for you, you do not need my help. Do remind me, Jer, just to be silent about your poety, OK?

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[Bii]

"Two fingers up"? You fish-sticks do flatter yourselves, don't you? Here in the colonies (read "the real world") one finger suffices... but both your suggestions interest me and indeed maybe the resolution is that the real poem is a debate between these two ways of facing death (as in my response to firefangled above).

The two-fingered salute has a very long and colourful history in the British Isles, I think that it is possibly the only way to greet our favourite cousins across the channel (no offense to anyone on the site who is French - it is always done with the greatest of affection). Of course out there in the colonies where you have no history, such intricacies are no doubt lost. It's no wonder you rely on the cruder one fingered method.

Fish sticks? You may need to elaborate...

[PrinceMyshkin]

The two-fingered salute has a very long and colourful history in the British Isles, I think that it is possibly the only way to greet our favourite cousins across the channel (no offense to anyone on the site who is French - it is always done with the greatest of affection). Of course out there in the colonies where you have no history, such intricacies are no doubt lost. It's no wonder you rely on the cruder one fingered method.

It is not so much that we're cruder, I submit, as that we're more efficient. (With all due respect to British Rail!)


Fish sticks? You may need to elaborate...

I may need to indeed, but I might not choose to do so!

[Bii]

It is not so much that we're cruder, I submit, as that we're more efficient. (With all due respect to British Rail!)

But that two fingered 'V' has so much historical significance, and alas, British Rail is no more, we have Virgin Trains now (amongst others!).

[PrinceMyshkin]

But that two fingered 'V' has so much historical significance, and alas, British Rail is no more, we have Virgin Trains now (amongst others!).

Virgin Trains, you say! Gor blimey - and who rides in them?

On the other hand, remember what DH Lawrence said: "THe English have sex on the brain instead of where it ought to be!"

[Bii]

Virgin Trains, you say! Gor blimey - and who rides in them?

On the other hand, remember what DH Lawrence said: "THe English have sex on the brain instead of where it ought to be!"

Richard Branson rides in them when he isn't causing mayhem somewhere in a hot-air balloon.

We also have Virgin Megastores, Virgin Radio, Virgin Media, Virgin Atlantic Airlines, Virgin Holidays, Virgin Brides and Virgin Wines.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Richard Branson rides in them when he isn't causing mayhem somewhere in a hot-air balloon.

We also have Virgin Megastores, Virgin Radio, Virgin Media, Virgin Atlantic Airlines, Virgin Holidays, Virgin Brides and Virgin Wines.

Not to mention the Virgin Isles. Oh, and sturgeon, as in:


Caviar comes from the virgin sturgeon.
THe virgin sturgeon's a very rare fish.
THe virgin sturgeon needs no urgin',
That's why caviar a very rare dish!

[babybrother]

Death is the laughing boy
in the pantry,
waiting.


After reading the nature of your responses, I hesitate to reply since I have no experience, just an opinion but feel I should.

I feel the 3 lines stand on there own well and make me think. Wondering why this precious moment in every boys life (that you have captured very well) is being compared to "death".

"Death" being good or bad is not the issue for me, it's the comparison itself. Also, adding more to it would cloud my thinking even more. I feel if the point of your poem is to make us think about our own perception of death... well then, you have succeeded. Nice job.

[PrinceMyshkin]

After reading the nature of your responses, I hesitate to reply since I have no experience, just an opinion but feel I should.

I feel the 3 lines stand on there own well and make me think. Wondering why this precious moment in every boys life (that you have captured very well) is being compared to "death".

"Death" being good or bad is not the issue for me, it's the comparison itself. Also, adding more to it would cloud my thinking even more. I feel if the point of your poem is to make us think about our own perception of death... well then, you have succeeded. Nice job.

Many thanks for this thoughtful reply. Actually you're the first one to remark on the oddity (or the rightness?) of death being presented as a boy... Likethe whole of the original three lines (and like certain dreams) it just presented itself that way, as an image that could not be interfered with or even question but had to be taken whole.

There is some intuitive rightness for me in conceiving death that way - although consciously I'd be inclined to go with the universal concept something like a cranky old man wielding a scythe!